#my thoughts get jumbled and the only way to come to a normal human pace. normal human rhythm. is to talk to someone

[edge-oftheworld]

this is a representation of how I feel 99% of the time unless i'm zonked or anxious btw

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[bouncingkadachi]

Blessed Rain

Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.

Word count: 3,260

Note(s): set post-game

Also available on AO3!

Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.

He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.

The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.

“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts. 

The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.” 

And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.

He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street. 

He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.

“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.

“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”

“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”

Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.

He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.

His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.

“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”

One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”

What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.

“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”

“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”

“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.

“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”

She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”

She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.

“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”

“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.

“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.

“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”

But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?

“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?” 

“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.

His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.

His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?

“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”

“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”

“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.

“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision. 

“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”

“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.

“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy’s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.

“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere. 

“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.

“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”

“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.

“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.” 

“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”

 “Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”

“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”

Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.

He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.

[sapphicquill]

congrats on 100 followers friend <3 may I ask for anything with ler!Fjord bc the way you wrote teasing in your TAZ fic was so good? or lee!Lucretia during the Stolen Century arc being tickled out of her antisocial little shell if you're in a TAZ mood :) -Chock

Whoops. This is what happens when my whole life gets flipped upside down and I have to move cross-country back home out of no where! Sorry for the long wait, I'm finally making headway on these fics. I owe the entirety of this fic to @ticklishnonsense's honey-tongued because that’s the Ultimate Teasey Ler!Fjord fic and to @poesparakeet-fics for the plot because my smol brain could not come up with anything good and she gave me THE GOODS. Hope you enjoy, @chockfullofsecrets!

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Fjord, Caleb Widogast

Wordcount: 2423

After everything they’ve all been through, Fjord thinks he can handle most things. Spitting up salt water in the mornings, nearly getting impaled by strangers on a regular basis, Nott rifling through his shit—while he’d rather not deal with all of that bullshit, he can and that’s the important thing.

But the crushing weight of all the damn pining happening between Caleb and Essek might be the one thing Fjord absolutely cannot handle for any longer.

It had started innocently enough. Hands brushing and secret smiles and eyes briefly meeting before diverting, full of nerves and excitement and swirling butterflies. He’d experienced some of the same with Jester, but the two wizards were starting to get insufferable. It was painfully obvious to anyone in the room that they had a thing for one another, and even if it wasn’t, Fjord had overheard Caleb whining to Jester more than once about the entire situation, so it wasn’t like he was entirely oblivious to his own crush.

But apparently perpetually sad and stuffy wizards are really bad at just admitting what was right in front of their faces. Fjord’s worried that one of them might just explode soon, and that’s the entirely altruistic reasoning that finally inspires him to insert himself into the situation.

Caleb’s problem, Fjord thinks, is one of confidence. He gets too caught up in his own keen mind, tangling everything up in his head and overthinking and overanalyzing and panicking and deconstructing until everything’s just a jumbled mess of knots. He just needs a little push is all. A little something to nudge him past the trouble that is thinking and into acting. And Fjord thinks he knows a fairly good method of encouragement.

Thus, Fjord is currently standing in the doorway of the mansion library, trying not to reveal his presence too early. Caleb is folded over a desk with a pinched expression on his face that Fjord knows by now means he’s reached some sort of roadblock in whatever he was working on. In other words: a perfect time for an interruption.

“Productive afternoon?”

It’s a testament to how close the group has gotten that Caleb only sort-of flinches at the sudden sound of Fjord’s voice.

“Ah, nein, not really,” the wizard replies as he straightens up. His back makes an ominous cracking noise as he sits up and Fjord winces in sympathy.

“Gods, then maybe it’s time to take a break, hm?”

“Ja, a break…” Caleb trails off, eyes drifting back to the scattered parchment and books on the desk. Fjord resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the utterly predictability of their headstrong wizard.

“Okay, well now I’m making you take a break, Widogast,” he says as he marches swiftly over to Caleb and practically hauls him out of his chair. Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes willingly, letting himself be shuffled over to a nearby sofa.

With a huff, Caleb sits and begins massaging his temples, willing away either a physical ache or a swirling mass of snarled thoughts and ideas. Fjord lowers himself down next to the human and pretends like he isn’t thrilled over what he’s about to do.

A comfortable silence descends then. After a few more vigorous rubs, Caleb leans his head back against the leather of the sofa and closes his eyes and Fjord figures this is the best chance to spring the trap.

Quick as a slash of his falchion, Fjord twists from his spot next to Caleb and pulls him down into a horizontal position before caging the human in from above. He hovers over the now-prone wizard and tries not to feel too smug as Caleb yelps but doesn’t move an inch to try to wiggle away.

“Scheiße, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Fjord says casually as he can. Caleb gives him an exasperated look, complete with raised eyebrow and suspicious frown.

“And this ‘something’ requires you to pin me to a sofa?”

Fjord grins before scooping both of Caleb’s wrists up with one hand and pulling them above his head. Exasperation shifts quickly into a mix of disbelief, fear, and anticipation and Fjord is lucky that around his friends, Caleb wears his emotions very clearly on his face.

“Well,” the warlock starts, “I kind of figured that this particular topic would send you scampering off if I didn’t take some preventative measures.”

A fiery blush colors Caleb’s cheeks and Fjord tries not to laugh.

“And something tells me I thought correctly.”

Caleb makes a noise not unlike one Fjord’s heard from Frumpkin and finally starts to struggle lightly in his grasp, like his body is only now catching up with the rest of him. Fjord lets him, figuring that letting the wizard work himself into a bit of a tizzy will just make his own task easier. Caleb’s terribly predictable. As the human squirms minutely under him, Fjord lets his free hand curve subtly into a claw and hovers it just next to Caleb’s lower ribs.

“Now, see, I also think you might benefit from a little preemptive encouragement, because you’re the most stubborn fucker I’ve ever met when you have to talk about anything personal...”

Fjord trails off when he notices that Caleb’s eyes have locked onto his hand, mostly because he knows that the brilliant mage has connected all of the appropriate dots and will voice a protest in three, two—

“N-nein, Fjord, wait just a moment, there is no need for—”

Fjord slowly flutters his fingers, still poised a hair’s breadth from the stretched expanse of Caleb’s ribs, and Caleb cuts himself off with a hitched laugh-gasp, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate right now,” Fjord says, the edges of his voice tinged with a low growl as he keeps the motion of his fingers going. Caleb doesn’t really do much aside from grow ever so slightly redder in the face.

Without further preamble, Fjord finally moves his hand to meet Caleb’s torso. It’s like the wizard has been hit with a successful Thunderwave—his whole body jolts before tensing up so tightly he trembles. Continuing the fluttering from before, Fjord traces across the space between Caleb’s two lowest ribs and grins when Caleb lets out something between a giggle and a whine.

“Gods, you’re so easy to rile up, you know that?”

Caleb’s giggling picks up at Fjord’s words. He’d have pity on the wizard if it wasn’t so adorable. Still gently teasing at the softness of Caleb’s lower ribs, the half-orc leans forward until his mouth is right next to his victim’s ear.

“You’re just that ticklish, huh?”

Caleb thrashes, throwing his head from side to side so rapidly Fjord would be worried the human would hurt himself if he hadn’t watched this happen numerous times before. For good measure, he lets his fingers drift up Caleb’s ribs and lets out a small laugh himself as the giggles morph into airy, full-blown laughter. Exactly as planned.

“So you and Essek,” Fjord says casually as he straightens back up, pitching his voice a little louder to be heard over Caleb’s bubbly laughter. The wizard definitely seems to register his words if the cut-off gasp and even more desperate wiggles are any indication. Fjord laughs a little to himself at the adorable way Caleb scrunches his nose when the increased movement does little to deter his attack. Taking a little pity, Fjord pushes on, his free fingers swirling tight circles up and down Caleb’s right side.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

Fjord’s not exactly sure humans are supposed to turn that shade of red, but Jester’s got healing spells to spare right now, so he continues.

“And as amusing as it is watching you two dance around each other, it’s getting a bit old.”

“B-bitte, Fjord—!”

Caleb’s own laughter cuts off whatever plea was going to escape next. The wizard flops his head a bit side to side, like if he shakes enough he’ll clear Fjord’s words like trapped water from his ears. It’s downright precious and one hundred percent ineffective.

Adjusting his grip on Caleb’s wrists, Fjord lets his fingers trail up his captive’s ribs in the same slow pace he knows will drive Caleb up the damn wall. It’s a little impressive, actually, how easily this light tickling can take their resident wizard apart. Particularly useful at certain times. He can feel Caleb trembling under him, laughs high and desperate as the light tracing fingertips slowly migrate up to what both Jester and Molly affectionately refer to as his worst “death spots.”

“So, here’s my idea.”

His fingers flutter just below the space where his holsters normally are—fortunate Caleb feels comfortable and safe enough to remove them when at the house—and the wizard groans through his laughter.

“Either you promise that you’ll confess to Essek the next time he’s around, or I’ll just have to keep tickling you forever. How’s that sound?”

“Wh-aaat? Bitte, no, that is e-eehviil!”

“That’s kind of the point, bud,” Fjord replies around another laugh of his own. He floats his fingers up the scant few millimeters to the space between Caleb’s uppermost ribs without prompting and hopes that the wail the human lets out doesn’t worry the rest of the Nein. (It shouldn’t, not with the frequency Caleb makes noises like that.)

“I’m not letting up until you tell me the first words out of your mouth when you see Essek next are ‘Can we talk somewhere privately, Shadowhand?’” Fjord pitches his voice into a terrifically awful imitation of a Zemnian accent that has Caleb laughing, somehow, even harder. Though, on second thought, that might have more to do with the rapid little scribbles he’s got focused on the space above Caleb’s top rib than his attempt at accentwork.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb doesn’t say anything much in response, instead throwing all of his effort into laughing and squirming ineffectively. Fjord keeps a careful ear out for any hint of the safeword Jester had insisted everyone know about and respect upon pain of near-death, but the only thing coming out of Caleb is whimpered begging and a spray of foreign curses. Perfect.

Fjord takes a split second to send a silent apology to Jester, who will no doubt be massively upset she missed out on assisting Fjord with this bit of encouragement, but this was his game right now, dammit, and it was time to go for the kill.

(Would it be worth the inevitable tickling the blue tiefling would dish out later? Most definitely.)

“Alright, well, suit yourself, Widogast.”

With that, Fjord moves the tickling to Caleb’s exposed underarm and focuses the entirety of his attention on making the human melt.

With an impressive amount of core strength, Caleb attempts to jackknife in half to throw Fjord off. Fortunately, their wizard’s tricks are well known by now. Fjord barely budges as he keeps up the spidering under Caleb’s arm, letting his fingers trail just the slightest bit up the underside of Caleb’s bicep before reversing back down to the soft spot just above Caleb’s uppermost rib.

The fight drains out of the mage just as quickly as it revved up, leaving him loose and floppy and lost in the throws of his own cackling. Fjord would feel bad if he didn’t know how much Caleb was enjoying himself. Time to step things up a notch.

“You know how to get me to stop, Caleb. Do you really like the thought of me tickling you like this more than the idea of confessing to a crush you know is damn-well mutual? Really seems like it.”

More wailing, more thrashing, but still, no dice. Maybe a slightly different approach…

“Gods above, you’re just too ticklish for your own good, aren’t you?”

As always, Caleb responds viscerally to the mere word and that, of all things, seems to be the final straw.

“Scheiße, bitte! Habt mitleid! Ohhkay, I pr-promise!”

“You promise what?”

“Oh please, I caa-aan’t—!”

Fjord shifts from light tracing along Caleb’s top ribs to a solid press of his palm, steadying the human as his laughter slowly eases up. After a few gulps of air, Caleb continues.

“I will tell Essek how I truly feel when we next encounter him, I swear to you!”

“You’re absolutely promising me you’ll spill about your deep, undying love for Essek Thelyss the very moment he’s within twenty yards of you?” Fjord taunts, curling his fingers back into a claw at Caleb’s right side. The human tenses and anticipatory giggles start bubbling from him almost instantly.

“Ja, ja, I a-ahh-m!”

“Good!” Fjord says brightly, pulling his hand away from Caleb’s squirming form. He smiles down at Caleb, who looks about ready to protest the large hand still pining his wrists to the sofa, before lowering himself to speak directly into the wizard’s ear.

“And maybe after you two have worked everything out, I’ll have a little chat with Essek myself about how much you like this particular method of torture.”

Caleb looks a bit like he’s swallowed a toad.

“F-fjord, mein Gott, wait—”

“I’m sure Molly and Jester would be more than happy to help me tell him all of the best ways to tickle you senseless, hmm? They’re tieflings, you know how honest they get when tickling comes up. They’ll just gush about how much you love it when we wreck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He isn’t even tickling him anymore, but Caleb is giggling, light and bubbly and tortured, all from Fjord’s teasing alone.

“Hell, maybe we’ll all get you the next time Essek comes by the tower. How’d you like that, him watching you get tickled by every single one of us until you cry and knowing you love every minute of it?”

Caleb’s just babbling in Zemnian through his laughter, eyes squeezed shut and a grin pulling wide at his lips.

“D’you think he’d join in if we asked him to?”

Caleb just keeps laughing. Fjord grins. Mission successful.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch23: In The Flesh Part 2: Unwelcome Distractions

Summary: The Avengers are hot on the trail of Ultron...but once again, things don’t go according to plan and a tangle with the Maximoff twins leaves the team shaken.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language, violence and crazy assed robots.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Huge credit to @angrybirdcr​ for these stunning edits which perfectly capture Steve and Katie’s visions...

Chapter 23 Part 1

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The normal schedule at the tower was utterly disrupted the next morning. Maria had come to Katie and Steve’s floor to inform them the team was assembling in the lab and had given them both a quick briefing. The previous night they had been able to reboot most of the servers, and the environmental controls of the tower were finally online again, but there was still no trace of the sceptre or the robots. Thor was busy trying to get help from someone on Asgard, Clint was working with some old contacts to see if he could get anything, whilst Tony and Bruce were trying to track him from the lab where Katie had a suspicion they would probably had been all night

The elevator doors opened with a ding; Steve, Katie and Maria exiting and she continued her report on what she had found out about Ultron so far, following them up the stairs as she did.

“He’s all over the globe. Robotics labs, weapons facilities, jet propulsion labs. Reports of a metal man, or men, coming in and emptying the place,”

“Fatalities?” asked Steve.

“Only when engaged,” replied Hill, beginning to type on her tablet while she continued to talk. “Mostly guys left in a fugue state going on about old memories, worst fears, things moving on their own, and 'something too fast to see’.”

“Maximoffs.” Katie concluded.

“That makes sense he’d go to them. They have someone in common,” Steve said nodding as they reached the top of the stairs.

“Not anymore.” Maria replied handing the tablet over to Steve. On it was a picture of Strucker lying on his bed in his cell; dead. On the wall behind him, the word 'peace’ was painted in blood.

“Bit of a mixed message don’t you think?” Steve asked.

“Is it? I mean if it were my mission, world peace, I’d probably take out Strucker too.” Katie shrugged as Steve looked at her, before glancing back down at the tablet in my hands. “Ultron could be in any system, he could be pulling planes down out of the sky if he wanted.” she sighed, “What if he’s just doing what he’s supposed to?”

"If I thought Ultron was bringing peace I’d hang up my shield.” He shook his head, leaning against the banister.

“Would you?” Maria questioned curiously. Steve looked at her, taking a deep breath and cocking his head slightly to the right.

“Let me know if he leaves any more messages.” he said simply, ending the conversation.

Katie shot Maria a look, mouthed thanks at her and then headed after him.

As they walked towards the lab they both heard Clint talking on the phone to someone, apparently someone with authority.

“I answer to you. Yes Ma’am.”

He looked over, saw the Captain and ended the call. “I gotta go…” He looked at Katie, then Steve, waved the phone and said “Girlfriend.”

“Any of your old contacts come through?” Steve asked, seemingly on the outside accepting his explanation, although they both knew full well he had been talking to his wife. Only Steve wasn’t supposed to know that.

“Still waiting.”

“Wait faster.” Steve said simply, turning and heading off down towards the lab. Clint shot Katie a look before he glanced down his phone and headed off in the opposite direction. Katie caught up with Steve who cast a glance over his shoulder at Barton.

“Girlfriend.” He quipped and she laughed

“I know, as far as cover stories go, explaining away your wife as a girlfriend is pretty lame.” They entered the lab and immediately could her a gabble of voices as Rhodey was talking to Natasha and Tony through one of the screens.

“If you hear something we need to hear it too.” Nat said as Steve strode past towards Thor who was pacing behind where Banner sat at a computer.

“That goes for you too, watch your six.” Rhodey replied.

“Any help from on high?” Steve asked, as Thor walked down the few steps into the lower part of the lab. He shook his head.

“He’s either away from his post or he’s been ordered not to answer” Thor said, striding across the floor as they both turned to walk back towards Katie “Ultron can’t hide forever”

“He’s not exactly hiding.” Katie said, handing Thor the tablet. He glared down at the offending item and the picture it was displaying.

“What’s this?” Tony asked moving to get a closer look only to have the tablet slapped into his chest by the obviously still annoyed God.

“It’s a message,” Steve replied. “Ultron killed Strucker.”

“And he did a Banksy at the crime scene, just for us,” Tony said sarcastically waving the tablet.

“This is good…” Nat glanced at the picture, her brows knitting together.

“No, it’s not good!” Banner shook his head as he rounded her chair

“No, Nat’s right, he’s showing us his hand, this isn’t his pattern” Katie nodded down to the tablet on the desk. “I mean why send a message when you’ve already given a speech?“ 

"Strucker knew something that Ultron wanted us to miss” Steve concluded.

“I bet he-” Natasha mumbled searching something on the computers. “Yeah, everything we had on Strucker’s been wiped.”

“And that’s good?” Banner asked, as everyone looked at him.

“Yes because he didn’t wipe everything” Tony said suddenly.

Moments later they were all in a room where a bunch of paper files were kept, files that had been rescued from SHIELD. They pulled the boxes containing information on Strucker and it seemed from most of them that he had gone rogue long before the events a few months prior.

“Strucker had a lot of friends.” Katie mumbled as besides her Thor was throwing random files across the room after deciding they were of no use.

“Well these people are all horrible.” Bruce commented digging through his own box.

“Wait,” Tony said pointing to the file Thor was flipping through. “I know that guy. From back in the day. He operates off the African coast. Black market arms.”

Steve stopped what he was doing to shoot Tony with a glare

“There are conventions. Alright?” Tony explained “You meet people. I didn’t sell him anything. He was talking about finding something new, a game-changer. It was all very Ahab”

“What’s this?” Thor questioned, pointing towards one of the pictures of the man Tony had found. I peered over at it too.

“Uh, it’s a tattoo, I don’t think he had it,” Tony said

“No, those are tattoos, this is a brand,” Thor corrected, pointing towards a spot on the man’s neck right underneath of his left ear which obviously was a mark that had been burned there as it still looked red and raw in the picture.

“Yeah,” said Bruce as he placed himself in front of the computer, quickly searching what the mark meant. “It’s a word in an African dialect meaning 'thief’. In a much less friendly way.”

“What dialect?” Steve asked.

“Uh, Wak- wakanada – Wakandan,” Bruce said jumbling the pronunciation a few times before getting it right.

Katie swallowed and looked at Tony. “Tony, if this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trace goods…"

“I thought your father said he got the last of it,” Steve said, cottoning on.

“I don’t follow,” Bruce interjected. “What comes out of Wakanda?”

Steve, Katie and Tony all shared a look before Steve looked back at Bruce and stood to the side gesturing to his shield.

“The strongest metal on Earth”

*****

Ulysses Klaue’s warehouse was located in an old ship in a Salvage Yard off the African coast. Unfortunately Ultron, fresh from the murder of Strucker, had gotten there first, along with the Maximoffs

The fight had started, Katie and Tony both tangling in the air with Iron Legion bots and Ultron himself as everyone else took them out on the ground also trying to deal with the Maximoff twins, which was proving easier said than done.

"The girl tried to warp my mind,” Thor grunted, over the comms,“Take special care I doubt a human can keep her at bay, fortunately I am mighty.”

“Where is she?” Katie asked, looking round, her heat scanners showing her nothing.

“Thor?” Steve bellowed into his earpiece “Thor, do you read me?”

Thor didn’t answer.

Taking down another bot, Katie flew off down the hallway, in search of the god, but was knocked sideways by something into a pile of scrap metal. She stood up and prepared to take off again but, the world became dark, dim and gloomy. She paused, suddenly wary, trying to remember why she had come here in the first place.

She was in a church, at the end of the aisle. Steve was stood at the front, Bucky next to him. Both in smart suits. She frowned as she started to walk towards them when music started and everyone stood up. Katie was beyond confused, and she turned in the direction everyone was looking at to see Peggy Carter walking down the Aisle, in a beautiful white gown. She looked just as she did in the 40s photos Katie had seen.

But she didn’t belong like this, in the time. As Peggy glided past her, she turned to see Steve looking at the woman, his face smiling, features soft. And Katie felt he entire world collapse around her as Peggy reached the front of the aisle and Steve took her hands in his.

“Steve…” she managed to croak out. The Soldier looked at her from where he was stood and he smiled kindly at her.

“I hope you understand…”

“You love me.”  Katie choked out and Steve shook his head.

“You could never be enough.” He said, shrugging “I’m sorry. It’s her, it’s always been her. You were merely a welcome distraction”

“No, no…that’s not fair, you said I was, you said I was yours…” she cried, dropping to her knees as the world shook around her.

Steve had seen Katie get knocked sideways out of the air, and was heading down to help when suddenly, he felt cold. Everything in front of his eyes seemed so far away, and a wave of calm spread over him. There was no rush, was there?

He was in a ballroom in the 1940s, loud jazz music hit his ears and the sounds of people laughing and joking. He tentatively stepped forward through the crowd but flinched when an explosion flashed near him. No, not an explosion, a camera. Then there was a gunshot. No, not a gunshot, a bottle being uncorked. Confused he looked around and saw a man lying on the ground, his friend dabbing at blood on his shirt, but it wasn’t blood. Steve looked again and he saw it was red wine.

All around him, people were celebrating, but all he saw was war and death.

Then, a very familiar laugh made him turn and he saw his girl in a gorgeous pink dress and she was being spun round the dance floor by Bucky. His face was creased into a wide smile, both his arms intact as he whirled Katie around the floor. She looked the same as she always had, but…she didn’t belong in this time of his life.

“Are you ready for our dance?” another familiar voice spoke as a hand tapped his shoulder. He spun round to find Peggy stood there, in a blue dress, her outfit and hair and make-up belonged here, in the 40s, in his past, but Katie didn’t. His eyes turned back to Bucky and Katie who were now swaying slowly, foreheads pressed together and he could do nothing but stare as Bucky dropped a kiss to his girl’s lips.

Then he was dancing with Peggy, but he had to stop, this wasn’t right.

She was his girl, not Bucky’s. He was with her, not Peggy. He needed to get to Katie…

“What’s wrong?” Peggy asked him. “The war’s over Steve,“ she told him smiling, "all of them.” She added. “We can go home. Imagine it.”

The party in the ballroom stopped. Everyone disappeared and the room went deathly silent.

He gave a loud gasp, it felt like he had plunged into an icy lake. He blinked, resisting the urge to vomit, taking deep breaths and slowly everything came back into focus and then he remembered where he was and why. The fight, Ultron, the warning from Thor….and Katie, where was she? He staggered to his feet, and stumbling slightly set off to find her.

She wasn’t far away, she was knelt on a walkway just below him suffering the effects of her own vision. Steve swung down a level, gently landing in front of her and knelt down on all fours.

