#one day i’ll have enough energy to fully animate something…. but for now only messy animatics 😔

[liliaceaae]

found a better rhea voice claim… ö,ö

[gusu-emilu]

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

POV Wen Ning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, references to WWX's poor health, First Kiss, Pining, Cuddling, Presumably Unrequited Love, or more accurately: whatever these two have going on, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and the inherent homoeroticism of necromancy

Ch. 1/2, 6k, read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning has always known that Wei Wuxian is not someone to hesitate.

The moment Wen Ning enters the Demon Subdue Palace after packing up the last sack of turnips, Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist.

“Come look!” He tugs Wen Ning deeper into the cave, slender fingers wrapped around Wen Ning’s wrist. He grins at Wen Ning over his shoulder. “I’ve made some more demonic devices, probably my best batch yet. I’d like to see the impersonators down in the town copy these!”

Wen Ning steadies his balance, not fully recovered from Wei Wuxian suddenly whisking him away.

Wei Wuxian has never hesitated to touch him. Wen Ning still isn’t quite used to it, having grown up in a family of doctors whose every touch felt calculated, and among clansmen more focused on war and strength than friendship. Clansmen who rarely respected him, never mind showed him affection.

Even now, he exists in a constant state of volatility due to his outbursts of resentful energy. Every family member in the Burial Mounds is careful around him, even A-Yuan at times.

But not Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is entirely different. Has always been different.

The first time they spoke, Wei Wuxian had already been comfortable with casual touch. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated to lay hands on him to adjust his archery posture—steady hands he can still imagine on his upper arm and around the side of his ribs, friendly pressure like a heavy quilt, as Wei Wuxian comforted and praised him.

Then the war began, and Wei Wuxian choked him in Lotus Pier—furious, merciless hands like paws of a frightened animal. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated then, either. He would’ve fully choked Wen Ning had he not held back enough to let him speak.

Then the war ended. Now Wei Wuxian uses him as an armrest, fixes his hair, arranges talismans on him, even once tried to pick him up and carry him as a joke. (He'd been a bit too weak to manage it for long. Wen Ning hadn’t thought that part was funny.) Now he drags Wen Ning around by the hand, all without hesitation.

Had Wei Wuxian hesitated before raising him from the dead?

Wen Ning isn’t sure which answer would comfort him.

“Take a look at this one,” Wei Wuxian says as he places a stone tablet in Wen Ning’s hand. A faint black cloud winds around the tablet, the smoke’s path tracing the red fulu writings carved into its surface. “Still pretty weak, but I’m getting closer to replicating yin iron with just regular stone.”

Wen Ning glances back and forth between the tablet and Wei Wuxian’s tired but enthusiastic smile. His eyes are bright with joy, but dark circles frame them. He hasn’t eaten much in the past few days, instead focusing relentlessly on his experiments, despite needing to save energy to heal the stab wound from Jiang Wanyin.

But Wen Ning still hasn’t figured out how to make him rest. Maybe admiring the new batch of demonic devices will help calm his inventive frenzy.

He nods, giving a small smile at Wei Wuxian. “That’s good.”

“Weak yin iron will be much easier to use. Better for small applications here and there, less dangerous…” Wei Wuxian squats by the scattered piles of demonic cultivation tools and notes, rummaging through to find another invention, the tablet already forgotten.

The black cloud around the tablet continues to swirl, small wisps seeping into Wen Ning’s skin. The tablet feels more like a block of dust than like stone, but despite his dulled senses, he notices…something else. A second sensation.

A throb.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, squinting at a page of especially messy notes.

“Does…does this have a pulse?” The stone continues to throb weakly, more of a resonance than a physical sensation, its aura cold like resentful energy.

Wei Wuxian looks up from the papers, one eyebrow raised. “It’s still doing that?” He stands and takes the tablet, examines it. “Hm. This might be good! I’ll have to find out what flow pattern of resentful energy caused this.”

Wen Ning closes his hand. Strangely, he wishes for the tablet to still be pulsing against his palm. It had felt kind of pleasant, if disturbing. “Resentful energy can create a heartbeat?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a heartbeat. But yes, if channeled the right way.”

“…Does that mean I have one?” Behind his back to prevent Wei Wuxian from noticing, he presses three fingers to the inside of his wrist, where years ago Jiejie had taught him how to read the flow of his blood. A black vein of resentful energy now covers those lifeless pulse points. “I’ve never felt it.”

Wei Wuxian turns the tablet between his hands thoughtfully. “No…you don’t have a heartbeat.” Then he grins, one of those sly grins that crosses his handsome face slowly, as if an idea has rushed into him so quickly that he needs to pace his smile just to contain it. Wen Ning doesn’t like those grins, because they make something flutter inside him.

“At least, not yet!” Wei Wuxian adds. “Do you want one? I could figure something out—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine without one.” The last thing Wei Wuxian needs is another project to stay up all night for—least of all an unnecessary project that Wen Ning requested by accident. Wei Wuxian has done enough for him already.

“I’m serious!” Wei Wuxian says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I can test it right now.” He trails a finger over the blood-red writing on the tablet and mutters a few words under his breath. The black smoke around it thickens. “Just something temporary, to see if the idea works.” He steps closer.

Nervousness immediately jolts through Wen Ning. It’s unfortunate that death has muted the nerve endings in Wen Ning’s skin but has done nothing to quiet his anxious mind, which is always at both its most overactive and sluggish around Wei Wuxian.

Wen Ning watches the tablet’s red markings begin to glow, watches Wei Wuxian’s expression harden to a chiseled concentration.

“Come here,” Wei Wuxian says.

If Wei Wuxian’s hunch works, Wei Wuxian will ignore his health until he finishes developing the method to give Wen Ning a permanent heartbeat. If it fails, Wei Wuxian will still ignore his health, this time trying until he finds a different method.

It’s best to not let him try. To give him a firm “no.”

But Wen Ning has never been good at those. Especially when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

He has also never been good at lying to Wei Wuxian. Although he must do so for the sake of Wei Wuxian’s health, it’s hard to admit that he doesn’t miss his heartbeat.

He misses many small details of his body. Jiejie had taught him the ways of Dafan Wen medicine, made him attuned to the evidence of life in himself. He knows how fast his heart rate is supposed to be while lying in bed, knows which pressure points she once worked at to calm his anxiety, knows the irregularities of the breaths he no longer takes.

He used to like his heartbeat, his breath, their soothing rhythm as he fell asleep. It was comforting to understand that much about himself, to follow this evidence of life, when in childhood a piece of his soul had been snatched and left the rest of him a puzzle.

Now the lack of this evidence of life feels like a testimony against him.

Wei Wuxian could return some illusion of life to him. Would be happy to do so.

Selfishly, Wen Ning wants him to try. Being a walking experiment has its unsettling moments—more accurately, a constant hum of discomfort—but there is something morbidly enchanting about letting Wei Wuxian mold him into whatever he envisions. Into the magnum opus of a genius.

An even more selfish part of him wants to beg Wei Wuxian to try, because how symbolic would it be for Wei Wuxian to restore his heart, of all things…

“Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asks softly.

“Okay,” he answers, and instantly regrets it.

Wei Wuxian smiles again, this time the smile he saves for when he is about to tinker with the Ghost General. Wen Ning has learned all of his smiles by now, and he still doesn’t believe that there is one specially for him. But Wei Wuxian gives him that reassuring nod, the warm curve of his lips, the eager yet slightly rueful glint in his eyes, and Wen Ning can only recall seeing that expression the previous times Wei Wuxian rewrote pieces of him.

Wei Wuxian explains exactly what he’s going to do and how the resentful energy will flow. Wen Ning nods, and Wei Wuxian rests a hand on Wen Ning’s chest—casually, moving without hesitation, like always. “It won’t actually restart your heart. Just give the illusion of a pulse for a few minutes.” He furrows his brow as his focus intensifies. “That is, if it works.”

The feeling of Wei Wuxian’s hand on the center of his chest is stabilizing, yet it sets Wen Ning’s mind into disarray, despite how many times he has felt this before.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, preparing to reroute the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

A cool stream of energy enters Wen Ning. Growing colder, gushing rapidly—

Freezing—

Then over almost instantly.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. “Feel any different?”

Wen Ning feels a bit dizzy, which is new. He hasn’t experienced vertigo since becoming a fierce corpse. But that fades quickly, and soon he is left with only the feeling of thick fabric pressing against his chest where Wei Wuxian’s hand rests.

He shakes his head. “Do…do you feel anything?”

Wei Wuxian shifts his hand, presses harder against Wen Ning’s chest. Waits, then sticks three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck, and that feels nice. Wen Ning almost wants to hold his hand there—

“No. I guess it didn’t work.” Wei Wuxian sounds much more tired than before. He removes his hand.

“That’s okay. I don’t need a heartbeat.”

“You want one though, yeah?” Wei Wuxian begins sifting through the inventions scattered across the cave, perhaps looking for another device, perhaps just hunting for kindling to spark an idea.

Wen Ning had been too selfish by agreeing to this. Who knows how long Wei Wuxian will research this now?

“I don’t want you to start another project,” Wen Ning says, and the faint thread of anger in his voice is stronger than he intended, even though that anger is mostly directed at himself. It's been harder to control his emotions since resentful energy began feeding them.

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Then he grins and gives a small laugh. “Are you turning into your jiejie now? Bossing me around…”

The joke only strengthens Wen Ning’s resolve. It reminds him that he can invoke Jiejie’s authoritativeness. He has never been good at following in his sister’s footsteps, but calling upon her immovability is almost as effective at steeling him as resentful energy. “You should sleep or come help us outside instead of always working in here.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “I know, I know. You’ve all told me many times.” He seems to regret the slight bite in his tone. He tends to snap once in a while, the effect of stress lashing out from behind his mask, but it always dissolves as quickly as it appears.

“I’ll listen to you,” Wei Wuxian says, gently this time. Wen Ning feels a wave of relief. But then Wei Wuxian smirks and adds, “For now. I really do have some theories I want to test.”

“But—Wei-gongzi—”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet and walks over to him. Stands and looks at him for a while, then says, almost murmurs, “I have enough projects for myself.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Wen Ning’s ear, and Wen Ning nearly melts. “Let me do something that’ll make you happy.”

This is bad. Very bad.

Wei Wuxian isn’t even telling the truth. His projects are all for the protection of Wen Ning’s family, not for himself. But the fond touch, combined with the sweetness in Wei Wuxian’s voice, is already enough to make Wen Ning bend.

He would much rather take care of Wei Wuxian than be taken care of. But if he weren’t worried about being a bother, he would tangle his hair just for Wei Wuxian to run his fingers through it, to twirl and comb and braid it the way he unravels and reorders the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

“You really don’t need to. Getting a heartbeat was just an idea,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“And a good idea! We all need more comforts around here, don’t we?” Wei Wuxian nestles three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck to search for a pulse again, his brow knit in thought. Despite himself, Wen Ning can’t help but be glad that he can feel that touch a second time.

When Wei Wuxian experiments on him, the tugs and surges of resentful energy don’t exactly feel good. It’s like ice cracking under his skin, leaving shards that poke out of him. Or like the bony hand of a skeleton yanking at his insides, ripping him apart and rattling the pieces around.

The pain and discomfort frighten him. Remind him of what Wei Wuxian is capable of. What Wen Ning is capable of.

Yet he finds enjoyment in the fear, in the icy fingers of resentful energy, because those are the shadows of Wei Wuxian’s hands on him, reshaping him.

And before Wei Wuxian experiments on him…that feels too good. The doting—almost loving—attention, the careful examination, mumbled words, soft touches…

Wei Wuxian pulls his hand away and brings it to his own throat. His glance darts around the cave as he seems to calculate something in his mind.