“Katie…”

She could hear a familiar voice talking, through the fog and suddenly it cleared as if someone had poured a bucket of iced water over her head. She blinked, before she let out a groan of pain and dropped forward, grasping at the rough metal of the walkway beneath her palms- somehow and for a reason she didn’t know, she was knelt on the floor on all fours, and no longer in her suit. Every inch of her body was aching and her head felt like it was full of cotton wool and horrible lights were flashing behind her eyeballs, like she had had the worst migraine ever.

“Hey, you’re alright…” Steve said as she sat back on her heels, his hands either side of her face as she drew her eyes up to look at us.

“You’re …” she reached out to touch his chest, feeling the roughness of his uniform under my skin. “You’re still with me?”

“Yeah, baby course I am.” He said, frowning slightly, wondering what the hell the Maximoff kid had forced her to see. Deciding there was plenty of time to discuss that later he waited with her quietly whilst her breathing began to even out. She let out another groan, scrunching her eyes shut as the pain behind her eyes became too much and she lurched sharply to the left, throwing up all over the metal walk way.

Steve gently rubbed her back as she retched again, groaning in pain.

“It’s ok…” he soothed gently “I got you…” Eventually she stopped and the throbbing in her temple subsided somewhat and she wiped my mouth, sitting back down on the floor harshly. “What happened?” she whispered.

“The Maximoff girl.” Steve said gently by means of an explanation, his hand reached round to gently stroke her hair.

“It was… it was so real.” She mumbled, glancing around.

“I know, tell me about It.” Steve swallowed, kissing her clammy forehead. Katie was surprised to find he was shaking slightly as well, drops of cold sweat were beaded across his brow “We need to get back to the ship. Can you stand?”

“Yeah” she said, and together they stood. Katie was a little bit shaky at first but Steve held her up and took a deep breath, shooting a furtive glance around.

“Clint?” Steve spoke in to the coms as Katie got back into her suit.

“Cap, you back with us?”

“Yeah, how is everyone?” He asked as they made their way slowly up the stairs. Katie didn’t trust herself to fly. Instead she kept the face plate open, needing the fresh air.

“Nat’s in a bad way, she’s still not out of it.”  Clint replied. “What about Nova?”

“I’m alright.” She said, shakily as they left the warehouse, blinking in the light of the sun, the light making her heave again and she bent over, emptying what little was left in her stomach on the floor. “Sorry…” she mumbled as she straightened up and turned to Steve who shook his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Doll.” He assured, looking at her, hands reaching out to gently stroke her face. He looked around and spoke, mopping at his brow. “Thor?”

“I’m here.” the God’s voice came, he also sounded shaky. “That witch, she warped my mind after all. Her power… I’ve never seen or felt anything like it.”

“Tony?” Steve asked as we set off walking, slowly, across the sandy stretch to where the jet was parked.

“She got to Banner.” Tony said over the coms. “And whatever she showed him… well, Hulk just levelled a local town…”

“Casualties?” Steve sighed, looking at Katie.

“I dare say a fair few.” Tony replied. “Veronica and I did our best.”

As they reached the jet Thor landed next to them bringing Clint who in turn was carrying Nat. It was clear to see that everybody, bar Clint was severely shaken. It was a blessing that at least one of them had presence of mind. Clint got the jet off the ground, tracked Tony’s whereabouts and helped get a semi-conscious Bruce settled while Tony took off the suit. It all seemed very distant to Katie and Steve, who both felt like they were watching the interior of the jet through a fog.

“It was always her,” Steve’s voice echoed in Katie’s ears, and it hurt, a deathly pain deep in her being. She tried to swallow, tried to breathe, but the sickening panic she had felt during her vision threatened to wash over her again. Besides her Steve wasn’t faring much better. Bucky dropped a kiss to his girl’s lips. He moved slightly in his seat. It was an involuntary move, almost like he had been startled by something, which he had been, and Katie spotted it. She unclipped her belt, stood up and gently sat on his lap, pressing her head into the crook of his neck, shivering. He pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head and the pair of them just stayed there, not a word uttered between them.

Katie fell asleep, and when she woke up it was dark through the front of the window, showing they’d crossed time-zones. She was still on Steve’s lap, his head was lolling against the head-rest of the chair, his arms still around her whilst he also slept. Gently she untangled herself from him, and stood up, stretching. Clint was still piloting the jet to wherever it was they were headed and Tony was looking at something on a tablet a few seats away.

“Hey kiddo.” He placed his arm round her as he settled into the seat next to him. “Feel better?”

She shrugged.

“Well you’re doing better than Nat” he said, and Katie looked over. She was sat, staring at the floor. Her eyes darting to the sides every so often.

“She still not come round?” Katie asked, laying her head on her brother’s shoulder.

“She’s with us. But she’s really shaken…hasn’t said a word.”

“Seems I got off relatively lightly” Katie mumbled as she glanced over at Steve who was still asleep.  

“Wanna talk about it?” Tony asked, his chin resting on her head.

“Erm… I saw Steve and Peggy” she muttered, looking down at her engagement ring, twirling it round her finger “it sounds silly but… they were getting married and I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t with me. Then he told me…” She trailed off, swallowing, she felt sick again.

“You know none of its true, right?” Tony said, his eyes locking onto hers “He loves you, not Peggy. The Maximoff brat is messing with your head.

 “I know…” The tears sprang forth into her eyes. “ But it was so real, physical, I could touch things and people. I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t need to…” Tony shook his head, gently reaching out and wiping her tears away with his thumb. “I had one, at Strucker’s base when we got the Sceptre.”

“I knew something else had happened to you” Katie sighed “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought it was just a funny turn but now I know it was her. I saw you all dead. I felt it. The whole world too. Because of me. I didn’t do enough.”

Katie slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“So that’s why you restarted the Ultron thing again” she said gently

“Yeah… really worked out that didn’t it.” He sighed.

“We’ll fix it.” Katie replied softly, shrugging as she sat up.

“How do you know?” Tony looked at her with eyes that were so like her father’s. She could do nothing but shrug back.

“Because we have to.”

*****

It was dawn as they all stepped off the jet and followed Clint as he confidently led them up to the porch of a large farmhouse, literally in the middle of a field. The sleep seemed to have done most people good, although Natasha was still not quite right, so Clint supported her as they walked up the path. Steve had his arm round Katie’s shoulder; hers in turn was round his waist, but not for support, for comfort.

“What is this place?” Thor asked looking around at the farmhouse and its surroundings.  

“A safe house?” Tony responded unsure.

“Let’s hope.” Clint opened the door and stepped inside, with everyone else curiously following close behind. “Honey? I’m home.”

To nearly everyone’s surprise, a woman, who Katie figured was Clint’s wife, walked out from the kitchen and into the living room. She had long brown hair and was holding a bunch of colouring books in one hand, but one thing that was hard to miss was that she was very pregnant.

“I brought company. Sorry I didn’t call ahead.” Clint told the woman as he walked up to her and gave her a kiss.

“This is an agent of some kind.” Tony muttered pointing at the couple.

“Guys, this is Laura.”

“Hi,” she greeted awkwardly, “I know all of your names.”

Tony not knowing how else to react just gave a small wave that was just as awkward.

“Oh, incoming!” Clint warned as the thudding of feet and loud voices of young children hit their ears. A boy and a girl hurried into the living room, both running over to Clint as they yelled “daddy”.

Steve’s face was a picture, despite herself Katie almost laughed at the genuine-fake shock he wore across his features.

“Hi sweetheart! Hey buddy!” exclaimed Clint while kissing the top of their heads. “How are you guys doing?”

“These are smaller agents.” Tony said, adding to his previous statement.

“Did you bring Aunty Nat?” the little girl questioned.

Nat stepped forward, suddenly finding her feet. “Why don’t you hug her and find out?”

“Sorry for barging in on you.” Steve said, always one for keeping his manners.

“Yeah we would have called ahead, but we were too busy having no idea you existed.” Tony remarked with his usual sarcasm. Katie shot him a look.

“Yeah well Fury helped me set this up when I joined.” Clint explained, his arm around his wife. “Kept it off SHIELD’s files and I’d like to keep it that way. I figured it’s a good place to lay low.”

Thor, who had been extremely quiet since arriving, made to step closer to the group but a loud crunching noise stopped him. Katie and Steve looked down and he raised his boot seeing the lego house he had just crushed. He glanced upwards and caught Steve’s eye, then Katie’s as he kicked the broken pieces underneath the table. Then a toaster popped and all 3 of them glanced at it, before Thor turned and hastily left the room. Katie looked at Steve and the pair of them followed Thor out.

“Thor,” Steve said, and he stopped dead.  

“I saw something, in that dream.” he explained. “I need answers, I won’t find them here.”

“Be careful” Katie said to him, he nodded and then with a whirl of his hammer he was gone.

They both turned to go back into the house when Steve stopped dead, the image of that damned vision flashing in front of his eyes.

“We can go home…imagine that”

He was home, with Katie, there was no home without her…

Katie, who had been heading back into the house, noticed Steve had stopped. She turned to look at him, his face was glazed slightly, a look on his face she knew extremely well, the one he got whenever he was thinking about his past.

“It’s always been her.”

Katie tried to ignore the flash back and gently spoke to him, her voice shaky.

“Steve?”

He suddenly focussed and looked at her, smiling softly.

“Walk with me?” he said, inclining his head away from the house.

Katie nodded with a swallow, taking his outstretched hand, the pair of them heading down a worn path through the field outside the house. Neither of them said a word for a while, they just walked taking in the large fields and the various trees and shrubs and they reached a clearing which was clearly where the family spent a lot of time. There was a picnic bench to the right of a large oak tree which sported an archery target, 3 arrows currently protruding from the middle circle. 2 bikes lay propped the trunk under the target and a baseball glove lay discarded on the floor.

Frankly Katie loved the levelheadedness of it. Steve loved the normality of it.

“You know, all I ever wanted was to join the army, hold down a good job, have a wife and a family…” Steve broke the silence as they both walked towards the bench. Katie looked up at him as he glanced around. “I mean a farm was never really what I imagined but…”

“A town house in Brooklyn?” She smiled softly as she took a seat.

Steve shrugged. “It doesn’t matter where, I just want to build a life with you, whatever madness that brings with it.”

Katie turned her face away, blinking away the tears. She knew her vision hadn’t been real, she knew it was all a dream but there was part of her that would never stop wondering, whether given the chance he would go back and live his life over with Peggy. Was he settling here for second best?

“Sweetheart?” Steve asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“I’m sorry just, she really did a number on me and now my head is all over and…” she looked at him as he moved so that he had one leg either side of the seat and he was turned side on to face her.

“What did she make you see?”

She took a deep breath and told him, by the time she got to the part about him saying she wasn’t enough and was a mere distraction, she was really biting back the sobs as Steve reached out and pulled her to him. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in, relishing his touch and the fact he was real, and there with her.

“Seems like she got us all pretty bad.” Steve said, his voice thick.

“What did you see?” Katie asked quietly.

“She showed me a dance.” He took a deep breath his arms still around her “But it was back in the 1940s. You, me, Peggy and Bucky were there.”

“Dancing?” she frowned “In the 1940s?”

“Yeah, I know. For once you were the one out of time.” He mused gently, looking at her for a second before he carried on “But you were dancing with Bucky, you were with Bucky, and I was with Peggy and she was telling me the war was over and that I could go home…”

“Maybe my vision wasn’t that far off after all.” Katie sniffed gently.

He pulled back from her slightly, and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No matter how much I try to ignore it, how much I love you there’s always going to be part of you that’s back there, and a wishing you and Peggy had gotten your dance…”

Steve blew out a breath through his nose, shaking his head. She’d got this all wrong “Baby that’s not what I saw, at all…”

“You know sometimes I notice that look in your eyes, that haunted look like you’re somewhere else…” she continued, looking at her hands “I convince myself I’m seeing things because the thought that you might be wishing you could be elsewhere breaks my heart…”

“Baby, I-“

“If I am second best then, fine, I get it but I need to know….” she looked at him through her tears. “If you knew then, what you know now, and had the chance to… would you do things differently?”

He took a deep breath and moved slightly, reaching into his pocket for something. When he turned round Katie noticed he had the compass with Peggy’s photo inside it in his hands.

“You will never be second best.” He shook his head as he turned the compass over, in his hand. “That dream I had was awful.” He sighed “Not because Peggy was with me but because you weren’t.”

He clicked open his compass and passed it to her. The black and white picture of Peggy was gone, and inside was a photo she instantly recognised as one they’d gotten from a photo booth in Coney Island on her birthday last year. They were both looking cross eyed into the camera, happy and carefree, joking and playing. An hour or so post the photo being taken, he’d asked her to marry him.

“I changed it over the moment we got back that day.” He said gently, “I love that photo, it reminds me of just how much you make me smile and that I can just be me around you. I don’t have to be Cap or anyone else, just Steve.” HE reached out with his still gloved hand to brush her hair behind her ear. “You wanna know what my biggest fear is? Losing you.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his but even as she did she knew he was telling the truth. Steve didn’t lie.

”That part of my life with Peggy is over, and it’s okay. I can live without it, but I cannot live without you.” He sighed, his voice slightly choked and he moved his hands up to wipe the tears off her cheeks that she wasn’t even aware she had shed. “So would I do things differently? Not one fucking second.” He gently pulled her face to meet his in a soft kiss and whispered. “Please believe me, kitten.”

“I do.” She nodded as her lips met his again, melting into his hold. She kissed him back, urgently, needy and he was happy to oblige, his arms wrapping round her, pulling her into him.

“Bet I look a right state.” She pulled away, her head resting against his. He chuckled slightly.

“Well we could both probably do with a shower.” HE nodded, looking up over at the house, “Why don’t you go back in? I’ll grab us some stuff from the jet.”

She nodded and he kissed her forehead once more as the two of them headed in opposite directions.  Steve watched her go heaving out another sigh as he stood up. Frankly it said something about their deep rooted issues that their visions took them both to losing one another to other people and not death. Especially after everything that had happed the last year and what was going on right around them now with Ultron. But it also made perfect sense, neither of them could face being without the other. They’d fallen in deep, real deep, and whilst in some ways it was frightening in others it was so, so right.

There was absolutely no doubt in his heart at all where Katie sat in his life. And that was forefront and centre. He just hope she realised that too.

By the time Steve had made it back she was already asleep on the bed in the spare room Clint had directed him to. Dropping the bag gently to the floor so as not to disturb her he headed into the bathroom and stripped off out of his suit. He lay his forehead against the cool tiles, the warm water was soothing as he washed away the grime of the fight. He dried off, changed into a pair of jeans and an under-armour shirt and headed back into the bedroom. Katie was still out of it, and deciding that a nap seemed like a damned good idea he slipped onto the bed besides her. Sliding one arm underneath her he pulled her back so her back was pressed into his chest, his other arm gently draped over her, his hand tangling with hers.

“I love you so fucking much.” He mumbled into her neck as he closed his eyes “So much.”

***** Chapter 24 Part 1

**Original Posting**

[exhaustedfander]

Goddamn These Bite Marks, Deep in My Arteries

word count: 2,828

a03 link

Vampire!Logan in Analogical is something I’m so weak for, thusly, this oneshot exists. 

Virgil paces the floor, anxiety clouding every jumbled thought.  He’s been working himself up for weeks now, trying to find the best moment to brooch the subject. There were so many moments where things almost felt perfect, but then his nerves would kick in, or Logan would say something to completely change the subject.

Eventually, Virgil comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that no matter how much he wishes it worked otherwise they’ll never be a perfect time to say it. He’s just going to have to bite the bullet and spit it out. He can do that. Of course, he can do that…, right?

He has to do this, regardless of how terrified he is. And good lord, is he terrified.

It’s not as though Virgil thought this subject would never need to come up but dating a vampire doesn’t exactly come with an instruction pamphlet. He had no idea that he was going to meet Logan, like him more than he’s ever liked another person, and eventually fall so deeply in love that he can’t imagine himself with anyone else.

He’d gone into their relationship five years ago with very few expectations. Logan was cute, and he understood him, and they’d already been friends for some time and… and he was a vampire. Virgil supposes that would’ve been a deal-breaker for most people. Maybe it should’ve been for him too. Maybe it was the most logical way of thinking. But he couldn’t help it; he fell for Logan almost from the start, and he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Virgil’s learned a lot about vampirism in the last five years. For one thing, movies are usually a bunch of bullshit (Sexy, fun bullshit. But bullshit, nonetheless). Vampires don’t always have to drink human blood, though it is preferable, and they can eat some other foods, though it offers far less nutritional value than it would for humans. They aren’t strictly nocturnal, and the sunlight will not turn them to a pile of ashes the moment it makes contact with their skin (although Logan does get a wicked sunburn if he’s out too long without proper covering). Garlic does very little to ward off vampires, but garlic-breath does, unfortunately, ward off kisses.

Having one’s blood sucked isn’t nearly as painful as it’s often portrayed, nor as orgasmic. It’s just kind of… nice. Virgil’s always thought of it as a feeling of weightlessness, a kind of peace that’s hard to name, and even harder to find anyplace else. Honestly, he’s going to miss the feeling, if Logan agrees, that is.  

Logan isn’t home yet, but it isn’t uncommon for him to stay late at the lab. Virgil’s glad that Logan’s been able to find a profession that he’s happy in. He knows that Logan would be far more known in his field, were it not for the fact that he cannot stay forever. Vampires do not live forever, contrary to popular belief, but they do live for a very long time, and it looks quite suspicious if one works a job for decades and never really seems to age. Logan’s only been alive for about twenty more years than Virgil has, but he’s had several other jobs under other last names in the past, and this is by far the one he’s enjoyed the most.

His boyfriend is such a smart, competent scientist and he’s sure he’d be world-famous by now if he didn’t hold himself back at times in fear of his name and face becoming known. That would make running away and changing one’s identity all the more difficult.

Virgil knows this conversation won’t be an easy one. Logan has pointedly avoided the topic for some time. It’s not as though Virgil doesn’t know that this is a life-altering decision; or more of a life-ending decision, depending on how you look at it. He’s weighed the pros and cons time and time again, but in the end, he always comes to the same conclusion: Virgil wants this.

His determination doesn’t make him any less nervous when he hears the door to their apartment open as Logan unlocks it, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Hey. Sorry, I know I stayed late,” Logan says as he slips off his shoes and jacket, his voice thick with exhaustion, “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“It’s okay. Sorry you had a shitty day,” Virgil says, walking to the doorway and pulling him in for a kiss, but pulling away after a lack of response, “Hey, are you good?”

Logan doesn’t look good. His skin is always quite pale (a stereotype that holds up, but he also works in a lab most of the day), but it’s even more so now. The always-present bags under his eyes are far more severe than usual, rivaling the eye-shadow Virgil wears. Logan looks dead-tired, and god, that won’t do, will it?

“I’m…” Logan sways slightly where he stands, up-righted by Virgil, “…fine.”

“Bullshit,” Virgil says, eyeing him carefully, “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“I’m – it hasn’t been too long,” Logan says, lying rather poorly, “Really, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Alright. C’mere, you,” Virgil says assertively, grabbing Logan by the wrist and bringing him to the couch.

“Virgil, darling, this isn’t necessary. Besides, I’ve got a bit of research to do for…” Logan trails off, seeing the look of agitation on his boyfriend’s face.

“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not bringing work home, and, you’re not skipping another meal. God, I haven’t even been paying attention lately; you’ve just been so busy lately. When was the last time you ate?”

“I…”

“Babe. This is serious. You need to tell me when you need something. And right now, you need to eat,” Virgil said, slipping off his hoodie and pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. “You look like you’re starving, L.”

“Virgil. We don’t need to do this right now. I just came home, I’m perfectly content with simply spending the evening with you. I promise I’ll be fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

“There’s a perfectly good reason to fuss,” Virgil huffs out, “You’re being so fucking stubborn for no reason. Besides, there’s... well, there’s kind of something I want to talk to you about.” Logan raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Is anything the matter?” Logan asks, trying, and failing, to mask the quickly formed concern.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Virgil swears, “Now, c’mon, the quicker you sink your fangs in, the quicker I can satiate your curiosity.”

Logan sighs, defeated, but tired and very hungry.

“Fine.”

He gets up from the couch, going into the bathroom, and coming out with a first aid kit. Virgil’s always insisted that it’s okay and that he doesn’t need to go to all the trouble. For the most part, the bites stop bleeding almost immediately after he’s done feeding, but Logan has none of it.

“You’re the one who’s taking care of me. Please. Let me take care of you, too.”

It’s little rituals like this, pressing a bandage and a kiss to the wound when he’s finished that keeps Logan from feeling like a monster. That’s what he confessed to Virgil one night, years ago. That he felt like a monster sometimes.

Virgil’s always been clear to dispute this. Logan’s never killed, anyone. He’s never been unnecessarily cruel to anyone, and he’s always, always been so good to Virgil. His need to feed is not that of a monster, and Virgil’s assured him as much anytime he felt otherwise.

But that can’t stop doubt from creeping in, and Virgil understands that. So he lets Logan do things at his pace for the most part, and he lets him take care of him to his heart’s content (Virgil truly isn’t complaining about that. It’s nice, how eager Logan is to care for him).

“Are you alright? Are you comfortable?” Logan asks, just as he always does.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Virgil assures. Logan nods, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s starving, Virgil knows he is. “Go on, baby. It’s okay.”

Logan nods, first kissing Virgil vehemently.

“I love you,” Logan whispers reverently against Virgil’s lips, his fangs brushing just so.

“I love you too.”

Logan pulls away, his eyes meeting Virgil’s, and ah, there it is. His boyfriend’s eyes turn from their usual-blue to a striking crimson, the change in color happening in a manner of seconds, like watching a drop of blood cloud a glass of water. It isn’t hypnotism, per se. Virgil isn’t under Logan’s ever-command, but his gaze certainly sends a sense of calm washing over him. Logan cups Virgil’s face for a moment, still looking at him intensely and lovingly all at once before he presses his lips to Virgil’s neck and sinks his fangs in.

The initial pinprick of pain has always made Virgil shudder a little, even now, but he’s far more prepared for it than he had been in the past. Quickly, though, the pain subsides to something stranger, more far-off. His back presses into the couch as Logan has a hand on either side of his neck, sucking and lapping the blood, Virgil lingering in the bliss.

When he’s finished, Logan removes his fangs, mouth only slightly bloodied.

“Thank you,” he says, whipping his lip and quickly reaching for the first aid kit on the coffee table.

“You’re welcome, Lo,” Virgil says, still a little lost in the feeling. He smiles faintly as a bandage is pressed to his neck. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Logan says, his exhaustion seeming to have faded significantly. “I dare say you were right, I needed that more than I was aware. How about you? Are you alright, my love?” Virgil can’t help but smile dopily at that.

“I’m fine. Great. I love it when you call me that, you know that?” Logan chuckles, his eyes back to their normal blue, and fangs having receded.

“I do. Now, let me go get you something to eat.”

“You don’t have to,” Virgil says, only slightly light-headed, “I already had dinner.” Logan’s already on his feet.

“Now, I’ll have none of that,” he tuts, sounding as insistent as Virgil had moments prior, “You just gave blood – so to speak. It’s important to rehydrate and eat something rich in sugar to replenish your red blood cells.” Logan’s rummaging in the cupboard, looking for a snack.

It’s now or never, Virgil thinks to himself suddenly, realizing that if he doesn’t say something right this minute, he’s going to chicken out for the night and have to work himself up again later.

“Hey L?”

“Yes?”

“I…” God, this is harder than it should be! “I want…”

"What would you like? We have crackers, cookies –.”

“I want you to turn to me!” Virgil shudders at the sound of something clattering the floor in the kitchen. He turns around on the sofa, seeing the look of terror in his lover’s eyes.

“Dear Lord, did I take too much blood? Virgil, do you feel faint?” Logan asks, suddenly hovering over him, his eyes scanning over him.

“What? No – no, I’m fine. My head’s super clear. I’m being serious: I want you to turn me.”

“You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do!” Virgil says, zealousness bubbling with each word. He looks into Logan’s eyes, searching desperately for something, anything, that will further his argument. “Logan. Babe. I love you so, so much. I’m crazy about you, and I can’t see myself stopping anytime soon.” Logan swallows, the sound scared and tight.

“I- I love you, too. Virgil you know I love you, but –.”

“But what? You mean absolutely everything to me, and – and I can’t lose you. I want to keep being with you. Don’t you want to keep being with me?”

Virgil hates how desperate he sounds. A fear suddenly creeps into his mind, one he hadn’t yet considered: what if Logan doesn’t want this. He loves him now, but will he ten years from now? Twenty? A hundred? What if he hasn’t imagined a life with Virgil at all? What if he’s nothing more than a momentary distraction? What if –

A cold hand settles on top of his, their fingers lacing together.

“Yes,” says Logan, his voice tight and quiet, “I want to keep being with you. I adore being with you, dear. And I intend to do so for as long as I’m able.”

“But how long is that?” Virgil asks, the fear holding him in a death-grip, “How long until you need to leave this town and change your name?”

“I –.”

“I want to come with you when you go.”

“Virgil, you know how I feel about this subject.”

“No, I fucking don’t!” Virgil says, voice gaining in volume, hand still intertwined with Logan’s, grip tightening, “Because you never want to talk about it! Any time I’ve brought it up in the past you’ve just brushed it aside. Well, guess what? I’m not letting you do that right now. Why can’t you talk about it? What’re you so scared of?” Logan lets out a sigh, long and filled with frustration.

“Virgil… do you realize what you’re asking of me?” Virgil huffs out a breath, nodding.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you really? Do you understand how much you’d be asking me to take from you? You’re asking me to take your life away.”

“I want you, Logan. That’s all I want.”

“You’d need to go with me when I left town. We’d both need to change our identities often, to change occupations. We couldn’t let people grow suspicious.”

“I know.”

“And we’d both need to,” Logan squeezes his eyes shut, cringing at the word, “…hunt. Be it human or animal, I could not rely on you anymore, and you could not rely on me.”

“I know that too. I’ve already thought this all through, Logan. I mean it.”

“You could live such a different life, Virgil. There are so many possibilities that would disappear the moment I… if you were to regret this, there would be no going back. No reversing it.”

“What’ve you been planning for the future then, Logan. Were you just going to disappear one day?”

“I – well. This was your apartment before it was ours. I was considering –.”

“Leaving me,” Virgil finishes, and goddamn it, there are tears in his eyes.

“Sparing you,” Logan counters, “Of a very long existence with me.”

“Don’t you get it, Lo?” Virgil asks, letting go of Logan’s hand, his eyes landing on the floor. “I’ve thought through all of these variables a hundred times. You’re the best part of my life. Most of your friends are my friends too. And, newsflash, they’re vampires, too. I know that it’s a huge decision, a-and that it’s scary. I know it’s a lot. B-but I’ve never been as sure of something as I am about this. Never.”

Logan frowns, his thumb swiping over Virgil’s falling tears.

“You’re… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” It hurts Virgil, how unworthy of this Logan clearly feels. He'll have a lifetime of proving him otherwise, and a long one at that.

“Of course I am,” Virgil sniffles. “I’ve been thinking about it forever I just – I didn’t know how to say it.”

“The thought of having to leave you has haunted me so much these last few years,” Logan admits after a moment of tense quiet, “I didn’t know how I was going to bring myself to do it. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ask you to do this. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Virgil says firmly, hope flickering in his chest, “Because I’m asking you.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” Logan takes a shuddery breath, “You’re… you’re sure I’m what you want?”

“More than anything,” Virgil promises, grabbing hold of both of Logan’s hands.

“Okay,” Logan says after a long, agonizing moment. “I’ll give you a few days, to get anything in order that you feel you need to. And it’ll be just a little more time to back out if you so choose to.” Virgil nods quickly.

“I won’t need it, but okay. But, Logan, baby, do you really mean it?”

“If this is what you’re comfortable with, and it’s what you want then… yes. Yes, I want this too.”

Logan suddenly finds himself with a lapful of Virgil, a pair of lips enthusiastically pressed to his.

“I love you, Logan. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, darling,” Logan says, a weight he wasn’t even aware of suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

The couple basks in the feeling, their shared enthusiasm and fulfilled desires, thinking of a long future together. Logan’s still scared and can’t be sure when or if those fears will ever entirely subside. But he didn’t need to ask this of Virgil; Virgil asked him. They know they can be together, and tonight, that’s more than enough.

=+=

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[seijohsfairy]

𝙼𝙸𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁

there’s few things that can shake miya atsumu. one thing that can, the way his little sister begs for his help.

.wordc. 2.2k+ tw incest, dubcon/noncon, voyeurism

+

He’s not exactly known for being the moral compass of the world. In all of his life, he’s thought about things before jumping head first approximately two times, and neither thought was concerning the goodness of his actions. But he’s also not a bad person, or tries not to be. When it comes to most things he’s a pretty decent human, and for the parts he lacks, well— that’s probably why he has a twin. It’s making those important calls on his own that give Atsumu a hard time here and there. And in all fairness, he thinks, it’s not his fault he didn’t notice quite as quickly as someone else might’ve.

He’s not home a lot, and even when he is, you’ve all always been close as siblings. Too close sometimes, but it’s what works for you guys so what others think doesn’t matter. He’s learned to tune out most of what Osamu does on a daily basis, and has to in order to stay sane in his own little slice of life without feeling like he’s constantly mirroring his twin. What the other does is not his problem, you don’t say anything if it doesn’t concern you. That is how he’s used to handling his siblings, when it’s not so painfully obvious that something is wrong.

It’s in the way you invite him home every free weekend like he’s some saint, though the first dozen times he only thinks it’s because you miss him a lot. When both your big brothers moved out you must’ve felt abandoned, and you clung just a little tighter when hugging him goodbye after visits. Then when Osamu started Onigiri Miya you moved into his apartment to help as a part-time employee, also avoiding the long commute to uni. You would send him cute pictures of the two of you in the uniform and asking him tons of questions when on the phone, always making the hard days a bit better.

Your favorite question was always ‘when are ya visiting again, Tsumtsum nii?’ and what can he say, it was strangely nostalgic to have you so excited and giddy about what he was doing. Even if you did tend to send him lots of little texts throughout the day that he didn’t get to answer until hours later. He figured you were just lonely and— he hopes— part of that is still true. That the pout and tears you flashed him, the ones he took as a cute, childlike gesture every time he left you for a busy couple of weeks of training, weren’t just desperation.

But then the phone calls started. Nothing like the upbeat message you’d leave him during the day, no. These were few and far in between, and they never left him with a good feeling. You’d sob into the receiver on the other end at 5 in the morning, oftentimes right when he was ready to tuck into bed after being out with his teammates. “When are ya coming back to Sendai, niichan? I need to see you again,” you’d cry and cry and cry, and nothing he said then could soothe you. He’d tell you to wake Osamu up, your voice suddenly growing so quiet. “I’m calling from the hall, I can’t wake him up,” is all you’d answer, hanging up not long after. Just a nightmare, you’d explain the morning after. And Atsumu believed you.

What was he supposed to do? The messages about you sleeping badly to Samu were always answered with the same unsurprised level-headedness he’d come to expect from his twin. And you were a grown woman now, if you had to see a doctor for it, you would. He did try to make his visits back to Sendai fewer in between, to settle the little voice in the back of his skull at least a little. And you’d smile so brightly and cling so tight whenever he did, Atsumu would ruffle your hair and laugh along with his twin. He didn’t say anything about your boyfriend, but he knew you had one, since you were always covered head to toe in kiss marks. Things were good.

They are great even… until the end of volleyball season, when the Black Jackals get some time off and he decides to spend it with his siblings. Your apartment is so comfortable after having lived here for almost two years, it’s so warm and filled with a familiar glow of home. And he could’ve spent it at his parents’ home or even his own house alone, but it’s nice to stay over here too. Tsumu laughs when he notices there’s even more pictures of just you and Osamu on the shelves. “Yer gonna have to take some of all three of us soon, or else people will forget there’s another twin!” You giggle when he pokes your side, but strangely, the joy doesn’t reach past your lips.

“Maybe that’s what we’re going for,” Samu says.

The blond grabs his chest dramatically and stumbles forward, toppling over into the couch. “How could you? Yer killin’ me, dude,” he whines, and your eyes seem to get a little brighter at the normality of their bickering. The other twin just snorts, taking his brother’s bags in hand and walking them to the spare room without complaining. And the little sister… you linger. You do that a lot when he visits since you moved in here, but Atsumu can’t really remember if it’s something you used to do when you were kids too. Like you have something more to say. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth. Shifting onto your heels and picking at the majorly oversized clothing you’re wearing. Looking closer, it seems to be one of Samu’s sweatshirts—

Osamu calls your name as he rounds the corner, and your fidgeting stops. His brother glances over at the couch with a small smile, then down at you where you stand to his side. “Will ya get Tsumu set up for us? I’m sure he’s tired.” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, and your eyes flutter. “I’m going to check on the food, ‘kay?” It’s not much of a question, since he moves into the kitchen before you can answer. But you nod, and motion him along.

“Here, Tsumtsum nii,” you walk the hall next to him, hand flexing and unflexing a few times before you hold your breath, then gently slipping it into his larger one. And yes, it is a strange interaction, he thinks while looking down at you but you lean into him so sweet and finally seem to relax a little that he doesn’t fault you for a second. You point at the door with your free hand, “this is your room, we moved the desk to the side! I think you’ll like it.”

He smiles down at you when you push open the door so softly, like you’re scared to leave your fingerprints on anything but him, before following your eyes. There’s a little stuffie next to the pillow, one he recognizes. It used to be his when he was a little kid, he had no idea you still had it. But it’s clearly your doing, Samu would never come up with something so thoughtful. “Ya didn’t have to move all yer stuff out of a room for me, didya?”

You seem to pale a little when you look up into his warm eyes, but swallow. “No.” The serious tone catches him off guard. And he doesn’t like getting into other people’s business, but he’s glad when you continue. “I sleep with Samu nii in the room.” Your eyes are on the floor, mouth set into a little line. You breathe in and out a few times under his calculated gaze, before you look back up at him and bite your lip. “There’s fresh towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. I should get back to niichan, he’ll call me soon.” You pull your small hand from his, and it’s only then that he notices how sweaty your palm was. Which doesn’t make sense, since you should have nothing to be nervous about. Before you rush down the hall, you turn over your shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re staying for a while, Tsumtsum nii.”

It’s three days in when he starts feeling the familiar itch of working out. You’d scold him though, so he slips out the door as quietly as possible, going for a late night run. When he comes back to the door, drenched in sweat, he jumbles the keys. Pushes them in, turns and then— stops.

“Niichan, hng- niichan!” Your voice is muffled though the wall, but it’s clearly… He drops the keys on the table, shuffling forward in the dark. “It- ah ah ah- it’s too big, not so hard.” It sounds like you’re trying to keep quiet, but the distinct sound of the headboard hitting the wall over and over is grating. Atsumu sits through too much of the moans and grunts before finally coming back to the world enough to go to his room. “Samu niichan, please stop. Tsumtsum nii will be back.” He stops halfway there, because your door is swung open like his is. And Osamu is balls deep inside you, your head pushed into the pillows and turned toward the wall.

“Fuck, yer so tight,” he hisses, the smacking of his slow, deep pace still obnoxious enough to fill the house. “That feels good, doesn’t it? Slutty girl.” You’re pulled back into his hips with each thrust, whining softly. And with your wet pussy filled again and again to the brim right in front of him, it’s hard to think logically. He should have known when Samu looked up your skirt on the stairway last month, or how easily he pulled you into his lap just last night, but even now he’s staring right at you both it is hard to fathom. This feels like a hallucination. “Take my cock like the good, little wife ya are, that’s it.”

You whine and drool onto the pillow until Samu pulls out of you to turn you over. He slides right back in as you moan out at the stretch, before his skin smacks into yours and his hand snakes down to rub harshly over your puffy clit. After a few thrusts, he lays his much bigger body right over yours, kissing you deeply. You shake your face into the kiss, but still cling to him. Your tits rise and fall so pretty for him, it’s almost hard to believe he never noticed before.

“Samu nii, more. Deeper,” you plead, pushing back against his thrusts. “I want to cum.” The headboard gets louder, and the brunet’s low moans do too.

“Oh, don’t worry,” his twin grunts, digging his fingers deep into the soft skin of your ass as he hauls your thighs closer, “I will never forget about my princess, even when ya get mad at me for it. Now say thank you for niichan’s cock, so that I can fuck ya properly.” You shake your face wildly again, letting out a little squeal at a harder pump of the fat cock pounding into you. When you don’t respond, he grabs your throat between his strong fingers and squeezes, as you hick and cling to his hand. “Quickly, yer really testing my patience today.”

Atsumu is not exactly known for being the moral compass of the world. And being so similar to his twin, he tries to be a good person. He does.

“Thank you, niichan, thank you for yer cock,” you squeeze out, little voice sounding so fucking adorable. “Now please let me cum.” Osamu holds you tighter and really starts fucking you into the mattress so hard it might wake him up if he wasn’t already, the squelching and loud smack of his skin connecting to your slicked up center overwhelming. Your back curls off the bed, little legs shaking and toes curling into the soft plush. “Niichan, niichan! Pl- Ah- nii-hnggg fuck.”

But really— admitting your twin is a bad guy is like admitting you’re a bad guy. And if there’s one thing Atsumu doesn’t like, it’s talking down to himself. So when you squeal and shake around your brother’s cock, his dick twitches against his stomach. The feeling of guilt at getting hard from what he’s watching is overruled by the wave of heat that surges to his balls and cock as your knees lock around Osamu’s thick thighs and you cum so pretty, letting your face drop toward him with your eyes squeezed shut and your lips hung open. His back is still sticky from his run, but your fucked, little expression could have done the same. And then you tilt your head back to expose your branded throat where Samu buries his face, and your lashes flutter.

He’s touching his cock when you notice him, your eyes widening and you jump to hide under Samu more. Fuck, you’re so cute. Osamu is still fucking into you with hard snaps, wide back covering you mostly from view. “Samu nii, stop,” you mumble against his temple, “please stop, look!”

“I’m not fucking sharing this wet cunt,” he just grunts, and you try to push him off to no avail. Atsumu huffs as he walks closer, shutting the door behind him. At the click Samu looks up for just a moment, before frowning. “She’s mine. Fuck off.” Then he pushes himself up from you a bit to grab your tit and make you whimper. He’s at the bed now, and his knees almost give out at your glossy eyes and the sounds your cunt makes. The brunet holds his motion for a moment. “Yer welcome to use her mouth just this once, but ya make a move on her and I’ll kill ya.”

Your eyes droop a little when he slips his pants down his legs, but you don’t seem surprised. You know what kind of person he is, surely. So Atsumu wraps his hand around his leaking cock, kneeling next to your face as you sniffle. “Just put Tsumtsum nii’s cock into your mouth.” His thumb brushes past your lips. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He’s not bad, but he’s never pretended to be a saint. It’s your own fault for imagining him as one.

[doctors-star]

“Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.” for Cowboys??

Sometimes, Ainsel feels that they and Edelweiss are coming to some kind of understanding. That, perhaps, Edelweiss is the type of horse with whom it was possible to have some kind of normal relationship, and generally not the sort of creature to possess too-clever eyes and be prone to depositing Ainsel without memories somewhere they shouldn’t be.

These times are infrequent, and they do not ever last.

Rarely, though, has Ainsel taken quite so strongly against the concept of horses altogether, Edelweiss or otherwise. Normally, their lack of particular equine affinity is not an issue, given that they never need to travel that fast, but in consequence they never did learn how to sit or stand when Edelweiss’ legs are really pumping, apparently delighted at this taste of freedom and the wind in her mane; Ainsel is being galloped across the desert like a bag of jumbled bones with their head tucked in behind Edelweiss’ ear and their fingers wrapped white around the pommel, clinging on for dear life. The sand is kicking up on the wind and spitting against any exposed skin, so their eyes are more like slits and are streaming wildly and all they can really see of the desert and sky is a blur of orange and blue.

The jolting is going to shake their kneecaps right out of their legs. Their spine will be compressed by six inches by the time they get off. Ainsel hates horses, just now.

And then, without any input from Ainsel, Edelweiss is slowing to a gentle trot and then a lazy stop. Ainsel puts their head up a little to push the horse on further, because they have someone to urgently find and no delay can be had - but then they blink, and their sandblasted, watery vision coalesces into the very face of the man they had ridden out to find. When the ringing in their ears from being so thoroughly shaken dissipates too, they can hear Will murmuring to Edelweiss and petting her nose as he casts worried glances at her rider. Ainsel winces; what a clattering they must have made, to pull Will unprompted from his observations.

Ainsel unpeels their fingers from the pommel and attempts to straighten up. The pain is immediate and terrible, lancing up and down their shaken spine, and they list worryingly to one side; they slide into a pair of wiry arms, so they assume Will is rescuing them, but it’s hard to tell, what with the white-out of pain. They end up on the floor, Will being altogether too small to lift anyone over the age of eight, with Williams crouched near their head and looking worried. “Howdy,” Ainsel grits out politely. Will’s frown worsens.

“Alright, who’s done what now,” he says, eyes tracking the length of them as they stretch slowly and awkwardly to catalogue the points of greatest pain. For all that Will Williams is not a doctor, he certainly is getting better at doctoring. He’s less agitated every time: last time Finn had sliced his leg open on a splintered fence, Will had been more annoyed than worried; and these days, he even wraps aching joints and teaches folks how to clean cuts and sores and he went out to see Noel’s husband - God rest him - whenever she asked, even though he couldn’t do anything, until he let her down gently a few weeks before the end. Ainsel is abruptly reminded, with new urgency, of how much they appreciate having not-a-doctor Will Williams around to doctor them all.

“It’s good to have you around,” Ainsel wheezes, their brain-to-mouth filter shaken about a bit by relentless horse riding; Will looks slightly horrified.

“Oh lord,” he says, “are you dyin’?”

Ainsel shakes their head and sits up on their elbows. Will’s palm slides behind the ball of his shoulder to support the motion, warm and steady. “Naw - no-one’s in trouble, promise.”

“Uh huh,” Will says, sounding deeply unconvinced. “And this bat out of hell impression you’ve got going, what’s that in aid of?”

Ainsel makes a face, which Will picks up on immediately. It had been too much to hope that he wouldn’t, of course, and this is all the point anyhow: Ainsel is here to tell Will as early as possible something he may not want to hear, but will eventually find out regardless. He may as well hear it on his own terms.

They had been walking Noel to the hotel for an hour of coffee and polite conversation, for the duration of which they may both pretend that they only know similarly polite and calm individuals. It is...therapeutic. They sometimes bring Will, who can be relied upon for good behaviour, but he’d usually rather be out by the creek or in the prairie grass or in the shade of a cactus pretending he doesn’t know any humans at all; it is, therefore, a surprise to see him standing with his back to them in an expensive pine-green suit at the front desk. Ainsel notes all these details only in hindsight: the broader shoulders, the bowler hat, the set of his stance which is not quite right - like Will, only a good bit older, mirrored and two steps to the left. At the time, though, they had simply seen Will, and not thought a thing of it that Noel should raise the hand not tucked into Ainsel’s elbow and say “Mister Williams! Will you come sit with - oh, I do apologise; I thought you were an acquaintance of ours.”

The man smiles with disproportionate pleasure at being misidentified, leaning forward on his toes in his road-dusty brogues. There is a suitcase at his feet and he is holding his hat to his chest deferentially, but he is still standing in the hotel with a confidence and appearance of belonging that Will has never possessed - possibly ever, but certainly not in a genteel environment like this one. He wears a day’s stubble well, flecked with slightly premature grey, on a jaw which is squarer than Will’s, but just as fine-boned and angular; his voice, when he speaks, sounds like Will when he’s at his most anxious - all old-money, old-country, cold and tall and prickly like the pines in whose snow-capped shadows Will grew up.

“Not at all; perhaps you can help me. You see, I am indeed a Mister Williams - Thomas Williams, ma’am, at your service - and I am seeking a relative of mine who may just be this acquaintance of yours.” Noel makes the appropriate interested noises, but Ainsel goes abruptly cold as though they had broken and tumbled through the surface of a frozen lake, instantaneous and gasping for air. They have this sense of déja vu when looking at Thomas Williams, more than the ordinary familiarity of seeing Will in him - and then they remember. They have seen Will’s big brother before, in the card that had shown them Will’s youth; they barely need to glance at their palm to know that the cards have found their way into their free hand once more, and that the top card is the card that might be the Tower, and might be the Queen of Spades.

“Has something happened?” Ainsel says, interrupting the polite and non-committal conversation Noel is maintaining with the stranger about the quality of the road into Danser Town and the inconvenience of not having a railway out here yet, at every opportunity steering him away from asking her any question about Will’s presence or existence that she might actually have to answer.

Thomas Williams blinks, wrongfooted, but rallies quickly. “I’m afraid my mother has recently died,” he says, and Noel murmurs condolences; Ainsel just watches him. “She and my - cousin were never as close as one might like, but…” Williams casts about, looking away with a shadow over his brow, and Ainsel realises his grief is real and painful - though whether it is for the lost parent, or the lost opportunity to reconcile, they cannot say.

Ainsel nods and tucks the cards back into their pocket, turning solicitously to Noel. “I’m afraid I gotta go; will you be alright-?”

Noel pats their elbow and releases them, message received. Of course Noel will be alright; Ainsel has no idea if she knows what they know about Will’s relation to this stranger, but she sure has gathered that Ainsel is not eagerly bringing one party to the other. “You go, then. I’m sure this fine gentleman will keep me in good company,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes and turning her charm upon Mister Williams like a beam. He blinks in the face of it, and finds himself abandoning his luggage to offer her his arm and lead her to a table almost without noticing.

He certainly had been stunned enough to ignore Ainsel turning on a dime and taking off through the doors at a dead run.

Which leaves them here: lying on the dusty earth in the shadow of a rocky desert outcrop with Will Williams crouched by their head, and wishing that they had sent Tommy or Finn or Johnny out instead - how those bastards make galloping look easy, Ainsel may never know.

Ainsel takes a deep breath, fixes their gaze on Will, and says it firm and simple. “Your brother is here in Danser, and he’s the absolute fuckin’ spit of you, so I don’t reckon you can get away with him not knowing you’re here.”

Will, in an action which is either a credit to his propensity for forethought or reminiscent of a small furry prey animal, does not move for a good five seconds. Then he drops Ainsel’s shoulder and stands abruptly, marching six paces away and staring at the dirt. Ainsel watches in silence as Will chews the inside of his cheek intently. They can’t think what to say that might help: he seems nice is true, but seems is a big word that hides a multitude of sins; he said you were his cousin doesn’t quite accurately convey, the way Ainsel wants it to, that Thomas Williams doesn’t seem to know who he’s looking for at all (sister, brother, neither, both) but is keen to find that person nevertheless; I’m a little concerned that if we leave them alone too long, Noel will have married him for your inheritance by the time we get back doesn’t seem remotely useful, for all that it is honest.

“Did he say why?” Will says eventually, after a good minute of silence in which Ainsel regains their breath and manages to sit up properly and look around Will’s little camp. He usually comes back to town overnight, unless he’s seeking something nocturnal, but he always takes a bedroll and cookpot just in case he gets distracted and forgets to come home; he’s got it all, still packed, in a pile near his horse, and has only brought out a leather-bound notebook, a pencil and some charcoals which he has left on a flat rock pointing southwest where some animals, presumably, are being interesting. In rampant defiance of the gun safety and maintenance talks Finn has repeatedly given him, Will has left his rifle broken over a rock far out of reach with cartridges spilling out over the floor, where any young man with spurs on or sturdy horse in iron shoes might step on or near them and give everyone a terrible shock. Will can be so childlike about animals, sometimes - so focussed upon them and nothing else - that Ainsel reckons he needs protecting. So he shuffles over and puts the cartridges in a box, and carefully mulls over how to answer the question.