Then he grabs Wen Ning’s hand and presses Wen Ning’s fingers into his neck. The sensation comes delayed, but Wen Ning feels it.

A pulse. Wei Wuxian’s pulse.

Wei Wuxian continues looking around the cave and thinking, as if this is just another ordinary step in a routine. But to Wen Ning, this is—this is—have they ever done something this intimate? How can Wei Wuxian let him feel the rhythm of his pulse, of his life force, and act like it’s nothing?

Somehow that makes it even more intimate, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind…

Wen Ning counts the beats to himself.

Too slow. Not by much, but Wei Wuxian’s heart rate is too slow for his age, his size.

Wen Ning would make a mental note to tell Jiejie, but he knows she’s already aware. Wei Wuxian’s health has been deteriorating since he stepped back into the Burial Mounds.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Mn?”

“I…I have a different idea.”

Wei Wuxian lifts Wen Ning’s hand from his neck, but doesn’t let go. He smiles. “What’s that?”

“You can just give me the tablet.” Wen Ning looks down at the slab of stone, thin black wisps of smoke swirling around it. “I can feel its heartbeat.”

“You don’t want your own?”

He shakes his head.

Wei Wuxian playfully taps the back of Wen Ning’s hand a few times. Four times, to be exact. Wen Ning can’t help counting. “That heartbeat isn’t very human, though.”

Neither am I, Wen Ning wants to say, but he knows Wei Wuxian will scold him if he does. “It would be more than enough,” he says instead.

“You’re going to make the Yiling Laozu feel like a fraud if you let him give you scraps and call it ‘more than enough.’” He sighs and glances down at the tablet. “But you can take it until I come up with something better.”

“Then…is there something that you don’t think is a scrap?”

Wei Wuxian brings Wen Ning’s fingers to his neck again, and the warm pulse hums through his fingertips. “Well, there’s my heartbeat.” He winks. “I’d still call that a scrap, though.”

“No it isn’t,” Wen Ning blurts.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. Then his expression turns thoughtful. “Would you rather keep feeling mine?”

Wen Ning doesn’t reply, but he knows his face says everything. Not even rigor mortis can hide the answer.

“Forget about that useless rock, then.” Wei Wuxian pats his chest. “I’ll be your heartbeat for now.”

Wen Ning is sure that if he still had blood flow, he would be flushed. Panicked energy begins to twitch inside him. “N-No, it’s okay—”

“You don’t want my finest craftsmanship, and you don’t want my scraps! What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing,” Wen Ning answers quietly.

“Yes, something.” He takes Wen Ning’s hand and tugs him toward the slab of stone he uses as a bed. “Hm. How should we do this? Maybe—”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says, exasperated. He likes that Wei Wuxian never hesitates, never slows down—it’s attractive, in a frustrating kind of way—but it often leaves Wen Ning in the dust with his mind still sputtering and struggling to function.

“Alright, sit here.” Wei Wuxian gestures toward the bed. “If you want to,” he adds.

It’s pointless to ask if Wen Ning wants to. He wonders if Wei Wuxian knows that he doesn’t need Chenqing or yin iron to make him do just about anything.

Suddenly filled with dread, a dread that he is going to like this too much, he steps forward and awkwardly sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Perfect,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He taps Wen Ning’s knee twice. “Spread your legs.”

Now Wen Ning is certain that he would be flushed if he were alive. “S-S-Spr—what?”

“Hey.” He smirks and points a finger at Wen Ning. “Who taught you to have thoughts like that? Don’t worry. I just need you to make room for me.”

Wen Ning gets out some garbled form of “okay” and spreads his legs, creating enough space for Wei Wuxian to sit on one of his knees.

Which Wei Wuxian does.

Sit on his knee.

He also wraps his arms around Wen Ning’s neck and pulls him closer until his cheek touches Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I can’t do all the work myself.” He cups Wen Ning’s chin. “You have to move too.”

Wen Ning swallows—by habit, since he doesn’t really need to do that anymore—and positions himself so his ear rests over Wei Wuxian’s heart. He can’t feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat through the robes, but the gentle sound of thum, thum seeps into him right away.

Warmth, too. A lot of warmth.

“Good?” Wei Wuxian hums.

Wen Ning makes a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat. He fiddles with his hands in his lap, trying and failing to find a good place for them that isn’t Wei Wuxian’s legs. “I hear it.”

“Only hear it?”

He opens his mouth to object, but he knows that Wei Wuxian will spot the lie before it leaves his lips.

Wei Wuxian opens the collar of his dark outer robes and lets Wen Ning rest his head on the thin red inner garment.

Even warmer. Softer.

He can feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat.

He hasn’t felt something like this since he was a child. It’s…not what he expects.

Jiejie had taught him how to take a person’s pulse. How to place three fingers on each wrist and find the six pulse positions corresponding to the meridians of the body, to identify the different types of pulses—their depth, width, length, strength. How sometimes the pulse feels like beads rolling along a table, while other times it feels like the crisp pluck of a guqin string, and so on, each revealing secrets of the body, guiding how to best heal the patient.

All that knowledge had once been exciting. It seems mundane, now.

The medical analogies for a pulse at the wrist, Wen Ning realizes, don’t work to describe what a heartbeat from the chest feels like when it’s pressed against his cheek.

It’s like wading in a warm stream, sunshine beating on him. The gentle lap of current, its smooth rhythm—thum, thum—like the most natural and simple form of expression.

Wen Ning wishes Jiejie had instead taught him how to decipher a person’s soul by listening to their heartbeat, because with this strange, steady language reverberating in his ear, it almost seems possible.

“Now?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Wen Ning doesn’t make a sound this time.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats and tries to guess how many fit into a minute. They remain like that, long after Wen Ning loses count, with Wei Wuxian’s warm body in his lap. They both relax, and Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat eventually fades into Wen Ning, like it’s his own.

His awareness returns when he notices Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat slowing even more. He pulls away, immediately missing the comforting solidness of Wei Wuxian’s chest, and looks up to see a calm, drowsy expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. His eyes are heavy-lidded and almost fully closed.

“We’ve been telling you,” Wen Ning says softly. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “You really are becoming bossy.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“You and your jiejie are like a pair of vultures. Circling me when I’m weak and picking at me!” He gives a wan smile and reaches around Wen Ning’s back to rub his shoulder. “But I appreciate that you care about me.”

Wen Ning absorbs the feeling of Wei Wuxian stroking his shoulder, the thrum of Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat still lingering in his ear. “I appreciate that you care about me, too,” he mumbles.

He’s not sure if Wei Wuxian hears, but figures he knows anyway.

* * *

The next day, Wei Wuxian lets Wen Ning listen again.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

It becomes a pattern, as reliable as the beat of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Wei Wuxian is more likely to skip a meal or lose a night of sleep than he is to shirk his self-proclaimed “heartbeat duty,” and Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian likes it as much as he does.

Then Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli show up in Yiling.

That night, Wei Wuxian drinks like he wants to waterboard himself.

He forgets about heartbeat duty after that. Wen Ning lets him.

* * *

Two weeks later, Wen Ning brings a medicinal draught Jiejie prepared to the Demon Subdue Palace. The sun outside sank long ago, leaving behind deep blues and browns that bleed into the entrance of the cave. A single candle flickers on a rock shelf in the cave wall, illuminating the craggy wall and the floor strewn with bits of metal and wood and crumpled talismans.

Astoundingly, Wei Wuxian is not hunched in the corner scribbling away. He’s in bed scribbling away, his sleeves rolled up and his tied-back hair slightly disheveled the way they are when he digs in the mud pond for the lotus pods that won’t grow.

He hadn’t come out to farm since the day before. Wen Ning wonders if he’s fixed his sleeves or his hair since then.

Wen Ning steps over as quietly as he can manage with his clumsy feet and waits beside the bed, holding the draught with both hands and feeling a faint sensation of its warmth. “Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian presses the wooden end of his brush into the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how to make a Spirit-Attraction Flag attract only ghosts of a certain age?”

“…No.”

“Mn. I—wait—” He cuts off and draws what looks like disjointed pieces of an array scribbled in the margins around rejected brushstrokes.

Wen Ning lets him write for a while, then says, “My jiejie made this for you to drink.”

“And why,” Wei Wuxian asks without a pause in his writing, “is she spending resources on me instead of saving them for A-Yuan and the others?”

“You need medicine, too. Because your stab wound still hasn't healed, and—and Jiejie says your body still isn’t used to not having a gold—”

Wei Wuxian abruptly stops writing. Wen Ning clamps his mouth shut, and wishes he hadn’t said anything.

With a lack of pleasure that he fails to hide, Wei Wuxian scribbles a few more things, then stands up, slices a cut in his finger, and begins trailing red lines on a Spirit-Attraction Flag. “I’m going down the mountain to test this.” He looks over at Wen Ning with a softened expression and walks out of the cave.

Wen Ning doesn’t need him to say that it’s an invitation to follow. He always accompanies Wei Wuxian down the mountain. He’d rather Wei Wuxian sleep, but at least leaving the Burial Mounds always puts him in a better mood.

After they pass through the final protective array and the forest around the path begins to change from grim black leafless trees to green trees shaded blue by moonlight, Wei Wuxian seems to relax. But instead of testing the flag in the clearing where he usually does, he continues walking.

They reach the edge of the forest. A few clouds in the sky hide some of the stars, but the moon is out, a bright half of a silver coin. They pass the town from a distance, still close enough to see amber dots of light from the few lanterns lit at this time of night, but far enough that even Wen Ning’s sharp vision can’t discern clear shapes of the buildings. Wei Wuxian stares at the town once in a while, as if he can see something in the muddied blocks of light.

They enter a different patch of forest and stray just far enough inside for tree branches to reach across the sky again.

Wei Wuxian holds up the flag and examines it.

He lowers the flag to his side.

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did you…”

He trails off when Wei Wuxian begins slowly rolling up the thin canvas. “I think I just wanted to go for a walk,” he says. “I’ll let the spirits rest today.” He sets the folded flag on a large rock and sits on the ground, his back against the stone, looking out at the plains and town from the recesses of the forest.

“I like walking with you,” Wen Ning says, and sits beside him.

Wei Wuxian usually buries his sorrow in his projects, in the crop fields, in his games with A-Yuan. This aimlessness is the closest glimpse Wen Ning sees of Wei Wuxian’s true state of mind. Wei Wuxian ensures that he is alone whenever he truly lets in his sorrow, but Wen Ning accompanies him during the times when he comes close. As if Wei Wuxian wants him to see—wants someone to see—but refuses to reveal everything.

No one else but Wen Ning has sat next to Wei Wuxian while he draws portraits for no particular reason (he never shows them to Wen Ning, but Wen Ning can guess whom he draws), no one else has slept across the cave from him while he mumbles in his sleep, no one else has wandered down the mountain at night with him.

Wen Ning doesn’t know if he should feel privileged or worried that Wei Wuxian lets him see this much.

He doesn’t think he deserves to know Wei Wuxian’s deepest thoughts, but he wants Wei Wuxian to pass more sorrow onto him, let him shoulder some of the pain. Wen Ning’s heart is dead, he can take it.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian says. He smooths his robes, adjusts his fitted sleeves. “I haven’t done heartbeat duty in a while, have I?”

“You don’t need to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Wen Ning looks down at his knees, but Wei Wuxian scoots closer.

With their backs against the rock, Wei Wuxian hugs him in, rests his hand on the side of Wen Ning’s head, cradling him against his chest. Wen Ning tucks his arms away, trying not to touch Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian takes one of his hands.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

Wen Ning waits a moment, wishing he had proper breath to steady himself, then carefully wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian, nestling close to his slender frame.

It feels different this time. Not because their position is different, or because Wuxian’s heartbeat is any faster or slower, stronger or weaker.