“He did,” Ainsel says eventually, voice taut and unwilling. Will sniffs, face twitching with it, but says nothing and doesn’t look his way. They sigh, and turn the box awkwardly between their fingers. “It’s your ma,” they settle on. “I’m afraid she’s, uh, passed. Recently.”

Will doesn’t move an inch. He tells them, sometimes, when he’s drunk on two whiskeys and tired of Danser Town’s shit, about his home country in the northeast; the great lakes in their vast and cosmic stillness, the endless plains of undisturbed snow, the deep dark woods of solemn, unmoving pines stretching out past the point of vanishing. He used to sit out for hours in the summer watching herons stand proudly on the banks of the lakes, being plagued by mosquitos but never minding it, for if he waited long enough a herd of deer might drink by his side, or a great, ageless moose, or perhaps even a bear seeking fish before his winter sleep. Will would sit, ever so still, and wait for the world to unfurl its shy beauty before him like a gift. Ainsel wonders if it’s something they all know to do in the north: if the mountains and lakes and forests impose a certain quiet stillness upon all its inhabitants like austere, frowning schoolmarms, or if this is something Will learned on his own on those occasions he could escape the family home in town.

In the winter, Will says, the trees shiver and pop. Water gets in them, see, and then it freezes, and the sap too; when it expands, it breaks down the pines’ firm, fibrous defenses and the trees start to explode.

“I’m sorry,” Ainsel offers.

Will nods, short and sharp, like he’s decided something. And then, without looking at Ainsel at all, he goes back to his notebook and squints at the horizon.

“...you ain’t gonna come back an’ see him?” Ainsel says cautiously.

“Thank you for telling me,” Will says, sounding more cool and moneyed than he ever has - the difference takes Ainsel aback a moment, for all that it is rather familiar. Will had sounded like that fresh off the train into town, and it hadn’t really occurred to them before how much his accent had mellowed into something more gentle, casual, and local to Danser. The switch back is a little like being struck. “You may go, now.”

Ainsel is not quick to anger. They have long accepted the vagaries of the universe, and others within it; their follies and irritations are something to which Ainsel is quite resigned. A thing has to be pretty damn offensive to rile them into anger.

So there is no small amount of alarm on Will’s face when Ainsel hauls themself off the floor, marches across the small clearing between the great desert rocks, fists their hand in Will’s shirtfront and presses him against the rock with a snarl. “Listen here, you sonuvabitch,” Ainsel says sternly, “I rode across the desert so fast all my damn bones are broke so’s you could know your brother was here on your own terms, and not ‘cause some helpful bastard in town’s brought him straight to ya. I ain’t askin’ for nothing from you, Will Williams, but I reckon I deserve some of your goddamn respect.” Will looks rather contrite. Ainsel thinks of the card vision, and the gentle man within who so cared for the child, and how eager Thomas Williams had been at the hotel to find someone who looked like him, and presses their advantage. “What’s more, I reckon you oughtta come speak to your brother, who’s grievin’ and who came out all this way lookin’ for you-”

Will’s dark eyes flash abruptly flinty, and Ainsel knows that they have misstepped. It’s still not enough warning: Will makes a fist and punches the soft inside of Ainsel’s elbow with his sharp knuckles, breaking the hold Ainsel has on his shirt, and while Ainsel is gasping with the shock of it he plants his hands flat on Ainsel’s chest and shoves hard enough to move them a good few paces. “You have no idea who he came out looking for,” Will hisses, pointing accusingly and stalking forward into Ainsel’s space, “but it sure as hell wasn’t me. He may be my brother, but I’m not his.”

“I reckon you are!” Ainsel blurts out, too busy thinking about how Thomas Williams had leaned forward on his toes to get nearer those people that might know Will to mind themself.

“The devil do you know about it all?” Will cries, throwing his hands in the air, and Ainsel recoils, wounded. “I don’t see how you can tell me what to do, as though you’ve no secrets you don’t want to address. You don’t - you don’t know me. None of you do. You-” this with a look of disdainful, injured pride and a dismissive gesture in their direction “-don’t even know yourself. So get out.”

Ainsel, for a moment, cannot breathe for the terrible hurt of it all. They have to shift one foot behind them a little to avoid stumbling backwards and folding like a broken chair to the floor. Will turns away to fuss with his drawing materials, and Ainsel works their jaw until sound comes out. “So that’s it, huh. You’re skipping town because you’re too fuckin’ yellow to see your own brother.”

Will shakes his head without turning around. “No,” he says, cool and measured, “I am going to stay here until he leaves and then return once he’s moved on, because he won’t search Danser twice and because I am-” he tilts his head thoughtfully, like a mockingbird “-too fucking yellow to see my own brother.”

“Yeah,” Ainsel mutters, turning back to Edelweiss and hauling their battered frame back into the saddle. “I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

Will turns, glare spitting with fury, but Ainsel is already pulling Edelweiss around and nudging her into a steady trot back towards Danser. Edelweiss, having enjoyed her taste of speed and freedom, wants to run wild and joyous across the desert dust, to loop around the town into the prairie where the ranches are and cascade over the hill past the fenced-in stock animals and whinny her mocking laugh at them all, for she is free, free, wild and free - but Ainsel does not. They keep her reined tight until she snorts and huffs and tosses her great head and shows her tombstone teeth, but they allow her nothing. Ainsel is tired of runners, anyway.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Hallucinations and Salutations || Leah and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Kaden goes hunting in the woods and finds a phoenix instead of ballybogs.

Somedays Kaden wished he could just ignore what he knew, just stay at home and maybe have a nice, normal relaxing night, warm and comfortable, dog curled up beside him. That wasn’t his life though. So here he was, walking through the woods. There were reports of large frogs along one of the hiking trails in the woods. In isolation, not terrible news. Weird but fine. However, the reports also said that some of the people who crossed their path ended up in the hospital with symptoms of poisoning. If Kaden had to guess, he was pretty sure once he got there, he’d find ballybogs. He could have let it lie stayed home. Sure, it was winter, there were less hikers than normal, but that didn’t mean no hikers. He could have just closed the path. No, instead he was going to take care of the problem personally. He’d made sure to wear gloves and a scarf wrapped around his face and hat. He really should have brought goggles, too, to protect himself from the poison but he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. And he wasn’t sure he had any. Along the way, he heard a heartbeat up ahead and paused. There was no way to tell for sure what sort of creature it belonged to just by that, but the rhythm and the footfalls certainly suggested human. He fucking hoped. “Hello?” he called out, voice muffled by the scarf. “Anyone here?”

Despite the rain’s miserable qualities, there was always something special about a walk through the forest after a storm.  The way the puddles settled on the ground, like temporary pools of reflection that begged to be explored or splashed in.  Leah, of course, would never venture close enough to something so dangerous to her, but they were certainly nice to look at.  Especially now, when they seemed to be dancing, swirling different shades of blue throughout them.  If she were being honest with herself, she didn’t even know how she ended up here, or why she was in the forest on this particular day.  A more lucid version of herself might have explained that she was attempting to get back on her feet and exploring the forest alone like she always did seemed like the best way to do that.  It had been working, too, until she came across a rather large toad that she immediately recognized as a ballybog.  A ballybog who viewed her as a threat and shot some of it’s poison right onto her face.  That didn’t matter now, though, because the puddles colors were still dancing, intoxicating and bright, and she wondered what kind of unknown magic they possessed.  A voice she recognized shook her out of her thoughts, it echoed through the trees around her.  She looked up, spotting the most annoying person on the planet.  “You again?!”, she said, rolling her eyes dramatically.  “I’m trying to watch the show in peace, Kaden.  Is nothing sacred anymore?”  Behind him, a dog was juggling on a unicycle, and she scoffed out a short laugh.  “Is that yours?” she asked looking beyond him.

Of all the people to find out here, it was Leah. Kaden thought about rolling his eyes and walking away, he was sure she wanted nothing to do with him anyway, but she beat him to the punch. At least on the former part. He still was planning to opt for the latter himself but her words threw him off. “Again?” he asked, scrunching his brow. “Leah, what the fuck are you talking about? A show?” He glanced behind him, following her finger and gaze, only to see nothing there. He whipped back to look at her. “Is what mine? Leah are you al--” The pieces came together and Kaden sighed. He was out here looking for ballybogs. Either the librarian was off her rocker, or, more likely, she found the monsters first. “You know what, you’re right. Nothing is sacred. In fact, I’m here to take you to the show,” he said reaching his hand out to her. “Come on, we have to get out here.” Before more ballybogs found them. She was clearly already under the influence and the last thing they needed was for him to fall under, too. “It’s, uh, it’s not-- I mean, the show is… somewhere else. Not here,” he said, trying to play along. Only he had no idea what he was working with. Or if she was going to trust him in the slightest.

“The show is there, you Indagor,” Leah said, pointing to the puddle of rainbow colors.  If only she had seen that type of representation when she was a young teen.  Still, she looked to his hand and reached to grab it, something about it seeming warm and inviting.  Warm, warm, warm.  She gasped, realizing his trick almost instantly.  “No!” she shouted at him, pulling her hand back just before it grabbed his.  “You may not feel my skin.  It is no warmer than yours!”  She rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets and swallowing, anxious about how close that had been.  Was Kaden here to steal her tears, then?  She furrowed her eyebrows at his words, looking to the rainbow puddle.  Was this just the pre-show?  She turned to him again, suspicious, but taking a few steps in his direction.  “I’ll allow you to show me, but don’t think you’re getting any tears out of me, buddy.”  She should really try to be nicer to him- he was Bea’s friend and someone Regan liked to kiss, for some reason.  “I like your beret and striped shirt”, she muttered stubbornly as she walked behind him.  “You must get along so well with the other mimes.”

“In-da-what?” Kaden said, brow furrowing. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Clearly his attempts to persuade her wasn’t working. The hallucinogen from the ballybog was too strong. At least he hoped like hell that’s all this was. “Fine. I won’t take your hand,” he said, holding his hands up in a bit of surrender. It would be so much easier to just leave her there and walk away but no part of him could ever actually leave someone behind like that, let alone someone he knew. “Tears? Putain, did our conversations before make you cry or something? Why would I want you crying? I just want to get you out of, uh, the way. Out of the way of the performance.” He hoped this would work. Hell, at least she was following him. That was something. “My what?!” He stopped dead in his tracks and she ran into his back before he turned to look at her. “I am not a mime. I’ve never been a mime. And I’d sooner die than be a mime, got it?” He didn’t care if she was practically high, he wasn’t going to stand for this slander.  

“Inda-goooooor”.  Leah sang out the last syllable, holding her hands out triumphantly as she walked closer to Kaden.  “They’re monsters that look like buttholes and never leave you alone. It was rude to call you that, but sometimes that’s just. How. I. Feel.”  A wave of relief overtook her when he relented and seemed to not need to feel her skin just yet.  Perhaps there was a way she could distract him long enough to get away, just in case he got that idea in his head again.  She furrowed her eyebrows at Kaden, his words jumbling and stretching and mixing together.  There was no deciphering what he was saying, and suddenly, concern overtook her features.  “Kaden, Bud, you doing alright?  None of that coming out of your mouth sounds like words.”  She watched the ground as she walked behind him, fascinated by how all the little people down there managed to create such intricate choreography on the spot.  As she walked into him, she let out a grunt, reaching for her collarbone and rubbing it, though none of the pain she’d been used to appeared.   “If you’re not a mime, then why are you dressed like that?”, she mumbled under her breath.  Hearing calming music in the distance, she looked beyond Kaden, noticing a creature dancing in a rather large puddle a few paces ahead of them.  “Now that is fascinating!” she said, squinting her eyes to get a better look.  “Is that the show?”

“Putain de merde, really?” Kaden said with a sigh. Of course she was insulting him with rare supernatural lore. That was about the only thing that made sense right now. “Pick a simpler insult next time, alright?” For a moment, he considered asking her how she knew all this, where she got those supernatural books she had at the ready. She was clearly under the influence of the ballybog poison, she might tell him. But even if he did ask, there was no guarantee anything she said would be coherent. And even if it was, he was damn sure he didn’t want to be the sort of person to even ask right about now. “What do you mean it doesn’t sound like words?” he asked. Well that made it clear now was not the time for any conversation. He needed to get them out of these woods and get her home in one piece. Quickly.

Kaden’s brow furrowed as she mentioned mimes. Why was it always the fucking mimes? “Dressed like what?” He looked down at his clothes, checked his shirt. It was flannel. And his jacket was black. Nothing was striped. He was damn sure of that, he would never willingly walk out of the house wearing black and white stripes. But it was nice to see that Rumpleskuffs hadn’t messed with his wardrobe on his way out the door. What wasn’t great to see was Leah leaning over into a puddle that had a hand rising up from it. “Leah!” Kaden shouted as he reached to grab her and yanked her away from whatever the hell was crawling out of the water. It was strange how warm she was given how cold it was outside. Maybe the poison was giving her a fever. Merde, they had to get out of there. “Come on, we’ve gotta g--” His words were cut off by a scream as he felt something wrap around his ankle, trying to drag him down and backwards.

Leah nodded, satisfied with herself.  She wasn’t sure if his frustrated mention of poutine was due to the fact that she was definitely smarter than him, or if he was just that upset that there weren’t any fries around.  Either way, his reaction was funny, and a snorted laugh escaped her.  Normally, she would have been mortified at such a loss of composure in front of someone she was not at all comfortable with.  “I mean you’re talking all jumbled up, almost like a song.  Remember the mirror house at the summer carnival?  You sound like that.”

“You know… all stripped.  Red Scarf.  Beret.  Face paint.  Isn’t that the mime uniform?” She said as she walked over to the puddle creature to get a better look.  She was sure she was a safe distance away, and huffed in annoyance when Kaden made the dramatic move to yank her away.  She turned around to face him when he screamed, looking him up and down with concern.  First, his words were jumbled up, and now he was screaming.  Clearly something was wrong with him, they really needed to get him to this show to calm him down.  After staring and searching for a while, her eyes fell to his feet, and to the hand wrapped around his ankle.  “Oh look! That’s weird.  That thing looks like it’s trying to pull you into the puddle.”  She furrowed her eyebrows, watching as the hand danced around Kaden’s ankle, coaxing and curling and cunning.  It seemed familiar, like the horror stories about water monsters she and her siblings used to tease each other with when they were children, prompting fear in her belly after every rainstorm that plagued White Crest.  She shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts, and focused again on the man in front of her.  The mime clothes were gone, but Kaden’s face was filled with distress.   She licked her lips, stepping forward to grab his hands, attempting to pull him away from the monster in the puddle.  “Don’t worry Kaden, the water won’t kill you like it would us, but the monster’s teeth probably will.”  Her feet were getting dangerously close to the puddle as well, but she was too focused on pulling Kaden to safety (and maybe too high on ballybog) to realize.  She tried as she pulled to place the name of the monster- Voltron, Virginia, VapidHunterMan- “Vodnik!”.  Saying the name aloud stirred something deep within her, and her eyes locked with Kaden, concern suddenly lacing her features.

Kaden didn’t have time to question her about whatever strange mime illusions she was seeing. Not now, not as he felt himself being dragged down towards a puddle. “The water won’t what?!” he shouted back as he clawed at the ground and rocks and roots, trying to find something to hold on to, anything to pull himself out of the iron grip around his ankle. His heart pounded in his chest, what a fucking shitty time for Leah to be under the influence of a hallucinogenic supernatural frog. Would she even reach out to take his hand? Even try to help? His eyes grew wide as he watched her, chest heaving as he dug his fingernails deeper into the dirt, trying with all his might to keep himself from being yanked away. It was possible that even if she were in her right mind, she’d leave him there. If he found the breath to speak again, maybe he should tell her to run. At least one of them would make it out alive that way. Then he felt her hands around his and his head shot up to meet her gaze. She was helping? Right, she was helping. He did his best to help let her guide him away from the monster, hoping she was strong enough to at least afford him some leverage as he kicked backwards, flailing to hit whatever it was trying to pull him away. “Vodnick?” he said on an exhale? Putain. A fucking vodnick? Shit fucking shit.

Kaden scrambled even more, got his free foot square on the ground and used it to push himself forward, out of the monster’s grip. He tumbled to the ground, landing on his side, shoulder sliding through the mud and grime of the forest floor. He groaned as he stood up and straightened himself out. It looked like the monster was gone. For now. But they were surrounded by puddles. And one of them, maybe all of them, contained a monster. “We have to get out of here. N--” Before he could say now, a roar split through the forest and a creature burst up from the ground, water splaying and spraying around it. Kaden threw himself in front of Leah like a human shield, reaching for his knife. It felt small and pointless against the growling creature but he was going to do his best. Not what he came prepared to fight, but he was damn sure his training wasn’t about to let him down now.

Leah pulled and pulled with all her might, her eyes now traveling between Kaden’s face and the monster that threatened to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper.  It was hard to focus, because his face morphed and twisted as she pulled, like the puddle she was looking at earlier, but with more less color and more eyes. When Kaden was finally free, she plopped back onto the ground with a grunt, feeling the slight sludge of mud underneath her.  What an interesting texture- she had an urge to reach out and touch it with her- No….Mud wasn’t good- mud meant moisture, and moisture meant water, and water definitely meant ouch.   It was a better idea to reach for Kaden next to her for support as she stood up, and that’s exactly what she did.  Although he was saying something, Leah barely registered it, instead focusing on the trees that swayed and danced behind him.   She was about halfway to standing when the monster roared out, but it wasn���t the noise that gained her attention.  Small droplets of water made contact with her arm and a harsh, sizzling noise could be heard underneath the roar.  She cried out, covering the skin with her hand, eyes wide as she looked between it, Kaden, and the Vodnik.  There was something about the pain from the splash that sobered her up considerably, though only enough to cause her complete confusion in what around her was real.  She grabbed the small of Kaden’s back as he jumped in front of her to shield herself, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in.  

“I can’t-... Don’t let it… It wants to get me we-” Her words were cut off by another cry of pain as a wet, slimy hand wrapped itself around her ankle from behind them.  Water from the creature’s hand soaked through her jeans immediately, and the stinging from it hurt worse than she expected it to.  There were always times growing up that she’d had the occasional contact with water, it was almost inevitable, especially living in White Crest, but something about this felt heavy and elevated, so much so that she didn’t bother hiding the pain from Kaden like she normally would. As it attempted to pull her down, Leah was thrown to the ground.  She thrashed and struggled, attempting to get away before she was submerged.  “Kaden!”, she cried, her voice fearful and desperate. “I can’t get wet! I ca- don’t let it take me, ...p-please!”

Kaden kept his eyes in font of him. Which was his first mistake. The vodnik had shifted behind them and the hunter twisted back to face the screams from behind him. “Leah!” he shouted as he saw her being pulled down. Shit, she was on the ground before Kaden had a chance to figure out what was going on. Putain de merde. He reached out to grab her back and missed her at first. Shit, the knife was in the way. He dropped it and tried again, gripping her hands and wrists, pulling her away from the monster. “Hold on! I’ve got-- What?” His brow furrowed at her shouts that she couldn’t get wet and nearly loosened his grip as she slid back. Shit, shit. He threw himself towards the monster and her ankle and started prying the beast’s grip off her. Still, it didn’t make sense. Vodniks didn’t secrete acid, did they? It was just water. Why was she afraid of it? Putain, didn’t matter, he’d figure that out later. Right now he needed to get her away from harm and kill this fucking monster.

Kaden’s mind raced as he tore the monster away from Leah. Vodik. Shit, had to run through his memory for what he knew about them. Water monsters. Great, that was obvious. Came out of any water, right he saw that right now. Weaknesses, what the fuck were their weaknesses? He was pretty sure anything would kill them, nothing specific needed. But there had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

Putain. That was right. “We have to get it out of the water. Back up!” he shouted once she was free. Kaden then reached into the puddle before it tried to slink away and dragged the beast from the water. A shiver ran down his spine as his hands touched the water, worse than any werewolf, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He reached down for his knife, any knife, only to find it wasn’t there. Shit. “The knife!” he yelled, hoping she’d figure out to toss it over.

A searing pain continued to pulsate from Leah’s ankle, where the Vodnik’s hand was securely wrapped with no indication that it had any intention of giving in.  In the depths of her mind, a monster like the Vodnik was always something she was most afraid of, and it was some sick twist of fate that she was stuck begging for help from someone she trusted so little.  Still, she wrapped her arms around Kaden as he pulled her free, and for the first time, she was grateful he was a hunter.  She couldn’t believe that thought had even crossed through her mind, but it was true- she just hoped she’d forget about it before she completely sobered up from whatever was making her feel so loopy.  

As soon as she got her bearings about her, she backed up like he asked, being sure to avoid any other puddles dancing on the ground around them.  The water still swirled and twisted inside, but it no longer looked inviting or entertaining.  Something shiny caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, but she needed to deal with something much more important first.  Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she pulled at the wet jeans around her ankle, rolling them up to reveal her smoking skin underneath. The water from the Vodnik had done a number there, but it was nothing a few tears couldn’t fix.  At least none of it had burned off- Kaden had gotten to her just in time.  Kaden… was he speaking again?  Whatever he said sounded hollow in her ears, like he was worlds away instead of 7 feet.  She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to make out his words in slow motion.  The knife.  Oh!  The knife!  Did he lose it?  She looked around her feet, trying to recall where she’d seen the shiny silver twinkle just moments before.  “Ah!” she said when she finally located it, picking it up and turning to him triumphantly. Except, it wasn’t a knife she was holding at all, it was a twig.“The knife!”, she called, tossing it across the way to him.  

His grip slipped and slid aas Kaden tried to hold onto the mossy, slimy monster that was thrashing against the grip of his arms. The vodnik wanted desperately to drag kaden back to the puddle, deep down into the murky waters and devour him. It tried to find a way to grab the hunter, pull him down. A chill shot through Kaden as he did his best to keep it contained, shoving his elbow into the monster, slamming his boots against any loose limb he saw. It wasn’t fear that brought the chill, though. It was something else. If only he had a fucking knife. He took a chance to glance back at Leah to see what the hell she was doing. That glance didn’t provide much answers, she was wandering around near aimlessly. “Putain! Any second now!” he yelled back as the monster clawed at him and roared. It was trying to grab onto his wrist, pull it away and drag him back.

Just when Kaden thought he’d have to reach for a rock and make shit up as he went along, his head shot back to see the knife flying towards him. He caught it and twisted it under hand, stabbing the monster in the gut, digging the blade deep into its flesh. The screech of pain that waled through the forest was loud, but Kaden had heard much worse. He kicked the thing away and leaned over to slit its throat, pulling the blade across swift and clean, before stabbing it in the heart for good fucking measure. It wasn’t long before the creature stopped writing and screaming and lay there in the forest dead. Certainly not the worst fight Kaden had endured, but all the same, he felt drained in a way he couldn’t explain. Like there was a fog around him and like he was freezing at the same time. “I don’t-- Are you--” he started to ask before he slunk back down to the ground to sit and hold his head. He needed the world to stop spinning. “Okay,” he managed to say at last. “Are you okay?”

Wait-... no.  The twig knife Leah tried to throw fell halfway across with a plop, and she realized a moment later that the weight had been all off.  Maybe whatever was making her feel loopy was making her see things as well.  Focus, Leah.  She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath in before opening them again, noticing a glint under a few leaves a few feet away.  “Sorry, I got it!”, she called grabbing the new knife and tossing it back and forth, making sure it was the right weight.  “Here, this should be right!” she called to him, tossing it across to him, hoping she was right this time.  She let out a breath of relief when he caught it deftly.  There had never been any doubt in her mind that he’d been lying about being a hunter, but watching him do his work made her want to close her eyes and turn away, especially at the scream the creature let out- desperate and agonizing.  It didn’t feel like Nell with the Ustra, or how she and the others had dealt with the reanimated corpses. The way Kaden killed the Vodnik felt much more final, but she supposed that when you were trained to kill your whole life, finality was to be expected.