There is no purpose this time. It isn’t for Wen Ning to experience sensations more fully. It isn’t for Wei Wuxian to find comfort.

They are just two bodies cast aside from life, bodies that struggled to catch each other during their fall until they landed in each other’s embrace.

Holding Wei Wuxian feels as natural as his heartbeat, as inevitable as each thrum beneath where Wen Ning rests his head.

And just as fleeting.

Wei Wuxian is more alive than any person he knows, yet is wasting away more each day, having given up everything to protect the Dafan Wen.

And Wei Wuxian is not his. Only one thing ties them together: they have each made the other into a member of the living dead.

With whom did it start? Was it Wei Wuxian, who brought Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse, or was it Wen Ning, who held Wei Wuxian down as his core was removed? Or was it the world that did this to both of them?

But despite the thread of shared death that ties them together, Wei Wuxian could break that connection if he wanted to.

Wen Ning is bound to his family, bound to this unnatural body, bound to Chenqing's laments. He can never reenter the world.

But Wei Wuxian...

One day, Wei Wuxian may have the chance to belong in the world again. With his shidi and shijie, with Lan Wangji.

Wen Ning will always be banished to the margins of the world.

“How long are you going to live with us?” Wen Ning finds himself asking.

Leaves rustle quietly in the forest, clouds disappearing above their heads to reveal more stars against the dark liquid sky. An owl hoots questioningly far behind them.

“Until tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says. “Ask me again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you again.”

“I can’t ask you that every day.”

“Then don’t ask me at all.” He strokes Wen Ning’s hair, over the back of his head and down his back. “I’m not leaving.”

Wei Wuxian continues playing with Wen Ning’s hair, running his fingers through it, stopping occasionally to work out a tangle. Not for the first time, Wen Ning wishes he could feel touch more strongly. He had dreamt of moments like these as a teenager, gentle caresses from Wei Wuxian, impossible moments. He hadn’t realized he would receive them one day after they had given up their lives for each other.

“When do you think we’ll get our next visitor?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Think I can make that Spirit-Attraction Flag into a Guest-Attraction Flag?” He chuckles. “We can hang it at the ridge. People will be drawn from miles to come talk to us. Tell Uncle Four to get lots of fruit wine ready." He fiddles with the sleeve of Wen Ning's robe. "I’ll have you test out the flag. Wear it like a cloak, and go walk around Yiling to see how many friends you make.”

“I can barely get anyone to buy turnips from me.”

“Change of plans, then! I’ll make a Customer-Attraction Flag, and we’ll finally be rich.”

Wen Ning smiles. “What are we going to buy once we’re rich?”

“Toys for A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian rubs across Wen Ning’s shoulders, back and forth. “Every toy in Yiling.”

“We should buy every toy in Lanling, too.”

“That’ll need a lot more money. We’ll have to grow bigger turnips.”

“A giant one.”

“A single giant turnip?” Now there is real laughter in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “I’ll have to plant you as the seed to grow something big enough. Don’t tell your jiejie. Although she might figure it out when you disappear, and meanwhile a turnip the size of the Burial Mounds takes over Yiling.”

“I still won’t tell her.”

Wei Wuxian makes a low humming sound. “I can always count on you.”

Wen Ning melts more into Wei Wuxian’s embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

“Too bad that no matter who we bury in the lotus pond,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh, “those plants still don’t want to sprout.” This time he doesn’t rub Wen Ning’s back or fiddle with him while he talks.

He’s never said something like that about the lotus crop without following it up with a confident proclamation—But when have I ever not achieved the impossible?, They’ll poke their heads out soon!, My lotus flowers will be the biggest you’ve seen, just wait!

He’s never left hanging the chance that the lotus crop might not grow.

Wen Ning waits for the cocky remark, but it doesn’t come. “They’ll sprout if you’re the one growing them,” Wen Ning suggests, filling in the declaration that Wei Wuxian missed.

“…Yeah.”

Wen Ning’s stomach sinks. He looks up. Wei Wuxian smiles at him and guides him to rest against his chest again.

“It’s only been two weeks. They might take a while,” Wen Ning says, his face nearly turned into Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“I’ll just cheat and make a Lotus-Attraction Flag.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Of course you will. You’ll also help me with the flag for attracting guests to marvel at the beauty of our lotus pond!”

Guests again.

Wen Ning knows that Hanguang-Jun had visited on the day his consciousness returned. Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli had met with Wei Wuxian soon after. Both left marks on Wei Wuxian.

Is he thinking about them?

Wishing he had warmth of his own to give Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning hugs him tighter. He's not sure if they lower to the ground in one movement or slowly slide down, but eventually they lie on their sides, facing each other, arms tight around each other. Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat speaks, and Wen Ning listens.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely.

Who is there in the Burial Mounds for Wei Wuxian to feel the same affection toward as he feels about Hanguang-Jun? Or to provide the same comfort as the company of his siblings?

Everyone in the Burial Mounds has tried their best to provide the support of a new family for Wei Wuxian. He has even called them his family. But try as they might, how could the Dafan Wen replace his shidi and shijie?

The shidi and shijie Wen Ning helped Wei Wuxian save, only to steal him away from. He knows that it was Wei Wuxian’s choice to lead the Dafan Wen to the Burial Mounds and live with them, but would he have made that choice if he had never formed a relationship with Wen Ning and his sister? The thought makes guilt churn in his stomach.

“Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian runs his thumb in gentle circles over Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Is that something you want?” He pulls away from Wei Wuxian’s chest to look up at him, though not quite into his eyes. “Guests?”

“Don’t take that all so seriously. If guests come, would they be as good of a drinking buddy as Uncle Four, or as good of a storyteller as Granny, or as energetic as A-Yuan? They couldn’t compete.”

“But you meant it,” Wen Ning says, surprised at the force in his own voice, quiet as it is. “I’ll help you bring guests here.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and brushes his thumb over Wen Ning’s cheek, the touch warm and soft like hushed words. “You’re already too good to me. Don’t worry about me.” He sighs and looks up at the sky. “Each of us will have things we want, but can’t have. It’s just part of living.”

Wen Ning, too, looks up at the star-studded sky through the dark silhouettes of trees. The full shapes of the constellations are broken up, but he can picture which stars are waiting behind the black hands of tree leaves.

As he follows the disjointed forms of the constellations, he decides that he will relieve Wei Wuxian’s burdens.

He is not sure at what moment he makes the decision, but it settles into his bones and becomes his purpose for the night.

Not just for the night. For as long as Wei Wuxian is by his side.

The day Wen Ning’s consciousness was restored, he had heard A-Yuan singing a song about walking the “single-log bridge.” Curious, Wen Ning had asked where A-Yuan learned the song.

“Xian-gege,” had been the answer. The song’s lyrics had been about Wei Wuxian walking alone into darkness.

Wen Ning will not let him walk alone.

If Wei Wuxian wants to walk the single-log bridge, Wen Ning will carry him across it.

“Will you tell me about them?” Wen Ning asks.

“About what?”

“The things you want, but can’t have.”

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is coming soon. If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Hypothetically,

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Intrulogical, Platonic Logince

It is about! Damn! Time! That I wrote some Intrulogical! Also, y’all already know my stance on platonic logince,,,, guys they ARE best friends i’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending). mentions of stuff like autopsies and nuclear explosions in the context of like experiments- they do stuff in The Imagination, basically. Panic attack (?). Hurt/comfort. Pretty heated kissing; It’s more intense makin’ out than I usually write but it isn’t anything explicit at all, don’t worry! ADHD Remus and Autistic Logan. Cursing- like So Much Cursing. Mentions of space, deep sea, etc. Food mention.

Word count: 6,769

There was a conundrum. 

A., Logan needed to use the Imagination. B., He could not use it on his own, considering that he was Logic. C., Roman was nowhere to be found. The answer to what was frustrating Logan at that moment would be all of the above.

To be clear, he didn’t like going into the Imagination. It was simply the only suitable place to perform his ‘experiments’. His very necessary, very distracting experiments. But, as stated, Roman was God-knows-where doing God-knows-what. 

Logan sighed at the door, as though it was the inanimate structure’s fault. The cracks gleamed obnoxiously bright, golden light pouring out from behind the door in a somewhat eerie manner. It was a nonsensical, unrealistic, completely insignificant place, and he wanted in.

Logan was contemplating asking Janus for help (lies took imagination, right?) when, out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Literally an arm, disembodied and oozing sick-smelling blood onto the carpet. Ah. Wonderful. 

“Hello, Remus,” he pulled the appendage from around him, holding it at arm’s length (no pun intended, dammit). 

“Hi!” Remus took his arm back and reattached it with a disturbing crunch, a grin stretching his face. He sidled up to Logan, imitating the side’s stance in front of the door. 

“Can I help you with something?” the logical trait tilted his shoulder away from where Remus had pressed against him. 

“Not unless you’re willing to get really messy- but I can help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, promptly flinging the door to The Imagination open. An encompassing energy radiated into the common room, corrupting the usual neutrality of the space. It didn't last long before Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him along through the entryway, movements as sporadic and fast-paced as everything else about the creative.

“It’s not very logical to just stand there staring at the door all day, in my opinion. I dunno what you need Imagination for, but whatever it is, I can help! My half is much more interesting, anyway.”

“Oh,” Logan blinked, narrowly ducking his head under a branch as he was pulled forward, “Thank you, I suppose.”

He politely didn’t mention that he doubted Remus’ capacity for helpfulness. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. 

The door from the commons was quite a walk from the darker half of The Imagination, but at the pace its owner had them going they were there in minutes. The border was marked with tangles of densely thorned shrubbery, which parted for them, as if they sensed the approach. Logan just barely avoided snagging his shoe on one as they passed.

There was forest, twisted and shadowy, for only a minute. After that, they were in a city, with tall buildings and winding streets and dark alleys. Another switch, they came into what seemed like an amusement park. Nothing was consistent in theme, and none of the scenes held up for more than a minute or two. Remus shook his head and tisked. With a snap, a good portion of the ever-changing scenery was erased, leaving blank white space. The Duke turned to look at Logan with a satisfied smile. 

“Ta-da! What do you need?” 

Logan blanched for a moment, surprised at Remus’ willingness to completely delete Imaginings without a second thought. It usually took Roman ages to find a spot that he was okay with giving up on for Logan’s “projects”- which he always had thought was a little silly, seeing as he could bring it back when they were done. The change of pace was a pleasant one, though, so there was no need to dawdle for long. 

“I need a miniature fully-functioning model of our solar system. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, totally,” Remus waved his hand and the request appeared suspended in the air, spread out to be the size of a dining table. All was accounted for- sun, moons, eight planets plus pluto- orbiting and spinning around each other. Imagination, by nature, had no real limits, but the detail was still a sight to behold every time. Logic smiled, surveying the set-up, before gesturing to the edge of their blank section.

“Thank you for the help, you may go.”

“May I now?” Remus conjured a seat for himself, staring at Logan with his chin resting on his hands, “You’re not even going to tell me what this is for? That’s just rude.”

Logan glanced up from the tiny earth he was inspecting, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish, but your brother usually leaves at this point. He says my experiments are-” he summons his notebook, “‘Bore-ifying’, which I assume is a portmanteau for ‘boring’ and ‘horrifying’.” 

“Roman’s a big baby!”

Logan shrugged, not disagreeing, and resumed his careful observation of the tiny model earth. Remus made no move to go, wheeling his chair even closer. The scientific side carried on before his new audience of one, hovering a hand over the little planet. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Logan made a gesture with his hand that magnified the model significantly. 

The results were immediately catastrophic. Logan jotted a few observations down in his notebook, watching closely at the ways torrents of wind ripped up trees and buildings. In the back of his mind, he was faintly impressed by just how well-rendered ‘Dark’ Creativity’s earth was, down to the individual humans, brutalized by the storms. 