The skin around ankle still stung like a bitch, and she still couldn’t tell up from down, but she was fine.  “I’m okay”, she nodded, watching in concern as he slunk to the ground.  She walked over to him quickly, and warm skin be damned, she placed her hands on his arms- gently, as if to get his attention.  He was freezing, and something gnawed in the deep precipice of her memory, begging to come through.  “Are you?”, she asked, tilting her head to try and make eye contact.

His first instinct was to push her away, refuse the help, soldier on by himself. It was what he always did, it was what he was supposed to do. But Kaden didn’t have enough energy to fight her help. He couldn’t tell if her skin was warmer than usual or if he was just that cold but it almost hurt it was so warm against his skin. The exact opposite of what he was used to whenever Regan or Morgan touched him. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. The thing was dead. That meant he should be okay. “We have to get out of here, there could be more. And the bally--” Kaden tried to push himself up off the forest floor and start marching ahead, but the trees looked sideways and his head was light and dizzy so he reached out to brace himself on her shoulder, trying to steady the world. It didn’t do a whole lot of good. “Back. Have to. Get there.”

“Woah, okay… Kaden, you need to stay sitting”, Leah said, trying to guide him back down.  “You’re… not, we-...” The bally.   Ballybogs?  That certainly explained why nothing seemed to make sense… had she had a run in with one before Kaden found her?  She looked back at him, her face questioning and full of concern.  “There’s something… we’re forgetting something, Kaden… it’s why you’re all out of whack.” Something about Vodniks that would explain why Kaden could barely speak.  She searched him for injuries, holding up an arm, tilting his head to look at his neck, moving his legs to make sure they had the proper dexterity… but everything was in perfect working condition. Everything except… his body temperature.   His skin was so cold. Oh!  “You’re hypothermic...” she said, squeezing his hands gently between hers.  “Common Vodnik tactic. Too much contact with its puddle, that’s why.”  She looked him over again, and with each passing moment, he seemed to be getting worse and worse.  She grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse, and paled when she was met with one that was irregular and weak.  It was getting bad fast, and if she didn’t do something quick, he was going to die out here.  Letting out a nervous breath, she surveyed the area, and then she quickly pulled her coat off, draping it over him.

If you would have told her 4 months ago that she was going to do what she was about to for a hunter, she would have never believed you.  She would have told you that he got what he deserved for messing with a vodnik, that this is what hunters got for trying to play god on a daily basis with their sick cruelty.  But even as the images of Kaden blank faced and slitting the vodnik’s throat danced through her mind, her heart hurt at the idea of letting him die here. “Don’t worry”, she whispered, though she wasn’t sure he was processing anything she was saying.  She placed her hands on his arms once more, closing her eyes.  With expert precision, she released the heat from within her, feeling it flow from her hands and into Kaden, coaxing him back to the warmth of the world.

The words felt like they were going through cotton to get to reach his ears. Kaden furrowed his brow and tried to piece them together again, find the meaning through his haze. “Hypothermic?” he repeated, hoping maybe saying it aloud would help give it some more meaning. It sounded bad, it was bad. What it meant for real, he couldn’t say right then. He just knew he felt bad. And if that was bad, he had to trust her that was the bad thing happening right now. “N--no. You need your c-coat,” he said, teeth chattering as she put her coat on him. He wanted to refuse it, it was still winter and cold in Maine, she needed it. He would be fine. Just fine. Still, he didn’t have the energy to knock it off. He didn’t manage to reach his hand upwards before she took both of them in her own. Maybe he shouldn’t question it. She was clearly doing better than he was right now.

Kaden had no clue what was going on, what she could manage to do with her hands to cure him of whatever hypo-thing was happening to him. Wait. Was she magic? She said she couldn’t get wet. Did she think witches would melt like in the wizard of oz? But she wasn’t green. And they weren’t in Kansas. Or Oz. Thinking was still hard, but the heat coming from her hands felt like it was spreading, pushing its way through the rest of his body, almost as if someone had turned on a space heater and thawed him out. Slowly, he felt some of the fog lifting as the warmth settled in around him. His brow continued to crease as she continued to help. “Are you… what are you, exactly? Because I’m pretty sure librarians don’t normally do that.”

It was finished as quickly as it started, and Leah could tell just by glancing at Kaden that her plans to warm him up had worked and that he was feeling much better.   What she hadn’t expected were his questions so soon.  She was sure it’d take him a while to come to, so that Leah could formulate a believable enough explanation that would make sense to someone with as much supernatural knowledge as Kaden had.  She pressed her lips together, pulling her coat off of him and slipping it on, now a bit more aware of the frigid temperature now that she had given Kaden a good amount of her heat.  “Librarians don’t normally do what?”, she asked as she zipped it up slowly, avoiding his eye contact.  It was surely only a matter of time before he worked it out, and for once, she didn’t know how she felt about Kaden knowing what she was.  “What makes you assume I’m anything but human?”

“Function like a human space heater or get burned by water,” Kaden filled in as he wiped off his knife and put it back away in its sheath before standing again. “It was just water, right? I mean, I didn’t think vodniks shot acid but I could be…” He didn’t think he was wrong, though. Curious that she mentioned the word human. His head tilted to the side at her statement. Here he was assuming she was a spellcaster when it might be a touch more complicated than that. “Not much. Just, uh, well... that. What you just said.” He waited for the churn in his stomach, the unease of the thought of standing next to someone not human, a monster. But it didn’t settle in the way it once did. He was left feeling blank and a bit confused. Was that worse? Kaden didn’t know. There was guilt, or something like it creeping in. From what or why it was there, that he didn’t know.

“Vodniks don’t shoot acid”, Leah answered quickly, shoving her hands into her pockets.  She was going down an incredibly stupid path.  Alone, in the woods with a hunter, practically guiding him toward what she truly was.  Her family would practically disown her if they found out about it.  All the teachings churned through her mind, that hunters were awful- desperate for a kill and would turn you over for information or tears at a moment’s notice.  They were trickers and evil and wrong.  And Kaden proved that, right?  He was insufferable and a know-it-all and just incredibly broody in every sense of the word.  But then why did she feel a sense of trust toward him?  Why did she feel like she could tell him and he wouldn’t use it against her?  “It’s no secret between us that I’m aware of the supernatural, Kaden.  I just thought you were implying something, is all.  I guess my coat was just extra warm, that must have been what helped you.”

Kaden wasn’t sure why the lack of trust stung him. There was no reason he should care. And there was no reason for her to trust him. None at all, really. Sure he saved her from the vodnik, but that was just his obligation, just because of what he was. His training. He was a hunter. And he knew how she felt about those. About him. Maybe he should just shut up and be grateful that she didn’t let him die out there. “Yeah. Must have been,” he said, shuffling and not meeting her eyes. Still, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. “You know for a second I thought you might be like Bea. Considering, you know. Friends. All that.” That sounded stupid even to him as it left his lips. “Guess I was wrong. And it was just the coat. Nothing supernatural at all. Guess I should thank your coat and not you. In that case.” He wondered if she would take the bait. Probably not.

His hurt tone made Leah pause, but it was the mention of Bea that really caused a pang in her heart.  He was being so incredibly dramatic, as always, but he had never brought her up directly, before now.  She let out a huff and started walking out of the forest slowly, knowing he’d follow close behind.  After closing her eyes for a short moment, she began to open up, finally.  “You’re not far off, actually”, she started, clearing her throat awkwardly.  “When Bea and I were little girls we were total opposites- still are, in some ways.  Bea was confident and stood up for herself, and was always taught to be proud of what she was, and I was quiet and shy and would have rather folded into myself than given an oral report to the whole class.  And I can’t even remember how we discovered we could both start fires- can you imagine two tiny pyromaniacs on the elementary school playground?  That’s how I always picture it, now.  But it connected us, irrevocably and forever.  And it’s something that’s so purely part of each of us, but not for the same reason.  There were things she could do that I couldn’t, and vice versa.”

“But as a phoenix”, she glanced at him, only for a moment, desperate to read his reaction and desperate to hide from it at the same time, “I always knew it was important to hide who I am.  Not out of shame, but out of pride and protection.  In the same way that you were taught that the supernatural were dangerous, I was taught that hunters were.  Are.” She paused her speech, but kept walking, wary of the awkward silence that hung between them. “I almost brought you tears when I found out what happened with Agatha”, she admitted.

Kaden stood there blinking for a moment, stunned by the vulnerability Leah was displaying. He hadn’t even really asked for it. Alright, maybe he had poked for it at little, but it was more about her than she’d shared with him maybe ever. Here. In the woods. A few feet away from a dead vodnik and probably a few ballybogs now that he remembered. All he knew to do was stand there and listen. For a brief moment, he believed she was also a witch, just like Bea and Nell and Luce. Even Cece and once upon a time, like Morgan. But what she really was stunned him even more. “A what?” he blabbered before he could even think. He could have put the pieces together. In fact, he was almost there, but it just seemed unreasonable to think it was possible in a way. A phoenix? He knew a banshee (two, even, unfortunately) and now a phoenix. He couldn’t comprehend it. Both species that he was told were rare enough he’d likely never cross paths with one of them his whole life as a hunter. He could only manage to blink some more, trying to process what the hell he’d just learned and what it meant. And why he was now the sort of person who just accepted that and didn’t reach for a knife. “Oh,” was all he managed to say in response. “I… thanks. I-- I mean I heal pretty quick but, uh...:” Kaden shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down, to the left, right, anywhere but right at Leah. “That makes sense. You know. You and Bea. Now.”

Leah let out a long sigh, nodding.  It was over.  It was out, and there was no taking it back anymore.  She glanced at him again, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to call all of his hunter friends to come and kidnap her and her family for their tears and steal all the information in the scribary.  Well, he didn’t know about the scribary, did he?  But instead, she was just met with thanks.  Thanks, and maybe a bit of shock as well. “You have to understand why I haven’t exactly been… the warmest to you now, or comfortable sharing what I really am.  I don’t share it with anyone, really.  Which, ...please keep this between us, Kaden.”  She nodded, chewing on her lower lip anxiously.  “And I’ll do my best not to set you on fire”.  Her playful tone, she noted, was probably foreign in Kaden’s ears, but she hoped it shone through earnestly.  Suddenly the dog on the unicycle from earlier road around them, tipping its hat at her.  “I think I’m still hallucinating a bit…”, she said, her eyes wide as she waved back at him.

“Right, makes sense,” Kaden replied, still reeling a bit from everything she’d just told him. And even more so after she threatened him. But with a smile. Right. It was so easy to forget how dangerous she could be when talking to her. The same way it was easy for him to forget that Regan, Morgan, or Ari could be dangerous at times. It was the same trap he’d watch bleeding hearts fall into for years. And here he was, falling into it all on his own. He rolled his shoulders back, like he could shrug it off physically, whatever weirdness he was feeling. It didn’t go anywhere, but he could at least pretend it was all just a result of the hypothermia he’d felt earlier. “Yeah, try to keep that at a minimum, thanks,” he finally said back. With a sigh he started taking some shaky steps forward. “Let’s get out of here. For real this time. Should be this way. Come on. We’re going to avoid any and all mimes. Real or imaginary.”

[stevesnailbat]

fear of the (un)known | steve harrington

chapter six : want you to know who i am

summary: Grace, or 007 as she had been called, finally escaped Hawkins Lab after seventeen long years. But, freedom is a lot harder than she thought it would be to maintain.

warnings: mutual pining and angst!! what’s new though

word count: 2.3K

a/n: the gif isn’t mine, it’s from weheartit i believe? i found it on google!

read the rest HERE!

If she could learn to speak three different languages, she could learn to read in English, right? Grace could do it by herself, she knew she could. She was determined to be successful.

Success came at a price, and that price was her own health. She couldn’t tell if she was trying to learn to read because she really wanted to, or if it was just to distract herself from the gnawing pain in her chest, the pain she inflicted upon herself by driving her own teacher—and love interest—away. She was improving every day and she told herself that was what really mattered, it felt like improvement was the only thing giving her a sliver of joy day by day.

El started joining her at the kitchen table when she would read every day. She would read out loud to El, stopping every couple of sentences to explain what a word meant when she’d see El’s brow furrow. Grace was a fast learner, there was no denying it. Once she realized that teaching would help her, she started teaching El how to read when she felt up to it.

It seemed like Grace was at the table for twenty hours a day, reading and mumbling and flipping pages of random books she’d acquired from the cabin—and that bothered Hopper. She was stubborn, though. It wasn’t easy to get through to her, she was trained to be the one doing the convincing, not the other way around.

“You’re gonna end up passing out at this table if you don’t get more than four hours of sleep, you know.” Hop remarked as he walked into the kitchen at 6 a.m. one morning, eyes narrowed as he looked at the stack of books next to her. “Haven’t you read all of those damn books by now?”

“I’m learning. What’s so wrong about that?” she said, a twinge of annoyance in her words. “I’m not bothering you.”

“Not botherin’ me with it, but it does bother me that you’re not sleeping.” he responded, watching as she rolled her eyes at his words. “You’re gonna get burnt out on this shit. You’re killin’ yourself with this determination.”

“I’m not killing myself with determination.” she snapped, finally looking up at him as she flicked the book in front of her shut. “I’m simply trying to find something to do.”

“There’s plenty of things to do besides read shit all day!” Hop replied, coming off more annoyed than expected. “Watch some TV for God’s sake!”

“TV doesn’t help me, Hopper. TV doesn’t occupy my thoughts for longer than two minutes.” Grace retorted, a resentful laugh following her words. “I’m not just looking for entertainment, you know that.”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell you want me to do about it.” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter with an exasperated look on his face.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything!” she said, annoyance and anger beginning to bubble in her chest. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

“Because you’re hurting yourself—“

“I’m not hurting myself! I’m distracting myself from what’s going to really hurt me!” she interjected, suddenly becoming away of El sleeping in the room over as she raised and lowered her voice. “I’m trying to not eat myself alive over here.”

“And you can’t do that with anything other than some bullshit books?” he implored, picking the copy of The Great Gatsby up from the table. “I’m gonna end up taking this shit away if—“

“No!” she resisted, snatching the book from his hands hastily.

“Then find something else other than reading these goddamn books! I’m tired of seeing you hunched over at the table for twenty fucking hours of the day.” he boomed.

“Oh, you want me to do something else?” Grace asked bitterly, rolling her eyes as he nodded at her. “Then I’ll find something else to do.”

She was shoving on a pair of boots and a jacket as soon as she stood from the table. All she wanted was some peace, just for once. Grace knew that Hopper wouldn’t let her go without a fight, but she’d leave the cabin regardless. She’d come back, she told herself, but she needed to leave for an hour or two.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing—“

“I’m finding something else to do.” she said while holding the door handle, cutting his sentence short with sharp words and an even sharper glare. “I’m going for a damn walk.”

“No, you’re not.” he said, hand blocking her from opening the front door more than a small crack. “It’s too damn dangerous out there. You’re not putting your life—our lives at risk to get some fresh air.”

“Watch me.” she challenged, grabbing the edge of the door in a failed attempt to swing it open. “I’m not putting you or El in danger, only myself. Nobody knows that I’m here. I’m going for a walk in the woods and not going to town, because if you keep me in this damn house and take away the only thing that’s distracted me for a a week, then who knows what the hell I’ll end up doing. I’ve let myself slip twice already and I don’t want it to happen anymore—We already saw what that did for one of my relationships.”

Hopper knew he couldn’t argue with her anymore, she was already on edge and he knew that any anger could set that side off. Of course, he didn’t want her to go but he knew she’d come back. She swung the door open once he let his arm go slack on the corner, pushing past him to make her way outside and into the woods.

The woods were vast, Grace knew that. She knew that she’d have to stay close if she wanted to come back. She made her way towards the creek where she’d went with the party and Steve a few weeks back, wishing she could hear the sound of bubbling water. Everything was covered in a layer of frost and ice from the morning dew, it was nearly dead silent. The silence was killer for her mind, ruining the peace she’d been searching for.

After leaving the creek, the silence grew more overwhelming than before. It was like a static in her mind, making her terrible thoughts brew along with the fear already boiling in her throat. The feeling was enough to throw her sense of direction off, putting her on the wrong path.

Grace could tell that she wasn’t going the right way, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to walk in that same direction. It felt like she was walking in circles, she thought she passed through the same trees, the same bushes, the same ground, every five minutes. The scene felt all too familiar, she knew she was in the same woods that she’d been in when she escaped the lab. All she wanted to do was run back to the cabin, she wanted to admit to Hop that she was wrong about leaving, that she’d always listen to him and heed his warnings before doing anything. But she couldn’t even find the creek now, she was in too deep and she knew she was nowhere near where she wanted to be.

The amount of trees began to thin as she continued on, and she could see something other than trees finally. It wasn’t very promising, though. Beyond the tree line was rocks and a gravel drive, which seemed to lead to almost nothing. A breath caught in her throat as tears welled up in her eyes, feeling hopeless about finding salvation in the new area as she walked towards it. A small sob wracked her body as panic ran through her, wondering if there would be any way to find her way back to the cabin. The last thing she wanted was to lose her freedom once again. As she walked, the water below the quarry caught her attention, she was drawn to stare at it—she was fighting to distract herself with something peaceful from the bad within her once again.

Grace's thoughts jumbled together as she walked along the gravel path, vision blurred from tears and a rush of fear through her mind. She couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or if someone was actually calling her name as she walked, but she pressed on. She missed the BMW sitting by the edge of the quarry, her tunneled, blurred eyes forcing all signs of life from her mind as she focused on the water she saw below her. Her mind was fighting her—and it was putting up a tough battle now. But, the strength she’d developed on her own in the last week of independence was immeasurable, she could fight it off now, the urges weren’t as strong as they once were.

Finally, she snapped herself back to reality, consciously realizing how close she’d gotten to the edge of the cliff.

“Grace?” a voice filled with concern called from behind her, Steve’s.

She could’ve sworn Steve had set out to be her guardian angel, honestly. He was always there when she didn’t want him to be, but it was always when she needed it the most. It seemed annoying in the moment, but she knew she’d eventually thank him for saving her so many times. She finally looked back at him to see the worried look spread across his face, relief filling her at the sight of his familiar face.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked, taking a cautious step towards her while closing his car door. “Did you get lost or something?”

Grace could only nod in response, unable to fully comprehend what had happened in the past three hours as she stared over at him. He looked equally as terrified, like he was halfway afraid that she’d turn on him any moment. He had every right to be afraid, she thought, after what she’d done to him before. In reality, Steve was only afraid that she was still mad at him for nearly calling her a monster.

At first, Steve thought she was charging him when she took a quick step in his direction. He flinched and screwed his eyes shut as she approached him at a hurried pace, but was swiftly pulled to ease when he felt her arms around his neck. She had never made the first move to touch anyone else, mainly out of fear of invading their minds.

It was different now, she felt more in control now. She felt like less of a monster, like more of a normal human. A weak cry slipped from her lips as she buried her head in the crook of Steve’s neck, finding comfort in the familiar smell of his stupid Farrah Fawcett hairspray that lingered on his jacket as she relaxed in his arms. Steve stood without moving for a moment, caught off guard by the feeling of her gentle yet needy touch.

“I—I’m learning a—and I taught my—myself how to control the—the stupid u—urges.” Grace stammered with tears streaming onto Steve’s jacket, nearly unable to form a sentence through the cries of relief tearing through her words. “I—I’m sorry I—I couldn’t control my—myself—"

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to apologize for anything, okay? I’m sure it’s not easy to control that shit and—and me arguing with you probably didn’t help the situation.” Steve cut in as he craned his neck to see her nod silently, noticing how cold her skin was against his. “Jesus, Grace, you’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

“I left at s—six this morning.” she faltered, pulling away from his chest as he looked down at his watch with wide eyes.

“It’s almost ten, Grace. How are you not frozen right now?” Steve implored, feeling one of her cold hands as he noted her extremely rosy cheeks and nose. “Are you like, immune to the cold or something?”

“I don’t think so.” she said with a furrowed brow, realizing how she didn’t feel any type of cold in the moment. “Maybe I am.”

“Either way, let’s get you back to the cabin, okay? I think Chief might have a conniption if you’re gone for any longer.” Steve said, throwing his chin in the direction of his car.

The car ride was an improvement from the last time they saw each other, that’s for sure. Grace was able to sit without worry of what was happening next, she even felt a little satisfied with her new ability to fight back against herself.

“Why were you out there, anyways?” she asked, interrupting the comfortable silence between them.

“I go out there to just think sometimes.” he said, glancing over at her momentarily.

She nodded slowly, taking in the guilty look on his face. Grace knew he was thinking about her. She could just tell by the way he looked at her that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the last time he saw her.

“I—Before it gets awkward, I want to talk about what happened the last time we saw each other—if that’s okay.” he said, watching her nod once more while staring straight ahead as he spoke. “I’m really, really sorry. I really am. I overstepped and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I know you’re struggling with all of this and I just want to help. I want to go back to being friends and just—just start over again? What do you think about that?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” she said hesitantly, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Friends.”

Truthfully, she wanted more than anyting to tell him no. To tell him that she didn’t want to just be friends, that she felt things with him that she’d never experienced before. Her heart was aching from even being around him—let alone having him hold her earlier. She wanted so much more than to just be friends, and he knew that too. But they both knew better, they knew they’d break each other’s hearts.

tags: @sourapplebaby @harringtown @jxnehxpper @charmed-asylum @daddystevee @queenofthehairharrington @heart-eye-harrington @hystericalmedicine @a-magey @lemonypink @karasong @batbatsupermanme @used-avocado @letscici @igotmadskills @mikariell95 @anerroroccurrrrred @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @ilovebucketbarnes

[littleladymab]

tiny cracks of light - chapter fourteen

(master post) 

Prelude- Georgie actually laughs when he tells her about the promotion. "You've turned it down, right?" she says, though the amusement drains from her expression as he looks away. "Jon, you turned down this job you're grossly unqualified for, didn’t you?" 

"I… Not really." 

"Bullshit not really, what sort of answer is that? You either have or you haven't." She swings her feet off the window seat, where they were pressed against his thigh, and she leans in to glare at him. "Why haven't you?" 

"I merely haven't given an answer yet. I asked to think it over." He fiddles with the hem of his coat. It's stifling in this room, even in a dream, but he feels awkward taking it off now.

Georgie snorts and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then when you go in tomorrow, you'll turn it down." 

"Why should I?" he asks despite himself, just to be contrary, and it only earns him another glare. "The Watcher requested me specifically." 

She rolls her eyes and gets up to start pacing. "Then that entire branch is going to fall off the tree, and you're better off not being tied to it. Surely they can just hire someone already at that Archive." 

"There is only one assistant remaining." 

"Then they can have that job." 

"I was… I was given the impression that she didn't want it…?" Jon realizes how ridiculous it sounds the moment he says it, and Georgie's ever lifting eyebrow does little to assuage the doubts. 

"Have you spoken to her about it?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Well then!" She tosses her hands into the air. "Tell them you don't want the job, this assistant can have the position in the meantime, and they can find someone more qualified."

"I don't see why I shouldn't be allowed to take the job!" he counters, rising to his feet as well. "I don't see why you think you have any qualification to tell me how to live my life—" 

"It's because we're friends—" 

"Then why don't you support me?" It comes out weaker than he wants, and he can feel the desperation in his tone. That childish need for some sort of connection and approval. 

He hates himself for it. 

Georgie's shoulders slump and she looks away. "You're right, Jon," she says eventually. "I ultimately don't have the authority to make you pick one way or another. All I can do is offer advice." When she looks back at him, he has to fight back the need to apologize. "I hope whatever you choose works out for you, truly, I do." 

"Georgie, I—" 

She leaves the dream before he can get the rest of the thought around whatever jumbled emotion has caught in his throat. 

Jon stands there in the middle of the room, the silence thundering in his ears. He tries to breathe. It doesn't work. He tries again, a ragged inhale. 

Third attempt, and the lodged emotion breaks loose to flood every inch of him. 

He wakes up gasping for breath and tears in his eyes. 

Basira and Tim have the horses saddled and ready to go when Sasha arrives, so they mount up and head back out to the lake as quickly as possible. 

Sasha spares a glance over Tim's shoulder at the Archives, hoping for some sort of sign that Martin has received the note — or is there, or even that he's okay. 

There's so much she wants to know, but doesn't have the strength needed to push back on the Eye. Something surrounds Martin that keeps him from her, similar to what kept Georgie's spell from being able to track him. 

There is little opportunity to talk on the ride, and they keep the breaks to a minimum. Nothing follows them, as far as Sasha is able to tell. She wonders if she might be overreacting, but the Eye urges her forward. 

It wants the Archivist back.

The lake is just as quiet as when they visited it before. The depths of it are darker, and Sasha freezes on the bank as she stares at the still waters. 

Slowly, she tilts her gaze up to the sky. There are streaks of gold and dark pink of the sunset, but it is only a matter of time before it is night. "So it will be like that after all," she says to herself. 

Tim takes her hand, and she grips it fiercely as they step into the lake together.

The remains of their camp are easy to revive, and soon there is a fire burning merrily. They prepare a light meal, and sit down scattered across the shore, waiting. 

Sasha puts it off as long as she can, struggling to figure out the best way to explain the situation. She can feel Daisy's gaze on her, heavy and guarded. Tim doesn't make it easy through no fault of his own. His warmth at her side is comforting, and his fingers occasionally graze over her elbow or her knee. 

"Why does it feel like we're at a funeral?" Melanie grumbles as she picks at her food, feeding pieces of it to the Admiral. 

"Is this going to be Jon's second birthday, or something?" Tim jokes, though the smile doesn't make it all the way to his eyes. 

Sasha shakes her head and pulls her knees up to her chest. "Not really. A homecoming, more like. The Watcher was right in saying that he has been on a mission for the Eye, so to speak." At the mention of the Eye, Sasha starts to trace a pattern into the sand. 

When she realizes the shape that her fingers form, she forces herself to change it. She switches to the symbol she left on the note to Martin — a sigil to disguise and confuse. Over and over until the sand beside her is littered with it, and still she hasn't explained what she wants to. 

Eventually, she sighs and forces herself to relax. This is what it has built up to, after all. It all leads back to this. 

Sasha lifts her head and looks out at the lake. "Those of us here have the strongest ties to Jon. The core piece of him, the one that I retrieved from the End, will be the focus point. I… will be the focus point." 

"Oh," Georgie says softly. "Oh, Sasha." 

Basira's brow furrows and she looks from Sasha to Georgie, and then understanding creeps across her face as well. 

At her side, Tim goes completely still. Beneath the surface, his anger threatens to boil over, but for now, he manages to keep it under control. "You'll what?" he asks, and Sasha closes her eyes. 

"She will be a gateway, channeling the tethers," Georgie explains, her face pale despite the warmth of the fire highlighting her cheeks. "It—" She can't manage to finish the sentence. 

Melanie reaches for her. "It won't end well, will it?" 

Tim slams a hand into the sand between them and the flames leap with his anger. "Like fuck you will," he says, turning towards Sasha. "There has to be another way." 

At some point, Sasha starts shaking her head. "If I rely on the Eye, then the person who comes back won't be Jon. And I… I can't let that happen." 

Martin's words come back to her, clearer now after her conversation with Lukas. None of this means anything if he's not safe.

"Why not?" Tim's voice breaks, turning the question into a plea. 

"He's the only one that can stop this—" 

"What? Stop what, and why should that be more important than you—" 

She lifts a hand to touch his cheek, and he bites his tongue to hold the rest of his anger in check. She wants to tell him to trust her, or that everything will be alright. 

But she can see the embers in his eyes and knows that part of the reason they are there is her fault. "I didn't know, or at least, I had hoped…" 

"That it wouldn't come to this?" 

Sasha hesitates, then nods, and he covers her hand with his own.

"Neither of us should have come back," he mutters. 

She leans up and kisses him. "You don't mean that." 

"One day does not make up for three years, Sasha." 

"It's going to have to." 

Tim exhales through gritted teeth, and bit by bit, the fire settles back to normal. "You always did care too much about this job," he says and lets her go. 

"My greatest flaw," she jokes, and at least Tim manages a small, strained laugh. 

When she looks back at the others, they've all averted their gaze and keep themselves occupied with whatever thing they could find. "It's almost time," she says. 

Georgie drops the facade immediately. "You don't have to be the one to do this, Sasha." 

Melanie hisses and smacks her girlfriend's arm. "Don't you dare suggest that you could." 

She ignores Melanie, holding Sasha's gaze steady. "I know him best out of any of us. And my skill set might be more… suited to this work." 

"Georgie Barker, you don't owe that man anything—!" 

"I don't, but that shouldn't have to mean anything for a friend." 

Tim remains silent. 

Sasha rises to her feet and their argument falters. She brushes off her skirts and straightens her shoulders. "I need you as a support. You and Basira." 

Basira rises at the sound of her name. "Just tell us what to do." 

"I think you will both know better than I. I don't work with spirits or souls." She holds out her hands in a gesture towards the lake, and steps around the fire to lead the way. 

In the center, she guides Georgie and Basira into position on either side of her. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Basira asks, voice low. "It didn't seem to work last time." 

"I was careless last time. I misunderstood the task set before me." Sasha takes their hands in hers and gives each woman a look. "If it starts to go wrong, and the Stranger tries to take over, then stop. Daisy will take care of the rest." 

Georgie's mouth is set into a firm line. "And what will happen to Jon, if that happens?" 

"If I'm successful, then my hope is he's fast enough to get his ass back here to stop it, should that happen." She attempts a smile, but neither of them seem keen on matching it. So instead she huffs a sigh and shakes her head. "The honest answer is I don't know. There's a disconnect, obviously, and he and I are like reflections. But we each have the pieces of us that make us human — that's all of you — and the pieces of us that make us something else. The Eye, the Stranger, so on." 

"And the Archivist…?" 

"Is what happens if Jon isn't strong enough. The same way the Stranger took over my body when it had the chance. I need both of you to gather those pieces of him, and to bind them together." 

Georgie nods and swallows. "I'm ready." 

Basira gives a curt nod as well. 

"Alright…" Sasha steadies herself with a breath and joins Georgie's and Basira's hands on either side of her. "Here we go." 

"Wait—!" 

The cold hits her like a wall, and Sasha's head whips back towards the shore. 

Standing there, silhouetted by the fire, is Martin. He meets her startled gaze with grim determination. "I'll do it," he says. "I'll find Jon."

[icarus-imagines]

Tom Riddle X Male!Hufflepuff!Reader

Word Count: 3,338

Category: Harry Potter

Inspiration/Thought Process: While delving back into the Harry Potter Fandom once again I found out it was our beloved Tom's birthday! A very sweet birthday to our Dark Lord! ❤

(I must say sorry in advance if anybody gets hurt when Tom bashes the Houses. But honestly, I feel it's expected with someone as sinister as him.)

~My Sweet Honey Badger~

Moans fall from your lips with no coherent pattern and for a moment you truly believe what is occurring will never end. In the back of your mind you desperately wish for it to be true; To be able to be this way for eternity.

Peering up through a glossy haze, your (E/c) orbs find silver ones that topple on the edge of having a crimson hue to their dazzling element. Their normal piercing gaze that could cut you with one mere glance was uncharacteristically soft for his manipulative nature. If you stared long enough right then, you would start to believe his eyes were shining from unshed tears, but to openly tell him what you saw would only reward you something akin to punishment

So instead of speaking up to sate your newfound curiosity for the secrets that lay behind his eyes, you submerged yourself into a more pleasurable activity. You focused or at least tried to focus, on the way his body hunched over yours in the most delectable way. Those muscles in his back, beneath your clawed hands, flexed every so often, noticeably when he gave you a harder thrust.

Your legs that had wrapped themselves around his waist, locked at the ankles, were beginning to ache from the act of trying to stay still. But it was proving a futile attempt you soon learned when they began to shake from it. A part of it though, you knew, was the brutal lovemaking that was assaulting you. Soon you had to unlock your ankles when one of his hands ran down a thigh to spread it wide for easier obtained access. That hand hooked under your knee, grasping at that area to not only keep a strong hold but as not to let you fall out of place if you fell exhausted and could not keep it up anymore.

His other hand had secured itself at your hip and a part of you wished to remove in desperation. Yes, it let him keep hold of you, but you knew deep down he was enjoying keeping it there. It let him have complete control over you for it did not let you move. You wanted to meet with him, hips quivering from the process, but he was much too strong for your considerably weaker body.

Your endearing albeit cruel lover forever kept himself between the expanse of your legs. You imagined the display laid before him was obscene. From his view, you knew he would be enjoying it to the fullest when he pulled away from your close grasp. Watching you pant, needing air from the vigorous actions he performed on you, as you grasped onto the emerald green silk sheets below you. Your (H/c) hair plastered itself onto your sweaty forehead, the rest sprawled onto the pillow below you like a halo for an angel.

To him, you were an angel, a being that deserved love. While yes, making love to you was one of the deepest ways to show how much he loved you, it never seemed to be deep enough for him. He wished to commit something that would shake your very core and show you just how much he would do for you. If he was entirely honest he would kill for you. More startling than that, and something he would never admit to even himself is that he would die for you.

Oh God, the countless things he would do for you. Do to you to just show you how much he loved you. Even with his fractured mind, that had first initially begun to shatter when being admitted to that hell of an orphanage, he had a sliver of humanity within his split soul. It was a fragile strand of blood red coloured string that held him to the mortal world full of selflessness and morality. You were that string, that one little piece that connected him to the world and its mirage of purity and good. Imagining you dying would do more than break him, it would kill him.

You looked into his eyes, your eyebrows knitting together in clear confusion, when his expression turned grim and solemn. Just as you opened your mouth to question him on his change of mood your words had turned into a tangle of gibberish when his hips snapped into your own with a loud 'slap!'. Incomprehensible jumbles of words flitted past your delicate pink lips as he berated you with deep thrusts that sent his shaft deeper into that forbidden place within you. Arching your back you could do nothing but whimper and moan declarations of your love and devotion for him as he took you savagely.

You felt so deliciously full. His shaft filled you and soon you could feel it bumping against that single place from within that make your shriek. To calm down your cries of pleasure he moved towards you and covered your mouth with his own. Your words were muffled and soon you were feverishly kissing him back. Though you had no experience whatsoever in the practice you tried your best to pleasure him to, to give back what he had given you in an effort to be equal.

Your tongue poked out of your mouth to slid shyly against his hot lips and though you had doubted it you were granted permission for your small show of boldness. Both of your pink tongues battled together not like of war, but a slow yet fast-paced dance. It was like a small quarrel between lovers that had been married for years uncounted. It took only a minute for him to completely dominate as his true nature persuaded him to do and he sucked on your tongue making your mind grow cloudy with pleasure.

He tasted of a unique flavor. Of expensive bought bitter dark chocolate and that high priced Merlot red wine he always seemed to have a bottle of. He was a man of etiquette and top par manners which disguised just how tainted people had made him over the years. A man of perfection and beauty on the outside while he hid everything else inside.

This may have been one of the reasons you fell so hard for him. For this damaged fallen angel with black stained wings who held you so tenderly in his tight embrace. He had let you in, let you see everything he was. He showed you with the distinct fear you would turn away, but instead of running away, you ran to him. You held all of him and accepted it even though you knew what he had done, what he would do, and what he was capable of.

But even with the dangerous knowledge, you had been given here you were. Mewling below that very man who could utter that hairraising killing curse with a mere whisper spoken against your skin. He excited you, you had to admit. This man with overflowing power with the need for revenge against all who had wronged him.

Your body, seemingly out of nowhere, began to rise in temperature. Your shaft was aching and you could feel it, the need to release, to let go. The answer to your pleas came as another orgasm ripped through you and from your hot prick sprang long threads of sticky cum. It coated your chest and left you embarrassed. With cheeks coated red you felt him twitch within you a groan from his lips alerted you only a second before his own cum filled you inside and made you feel the opposite of empty. You found yourself enjoying the feeling.

Delved deep into your own ecstasy, you only registered with slow movements that he had pulled away and called you. Your tongue lay upon your bottom lip, oxygen rushing in and out of your mouth in the need to breathe normally.

"(Y/n)," he whispered your name like a secret prayer. "My love."

You could only stare at him, his mix of ruby and silver gemmed eyes a brilliant light, obscured only a bit by the dark raven curls that hung from his head. Heavenly were those sharp cheekbones and that strong jaw. You only noticed then you had not replied, so when you did your voice came out as a small raspy word due to your previous screaming.

"Y-yes."

"Did you enjoy this?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I did not push you too far, did I?" he wondered, the hands on your legs climbing along your sides. One hand interlocked with yours while the other cupped your warm cheek lovingly.

"Yes."

Your odd answer made him raise a perfectly arched brow. He realized that you were delirious and out of it even though you had only come three times for you; he didn't think you would have gotten past two. "I've pushed you so hard your mind is confused and you cannot properly assess what is occurring..." he trailed off, that signature smirk appearing on his devilishly handsome face. "Do you like it when I make love to you?"

You only registered a few of the words, moaning at his last few with a blush. "Yes."

His lips latched onto your neck, the kisses searing into your skin like a hot brand. "Who knew...," he remarked with a small dark chuckle.

"Wha-what?" you said leaning into his hand, head tilting to let him have more space to imprint kisses upon your flesh.

"Just thinking about your House," he said simply as if it would answer your question, but it just made you more curious.

"My House...," you trailed off trying to think, but the kisses on your skin. "You mean..Hufflepuff...What...What about it?"

He raised himself from your neck, and your face grew red and hot when you could feel him still inside you, and that he was still hard. The hand cupping your cheek tilted your head to look straight at him, his thumb brushing your bottom lip that had quickly grown swollen from the abuse he has given.

"Who knew...," he repeated eyes glinting mischievously. "That Hufflepuffs could be this...magnifying."

"Magnifying?" His massive vocabulary was always something you admired and every time he used one of those unusual words, like it was a casual one, made you smile.

"Mmhmm," he hummed and without a warning of notice, he moved his hips. Your already sensitive orifice began to prickle once again with the lustful desire to be dominated. He watched in delight as your eyes became half-lidded from the motion.

He rolled his hips into yours in a rhythm that made you ache for more. "Before meeting you, I thought like a true Slytherin. I felt we were the best...We were a separate branch to be worshiped. Superior in every way..."

His words trailed off a bit noticing the tiny glint of fear. He knew how inferior you felt to him, and no matter what he did, it couldn't truly calm your affliction of anxiety about being in a much disregarded House.

He leaned down and to your surprise, he began to press his tongue flat to your stomach. You couldn't see what was happening exactly, but you could feel it, feel him licking it off of you. The cum that you had spilled onto your stomach was being cleaned by him and it made your prick twitch at how erotic it was. This great man, was devouring you.

He leaned back up, one hand on each side of you as he experimentally pushed once into you, but continued with the rhythmic hip motions. Licking his bottom lip, with that tongue of his, to get every ounce of your spill, he eyed you with a look that made you weak in the knees.

"I looked down upon the other Houses. Ravenclaws, while yes they hold admirable wisdom and intelligence, paired with me I know I'll grow irritable with someone who wishes to one-up me in everything I do. Gryffindors, oh that disastrous House. To be with a chivalrous and brave person would only drive me up the wall and want me to punch them. And Hufflepuffs.."

A breath caught in your throat as Tom's lips locked with yours. But it was lacking it's usually fiery passion and was instead something you would fondly describe as...sweet. His mouth was warm and the velvety touch of it sent you rocketing into another high. Breaking apart he hummed like he had previously done, pushing himself into you. He wanted you close, oh so close. Tim turned himself and you to rest and magically the sheets had climbed up to cover your bodies. The fire that merrily crackled in the silver fireplace was warm, but to both of you, your bodies were warmer and much more desired.

"Hufflepuffs were described as the nice house and I quickly deciphered in my mind that they were naive. I believed they had no true value, no true traits to be noted. But then...," a chuckle escaped his lips, his eyes contained a faraway look as if he were recalling a memory he held dear. "I met you. Do you remember?"

You give him a nod, your lips curving up at the memory of your first meeting. "Yes, I recall it was raining. Am I correct?"

He nodded, happy you remembered it as fondly as he did. "I was taking a leisure walk for, I loved the rain, and knew when it rained nobody would ever come outside. I would be alone, with no one to bother me, but then, " His hand went to your head, lithe fingers digging into your hair and massaging your scalp in a calming way. "You appeared. You were running to meet up with some friends, and in your haste, you accidentally bumped into me. We fell in a blur and you were atop of me."

With a quick kiss to your temple, he continued on. "Normally I would have pushed you off in annoyance, or kept up my princely appearance and help you up, so you could be on your way, but I couldn't, I was frozen looking up at you. You right above me with a hand on each side of my head. The cloudy gray skies behind your head was such a contrast to your visage that I thought you were an angel with the scare you had given me."

You giggle a bit at his compliment, listening intently to his words. This new viewpoint of the meeting was making your heart race. "My eye on you, even after we had both gotten up. You were so awkward around me, with those crystal water droplets scattered in your hair, I found myself imaging you as a shy creature of the Forbidden Forest."

"You talk so fondly of me, yet I-" you said hands caressing his toned chest with your fingertips, "still do not know what made you so infatuated with me."

"I do not know either," he answered honestly. "All I know is I remember watching you try to not embarrass yourself even though you stumbled over your words countless times. It was obvious you had an inkling to who I was and wished not to cause a disturbance. Even as my eyes scanned your form, taking in your were a Hufflepuff by the bright yellow tie you sported, I couldn't divert my attention and thoughts away from you."

His hand pushed your head forward to meet his lips in another meeting, the chaste and innocent kissing not exactly arousing you, but making you feel cozy. Pulling away, you admired the fireplaces light licking at his features, he appeared heavenly.

"That blush...," he kissed your hot cheek. "Every time we met since then, you always held one. It would spread across your cheeks, a nice rosy pink. And those lips...," he pecked your lips. "Plump, supple, and may I say seductive? I had to have you, and eventually, I did."

You joined in, shyly leaning into the hand he still held in your locks. "Did you really think I could stray away? The glances you threw my way, and how you would try to talk to me, but... I was too shy and naive when we first met, and I couldn't help but think it was but a dream I had conjured up for myself."

"If it was only a dream, I would surely be disappointed," He murmured, his hot breath on your neck. You shivered feeling it roll on your skin, he caught this reaction, gazeing at you with a small chuckle.

Your (E/c) eyes searched his own for a few seconds, wondering how you had changed his mind on your House. "Hufflepuffs, do you like them, or only me?"

A look of conflict was seen as he tried to find words to say, but was defeated when he saw the look in your eyes. "Would it be wrong if it was only you," he said, kissing your forehead like a mother would do to a child to comfort them. "My oh, so patient and loyal Hufflepuff?"

"I guess...," you said breathlessly. "It would not be too bad."

He smirked at your answer, noticing the way you began to think about him flaunting over Hufflepuffs that were not you. It made you jealous thinking about it and you were surprised you ever thought such things, but a part of you remembered you were still human and you were not entirely categorized by your House. The same went for him.

"You must not look at any other. No Lions or Eagles," you pouted to his astonishment. It also amused him with your peculiar wording.

A smile tugged at his lips as he pets your hair. "And you, my little Honey Badger, shall never gaze upon a Snake. Not to speak negatively of my own House, but I distrust the fools. Cunning is admired, but it's also something to be feared. I don't want them around you."

His hold on you tightened, pressing you against him tighter than you thought possible, your head tucked in his neck. Your heart beat heavily in your chest and you were sure he could feel it. "Quite a jealous snake you are, Voldemort."

You could feel him shiver at the nickname only you could speak. He pulled away, just enough to look at you eye to eye. "I can't help it. Being eye candy, with you by my side, catches a lot of people's attention. Being jealous is something that cannot be avoided you must know."

"Whatever you say," you chuckled, burying yourself back in his neck, knowing he was trying to cover up that he was just plain jealous.

His naked hot skin against your own made you quickly feel drowsy and you felt the need to fall asleep. The exhaustion of your earlier lovemaking had worn you down and you felt yourself succumbing to its soft clutches.

"I love you, (Y/n)," he whispered, lips within your shiny hair. The arms encircled around you were warm and it felt safe. You could feel the power radiating off him in waves. You were in the arms of someone who would one day surpass that of any great wizard to be.

"I love you... too...Tom," you whispered back, eyes shutting to darkness.

"When you awake I will be here, my love," you heard him say. His voice near yet far away at the same time. "My sweet Honey Badger."

~The End~

[tartagilicious]

Can you write a Lawrence/MC after his ending where he leaves one day to go supply hunting and the MC is finally able to escape but she sees him getting attacked by a couple of guys and decides to save him because she ultimately does still care about him then when she gets him back to safety and is taking care of him he asks why she helped him instead of leaving and she just says something like "because I'm not you" then maybe he can reflect. Sorry if that's too detailed lol

I really like this prompt you gave me, personally, though I did change it slightly. I had a fun time writing this. It turned out better than most of my requests usually do!

* no editing on the second half because 😔✌️im sick and I don’t feel like it that’s all lol so I apologise for any mistakes

—

You shudder when you hear the basement door slam shut, suddenly leaving you alone in the all-but-homey basement yet again. When Lawrence had initially saved you from the horde of zombies, he had made sure to mention that there was enough food to keep both of you going for a while — almost as if it was supposed to be equal to a sort of incentive for coming with him and leaving your other friends to die.

But, in retrospective to the virus, it wasn’t necessarily a bad promise.

You had liked Lawrence at one point, and as hard as it may have been to know that, your opinion of him couldn’t change that fast. He was smart, empathetic, and even if you didn’t like it, he always knew what he was doing. There was no choice but to trust in him then, especially when his iron grip on your wrist unfairly startled you into it.

Yet, ironically, it was the last straw when his calculations ended up being wrong.

Supplies dwindled faster when he thought you were comfortable enough to being doing so, but he was stuck when he realised how close you were actually cutting it. You suddenly had to worry about your food again rather than the man in front of you, and it was scary. It really was.

To be so young and stare despair in the face isn’t something you ever pictured yourself doing, but now, you do it helplessly everyday in the reflection of circle framed glasses.

You flip on the light switch again when you’re sure that Lawrence is gone, and immediately sink to the floor. Emotions pour out of you in the form of stagnant breaths, leaving you choking on the musty air. This happens often — you bottle up the very emotions Lawrence encourages you to share, and let them out when he can’t see.

Maybe it’s petty of you. But you don’t care.

Because the last thing you want is for him to see you break down. You’re powerless enough around the boy as it is.

But this time, the swirl of complicated emotions in chest isn’t just from the usual; it’s fear. You had forgotten about the crushing reality of the apocalypse outside, and how hard it really was to survive. No matter how cunning Lawrence pretended to be, life always had the last laugh.

You sit slumped against the wall for god knows how long, trying to find peace in the messy cracks on the walls. But you give up when they begin to blend together, and only finally avert your eyes when you begin to see them shifting.

It has taken you a long time to learn that reality is altered in the place you’re forced to call home. Dark days are filled with pleasant treatment from your so-called admirer, but leave deep scars on you no amount of love can fix. You sadly think that not even your eyes know what to see anymore as you try to blink away your confusion, adjusting to the room around you instead.