“Whoah, what the fuck?!” 

Logan looked up briefly to see Remus craning his head over the destruction of the stilled planet. His eyes were wide and bright with curiosity.

“Oh- I should probably explain. I come here, usually, to run some improbable scenarios as a sort of stress-reliever. Specifically, this one is what would happen if earth stopped spinning on its axis. As you can see, due to the earth no longer rotating at its usual speed, the wind would continue on at-” he cut himself off abruptly, sensing the beginnings of a ramble, “I’m sorry, I’ve been told that I have a tendency to ‘go off’ when a subject particularly interests me.”

Remus rolled his chair even closer, looking much like an excited animal (more so than usual, anyway).

“Well then, go off! Don’t leave me hanging! Is that really what would happen, just if it stopped?” He gestured enthusiastically to the way that the oceans had begun to crash against and consume shorelines. He looked interested- genuinely interested. 

Logan bit back a smile. He didn’t have to be told twice. 

 It was one of those particularly restless nights. For no foreseeable goddamn reason, Logic’s mind had become alight with enough half-formed thoughts and barely sensible ideas to fill a very, very weird book. The Imagination did wonders when he got like this, but it usually wasn’t two in the morning when he needed to use it. That wasn’t to say the circumstance was unheard of, but all times prior he could push the urge to investigate away with the reasoning that he could just ask Roman in the morning, and that the Creative side needed his ‘beauty sleep’, as he called it. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, was there?

Tonight was different. Logan could hear the occasional snap or tear or cackle from the room across from his. Remus’ room. 

It had been less than a week since The Duke let him use the darker half of the Mindpalace, and that was pretty much the only meaningful interaction they’d had in as many days. They weren’t close, Logan wasn’t even sure if they were friends (not that he was a good judge of that, given the first time Roman referred to them as ‘besties’ he had all but cried), but Remus was at the very least an option. He was also unlikely to mind, given that he was already awake and had exhibited excitement previously. 

Logan made up his mind after yet again failing to fall asleep. Quietly, he opened his door and took the few short steps across the hall, raising his fist. Remus’ door was open before his second knock. 

“Oh, hey! What are you doing, coming knocking at this hour?” he didn’t even try to whisper, accompanying his statement with an over-exaggerated wink. Logan didn’t waste his time trying to shush the side. 

“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-”

“You know I don’t mind your ‘interruptions’, Twunk-y Megamind!”

“-But I was wondering if you would… Help me, again. I seem to be having a hard time getting to sleep, and I think that getting out some of my ideas could help.”

Remus’ face lit up dramatically. 

“Oh hell yes! Are we gonna blow up more planets?”

“Something like that,” he kept his voice monotone, disguising the relief and hint of pride at such a positive reaction. 

“Well, come on!”

Logan let himself be dragged into Remus’ room, barely having time to make note of the surprisingly organized layout before he was pulled through a sleek black door. 

“But you have to tell me about it,” he ordered, twisting them through narrow paths in his half of The Imagination. Logan suppressed a smile. 

“If you want to hear it, then I’m happy to.” 

Without warning, they stopped the breakneck pace that Remus moved at. The trait seemed appeased with their surroundings, though as far as Logan could tell it was just another piece of ever-shifting ominous landscape. 

Remus snapped his fingers. The scene remained intact. 

“Sorry,” he glanced around nervously, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Can’t get ‘em out. I’ll get it, I just-”

“It’s no trouble.” 

Logan rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like using his ‘abilities’ much, as every side had some set of special skills, and all of them were much too ostentatious. But they were helpful, at times. He waved a hand, gesturing carefully so that he didn’t dismantle any more of The Imagination than was absolutely necessary. With a small stutter, the landscape shifted to a blank slate.

When he looked back up, Remus’ expression was not unlike that of a Cheshire cat.

“What was that?”

“I am Logic, therefore it follows that I am the antithesis to any Imagination creations. It’s very easy to erase them with just a bit of rationality.” 

“No clue what a lot of those words meant, but it’s still cool that you can destroy shit.”

Laughing was unbecoming, to say the least, and so the logical trait tended to avoid it at all costs. The snort that escaped him was entirely involuntary. 

If Remus noticed the noise, he said nothing about it. He was too busy bouncing from foot to foot, expectantly waiting for instructions. Logan cleared his throat of the outburst and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple…”

 At his request, Remus would construct immaculately detailed creatures, settings, and models, watching gleefully at the ordeals Logan put each one through. They tested various and progressively elaborate ways to sink populated cruise liners, they simulated the effects of falling from the Empire State Building, dissected approximations of obscure marine animals (a shared special interest of theirs, apparently), and any of the other unrealistic questions that occurred to the typically rational Logic. 

The only way to get such questions from his mind, he’d found out a long time ago, was deconstructing them one step at a time, to see them in their full ridiculousness. 

It was also, he was coming to realize, incredibly fun. 

Before the two knew it, the already late hour had turned unreasonable. Logan blinked owlishly at his watch, distracted from the tiny supernova that he’d created.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” four in the morning. Four in the morning! 

“Aw, does that mean we’re done?” Remus whined, yet he still began unmaking his small star system. 

Logan was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and a rubbery feeling in his limbs. God, was he tired. 

“I’m afraid so. I really should’ve gone to sleep hours ago.”

“Fine,” Remus dragged the word out with a groan, “But let me know next time you wanna fuck with space, or deep sea stuff, or anything like that.”

Next time. 

As much as Logan adored Roman, there was something very nice about having the more grim brother help him out with these experiments. For one, his creations were often much more accurate to the real world- likely because gore and destruction were that much more impactful when they were realistic. For two, he actually seemed to enjoy the work. 

Logan’s deliberation was brief. 

“I will.”

 As it happened, the night spent delving into dozens of ideas had purged Logan’s need to use The Imagination, for the time being. Clearly, Remus was not patient enough to wait for him.

He popped up, unannounced, in Logic’s room.

“Lo!!!”

The trait in question fell out of his office chair in a very undignified way. Not that there’s a particularly dignified way to fall out of a chair, but if there was, this definitely wouldn’t have been it. He ‘ate shit’, as the saying goes.

Out of pure embarrassment, Logan made no move to get off the floor.

“Hello, Remus,” he greeted, “How may I help you?”

The Duke laughed raucously, sprawling into the now-unoccupied chair and leaning over him. 

“You’re a riot, Dork,” then, added with glittering eyes, “Did you break anything?”

“No. Given that I am metaphysical, I’m not sure that I have bones.”

“I have bones!”

“Are they your bones?”

“They are bones and they are in my possession, yes.” 

Logan let the subject drop and repeated his first question. 

“Right, I forgot! I have an idea for an experiment!”

Logan thought that, despite his mild humiliation, it would probably benefit the conversation if he wasn’t lying on the ground, so he stopped doing that. Brushing mostly imaginary dust from his clothes, he shot Remus a bemused look.

“That’s nice. But I was asking you why you were here.”

The Duke’s face fell, almost imperceptibly.  

“I thought you’d wanna know, because of what you said last time. Isn’t this, like, a thing we do now? You know how shit works, and I know how to make that shit, and then you can tell me about it!” 

Oh. 

“Remember when you were talking about radiation the other day? You can’t just say stuff like that and then not expect me to want to try it out, so really this is on you. It’d be dumb not to let you in on it.”

Oh. 

He’d been listening to that rant? Moreover, he’d remembered it, and now had his own ideas and follow-up questions about it? 

Logan felt light-headed. 

“You’re probably too busy with work, huh? I guess my explosions don't have to be accurate, if you’re set on being boring,” Remus’ tone was nonchalant, but he was obviously lingering for attention. Logan then remembered that words are a thing, and people use them to communicate.

“No! I mean, yes- I mean, I’m not busy. I can join you, I- I’d like to, even,” the intelligent side heard a small voice in his head, his own miniature Virgil, screaming- what the fuck was that, get it together, Jesus, because he, despite what his fellow sides insisted, was absolutely nonfunctional when trying to form a friendship. 

Remus didn’t seem to notice or care much past his own cheer.

“Cool!” he, yet again, wasted no time in seizing Logan’s arm and yanking him away, “I wanted to see what would happen to animals and plants and stuff bunches of years after lots of radiation! Do you think they’d mutate? Get all twisted and fucked up so that they aren’t even recognizable as, say, a dog?”

Logan considered the question as he was led through the Mindpalace.

“Well, nothing would be able to live there at all. Additionally, anything within a little under a mile of the nuclear fallout- depending on a few variables- would be completely incinerated upon impact.”

“Like, flesh-melting incinerated?” 

“More like vaporized. The fireball would burn 10,000 times the heat of the sun.”

Remus went starry eyed, bringing them to a halt a mere five feet from the door. 

“I wanna see that,” he waved his hands around at their surroundings, “Can you do the white-out thing?” 

Logan, much less hesitant than last time, obliged. A small smile escaped him at the wondrous look on The Duke’s face. It was another form of expression he didn’t particularly care for, but containing his emoting was more trouble than it was worth by now. He couldn’t find it in him to care much either, for once. 

“Where do we start?” Remus prompted.

“You tell me. I will help you make it as accurate as possible, and provide any insight that you want, but it is your idea,” and he wanted to hear more about those ideas. Odd and violent, mesmerizing and clever. There was so much that he wanted to hear about, to talk about, to puzzle out together. 

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to share such interests with. Maybe, despite how deeply he cared for his ‘family’, as Patton called them- maybe it was never.

Remus chattered as he worked, disrupting the train of thought. Logan almost tuned it out- after all, everyone had grown perfectly used to The Duke’s rambling- but he caught himself. That was hardly how he should treat the side that was so strangely considerate to him, wasn’t it? 

Logan listened from then on. He began to add on to the conversation, corrections and elaborations and actual questions, because he actually didn’t know some of it. He didn’t regret the choice. 

By the end, Remus and Logan were sitting together in the smoldering ruins of their make-believe test town, exchanging notes for different variables they could use in the next trial. They only stopped when Logan was abruptly summoned away by Thomas. He excused himself, a bit apologetic, promising to visit again soon.

As he helped Thomas (with what really should have been a simple task, honestly), Logic wondered briefly about the origins of the hollow feeling that grew in his chest. Something distracted, longing, and unfamiliar. 

And then the oven caught fire, and the only thing he felt was annoyance with the man that he was somehow a component of. 

 So, that was that- Logan and Remus were friends, now spent regular time together, and shared interests. By all accounts, it was a simple and obviously positive development. 

But then there was Roman. 

“What’s wrong with my work? You’d really prefer whatever edgy 12-year-old DeviantArt account nonsense that he thinks up?”

Logan set his book down with a sigh and looked over to his doorway, where Roman stood with his hands on his hips.

“Come in, Roman, and thank you for knocking,” he snarked. The Creative side made a vaguely sassy noise, trotting right in and flopping backwards onto the bed. Without closing the door, the monster.

“I thought that building your Weird Science contraptions was our thing.”

Logan made a show of standing up and manually shutting his door before responding. 

“You don’t like my ‘contraptions’, as you call them.”

“Yeah, but I still made them for you! Because we’re friends, but I suppose you’ve forgotten all about that!” 

He really should have expected the melodrama. And yet, Logan had lived in a delusional world where he didn’t care about the most Extra being on earth.

With an eye roll, Logic dropped down beside Roman on the bed- though he wasn’t half as flamboyant about it. 

“I can have more than one friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be your favorite! We’re supposed to hang out together! Do the friendship bracelets I made mean nothing to you?”

He flung his arm across Logan’s chest, a ‘friendship bracelet’ clearly visible on his wrist (a loose usage of the term, given that it was a solid gold band with inlaid sapphires, because of course it was).

Logan held up his arm as well, showing that his (silver with inlaid rubies) was still very much in use, despite his distaste for jewelry.

“We hang out plenty. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings by spending time with your brother. My reason for doing so is that he seems to take active enjoyment in building and learning about these things with me. He also makes very good conversation, in regards to the more, ah, eccentric experiments.”

Roman tossed his head to the side to watch Logan with narrowed eyes. After a pause, he linked their arms at the elbow. 

“Yeah, you would think that. You’re secretly just as much of a weirdo as him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh please, I can barely keep up with a word that either of you say,” Roman headbutted Logan’s shoulder in what was likely another of his odd displays of affection. He let his head rest there for a minute, a rare instance of peace before he inevitably resumed talking. 

“Anyways-”

“Anyway,” Logan corrected.

“Anyways, if you nerds wanna talk about your weird, creepy experiments, then I guess that’s fine. But he isn’t allowed to co-opt anything else that we do together that we both actually like- no making fun of movies together, no Crofters jams, and no poetry-slash-rap battles.”

“Of course not, Roman. You will always be my favorite person to disagree with.”

“Love you, too,” Creativity bumped him again, then sat up to stretch. Logan snorted a laugh and considered shoving Roman off the bed, watching as he raised his arms up and straightened his back. Before the trait had the chance, unfortunately, his friend was already standing. 

“Leaving already? Weren’t you just going on about spending time together?”

“Nah, that was all I wanted to yell at you about for now. I’ve gotta go help Pat with dinner.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Halfway out the door, Roman threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and whatever you two end up doing, do not give me the details. Please.”

Okay, finally, that really was that. Friendship established, blessings given, the end. A simple symbiosis.

Logan was thinking about the practical uses of medieval torture devices? Remus. He wanted to see exactly how long it would take your average healthy adult to succumb to drowning? Remus. Logan wanted to just rant, about anything and everything, his brain moving a mile a minute? Remus. They spent an inordinate amount of time together. 

Occasionally, when he didn’t even have the energy to converse, he would sit down with a book in the commons when he knew Remus was there and let the trait’s never ending word-vomit wash over him. It was an odd sort of intimacy, but that fit within the theme of their dynamic. Like he said, simple symbiosis. 

And that was when the not-very-platonic fondness grew. And Logan, to his own surprise, allowed it to. 

After deep consideration he had seen no reason not to; Remus wouldn’t judge him, not ever. It put a name to the hollow longing that occurred whenever he, eventually, had to get back to work and part from their talks. 

He hadn’t sorted out what to do about the feeling yet, but he felt no urgency. 

Logan’s book lay forgotten in his lap, that morning being one of the quiet ones as he reflected on his unfamiliar emotions. It was almost nice, letting such affection curl up in his chest and settle there.

His contemplation was broken by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?”

He tilted his head at Remus.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What were you thinking about?” his eyes lit up, very obviously hoping for it to be something disgusting. Logan glanced away, given that he didn’t even like eye-contact in the best of circumstances. 

“Nothing important. You have my attention now.”

Remus rolled his eyes with a huff, apparently genuinely irritated. 

“Well now I forgot what I was saying.”

“Let’s backtrack: what were you talking about before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, we can talk about something else.”

The irritation had grown to something unrecognizable to Logan- frustrating, given how closely he tried to study body language. He felt a stab of guilt as Remus stood up from his spot.

“It probably didn’t matter. I’m gonna go annoy Janus.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice was small, “Alright, then.”

He was already gone.

That was… concerning. Not to mention bewildering; Remus didn’t just pass up opportunities to talk! He didn’t just leave, not even when he wasn’t wanted! Logan really hadn’t thought his zoning out would earn such a reaction. 

But he was far from perceptive about emotional problems. There was no way to know if it was anything to throw a fit over. For all he knew, it was just an off-day. He couldn’t always expect his friend to be rambunctious and energetic, even if that was a big part of his personality. 

The issue would likely resolve itself.

 The issue did not do that. It did the polar opposite, speeding from mildly concerning to downright frightening at a whiplash-inducing pace.

Remus barely asked questions and almost never offered insight, as he usually did when they spent time together. In fact, his contributions had become rare and unenthusiastic enough that he could have passed as neurotypical, however disturbing the thought was. And that was when they did end up spending time together, which was becoming less and less often, much to the dismay of one significantly smitten smart side.

Something was very clearly wrong with Remus. Not the demented, destructive, mildly endearing and unhinged sort of wrong. It was the wrong sort of wrong.

Logan was hesitant to confront him outright. After a couple weeks of careful consideration, a more subtle solution occurred to him, as he idly flipped through a very graphic murder-mystery late into the night. Something bloody, and awful, and very much Remus’ taste. He set the novel down, knowing full well that his friend would be wide awake as he made his way across the hall.

“Remus?” he knocked at the side’s door, wearing a smile much wider than he usually liked. He was more than willing to express exuberance, if there was even the slightest chance that it would be infectious.

The door decidedly did not fly open. Rather, after a good deal of wrapping at it, Remus slowly pulled it back and poked his head out.

“Oh. Hey.”

Logan didn't dwell on the concern that reaction brought. He had something that would cheer Creativity up, of that he was sure.

“I have a test tonight- it’s going to be very messy,” he began, searching the impulsive trait’s eyes for any signs of interest. There was the slightest glint, but not much more. 

“So, you want me to make stuff for you?” His speech was monotonous. 

“Yes, that was the idea. It’s going to be gory.”

Hardly a reaction. All Remus did was open the door the rest of the way to allow Logan inside. Clearly, he had underestimated just how poorly his friend felt.

“Alright, I’ll set it up for you. Just don’t take too long, I was actually hoping to use my part of the Mindscape today.”

Logan nodded, very taken aback. He couldn’t ignore the slight hurt at the cold, dismissive tone (the irony of that wasn’t lost on him).

They stepped foot into The Imagination and immediately Remus stopped, destroying whatever had been in front of them- which was usually fine, it was just how he operated, but normally out of enthusiasm, not apathy. Maybe this was more than could be fixed with some blood and guts.

“What do you need?”

Logan conjured a tiny notebook, giving a tentative smile. Still, he was giving this plan a shot.

“Operating table,” one appeared before him, sleek metal with rolly legs, “A standard set of surgical tools,” he looked up to gauge Remus’ interest, but his expression still hadn’t changed as he continued to create, “A human corpse, and then we can get started.”

With a wave, a perfectly generic body fell onto the table, but Logan’s attention remained on The Duke.

“Great, have fun, let me know when you’re finished.”

Logan faltered, watching him turn to leave.

“You- you aren’t going to stay and do this with me?”

“You want me to?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Logan with a gaze that could (figuratively) wilt flowers.

“I- Yes? If you aren’t at all interested right now, then I can save this experiment for another day?” Yeah, this wasn’t working, but Logan had no backup.

“No, no, don’t wait for me, you’ve already got everything you need, right?”

“I mean- technically, yes, but it- it wouldn’t be the same.”

Remus cackled, sounding quite like the cartoonish villain that he often acted as. It hurt to listen to.

“So that’s what this is about! Let me just fix you up, then!” 

He snapped, and a blank humanoid form appeared at his side. It tilted its faceless head curiously at Logan, who recoiled.

“Not good enough? Is a hunk of nothing too unrealistic for you?” he snapped again, and the being suddenly transformed to match its creator exactly. 

Nearly exactly: it wore an enthusiastic grin, eyes wide and sparkling, rather than the steadily building fire that raged in real-Remus’ eyes. It spoke in a disgustingly cheery tone.

“Wow, tell me more! Show me that again? What happens when you do that? You’re just so interesting, Lo!” 

Remus watched the creation, a look of one part pride and a million parts resentment.

“Is that what you want? It’s just like me, but without any of the hassle of being another person that you have to deal with! And this one, you really can get rid of whenever you want, isn’t that great?”

Logan looked between the two, a fearful understanding creeping up his spine. There was something he was missing here, wasn’t there?

“No,” he muttered, half to the fake-Duke and half to the real one. 

“No?” Remus spat, circling his mirror, “No, of course, you’re so right. This isn’t nearly enough.”

He made an elaborate gesture, and about a dozen more Creativities appeared, surrounding them. Logan stumbled back from them, nearly tripping on the operating table that they’d previously made. When he looked up, the real Remus was approaching him with an expression that fought its way between guilt and indignation. It was all at once heart-wrenching and frightening. 

Logan tried to right himself, tried to look unaffected and certain of himself, as he raised his voice. He would not let this go a step farther, despite his confusion.

“Stop,” and with that, a wave rocked across The Imagination, and all was erased. In the aftermath he stood before a teary-eyed Remus (just the one, though), uncharacteristically looking like a stiff wind would knock him right over.

“What’s wrong? I gave you what you wanted!”

Logan reeled.

“Why would you think I wanted any of that?” 

“You wanted an experiment, I gave you one! You wanted a willing audience, I gave you twelve! But I guess I just get everything wrong, right?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Logan felt choked, his words clumsy. It was foreign and horrible and disgusting, but he’d trudge through it all if it meant fixing whatever he’d done wrong. It couldn’t have just been him losing focus once? Could it? 

“Oh, of course, I do just enough to be useful. So I’ve got that right; I’m a good utensil. Is it so much to ask that people would care about me, not just what I can do?” he posed a rhetorical oozing with vitriol, but it quickly evaporated into something much more desperate, “What if it’s my fault? It was my idea, I wanted to help. I don’t know why I thought you’d care past all that, did I give you a reason to? I can’t remember. It might make more sense that way, if I were the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Logan was running out of time to fix this, watching Remus curl in on himself, barely keeping from falling to the floor. He had no clue how The Duke had reached the conclusion that he didn’t care about him! They spent nearly all their free time together: sitting next to each other just to have the company, throwing each other tricky and often troubling questions to answer, constantly toiling away at things in The Imagination. Sometimes, they didn’t even need to talk, they just worked together in rapt silence; Remus did the creating and Logan arranged his work just so, and- Wait. Wait. Wait.

Logan didn’t need to talk, or touch, for that matter. Perhaps it was a mistake to presume the same for such a needy, affectionate, boisterous side? 

No, not perhaps, it was a huge mistake. A major fuck-up, if you will. 

He’d thought, if the blunt side had needed such comforts, surely he would initiate it? He hardly shied away from anything, except, well. 

Except. Feelings. 

God, he was the dumbest smart person in the world.

“Oh, Remus…”

The Duke’s head jerked up, continuing his back-and-forth of desperation and rage. 

“I don't need your pity!”

Logan sighed, twisting the end of his tie in frustration. 

“That isn't what I'm offering,” he took a breath before continuing, linking the words together so it would come out right. “I'm so sorry, I didn't take into account how you would interpret our interactions. I thought it was obvious that I cared for you, that I didn't need to say it outright. Clearly… I was wrong. So, if you need more than what I previously expressed- which I'm now realizing was very little in the eyes of someone who is not me- then I am happy to provide that for you.” 

Remus was shaken, a good deal of his ire slipping away. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.

Before it could be overthought, Logan crossed the remaining few feet between them and brought his arms around The Duke in his loose approximation of a hug. The trait froze, but he didn't pull away. 

Physical affection, check. 

“I value your companionship more than I'm entirely sure how to verbalize. You understand me in a way that most others don’t seem to. While your ability to make detailed creations is very helpful, it is hardly the only thing I appreciate about you. 

“For one, you make me laugh. A lot. More than I'm used to. Additionally, you can easily match the pace with which I speak, or change topics! And, you are so much smarter than you make yourself out to be,” Logan finished the spiel with a smile, genuinely proud at his ability to articulate such… sentimental things, with relative ease. Words of affirmation, check.

He snapped back to attention when Remus brought shaking hands up to Logan's chest. For a moment, he worried that Remus would shove him away. The fears dissipated when all he did was bunch the front of Logan's shirt in his hands and hold on tight. 