The basement had become unfavourable in almost no time flat, with its lonely walls and industrial scheme — and especially the twisted safety inside of it. It was moments like those that you looked at the stairs leading up to ground level and wondered what would happen if you just decided to leave everything behind.

If I left Lawrence, would he hunt me down again?

That thought keeps you grounded every time.

But your intrusive thoughts already have a streak of zero to one, and before you can stop it, your curiosity leads you up the basement stairs implanted deep in your memory and onto the ground floor.

He’s not here, he can’t do anything about it. Stop worrying.

Then you realise that you have no business worrying about Lawrence, someone who is god knows where, when such a mess is in front of you. The hallway’s routine scent of old blood fills your nose faster than you can react, immediately calling up tears. Your memories of the friends you’d lost burn brightly in your head — and the memories of seeing their faces for the last time makes you sick.

In a daze, you turn away and pinch your nose. Tears catch in your lashes and make your vision blurry as you open your eyes while you walk away, but you don’t care. You just want to get away.

Cautiously, you hug your jacket tighter around you as you get closer and closer to the doors. It’s been months since you’ve been let out of the basement, much less outside — and you have no idea what to expect. Did the government make any progress? Or, assuming the worst, has the virus really begun to do lasting damage?

You’re afraid to find out, but with the adrenaline and fear pumping through your veins, you push the doors open without a second thought. It’s a stupid idea, but when you’re stuck between the fear to escape and the fear to stay put, there’s only so many things you can do.  

Sly footed and calm: that’s what Lawrence has always told you to be in the presence of a zombie. But strangely, and thankfully, you don’t see a single other moving thing as you manoeuvre the door to quietly shut.

Time moves slowly as you stand there and think. You’re anxious in the premonition that a zombie will pop out, and because of this your thoughts are jumbled, but you still manage to remember the bare details you’d so scoured over about the safe zone the night before you were supposed to leave with your friends.

It shouldn’t be hard if I don’t stop for anything. You think to yourself. Maybe I’ll prove those men from before wrong and make it there fast.

That would be best.

The fact that you hadn’t thought to grab any weapons alarms you, but you spot what looks like the old remnants of a plank of wood a few feet away and figure it’s good as anything.

It’s slightly heavy to lug along, but you walk fast in your nervousness, so you don’t see the big deal in it as long as you keep pace. And you do so as quietly as possible, scared beyond belief at the possibility of your luck going dry and leading you to encounter exactly what you hope to avoid.

Yet it seems like your luck is about to run out when you hear the unmistakable grunt of a group of zombies. No more than a few, you think, but it’s still a few too many. And like the sensible person you think yourself to be, you’re about to distance yourself from them as fast as possible.

But then you hear something else. Something else distinctly human that you can’t help but stop a second time for. Betraying every nerve in your body that screams for you to move, you stop for the sole chance of finding someone else.

You curse under your breath as you grip the plank tighter in your grip, the pieces digging into your skin as you peek around the corner in front of you — close, and also the very place that the ruckus is coming from.

Though you seriously consider retreating back again when you notice that it’s Lawrence having a hard time. He seems to be handling the small group of zombies around him fairly well, anyway, armed with a short metal pipe and his normal malicious intents.

Still, he’s not superhuman. It’s obvious that he’s getting tired, and might not even last much longer if he lets that get to him.

Would it matter if he dies?

He’s all I have left.

He locked you up.

He doesn’t treat me badly.

He killed your friends.

You have a hard time arguing with the devil on your shoulder on that one. But your good senses, still intact, luckily come back in time to help you figure out what to do in the nick of time.

There’s nothing that will come out of leaving Lawrence to die. As much as you’ve admittedly fantasised about something ripping him away and finally freeing you, you would be at a disadvantage without his guidance. Lawrence’s leader qualities hadn’t gone anywhere, and it wasn’t as if his good traits never existed.

As much as you hate to say it, there’s a part of you that still cares about him.

Gritting your teeth, you rush in and make your presence known. All of your emotion is projected into a hit that knocks a particular zombie back onto the ground, and completely startling Lawrence to an extent that it almost makes you proud.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but he doesn’t sound angry. His eyes are wild and panicked, but not in the same way you’d seen when he killed that man all those months ago — he just seemed scared. “Why are you here?”

You hold your tongue as much as you can. “That doesn’t matter, focus on what’s in front of you!”

A guttural noise of disapproval makes its way out of his throat, but dissolves upon the movement of his arms swinging the pipe directly into a zombie’s distorted face. You do the same to the ones closer to you, using the piece of wood to slam up to where their chin should be and knock them back a considerable distance so that when they came back, they were easier for Lawrence to deal with.

The system works well with your teamwork, and soon enough, all of the zombies that had gathered are at your feet.

The atmosphere is so tense you expect him to start yelling even there, but surprisingly, he doesn’t.

“Thank you, ___.” He pants, his face slightly red as you just stand there and take in his words. “I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there to help.”

You nod hesitantly, finally letting the plank rest against your legs as it had grown heavy.

“...But, why did you help me?” He asks this with bunched brows, as if the prospect confuses him. And you’re glad it does, because still, the last thing you want is misunderstanding the way you feel.

“Because I’m not like you.”

Something in Lawrence’s eyes shifts, similar to realisation. If only it was.

“Come on,” You wave a hand reluctantly, motioning for him to follow you. “Let’s go somewhere safer before any more show up.”

He just stares at you, completely uncharacteristically quiet. But you would be lying if you said it didn’t finally make you feel powerful.

Maybe, from now on, things can be different.

— 

read more of my works! ♡

[thegingertrekkie]

Lost in a Dream World

Part 5: The Call

Trigger warning: mild sexual content

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. There's no way one person could've leveled a city like this. Next to you Iida is shaking with a mixture of despair and rage. He's crying silently, his face twisted into a glare as tears trail down his cheeks. There's a small vibration on your thigh and you grab your phone and put it to your ear without thinking. "Hello?"

"(Y/n)? (Y/n)! Oh tha--- --d are y--" the voice on the other end choppy but there. You stand abruptly and put hand on your head. You had a signal! "Where ---"

"I'm in an alternate universe!" You yell into the phone, startling Iida who was wiping the tears from his face.

"Whaaaat?" You recognized Kirishima's voice and there was a jumble of other voices in the background. You must have been on speaker "--ere ar- --u? We'll send someone to..."

"I'm not in Japan. I'm in another dimension! Another reality!" Tears are streaming down your face and Iida presses his cheek against yours trying to hear.

"The tiny mirror speaks!" He mumbles and you push him away, switching your phone to speaker so he can hear.

"Another reality? Are you fucking stupid?" Your gut twists. Its Bakugou.

"Shut up man they were in a quirk accident" Kirishima says in a hushed voice, the signal suddenly clear.

"Doesn't excuse stupid" Bakugou responds you can imagine the look on his face. "There's no such thing as alternate realities."

Iida's face has the scariest look you've ever seen in your life. You want to run from him but you're frozen to the spot. The knight grabs your phone so aggressively you worry it might break. "Bakugou" he hisses, his lips almost touching the phone as he speaks.

There's confused chatter on the other line.

"I-is that Iida?"

"(Y/n) Where are you?"

"We thought you were hurt!"

"Manual is freaking out!"

"Did Iida already find you?"

"Why is four eyes with you?"

"You deplorable, rotten, disgusting excuse for a human." Iida begins, his hand is shaking "If it was in my power I would slit your throat in this world and that world too. It would be a pleasure to paint the lands red with your blood. Your wretched existence should be wiped out throughout all worlds."

"Iida what the hell man" you hear Kaminari say

"This isn't our Iida! I'm stuck in another dimension!" You yell again "that kid needs to open another portal so I can come ba-"

"(Y/n)? You're breaking up!" You hear Midoriya's voice call out. Then the line is dead.

You felt deflated. At least they heard where you were even if they didn't believe you. Wiping away your tears you reach for your phone, but Iida jerks away from you. His eyes still have that imitating look. "You're in contact with him?" He looks like he wants to strangle you.

"That's not the same Bakugou!" You intended to sound cool and confident, but Iida demeanor has you trembling.

Iida spits at your feet and then throws your phone as hard as he can into the burnt landscape. You scream reaching your hand out toward where he threw your only connection to your home. Iida is saying something about it being an evil magic mirror but you can't hear him. Your vision is blurred by rage and your hands are clenched so tightly into fists that your nails are digging into the skin of your palm. Suddenly your fist has connected with Iida's, but you don't remember swinging at him. Pain shoots down your hand as you feel your middle finger snap against the taller boy's hard jaw bone. Then you're running as fast as you can into the flat burnt land. Your eyes scanning the ground for your phone. Surely it's broken now, but you don't care. You can hear Iida calling after you, saying it's dangerous, but you ignore him.

Your pace only slows when you see your phone in the soot. The screen is destroyed, but when you pick it up the screen lights up. You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding in and hug your phone awkwardly. You turn to head back to Iida but your leg catches on something. Your foot lands hard on the ground catching you from falling, but your other leg is still stuck. You look down and see skeletal fingers wraps around your calf. A blood curdling scream escapes your lips. You can already hear the metal scraping against metal as Iida runs to your rescue. Desperately you try to pull your leg away forcefully, but the bones dig into your flesh. It feels like your leg got lit on fire. The hand is dragging you into the ground while you scream with agony. Iida reaches you and pulls you into his arms princess style and starts running.

"(Y/n), it's ok. It's not real! This place is cursed, it makes you hallucinate."

Iida sounds eerily calm, but he's hard to hear over the sound of his face melting off. You twist and writhe in his strong grip, trying desperately to get away. Your body feel like it's burning and Iida's face looks like something out of a horror film. His body passes back into the forest and everything snaps back to normal. You aren't on fire and his face is how it should be, although he looks a bit shaken. Your whole body feels sweaty and you're a little light headed but unharmed. "...Iida" you begin but are stopped short by Iida's hand slapping you across the face.

"Don't do that to me!" He yells, grabbing your shoulders in a death grip.

Iida pushes you back into a large tree aggressively. You gasp and suddenly he's on you, kissing you passionately with chapped lips. Iida's large hands move from your shoulders to your face, pulling you up into him. You're trapped against the tree and the knight, but you're so startled and you can't move. This caught you more off guard than Midoriya. One hand grabs your leg and hooks it over his hip, you gasp against Iida's mouth and wrap your arms around his neck for balance. He moans against your lips and your head spins. Iida breaks the kids to grab your other leg, now you're off the ground and pinned to the tree by the weight of the knight. "What is happening..." you breathe right before Iida presses his lips to yours again.

"I'm kissing you" his response is muffled against your mouth.

You grab his face and force Iida's face away. "Yeah I know that but why?"

"Punishment for making me worry about you."

Iida's words make feel hot. His mouth is against your neck leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone to your jaw and you turn your head to expose more skin to him. You moan as he begins grinding against you, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Iida gently nips at your earlobe and runs his tongue along the shell of your ear causing you to squirm. "You like that?" He purrs into you ear and you moan in response. His teeth graze your ear again and you try to dig your nails into his back, but you only scrape against metal.

Iida sets you down, spins you and pushes you against the tree. The rough bark scratching your face as he pushes your face against it. His teeth are attacking your ear again. "This is our last night together so I'm going to make it out." His breath is hot against your ear and your body twitches "I'm going to make you scream my name"

(Next part will be a skippable nsfw section)

[suvaris]

There was something peaceful and almost meditative about tending to Eve’s garden without the use of any sort of magic. Early-summer sun beat down on her back and shoulders, and sweat beaded on her forehead and the back of her neck as she carefully weeded and planted new things. Magic, a few of Eve’s sweet words, and Washington’s hot, humid weather meant the garden bounced back to its usual, lush state in almost no time, leaving no evidence of their disastrous escape from it a month earlier. She meant this as a surprise for her friend, both in gratitude for taking care of her when she needed it and as an apology for destroying it in the first place, and so she worked with focus, her mind blank except for the awareness of the nagging exhaustion in her muscles from moving dirt and plants and rocks. 

A cool breeze drew a content sigh from her lips and she paused to enjoy it, eyes slipping closed as she pulled her hair off her neck and tipped her head to the side. When the temperature drop persisted, Azra sensed something different, something more than the steady press of summer sun on her body. Thinking this new presence must be Eve, she rose, dusting dirt and potting soil from her hands as she did so, and then looked up to discover a woman lounged contentedly on the nearest bench, a woman who was nearly her exact mirror save for the sharp focus she gave everything her eyes landed on. And right now, that was Azra herself.

“Azraaa, come here!” she chirped, “What’s up, girl?”

A familiar pins-and-needles sensation built in her fingertips and toes as a bubble of panic rose from her stomach. She was a perfect duplicate, stunning and magnetic even without speaking. The sun caught her dark hair where it fell from a messy bun and shone more splendidly than Azra could have ever imagined her own looked, and despite the torn jeans and rumpled shirt, she looked utterly put-together, right down to the sharp edge of her eyeliner and soft pink of her lips. She exuded an easy confidence that Azra herself only faked on her best days, and she felt a sad tug in her chest at the idea. She wanted that more than anything.

Even still, the cold kept her present, and the idea that she spoke to her mirror image didn’t sit right. Yes, she was steeped in a world of magic that she barely understood, but never in any of her journals did her past lives recount situations like this. Talking to yourself was never a good thing, magic or otherwise.

“No, absolutely not,” she said after a stiff, uncomfortable silence.

"Relax," she said with a knowing laugh. "You gonna judge a book by its cover? Tsk tsk!" Her words carried no admonishment whatsoever. She was content no matter what Azra said or did. "Should I explain myself, or are you about to bolt?"

Azra sucked in a quick, indignant breath. “Yes, I’m going to judge a book by it’s cover when the cover is me, and you are not me,” she argued. This was nonsensical. Was she high again? Did catnip have a flashback quality like acid? Or was this her--the first. Each option that flitted through her head seemed more impossible than the last, and part of her wanted to laugh at the idea of even entertaining such thoughts. Every part of her screamed this was a dangerous lie and that she needed to get out of there--out of the lair itself--but stubborn curiosity kept her planted to the spot. “...Who are you,” she said slowly.

“I’m you, and you’re me,” the mirror replied bluntly, as though she described something as mundane as posting something to Instagram or listing items needed in an upcoming grocery trip. She blinked up at Azra innocently with familiar dark eyes before she continued. "Sort of. It's not nearly that simple but, like, it's true. I can't explain everything in perfect detail, unfortunately. There's a cute little magical wall that steals the words right out of my mouth if I try. Still, I have to warn you about what's to come. And to tell you amazing news! I know how you can get magic that isn't dependent on others."

Every word sounded more insane than the last, and it wasn’t long before Azra felt completely overwhelmed by this information. Space-time-magic-bullshit wasn’t exactly her speciality, and she doubted even Dan could explain this sort of thing in a way that would make sense. Not to mention, every time she began to relax, another soft gust of icy air raised goosebumps across her previously overheated skin and unsettled her.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Azra said, then wrapped her arms around her torso in an attempt to ward off the chill as she rocked from foot to foot. Thoughts rolled through her head without any semblance of organization, threatening to unseat her currently tenuous sense of calm. “First, if you’re me, and I don’t trust myself, why should I trust you? And why do you look--” She stopped, her lips forming a line and her eyebrows knitting. Despite the ease of not-her’s posture, the slight dishevelment still caught her eye. “Are you dead? Is this some… weird haunting by… time… something… that Dan could probably explain?”

The reflection shrugged and leaned back on her hands. "You don't have to trust me. I'm just here to give you information and offer you a choice for what to do with it. You're free to ignore me, but I gotta shoot my shot, you know?" She laughed, the sound sweet and patronizing and gentle. Azra didn’t know what to make of it. "I'm not dead! Managed to avoid that pretty narrowly. I mean, goodness, when Nadine goes nuts with black magic... Regardless, I'm not a ghost. See? I'm real." She stretched out her foot to draw a line in the dirt with her toes, and then offered a hand to Azra, palm down. "You can touch me. I'm physical, I'm here."

At the mention of Nadine, Azra’s chest tightened and she clenched her jaw. Black magic? She thought she knew everything about Nadine’s telekinesis having spent a considerable amount of time practicing, both with and without the other’s instruction. Put simply, it was movement--how could such a thing be anything but a neutral variety of magic?  She unwound her arms from their folded position to tangle her fingers in her hair, and movement that began as uncomfortable rocking from foot to foot morphed into pacing the small space in front of not-her. The line in the dirt was real, and Azra had no doubt that if she touched her, she’d feel like a person. There’s curiosity in her gaze, too--her powers mimicked by touch, so what would this bring? Even still, she resisted the temptation. Normal people did not see and talk to a version of themselves.

“God, I want a drink,” she mumbled darkly. This was too much. Her double eyed her with a sympathetic expression, one deeply sincere and identical to one Azra herself had used with Dan or Nadine or Rose or Eve on numerous occasions. More questions caught in her throat and on her tongue, and she worried her lip as she studied the other. “Okay… why are you here?” she asked finally as curiosity won over worry.

At the question, mirror-Azra straightened. "The ley lines went haywire recently, right? And magic got loose and started messing up environments. It's because they act like pipelines. When there's a leak in a pipe, water gets everywhere except where it's supposed to go - basically the same thing with magic." She swept her hand around at the garden. "This place sits right on top of one of them. Fei did that so we'd always have the best conditions to learn, I guess. But... shouldn't pipes be accessible somewhere? They're there for a reason, right? To bring magic to the world. And humans are supposed to be able to access it, or we were until The Ancients took that away, anyway. So I started wondering, you know, what if there's a way to access it?" She beamed so brightly she rivaled the sun for a moment. Azra wanted to smile with her. "I found magic, Azra. Like none of us ever even dreamed of. The kind you can do anything with."

Azra’s lips moved soundlessly for a moment as she tried to understand everything. The power to do something on her own was all she’d ever wanted; every mimicry was a lesser version of someone else’s magic. Real, but an imitation. While yes, she could stack them and yield incredible results, but it wasn’t hers. Without someone else, she was useless.

 And that smile… it hurt somewhere deep and primal--she wanted that. She wanted to feel at home in her skin like her double before her, radiant in the afternoon sun with confidence that rolled off her in waves. The temptation tugged something in her chest and her jaw tightened. If she could find this and then show them to use it too, maybe they’d see someone aside from the airhead staring at her phone during meetings.This opinion was somewhat her fault, too, but still… And yet, the idea of this happening during Feiyan’s absence, and the fact that their original deaths were on her hands, these were things she couldn’t ignore. And seeing yourself was never a good thing. It was too good to be true.

“Why now? Why would you tell me this now? What’s changed throughout hundreds of years of reincarnation?” she asked carefully, then inhaled deeply to steady herself before she continued. “And doing things outside our… um. Our… roles, I guess. That’s what got us killed. That’s how I got us killed, isn't it? If we do that again, won’t the ancients just permanently end us? How would that serve humanity if there’s no one to… um… keep the balance?”

Though the questions come rapid-fire and jumbled due to a mixture of distrust and anxiety, Azra’s double nodded simply and hopped to her feet, the image of a professor about to begin a lecture. Azra took a nervous step backwards, unsure if she could trust the sudden change in the physical dynamic. Thankfully, her double seemed disinterested in closing the distance between them. “We can learn from them, that’s what’s changed,” she answered simply, then began to pace. Unlike Azra, however, she moves in measured steps, the movement thoughtful and calm in contrast to Azra’s more frantic version. "And because you need to know, before bad things begin to happen. Before the others are at each others' throats. What changed is Feiyan went missing and there is more to that than I can explain, but you need this magic to find her, or else nothing will be right again. The Council falls apart. We did screw up in our first life, it's true. But it wasn't that we used too much magic. It was that we used that magic for bad things when we were supposed to be helping. So The Ancients took that magic away from us, all save one gift. But... They didn't create us, you know? The planet and its magic were here before them, and they were using this magic just like we were. So they might have had the power to take it away, but who gave them the authority? Why should that have been allowed? Humans are naturally supposed to have access to magic, just like all creatures on this planet. And I'm not by any means saying we can give it back to the world now - that just wouldn't work. People would go nuts. But we can be guardians keeping the balance and have more than what we've been rationed, can't we?"

“We need this to find Feiyan,” Azra repeated, tone even. Again, she folded her arms across her torso, hands gripping her upper arms, but this time it was a means to comfort herself rather than to ward off the cooler air that drifted through the garden. That was all she wanted, to find Feiyan, to keep her found-family together, to not die. The lattermost thought presented the problem, however. Even if this mirror was right, that they could maintain a balance and still have more power, what stopped the ancients from killing them all again for this? What if not-her was wrong?

 “I…” Azra’s voice trailed off as she watched her mirror amble back and forth as she spoke. “I have a feeling the ability to wipe us out with a wave of their… h… hands? Gives them the authority,” she said finally. “There has to be another way to find Feiyan. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to be the reason the people I love die because I got… I don’t know. Greedy? It sounds way too good to be true--too easy. Why can’t we find Feiyan without it? How would you know this anyway--are you from the future? You never… you never quite explained who you are other than me and I-- um-- it’s… people aren’t supposed to see themselves and h-have conversations.” Azra’s gaze flicked from her mirror image to random points in the garden. This other-self seemed so knowledgeable; Azra couldn’t imagine ever sounding so steady in her thoughts when she spoke, and in her opinion, her words showed it.

"I'd call that power, not authority, but I see why you're nervous about it,” not-her countered, then shrugged. "They also have to come back to do any of that to us, so... I did run the risk, I guess. You certainly don't have to. It worked out for me, though, which is why I'm here to tell you. There are probably lots of ways to find Feiyan, but we weren't getting close to any of them, that much I can say for sure. The longer everyone fought, the longer she hurt. Even when we did figure out this new magic, at first all they did was continue to fight over it. It requires a decisive hand wielding it. I wasn't really that, at first. I mean, we both know how hard it is to make a choice sometimes. Everything and anything could go wrong. And what right do we have to make those decisions? But... Nobody else was doing it, at least not well. Eventually I just got fed up with them." Azra’s eyebrows arched and she shook her head sympathetically. That feeling she knew. Every time an argument sparked in the middle of a meeting, her skin crawled and she wanted to scream. Fighting got them nowhere, and thus far, it had only managed to drive a wedge between certain members of the council. Feiyan brought them together for a reason and worked for her entire, lengthy life to maintain that bond. Splitting now when the stakes were so high would have severe consequences. Azra simply didn’t know how to bring them together. Movement caught her eye and she returned her attention to her double, who waved her hand and offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I got lost there for a second. None of that is really helpful, huh? Umm, what's the important thing to say... Well, I'm not really from the future, exactly, but I know you better than anyone because I am you, except I'm not like... The exact same you. I'm a slightly  different you. That's the best explanation I can offer? I know it's not very helpful."

While the mirror of herself spoke, Azra craned her face towards the sky, wincing slightly at the bright, white light of the sun as it hit her face. She’d been almost too hot earlier given the combination of early-summer sunshine on her back and shoulders as well as the physical labor involved in tending a garden without the use of magic. Wrong, wrong, wrong. All of this was wrong. Her attention swung to not-her again, brows knitted as she only half-listened to her words.

“So you’re…” She trailed off and frowned deeply, thoughtfully. Azra knew she wouldn’t understand the complicated magic or physics or whatever involved in talking to another version of herself, and so she didn’t try. That didn’t make this all true, however. While still maintaining what she considered a safe distance, Azra skirted around her double until she could sit on the bench the mirror previously occupied. This conversation was far too long to remain on her feet, especially considering the gravity of what her double explained, if any of it could be believed. And… Azra had her doubts.