“Do you mean that,” his volume was low, ��Or do you just want me to calm down?”

Logan tightened his grip around him and, following a motion that he'd seen Patton employ many times to great success, he rubbed up and down his back.

“I understand that it might be hard for you to trust me, but I promise I'm not lying to you. I would have to be pretty awful to do something like that, wouldn't I?”

Hesitantly, Remus nodded against his collar. A good sign, but there was one thing left he had to say. 

“And- If you need further convincing- then you should know. I love you.”

Remus stilled. He then unfisted his hands from Logan's shirt. It was an anticipatory second before he threw his arms around the logical trait and finally returned the hug. His hold was crushing, and it was the most comforting thing that Logan had ever felt. 

They were okay.

“I'm sorry I-” 

Logan didn’t let him finish the apology. 

“Don't be. You didn't know how I felt, because I hadn't communicated it in a way you understood. That is hardly your fault.”

Remus nodded again, remaining much quieter than he’d probably ever been in his entire existence.

They held each other for longer than either would like to admit, speaking softly. 

“Thanks,” was muttered against Logan’s shoulder. 

“Of course. Just so you know, I'm more than willing to do this again whenever you need reassurance.”

“It might be a lot,” his tone was turning more mischievous, more him, “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan hardly minded having an opportunity to gush about Remus to Remus. Not to mention, the physical affection was even nicer than he'd imagined it being. And oh, had he imagined it. 

Remus' face returned to his usual ever-present zeal, and he ended their hug to bounce in place. 

“Great! I'm good now! We can get on with that autopsy you wanted to show me- there better be buckets of blood!”

Logan shifted his weight. 

“Maybe we should save that for another day.”

“Oh,” Remus' face fell the smallest bit, “Okay.”

Logan was quick to amend:

“By that I mean, I have something better in mind.”

 Remus curled himself up in Logan’s lap, his eyes barely focused on the TV as the side carded his hands through his tangled mop of hair. Final Destination 3 played on the television (he had assured Logan that they didn't need to see the first two, and he was mostly right), serving as an excuse for the two to drink in each other's company. 

It was right in the middle of a particularly graphic rollercoaster scene that Remus took Logan's hands from his hair to hold them, twisting around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Remus?”

“You told me you loved me,” he stated blankly. 

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn't say it back!”

“No, you didn't,” it hadn't been the most important matter at the time, really. “You don't have to say it. It's perfectly okay if you don't feel the s- Mmph!”

Remus smashed their lips together, holding the sides of Logan's face (disrupting his glasses in the process) and pulling him forward harshly. 

Logan, for less than a second, was floored. And then Remus tilted his head to deepen the already heated kiss, and the situation properly clicked. Logan reciprocated, slightly uncertain in his movements, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. 

Remus smiled against him. He nipped at Logan's lower lip with sharpened teeth, eliciting a very embarrassing yelp. Logic let his lips part in response as his thoughts grew fuzzier by the second. 

The (somewhat clumsy) open-mouthed kiss lasted right until they absolutely had to break, separating for air. Neither moved very far, letting their foreheads rest against each other and all but panting for breath.

“I love you so fuckin' much, nerd,” when Remus spoke, their lips brushed ever so slightly, “Just so you know.”

“I picked up on that, yes.” 

“A little clarity never hurts, right?”

Logan chuckled at the reference to his own sentiments, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Remus kissed him properly again. 

When they broke apart, he explained how 'stupid-cute' that laugh was. And Logan, only half-joking (since when did he joke at all?), said that he’d have to do it more often.

Banter came easily to them, despite the raw undercurrent that still laced their conversation. Although, neither of them had ever found it difficult to talk; talk about the first thing that came to mind and the last thing that would come to anyone’s mind, talk about exceedingly simple nonsense and topics so intricate that they wound up sounding like nonsense, just talk.

So things would stay mostly the same. They would ramble to each other when no one else could stand to hear such disturbing things. They would sit, working side by side, running through plans and ideas and results at rapid-paced speech. They’d speak, and they would listen, when even their closest friends couldn’t manage such patience.

Only now, sometimes the rushed words might turn soft. Now, all that ranting might be more substantial than anyone would at first see. Now, they’d still listen, but leaned close together, gazes impossibly fond.

But then, on occasion, they would find that there were things far more fun than talking to do together.

@shrimp-crockpot

[heroloverangel]

A Nice, Clean Shower

Present Mic and his girlfriend enjoy a shower together and nothing dirty happens, I swear!

Living with a pro hero means that your life isn’t always peaceful and quiet. That goes double when you’re living with one as loud and energetic as Present Mic. You’re halfway through a nice, hot shower when you hear a frenzied commotion tear through your home. Before you can call out, the bathroom door flies open. Cold air hits your naked body as the shower curtain is yanked back, revealing your boyfriend frantically stripping off the last of his clothes and practically diving under the water.

“Get ‘em off me, get ‘em off me, get ‘em off me, get ‘em-”

Startled, you grip his shoulders and try to make sense of what you’re seeing. “Hizashi! What’s wrong? Weren’t you helping Aizawa with his students’ finals?”

He nods, calming down enough to explain. “The kids. Put bugs. All over me.”

To your credit, you try very hard not to laugh at his misfortune. “Oh, honey. I bet that really freaked you out.” You give him a comforting smile, then reach up and rescue the small animal that’s still clinging to his hair for dear life. Yamada, an actual grown man who fights villains for a living, looks at the tiny insect and lets out a high-pitched squeak of panic. You roll your eyes, carefully stepping out of the bath to deposit it a cup for release later. Making sure to drip water onto his costume as you return, you adjust the curtain back to its proper place. “It’s a ladybug, you baby.”

He pouts, trying to hide his embarrassment with pure energy. “You’ve saved my life, babe. You’re my hero tonight.” You playfully push him back, resuming your previous activity. You’d only gotten one leg shaved before he came sprinting in like a madman, and prop the other one on the edge of the tub to finish the job. You’re not aware of the view you give Hizashi as you bend over to move the razor across your skin, but he’s definitely grateful for the sight. In fact, it’s enough to bring his personality screaming back to normal.

Your task complete, you straighten up to set the razor down and find a pair of hands immediately at your waist, pressing you forward against the cold tile. There’s a mischievous glint in those green eyes when you look back at him, a toothy smile that you fall for every time as he leans down to kiss you. “You really are the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, but tell me again,” you laugh. His lips are all over you, drifting across your cheek and down your neck where he knows you’re vulnerable. “Mmm. Look who’s confident now.” He’s had enough of your taunting, squeezing a hand between you and the wall to grope your breast. The hot water’s made your skin more sensitive, and your nipple hardens instantly the moment he circles it with a long finger. He gives it a quick pinch and you cry out, and his tongue slides into your open mouth. You can’t help moaning into him, feeling his dick growing hard against your rear. “Careful, there might be another ladybug crawling around the shower,” you cackle.

“Keep up the attitude and I’ll have to find something to fill your mouth,” he warns, eyebrows raising suggestively. You grin; you’d be perfectly happy to call his bluff but his hands feel so good on your chest right now. “I love playing with these tits,” he groans into your ear, kneading them until you’re squirming against the wall. It’s his turn to tease, dragging hisses and whines out of that smart mouth of yours as he squeezes your chest and peppers quick nips and kisses along your throat. “Make some noise for me, baby.” He bites down sharply on your shoulder and you yelp in surprise. You feel his cock, fully hard against your ass and you grind against him.

“Hizashi, be nice,” you groan and he snorts, long fingers dragging down your damp skin to circle your navel.

His lps trail over the mark he’s left. “Oh, you’re in the mood to play fair now?” His hand slides lower, dipping teasingly close to your pussy and he laughs at the sigh you let out. “You gonna be good for me?” You nod eagerly and know that he’s grinning widely from his place behind you.

“Touch me, I want-” Your request is cut off when his other hand grips your chin and angles your head back for a deep kiss. You’re distracted for a moment and caught off-guard as those talented fingers snake down to rub over your clit and you break away from his mouth with a shudder. “There, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he smirks, stroking at you until you’re writhing in his arms. “You want me to put it in, baby?” You’re very aware of the dick pressing up along your back and take a deep breath to calm yourself. You brace your hands against the wall for support and flash him a smile that’s wickedly appealing. His fingers grab at your hip to position you for himself then slip down to brush along your wet cunt. “You get off so easy for me, sweetheart. It’s great.”

“Hizashi, don’t make me wait,” you pout, wiggling in front of him impatiently. You squeal as a hand slaps your ass hard, offering him a pleasing little jiggle.

Mic only laughs at you again. “You’ve got such a great ass, you know I can’t help it.” You face away from him to the tile wall and hear him fumbling behind you. “Here, lemme make it up to you.” Without another word, you feel the tip of his cock slowly move between your thighs and press into you. He thrusts slowly, working himself into your welcoming body until he’s fully sheathed inside you. “You like that, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I love it,” you moan, arching your back to give him a nice view of your body. Making sure to plant his feet firmly on the bath mat--he’s learned too well from that mistake in the past--he finally begins to fuck you with his usual energy. “You feel so good in me, honey.”

“I know, babe.” He leans forward, his long hair tickling your skin as he resumes his hobby of peppering your neck with kisses. He smiles into you, that dorky little mustache of his itching against your shoulder. “Your pussy always squeezes me so good, it’s perfect.”

It’s suddenly far too warm in your little shower. “Dirty pervert,” you pant, turning away to hide your flustered expression.

Mic makes a sound of disappointment and tilts your face back to meet his eyes. “Don’t lie, you love it when I talk like this.”

“I do...mmmmf-” His tongue’s in your mouth before you can get out a response. You let him overwhelm you, eyes slipping closed to savor the moment. “Hizashi…”

“You’re taking my dick so good,” he growls in your ear, and the needy tone in his voice makes you whine. You’re being pressed harder into the wall, sandwiched between his warm body and the cold tile of the shower and you shiver at the contrast. Yamada groans behind you, his hips speeding up and you have very little choice but to follow his pace. “Don’t be shy, baby.”

You moan louder than you mean to, clenching around his cock like a vise. “M-maybe I don’t mind it…” you admit with a small smile creeping onto your face.

He picks up on your mood immediately and continues. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re like this. Acting like you’re so sweet and innocent while your cunt’s practically begging me to tell you how much of a filthy brat you are.”

You can’t even pretend that you don’t enjoy every word out of his mouth by now and can’t resist goading him on. “Am I a dirty slut, hero?”

You feel his cock throb inside you and he thrusts back in hard. You cry out for him but don’t miss his reply. “You’re my dirty slut, and you love it.” He slaps your ass again and relishes the way your pussy milks him for more. “Tell me you want my cum, like the good little whore you are for me.”

You only consider denying him for a moment, then his calloused fingers sneak to your front to massage your sensitive clit and you know you’ve lost. “God, I want it. Come in me.” The steady rhythm of his hips falters, and as he pushes you into your orgasm you’re determined to bring him along with you. “Please, Hizashi. Fill up my cunt.”

You get your wish, warm and messy and satisfying between your shaky thighs. You’re both loud, neither of you able to say anything beyond mindless gibberish, but between all the fucks and wows and love yous you get the point. You pull yourself together enough to quickly clean up, the now-cold water of the shower a welcome relief after all your fun.

Mic sits on the edge of the tub, trying to wring the excess water out of his long hair while you get dressed. You soak up the compliments as he praises you for improving his mood so much and you remember why he barged into the bathroom earlier. Curious, you peek into the cup you’d grabbed before and speak without thinking.

“Oh. The ladybug escaped.”

His scream leaves your ears ringing for the next three days.

[roseprincesskristina]

My Crimson Valentine ((POV))

((Hey people. ��� Today, since Valentine's Day is just around the corner a little later, I had to write a special fanfic about everyone's favorite crimson hunter getting busy with a certain girl who is new in Abel City to visit him. Plus, it's a POV version for the ladies out there. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this story and Happy Early Valentine's Day 💘💘💘💝💝💝 😊✌))

The crimson hunter, lastly created by the late Dr. Albert Wily, previously known of the uncontrollable maverick who lusts for blood, carnage, even destruction increases his strength along with everything he possesses. Founded by the former leader of Hunter HQ before being escorted to be tested after the ferocious duel against him, until later on when the impossible virus had traveled it way within the strong balded crusader's armored anatomy away from the blonde irregular's helmet to successfully control the new host. Forming from evil to good has allowed him to join the organization which meaning by hunting down crazed evildoers that caused havoc upon peace. Hardly addresses himself as the hero, however to battle against difficult odds such as maverick while for those around that he believes in at heart, for his own will also. Throwing away the corrupted memories of his past which blinded his focus of a better future awaiting ahead as well as to embrace off multiple sadness from his body.

Now, as the irregular destroying commander of the 0th unit, lacking any clemency towards opponents and acts with a "too cool for school" attitude to lower his emotions instead of showing them to anyone expect his indigo comrade in arms. Ranked into an upperclass position, bearing with the energy beam sword for slashing down anything blocking his path. Aiding with his colleagues, brawling baddies, passed onto with additional power ups, the rest during numerous journeys. He is ultimately quite difficult to become defeated when it comes to danger calling him out, but not with assistance to accomplish any tasks at hand. This fearless swordsman in red is named Zero.

At last, slightly exhausted of every beatings along with rescuing the innocent like any super hero would always do, fully relaxed while the daylight is young, the golden locked hunter had peered his eyes towards you into a seductive persona. Lying onto his bed sideways with his hand planted on the manly thigh to await your appearance inside his dorm. Smirking with a satisfying preparation in mind for a guest of honor such as yourself.

"Mmmmm he he he he~... Well well~... Hello to you, my sweet young treat~ What brings you here to MY lair of awesomeness~? Just by looking at your expression, I suppose you're here to visit me or to earn my autograph, right~? Either way, it wouldn't even matter much anyway since I'm bored with nothing to do~ But what really does now is to amuse a cute little lady like you with my irresistible charms to hypnotize my fans~" The upperclassmen spoke deeply with a sexual tone, walking over and takes you by your hand into his room as a welcoming manner by stroking his hand under your chin. Placing you upon his bed. "So, why don't ya come inside and make yourself comfortable until I freshen up for a special surprise in store just for you~ BRB~" He winked at you, rising right out of his bed capsule to change into a different armor.

While waiting for the blush colored host, you would began to take out something from your backpack like a notebook to draw characters, anime or shapes in order to keep yourself occupied. Even to write a journal about your life. It was your time here in Abel City, never have seen or been here before to meet the legendary Maverick Hunter in the flesh. Or perhaps reploid, of course. You hummed while enjoying usual hobbies like in your house, loving nature even to make friends, pondering about such wonderful memories within your thoughts just to keep you happy and lively for the rest of your life through tough times. It truly warms your innocent heart all the way along with emotions, until a surprise sudden has called your attention....

"Hey there, gorgeous~ Thanks for the long wait for me to straighten myself up, didn't wanna get too.... messy around ya~.... " Outside the bathroom despite of his "freshening up" methods, hearing his voice aiming across the roam has made you look away from the notebook that you're drawing and directly at him, who is wearing nothing underneath his armor like the inner black suit, but into a sexy belly dancing attire to suit him quite better out of his under clothing. Revealing not only the body, yet secondly his most flawless treasure known to man: his diamond shaped navel of his abs, placed with an initialed Z shaped jewel inside, similar on his left shoulder. The appearing shade of redness shown itself in your cheeks during your first witness of your host's harden bods of steel completely in front of you.

"Awww~ Did I made ya blush, little girl~? I kinda love it when you look real nervous when you're around me~ Cause it really, REALLY turns me on~" Slurped the bright red sword wielder, approaching his irresistible self towards you, folding his arms behind the brighten locks of his tied up hair. Blinking his sparkling sapphire pupils slowly to create something even more consensual than before or after your arrival to surround you along with everything in his dorm. You began to feel speechless for a fast second, beholding his fairly gifted body before you now when he chuckled.

"Mmmm~ Giving the silent treatment, too, aren't we~? I like that in a human woman~" Anything about you has impressed the saber enhanced mentor even more than busting against his enemies in the hunting days when duty calls. Could be a waste of time, but not as long as you're here to make his life interesting. "So, beautiful~ Whaddya think~? Like what ya see~? Did my abs impress you~? No need to answer cause I'm already aware of that~ Let's put away the notebook and enjoy ourselves, shall we~" He said again, helping to throw away the book off your hands. Snapping his fingers automatically to initiate the sensual music before the beginning of his dance. Once again, you blinked while watching him jiggle his hips to the rhythm, back and forwards non stop. Several visions of him showering the pleasurable has blinded you away from the focuses about your life, being slowly imprisoned filled of little resistance left in your body to fight it off.

"Mmmm~ Damn, you look so delicious when I take a closer look at you~" Licked his clean filled of the starving metaphorical act, circling around you while slowly drawing his finger on your shoulder. "Even though you're a human, but it ain't gonna change the fact or my mind since you're here~ Lemme taste you for a bit to see if you're good enough to eat~ Meow~" He does that right away by licking your cheek, making you fluster into a shade of pink appearing in your face. "Hot damn~ Did my tastes buds lie~? Or is it telling the truth~? You truly ARE my sweetest dessert, babycakes~ Meaning that I'm gonna save YOU for later after my overwhelming performance~"

Dancing very closer to you, caressing all over his glistening armor as well as his body to approach once more. Seducing you by shaking more of his delectable manly hips with his might, polishing the crotch if necessary. Commencing to arouse your being becoming trapped in his grasps to never release or allow you to flee from his inescapable sights, pinning down your body of his hypnotic dance. Then, feeding on your thoughts with his sultry speech.

"It's no use trying to resist my urges, baby~ My body will consume you whole whether you admire it or not so try not to fight against it~" He compelled, positioning his finger into a "come over here" action to brainwash you. "Come on~ Let my poisonous effects absorb you~ Look into my eyes and rid yourself of those tragedies holding you down from your senses~ Submit to me, my innocent slave~ Obey my body forever~ Smoothingly erasing your worries from your mind and replacing them with images of the sunshine haired expert's erotic movements clearing off those irritating dirt of lies entirely out of your peeps, helping you to see perfectly even by looking at your maverick hunting host shaking his money maker for you. Complying his demands with the lack of free will to shield yourself away of something elegant, you had no other option but to surrender by gazing straightly at him into the middle of his dance. 

"So~ What do you think of my stunning bods, little lady~? You like it, even when I punish myself for being a bad boy~? Hmm~? He he he he~ Then I'll take that as a yes~" He moaned while speaking to you sexually. "Well, how about I give you.....this to change your pretty little thinking~? Continually to please you the hardest, he would slowly remove the pierced jewel from his stomach. Placing it on the desk table. You would be able to watch carefully of his special present only for you to see instead of others, but your mind says to resist it for this "nightmare" will haunt you in your sleep forever. Once the gem has been confiscated out of the body, he "accidentally" insert one of fingers deeply inside his ravishing navel.

"Whoops~ He he he he~ My bad, darling~ Didn't mean to cause an accident to you like that~ Or did I~?" Grinned the A Class sword fighter, planning his act on you in the first place by circling deeper into his belly button. Extending out his tongue to rock it like in the concert to party all night, siding with shaking his thighs of continuation towards the dance.

"Unh~ Unh~ M...Mmm god, it feels so nice~" He spits out his longing yet magnificent moan all the way from his mouth trying to dash for freedom, drilling his finger into the dark cavern of the stomach more further. Pleasing you to death with every inch of his power but quietly. Over and over he punishes his stomach hole without trying to stop himself. "Ahhhh~ I love massaging my navel during off duties at peace~ It really takes my mind off of killing enemies~ But, I couldn't hide it from somebody so tranquil and quiet like you~" He refers to you, winking to arouse his guest by "cleaning" his deepen abyss of a stomach hole further. You slightly blushed from his unseen hobby, attempting to look for an escapable exit. However, nothing could ever work because of the frozen spell of his seduction pinned you down on the seat. 

"Oh yeah~ Yeah~ Mmmmm, face it, pumpkin~ I know you wanna see me ground my deep, luscious, tasty, warm navel of mine for being very naughty~ Don't try to deny it~ You CAN and WILL love it when I play with it~ Or better yet, to let you taste it~" He spoke toward at you, placing a torturing spell which is impossible to break. More shades of red pinkish flustering substance had yet again made its appearance in your face, eyes stretched of shocking discovery, heart pumping in a repetitive beat. It's as if you have seen a boy band member saying your name to climb up onstage or earning a first gift. But this, right up front, is even more breathtaking than both all combined at once. 

Forwardly into your ear, his calm voice enters within your mind. Purring seductively due to his obsession with his new plaything like you to have fun with. 

"Purrrrrrr~" No matter how much you try or do that could drive the spell from your consciousness, that too, is unstoppable to leap out of. "It's already too late to back out from me, doll~ Cause there ain't gonna be an exit to save you now that you're all mine~" He said, tilting your head directly to him by his hand grappling your cheeks. "You know, before I met an adorable birdie like you, all I ever do was fight off maverick trash all freaking day without getting a single break, which is completely boring for my taste~ But now here you are, making my life a living heaven than hell like in my usual  days as a hunter~" You nodded while listening. "I really like you that much, despite of being a human, but still~ " He comes at you, proceeding towards your face. "As a matter of fact, you mean the world to me, Valentine, and that's why.... I wanna taste and suck your irresistible at the same cause I'm so  famished~ So, let's kill off the idle chat, shall we~? And lemme give you something to make you.... remember me in your dreams~ Let me kiss you~ So~ Badly~....." With everything pushed out of the way, the stern yet handsome reploid in red inserted his lips into yours deeply. Drinking the life out of you with a craved thirst before resuming his belly dancing routine. His perfect smooch has gave you a further blush.

"Mmmmmmmm~" So forever long, he softly yoinked himself from the perfect smooch given to you and licked. "God, you taste even better than the rest~ So delicious~" Swallowed the smirked hunter, enjoying your clear lips until he continue his undodgable dance of lust to please you rapidly. Secondly, the glorious cave of a navel to pleasure or play with as well.

That trick, especially the breath stealing kiss, had forced you to have a nosebleed right away from his unavoidable surprise than earlier before. Without holding any grudge against the blonde host's perfect symbol of desires that shuts down all worries from their minds, the only chance you have is to submit towards his beauty and enjoy it, refusing to turn back. Zero smiled gladly at you, wanting more of his fascinating dances to ease your boredom aside in the garbage where it belongs.

"So~ Finally enjoying my gift, huh~? Good girl~" He smiled rapidly, resuming his lustful dance for your enjoyment. "I'm so proud of you for cherishing a pleasant gift I rained on you, sweet treat~ For that, here's another one from me~...." For following his directions of the pleasurable belly dance, the handsome rose themed ex maverick lays his hands onto your soft cheeks while you are a little prepared for something much more....appealing? However, you have to allow him by accepting the second present until finally, he mashed his lips gently into yours. Tongue and teeth.

"Mmmmmm~....."

Your eyes started to open widely because of the seeping smooch warming up your whole heart upwards to 100%, blushing darker than earlier. While you slowly responded back, he continues to sink his kiss into your lips all day long, never to get enough of your existence for one minute just to stomp on his doomed past like an insect. Non stop after separating himself from lip locking with you, he continues his beautiful entertainment by dancing, especially navel pleasuring, to please you more than the first act while you're gazing towards him with both hands placed under your chin. Directly in front of you, he blow a kiss at you for further mood at peace.