“It’s cold for the end of June, don’t you think?” The words came after a lengthy pause, and Azra studied the other for some sort of reaction or tell. Despite the fact that she taught herself to be adept at hiding what she felt, Azra liked to think she was good at reading people, annoyingly so if her fellow councilors were to be believed. Trying to read herself would be a challenge, and to her disappointment, her double showed no signs of faltering at her words. “...I don’t think I can do this,” she said finally. Her jaw tightened and she exhaled a breath. “Trying to take an easy way out of a difficult situation almost got us--me--killed ten years ago. I don’t… I can’t do that to myself or them or… I won’t do that. I don’t trust myself, so I can’t trust you.” She learned so many lessons the hard way during her most formative years, and this was perhaps the most important. Nothing worth fighting for or having was ever easy, and the idea of simply tapping into vast power that had always existed below her feet to solve all their problems practically screamed this lesson in her head.

The double offered Azra a sympathetic smile, and she couldn’t help but return it. Now with their positions reversed, the mirror looked down at her as she spoke, her voice almost gentle. You don't have to decide now," she offers. "I'll come back. I need a bit to get you real proof, anyway. To get past these magical barriers. You can decide then if you need." She stepped closer, standing right in front of Azra now. The nearness would have made her more uncomfortable if not for the way she looked at her. "Would that help? More time?"

God, that was the last thing she wanted. “No,” she shot back almost immediately, then winced at the sharp notes of fear in that single word. This reflection’s easy charm kept her calm and relatively comfortable, but she would rather not repeat an insane conversation with a version of herself at a later date. She didn’t want to live with a constant sense of dread over whether or not this ghost would reappear in her life with more reality-shattering information.  “I… don’t… want to…” She hugged herself, arms across her torso, and canted forwards slightly without meeting her double’s gaze. “More time won’t make me trust you.”

The shift began then, with Azra’s gaze averted. The reflection’s smile gained an edge, and she leaned down towards her, her shadow falling over Azra as her head blocked the sun. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the tone shifted suddenly, and she refused to look at the other for fear of what she might see. Her skin crawled and the cold intensified. Run. Get out. She remained planted to her spot on the bench, eyes wide with shock as her double continued.  "Do you feel alone, Azra? Helpless and powerless? Poor, poor thing. Can't even rely on yourself." The other laughed, and where earlier it had been a warm, welcome sound, it turned bitter as it clawed its way out of her throat. "Look at me. Look at what you could be if you weren't intent on being pathetic."

Azra’s gaze finally snapped to her double and she leaned away. This thing turned insidious in the blink of an eye, and it knew just how to cut her. “I’m not… alone…” she argued weakly. Doubt threaded through memories of happy times spent with Nadine or Dan or Rose or Eve and she worried her lip. Tears burned in her eyes as she tried to steady herself. That patronizing voice of her own-self hatred, the one that usually lived in her head, now spoke to her through a vessel identical to her in appearance. It was the voice that always sent her into a destructive tailspin, and now Azra white-knuckled her sense of reality in order to keep from dissolving on the spot. “I’m not you, y-you’re not me,” she whined, then hummed a terrified note as she stood quickly and took a few steps away.

“Are you sure?” Not-her is upon her with inhuman speed, the distance between them closed faster than Azra could blink and it took her breath away. She didn’t touch her, but Azra flinched all the same. Her double now dominated her presence, and Azra was powerless to run or hide from whatever it was that wore her face. The temperature dropped until each of her double’s words came with a small cloud of white vapor. "How do you know I'm not the better version of you? What proof do you have that I'm wrong here? You're weak, tamed by your time here, and when offered everything you've ever wanted with just a little effort, you fold. What a shame. And here I thought you had potential." The words dripped with venom, and a familiar, agonizing fear bubbled to the surface. It was a different person, a different voice, but the switch flipped all the same. In an instant, she was a shaking mess whose only thought centered on making it through the next five minutes.

Survive. Survive. Survive. Keep your head down and brace yourself.

“Not weak,” she choked out. Tears blurred her vision and she curled in on herself, as though to protect from a blow she expected to arrive at any moment. Insults, pain, in that order always. The cold needled and bit as it crawled across her skin. “I’m not you, I d-don’t want to… they love m-me, won’t…” She ached to argue, to tell whatever this was—because not-her definitely deserved the description now—that she wouldn’t do this and risk her family in the process. Her teeth chattered against the cold and a hiccuped, terrified sob pushed past her lips. At the way Azra bent and cowered, her double smiled triumphantly, the look monstrous on her sharp, stunning features.

 "You poor thing. Maybe all this magic is too much responsibility for you." She stepped away, looking to the plants in the garden, smug like a cat sitting on a trapped mouse. "It's okay, Azra. It'll be over soon." She laughed and the timbre of her voice is too pretty, too sweet. "Be afraid now, and you won't be for much longer."

The blows she anticipated never arrived, and Azra peeked at her double now. The cold wrath seemed to recede, but her mirror image remained. There’s something in her chest that ignites at the reflection’s words, something angry and righteous, but it’s too smothered by fear and self-doubt to manifest in any way other than the shake in her hands. She wanted to argue that this was her responsibility, to make sure she didn’t repeat her first life’s mistakes and to keep herself and the other councilors from digging too deeply and too greedily. Instead, she clenched her jaw to keep it from chattering further and watched the reflection smugly idle around the garden. The threats cut too keenly for her to recover now. “Fuck you,” she says softly, and it’s the bravest thing she can manage. “I won’t do what you want.”

"You can't fight what's coming, Azra, without making hard choices," she said in eerie singsong. "All I want is to see you prosper, but that's your choice... I can't make it for you. The others might. Watch out for Nadine, and Marcella too." She laughed again. "Power goes so easily to their heads, you know. They've never had to rely on others for their strength. Just to be noticed. Do you think Nadine cares about you at all when she could toss you aside at any moment? Do you think Dan won't cut you out the moment his calculations deem you irrelevant?" She closed in on Azra again, slowly this time, savoring her fear with a smirk. "You won't matter unless you make yourself seen, or you can stand here trembling like a useless little girl. Can't be both."

Something about Dan and Nadine’s names on not-her’s tongue snapped something in Azra’s mind. It was a thing less akin to bravery or strength and instead more feral, like a cornered animal lashing out with violence as a means of self-preservation. “Get aw--” she started, then cut herself off as she moved. Without thinking, she swung twice, the first blow an unaimed, weak backhand--a warning shot--and the second a rough shove with one hand on the mirror’s upper chest and the other on her arm, palm flat against exposed skin there. The force of the push sent her back a couple of steps. Despite the strong physical reaction, tears still began to stream down her cheeks as broken, half-stifled sobs burst through her lips. “You’re not me, you’re not--” she insisted brokenly. Nadine, Dan, and Marcella were her friends, they wouldn’t hurt her, they couldn’t.

She didn’t move when Azra struck, though she is not unaffected. She raised her arm after the first blow as if to retaliate, but Azra's shove, or more specifically the hand on her arm, caught her by surprise. Her pupils blew wide, nearly engulfing her irises. "How could you?" she whispered as if Azra betrayed her trust. Her voice is pitched higher now, with - distress? Fright? The cold around them worsened, leaving the air sharp on ever inhale. "Give it back," she said in a guttural growl that no longer sounded like Azra's voice at all. "I can show you your own magic, you don't need to take mine."

The shock caught her off guard, enough to stop the tears and even her heart for a moment. The magic she mimicked pulsed wildly in her veins and she stared at her hands, then back at the impostor, who looked equally shocked. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, but if she had to, she would liken it to the ocean. Vast, foreign, unwavering, wild. The voice that demanded she return what she took mutated to something deeply unfamiliar, especially given the reflection of herself from which it sounded. A terrified cry left Azra’s lips as she immediately turned and bolted, though clumsily. Not three steps into her retreat, she tripped and landed heavily on the grass with a force that knocked the air from her lungs and made her see stars. Close behind, her duplicate lunged with that same unnatural speed she displayed minutes earlier. Without thinking, she rolled and flicked her hand, summoning whatever magic she’d mimicked moments earlier. Rock, barrier, wall, giant lizard, anything-- The magic reacted easily despite it’s utterly foreign nature, a jagged wall of rock and earth erupted from the ground, forming a barrier six feet at its tallest between herself and her duplicate. Her duplicate shrieked, a ragged, surprised sound. It would do as a decent obstacle, but it was low enough to step over in places and not extensive, even though it did a fine job uprooting some of Eve’s newly grown gargantuan trees. It created enough of a wall to keep the monster at bay. Frost crawled across the peaks and spines of the tiny mountain range she created, and from the other side, her duplicate howled, thread of Azra's voice mixed into her now throatier, harsher cadence.

“Run, then!” Azra didn’t need to be told twice. After she stared dumbly at her hands for a moment, she scrambled to her feet with a terrified whimper and sprinted towards the house. The last thing she wanted was to see what this thing would do to remove the magic she’d accidentally borrowed. From behind the wall, the reflection breathed heavily, her hands curling and uncurling. She tilted her head, cracked her neck, and then loosed another crackling shriek before she sprinted towards the edge of the garden and faded directly into the shadows of newly-disrupted trees. 

Azra would hear that shriek in her dreams for months.

[mind-reader1]

Searching for You (Part 2/4)

A/N: This is part of an ES mini-series! This is part 2 for Endless Summer Appreciation Week Day 2! Thanks for hosting @brightpinkpeppercorn and @mysteli ❤❤❤ Catch up with Part 1. This is also for @choices-december-challenge Day 8: Family (sorry it's a day late) hosted by @kinda-iconic 😍

Warnings: Innuendo, angst

Pairing: Jake x MC (Taylor) 

Word Count: 3,401

You can find the series masterlist here.

Last Time: Uqzhall killed Jake in cold blood and Taylor reminisces about the first time Jake told her that he wanted kids, but she wasn’t ready. 

Thinking back to that moment now, I wish that I had taken Jake up on his offer, that we had tried to start our family. Things could have been so different, maybe this would be our second kid, maybe Jake would still be here with me.

“It is okay Cat-a-liss.” I rubbed my eyes one last time and let Taari go.

“Thank you Taari.” He gave me a smaller smile than his normal one, looking up as footsteps approached.

“Taylor?” It was Diego, he knew instantly that something was wrong and opened his arms for me.

“Taari, go find Seraxa or something else to do.” The little boy ran off, understanding that whatever was happening was an adult matter. I recounted to Diego through broken sobs and snot rockets what had happened, that time hadn’t reset itself as it did in the past. He dragged me straight to Varyyn who was in the throne room, meeting with his people. Varyyn rose immediately when he saw Diego helping me in, he sent the rest of his people away to come back tomorrow, this was a more pressing matter. Diego recounted for me what had happened, Varyyn paced at the mention of the old shaman’s name.

“Please Varyyn, is there another gem like the one in your necklace I broke, something I can do to bring him back. I need him.” I hadn’t even told them I was pregnant yet, my emotions were all over the place, furious with Uqzhall, destroyed that Jake might forever be gone, and of course terrified about the tiny human growing inside of me.

“Taylor...I, that was the last of that crystal. They are special and not meant to be used for such matters even if I did have one.” I was furious, I shoved Varyyn and Diego held me back.

“Taylor!” He had never seen me like this, not even with Rourke.

“You don’t understand! I need him back Diego! I can’t do this without him!” Again, my body was wracked with sobs, I collapsed at Varyyn’s feet, begging him for help. I quickly shuffled away though, I could feel the bile rising up in my throat again. Morning sickness? Guilt sickness? Anger sickness? All three? God only knows.

“What do you mean? Can’t do this without him? Taylor, I know you loved him but...you are your own person, life goes on without those we love.” Varyyn’s words were meant to be comforting, after all, he had lost his mother battling Cetus with us.

“No! I’m pregnant! I’m having a baby. I didn’t get to tell him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know he’s going to be a dad. I’m not ready, I can’t do this without him.” I screamed, my thoughts coming out in a jumbled mess. Both men stood still, they finally understood. Diego was the first to comfort me, rubbing my back as he pulled my hair into a ponytail. I don’t think either of them really knew what to say, I didn’t know what to say.

“I need answers Varyyn. I need a way to fix this.” He nodded, dragging a hand down his face, I think he knew that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“We won’t stop until Uqzhall is found and answers for his crimes.” My head shot up.

“I’m going to kill him, Varyyn. No one touches him but me, you understand? I don’t give a damn about what Vaanti tradition might have to say about it, he killed Jake in cold blood in front of me, I get to kill him. If you find him before me, keep him here.” Varyyn didn’t say anything until Diego shot him a warning look, he nodded.

“For answers, I would seek out the Anachronists as they are the most familiar with time anomalies here. However, Diego and I cannot go with, we hold titles and they will not allow us in.” I understood but I couldn’t do it alone, I had barely found the Anachronists the first time and there were 13 of us; I had also barely survived as Uqzhall had tried to kill me, Jake was the one who saved me. Jake, everything seemed to circle back to him. Every thought, every memory, and now every conversation I had. I couldn’t stand to think about his body lying there in front of our house, now cold and stiff, his bright blue eyes stuck open forever staring at nothing. I shook my head violently as if I could shake the thought away, Varyyn and Diego watched me curiously, they didn’t want to say the wrong thing and set me off again.

“I can’t do this alone. I need help! I barely survived the Anachronists last time and Jake was the one who saved me, with the Clockmaker's help. How will I even know how to find them again, I don’t have the crystals.” I felt like I might be sick again, my head swirling as I tried to figure out what my options were, how I was going to do this alone. Being a part of Vaanu, I never actually had a life before La Huerta, I’ve never known anything but my friends and Jake by my side. Suddenly I was supposed to do it alone and I had a baby to think about, that still freaked me out too, it didn’t feel real, at least not until I finally told someone.

“Have you told anyone else?” I shook my head.

“I came here first for help, I thought you might have answers for me. I can’t ask our friends to risk their lives for Jake though. We’ve all finally settled, it’s not fair.”

“Tay, we’re a family. We look out for each other as best as we can. You know they’ll help you, especially if you tell them why.” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair nervously, of course, he was right, I still felt like it wasn’t their responsibility though; I had gotten myself into this mess. I nodded and began walking out, even if I wasn’t going to ask for anyone’s help I needed to stop at the Celestial to get supplies. I began the journey alone, I honestly couldn’t stand to look at Diego or Varyyn anymore, they hadn’t been of any help or comfort. I descended the bridges in Elyystel keeping my head down from prying eyes, everyone recognized me as a catalyst by now, but they always saw me with Jake. Despite the warm humid air around me, I felt a cold shiver run through my body, I pulled Jake’s jacket out and slipped it on. It was too big on me, but I didn’t care, I loved that jacket and everything about it, Jake’s smell lingered on the fabric, reminding me of the very first time he let me borrow it.

***********

Everything had happened so quickly, I opened a portal with the strange gun we found, and the Watchers had roped Diego, trying to pull him away. I desperately held onto him, but he let go, he let himself be taken. The blinding white light surrounded us and then we were on the rooftop again as if nothing had happened, only something had, the Watchers and Diego were gone. Everyone marveled at how we made it, stunned, unsure of how much time had passed. IRIS appeared, she told us we had been gone for 204 days...six months.

“Wait, Taylor, where’s Diego?” Craig asked. That’s when I lost it. My best friend who I couldn’t save had been with the Watchers for six months, he probably thought we would never come for him. I began sobbing and everyone looked at me, I couldn’t form the words to tell them, though they could probably figure out on their own what had happened. I felt a soft fabric surround my shoulders as I stumbled back to a bench, burying my hands in my face as a shiver ran down my spine. I was embarrassed that I had been unable to save him. The cushion sank next to me and a pair of strong arms surrounded me, pulling me against them. I looked up to see Jake, he had covered me with his jacket, he never took that jacket off. He gave me a sad, small smile, and looked at me, rubbing his hands up and down my back gently.

“What happened, Princess?” I recounted how he slipped out of my grasp, the Watcher who had attacked us in my room was the same one who had grabbed Diego. He was patient and listened to my story all the while trying to calm me, I had never seen Jake so gentle, not even in my room that night after we had destroyed it.

“We’ll find him.” He tried to reassure me with his words, but I could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe it, still, he was just trying to help me and I appreciated his effort. I gave him a small appreciative smile and squeezed his knee before standing up.

“Let's go find Diego.” Everyone followed me down into the Celestial. That was the very first time Jake gave me his jacket, though I noticed it became a bit of a thing after that, not that I minded. I loved being able to breathe in his scent, feel the familiar fabric touching my skin. Any time Jake thought I was cold or needed comforting, he was there with his jacket. When we began to make our trek into the mountains to the MASADA facility, before Grace pulled out her extra winter coat, Jake was there wrapping his jacket around my shoulders. It was how I knew he really cared about me.

*******************

I inhaled deeply, the scent of whiskey and aftershave warmed my heart just a little. What would Jake want me to do? He’d probably tell me to stop crying and move on, he did that just about every time he died, he should have known by now that there was no moving on from him. We promised each other forever and goddammit I was going to get it! He would do anything in his power to bring me back and so that’s what I was going to do. I entered through the lobby doors and the cool air felt refreshing compared to the heat outside, no one was in sight and so I wandered through the lobby hoping to run into someone. It didn’t take long, I rounded a corner and bumped right into Sean, he reached out to steady me, a smile on his face.

“Hey Taylor, where’s Jake?” Jake and Sean had actually become quite close since we defeated Rourke, who would’ve thought? They had become so close that Jake would probably have wanted Sean to be the godfather...I felt nauseous again. I had forgotten all about the baby for a moment. Sean took in my appearance when I didn’t say anything, lost in my own thoughts, he looked me over concerned.

“Taylor you look green. Why are you wearing Jake’s dog tags and jacket?” I was going to have to explain again what had happened to Jake. Should I even tell them about the pregnancy, my plan? I was still trying to wrap my own head around all of this. I dove towards a plant in the hall and threw up what little food I had been able to keep down. I could feel Sean hovering behind me, as I pulled myself together.

“I need to talk to everyone.” Sean helped me over to a chair in the lobby and gathered everyone, I was only going to say everything once. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, they knew something was wrong the moment they saw me wearing Jake’s jacket, curled up on a chair. I thought about telling them about the baby but decided not to, I didn’t need that influencing their decision about helping me or not. Besides, it didn’t seem fair to tell everyone before Jake even knew, I shouldn’t have told Diego and Varyyn, but I was desperate for their help, hoping they would have some kind of solution.

“What’s going on?” Quinn was the first to speak in a soft voice, her hand gently resting on mine. I looked up at my friends through watery eyes, trying my best to push the tears back. It felt like I hadn’t stopped crying since he died, maybe it was pregnancy hormones, or maybe I was just blaming everything on them to make it easier.

“Jake is dead. Uqzhall killed him and the time loop hasn’t reset itself, I need to go to the Anachronists to see if they can help me and I can’t do it alone, but I don’t want to ask you guys to put your lives at risk with Uqzhall still out there.” Once the words started they just came pouring it, I didn’t stop to take a breath until I was done, and the tears started to spill out my eyes. Everyone looked at me in silence, trying to wrap their heads around my rushed confession. Sean stepped up first.

“I’ll go. We’ll get Jake back.” Sean gently rubbed my back and looked at the others. It was quiet until Quinn spoke.

“Me too, you guys helped me when I was sick.” I nodded gratefully at both of them. A wave of nausea hit again, and Michelle eyed me curiously as I ran for a trashcan.

“That’s the second time you’ve thrown up, maybe we should wait a couple days for you to get better,” Sean suggested but I shook my head. This wasn’t going to get better, and I was on a time crunch. Sure, I still had about seven or eight months left if I did my math right, but it was La Huerta, time worked in funny ways here.

“I’m just upset, it’s nothing. Sitting around here isn’t going to bring Jake back.”

“I’m coming too.” Michelle marched up. Estela and Grace started to step up too, but I stopped them.

“I don’t think we should all go, as grateful as I am for all of you. Diego and Varyyn are staying here and searching for Uqzhall, they could probably use some help with that. We started packing up what we would need for the journey, Raj cooked us some food, making it mild for my stomach which I was incredibly grateful for. Zahra and Craig approached us just before we left, she held something out to me that looked like a phone.

“It’s a solar-powered satellite phone.” She held onto one and I smiled, it was her way of saying that she cared about us.

“Let us know when you find them,” Craig added. I nodded and gave Craig a hug, wincing at just the slightest pressure on my boobs, they were sore and that had been my first hint, but they only got increasingly sore. I tried to hug Zahra too, but she refused, I would take what I could get. Michelle watched me, seeming to notice me wince, but she didn’t say anything and continued to pack her stuff saying her own goodbyes. Even Aleister took the time to say goodbye, the three of us had never really gotten along but we could still be polite, though he seemed genuinely worried about us as we left. I felt stray tears slide down my cheeks and I wiped them away before anyone could see, I didn’t even know why I was crying, I was finally on my way to getting Jake back.

I expected the journey to only take a week, but it had been two now and we still weren’t there. Every morning I woke up before my friends, the morning sickness worst then and occasionally right before we would stop for the night. I did my best to hide it and the smallest of bumps that had begun to grow, no one would notice yet...except for maybe Jake. I tried not to think about him, it made every second feel like an hour on our long days of hiking. I was beginning to wonder if we were never going to find it. One day we came across a river and decided to stop and cool off for a bit, fill up our water bottles, and give ourselves a break. We had to have been close, we had been gone for about a month at this point. Sean peeled his shirt off and jumped into the water, quickly followed by Michelle, they usually weren’t ones for PDA, but he snaked his arms around her waist and kissed her even though she playfully tried to fight it. Watching them sent my mind spiraling into thoughts of Jake again, taking me back to a day we had been working on our cabin.

****************

Jake and I heaved one last piece of wood up to finish the roof of our cabin, we had been working on it all day under the sun and I was exhausted. I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to carry myself back to the jet ski so we could go back to our room at the Celestial. I collapsed in the grass, laying on my back staring up at the shell of a house we had built, Jake came and laid down beside me.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, Princess?” I rolled onto my side and looked over at Jake, running my fingers up and down his sweaty bare chest.

“I’m thinking about how I don’t know that I’m going to be able to move from this spot. I’m so tired, but looking up at our house, how close we are, it’ll be worth it.” Jake chuckled and kissed the top of my head, his hand resting against the small of my back.

“The hardest part is done now, we’ve just got to set up the inside, and get some furniture.” I laughed, I hadn’t even thought about that. I had no idea how we were going to make that happen, but I had a feeling that Jake had a plan.

“I feel like the hardest part is going to be getting anything else done after we have a bed in there.” Jake’s chest rumbled beneath my head.

“I guess we’ll have to get that last then.”

“Jake when has that ever stopped us? The first night we met, we destroyed that hotel room, even the closet. The second we have a piece of furniture we can sit or lay on we’re done for.” I looked up and saw the familiar crooked grin on his face.

“You don’t think married life has made us soft, Princess?” I snorted, he knew it had been anything but.

“Top Gun, our friends basically kicked us out of the Celestial because they got tired of us.”

“Maybe you’ve got a point. We should get back before it gets too late though.” I groaned unable to move another muscle.

“I was serious Jake, I don’t know that I can move another muscle.” He rolled me over, his weight a comfortable and familiar feeling on top of me.

“I don’t think I could carry you down to the jet ski. How about we go relax in the creek for a bit and then head back. Think you can at least make it that far? I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked. I pretended to really ponder his offer, we both already knew the answer though.

“I think I can make it that far.” He climbed off me and helped me up, we took our time, strolling hand in hand down to the creek. Jake was already in his swim trunks so I shoved him in, he came up spitting out water, his shaggy hair hanging over his eyes.

“That’s how it is? I see?” I laughed before peeling off my own clothes and jumping in. Jake chased after me in the water and I tried to escape to no avail, he had me wrapped in his tight embrace.

“Jake!” I giggled as he nibbled on my earlobe.

“I got you now Princess.” I wiggled and turned in his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“You’ve always had me, Top Gun.” He kissed me and slowly peeled off our bathing suits as I deepened the kiss.

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