"Mmmmmwah~..... Mmmm, thanks again for keeping company to shut up my boredom today, cutie~ You're just the one who never gets tired of my unbeatable charms~" Winked the high ranked blade user, impressed by your company to sleep away his exhaustion from dealing with endless hordes of irregular rabble rousers all the time. You replied with a nod, watching permanently of your die hard android in light burgundy with all your heart no matter what. Enjoying both his company, even the erotic dance as well.

He may become of the lone wolf type reploid who refuses to gain anyone's assistance during heart throbbing missions, roughing up tough mavericks without problems whatsoever. However, fighting alongside friends to be stronger foes than him or enemies combined has made the yellow headed mentor even too powerful other than his base state. Because companionship can make any dream succeed so long as everyone remains by his side always, even the true Maverick Hunter should realize this. Furthermore, no crime lovers including the inhumaniods baddies could ever escape from the beam sword bearer of Abel City when it comes to disasters knocking on the town's door without regret. But for now, he is finally relaxing during his off duty with the only person in store to interest his company instead of all else: You.

"Happy Valentine's Day, ladies~ Feel free to visit yours truly anytime~ Mmmwah~💖"

[tabithalovesstuff]

Witchcraft Asks #1-105

I hardly ever get asks so I'm going to do this all at once, I'll also repub the original after this too, tag you're it!

1. Are you solitary or in a coven? Solitary

2. Do you consider yourself Wiccan, Pagan, witch, or other? Witch, I kind of consider myself pagan too but not as much since I don't consider my practice a religion

3. What is your zodiac sign? Libra sun sign, Sagittarius moon, Virgo Rising

4. Do you have a Patron God/dess? Nope, I don't really believe in any of the Gods lol

5. Do you work with a Pantheon? Nope

6. Do you use tarot, palmistry, or 
any other kind of divination? Tarot, and I want to get into pendulum too but I've been too broke to buy one

7. What are some of your favorite herbs to use in your practice? (if any) I don't practice with herbs 🤭 mostly cause they are hard for me to get lol

8. How would you define your craft? I generalize it by saying I'm a Eclectic Secular Witch that specializes in energy work and tarot

9. Do you curse? If not, do you accept others who do? I don't really do curses, how ever that is because I haven't had the need to do one, I think its fine to do them as long as you know what you are doing

10. How long have you been practicing? Technically I started in Middle school, but I've only truly started to get into it and truly practice for the last 2 years (but if you count when I started then 8 years)

11. Do you currently or have you ever had any familiars? I do not, i have pets they just aren't attracted to magic enough to be a familiar lol

12. Do you believe in Karma or Reincarnation? Yes to both

13. Do you have a magical name? No I don't, I feel like my real name is enough

14. Are you “out of the broom closet”? Technically, I don't try to hide it but I don't talk about it a lot so not a lot of people know I'm a witch.

15. What was the last spell you performed? I know some witches don't count these but I did an emoji spell for the coronavirus

16. Would you consider yourself knowledgeable? More or less, I feel like I'm decently knowledgeable but not enough to be a teacher or leader

17. Do you write your own spells? Yes I do

18. Do you have a book of shadows? If so, how is it written and/or set up? I do have one, its a very personal one that includes more than just magic almost like a journal. I write down information I want to be able to look back at as well as any spells and rituals I write myself and tarot readings for myself, and sometimes dreams.

19. Do you worship nature? I do

20. What is your favorite gemstone? Opal

21. Do you use feathers, claws, fur, pelt, skeletons/bones, or any other animal body part for magical work? No I don't, I wouldn't be against it though

22. Do you have an altar? Yes, kind of. Its really messy rn and doesn't really look like an altar

23. What is your preferred element? Either Earth or Air, I'm always stuck between those two

24. Do you consider yourself an Alchemist? Not at all lol I've never made any sort of potion

25. Are you any other type of magical practitioner besides a witch? Nope, though I do have an interest in cryptozoology but I don't know if that counts

26. What got you interested in witchcraft? Tbh I wanted to turn myself into a mermaid or a wolf (which is why I started in middle school lmao)

27. Have you ever performed a spell or ritual with the company of anyone who was not a witch? No I haven't, just cause I focus so much on energy work, sometime I find other people's energy distracting

28. Have you ever used ouija? Yep, nothing really happened though

29. Do you consider yourself a psychic? Not really, maybe to a certain extent.

30. Do you have a spirit guide? If so, what is it? I feel like a Deer is my spirit guide

31. What is something you wish someone had told you when you first started? I need to lower my expectations and I need to focus on feeling the magic over going through the motions

32. Do you celebrate the Sabbats? If so which one is your favorite? I try to! Doesn't always work out for me lol, I really like both Litha and Samhain

33. Would you ever teach witchcraft to your children? Yes I plan too

34. Do you meditate? Yes, but not as often as I should

35. What is your favorite season? Winter, I feel like all seasons have their perks though and living somewhere with one season would suck ass

36. What is your favorite type of magick to preform? Energy magic, as a witch that doesn't have good access to supplies (and space) it is the easiest for me (I have a post all about energy magic on my profile too)

37. How do you incorporate your spirituality into your daily life? Energy magic makes it really easy, like brushing my teeth or hair, taking a shower, even making food can all have a magical element to it

38. What is your favorite witchy movie? Honestly? Casper Meets Wendy lol, or the Halloweentown movies, or the Twitches movie

39. What is your favorite witchy book, both fiction and non-fiction. Why? I haven't really read very many witchy books ngl

40. What is the first spell you ever preformed? Successful or not. Again, this was back in middle school, I did a spell on the full moon to turn into a werewolf. Obviously not successful

41. What’s the craziest witchcraft-related thing that’s happened to you? I did a cleansing spell on my dorm room my freshman year of college once a week cause I had a toxic ass roommate and she requested a room change before the end of the semester because of a "bad smell" that no one else could smell but her.

42. What is your favourite type of candle to use? I don't use candles, because I'm not allowed to have them in my school dorms, I want to get into candles more though

43. What is your favorite witchy tool? My tarot cards lol

44. Do you or have you ever made your own witchy tools? Nope, I want to though

45. Have you ever worked with any magical creatures such as the fea or spirits? Not really, I dabble in it here and there though. I would love to work with the fae more though

46. Do you practice color magic? Yes, all the time

47. Do you or have you ever had a witchy teacher or mentor of any kind? Nope

48. What is your preferred way of shopping for witchcraft supplies? Online, I mostly use stuff I find around my house or on the ground outside though

49. Do you believe in predestination or fate? Not fully, I think every person is born with a long list of possible fates and the paths you choose in life determines where you end up

50. What do you do to reconnect when you are feeling out of touch with your practice? I try to do free tarot reading on here or meditate more, sometimes looking through my book of shadows helps too

51. Have you ever had any supernatural experiences? Yeah I've had a few

52. What is your biggest witchy pet peeve? When people try to say there is a certain way you have to practice and some forms of witchcraft "aren't real witchcraft" just cause they don't practice in that way

53. Do you like incense? If so what’s your favorite scent? I do, I don't really have a favorite, I like trying a bunch of different kinds at once

54. Do you keep a dream journal of any kind? I kind of write my dreams down in my book of shadows, I don't keep up with it very well though

55. What has been your biggest witchcraft disaster? I can't say if I've ever really had one. I did a job spell and even though I got an interview I didn't get the job, and then was unemployed for a few months until after college semester, then I got hired at my old job. In the spell I said I wanted to be hired somewhere that was as good as my old job so my spell brought me right back to it

56. What has been your biggest witchcraft success? The cleansing ritual story I mentioned above. Once that roommate was out of my life I was so much happier lol.

57. What in your practice do you do that you may feel silly or embarrassed about? Speaking incantations, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to myself lol

58. Do you believe that you can be an atheist, Christian, Muslim or some other faith and still be a witch too? Yes I do, especially because I am an atheist

59. Do you ever feel insecure, unsure or even scared of spell work? Not scared, but definitely unsure and insecure. Spell work is tricky, especially writing my own spells, I feel like I'm not doing them well enough

60. Do you ever hold yourself to a standard in your witchcraft that you feel you may never obtain? Yeah sometimes, I get so bad about actually practicing and I want to get to the point where I practice every day and I always celebrate the Sabbaths and have a wide variety of crystals and learn astrology and so much more

61. What is something witch related that you want right now? I still need to do the money spell I wrote awhile ago, but it has to do with enchanting work uniform and I'm kinda unemployed rn

62. What is your rune of choice? I don't have any experience with runes, sorry lol

63. What is your tarot card of choice? The Star

64. Do you use essential oils? If so what is your favorite? No I dont

65. Have you ever taken any kind of witchcraft or pagan courses? Nope

66. Do you wear pagan jewelry in public? I would if I had any, but I don't lol

67. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your faith or being a witch? Not really, but that's because not a lot of people know about it, I definitely feel like the people that do know don't take it seriously

68. Do you read or subscribe to any pagan magazines? Nope

69. Do you think it’s important to know the history of paganism and witchcraft? I don't think it is. I suggest it definitely but it isn't required. Its a lot if history to break down and you don't need to know the history to practice

70. What are your favorite things about being a witch? I like the feeling of all the things in the world around me, which I feel like you only get from the training you go through when learning witchcraft. I also enjoy the ability to cleanse my environment and myself

71. What are your least favorite things about being a witch? No one really takes you or your craft seriously, and because of some people taking parts of the craft, I feel like being a witch is almost seen as some joke

72. Do you listen to any pagan music? If so who is your favorite singer/band? No I don't, unless you count instrumentals that raise your vibration

73. Do you celebrate the Esbbats? If so, how? I honestly am not sure if I do or not, I don't think I've heard any of the holidays I celebrate called that? I celebrate the pagan wheel of the year holidays so if those are apart of that then yes 😂

74. Do you ever work skyclad? I do sometimes

75. Do you think witchcraft has improved your life? If so, how? Very much so, even though I still struggle with depression and anxiety, witchcraft has made it so much better than it use to be and I feel like I'm happier since I started practicing, my view of life has become more wholesome

76. Where do you draw inspiration from for your practice? Nature mostly

77. Do you believe in ‘fantasy’ creatures? (Unicorns, fairies, elves, gnomes, ghosts, etc) honestly yeah I do, for sure

78. What’s your favorite sigil/symbol? Don't have one

79. Do you use blood magick in your practice? Why or why not? I would, but I haven't in anything so far but that's just cause I haven't felt like a spell needed blood magic

80. Could you ever be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support your practice? No I couldn't be, I don't want to hide parts of myself from someone that should know me better than anyone else

81. In what area or subject would you most like your craft to grow? I want to explore astrology more and include that more. I also want to do more spell work and ritual work

82. What’s your favorite candle scent? Do you use it in your practice? Again I don't use candles, I do have a air scenter from Bath and Body works and I had a Pumpkin Spice Cupcake scent that was soooo good

83. Do you have a pre-ritual ritual? (I.e. Something you do before rituals to prepare yourself for them). If so what is it? I don't, but that's because I don't really do rituals, I want to get more into them though

84. What real life witch most inspires your practice? I don't know any real life witches tbh

85. What is your favorite method of communicating with deity? I don't work with them so...

86. How do you like to organize all your witchy items and ingredients? I keep them all on the shelf below my altar, my organization skills lack a lot though

87. Do you have any witches in your family that you know of? Not that I know of, my family does come from Ireland though (within the last 3 generations too) so it could be possible

88. How have you created your path? What is unique about it? I created my path through growing up and becoming more aware of my surroundings, and as I matured I understand more and more what witchcraft is really about. And I did it all on my own which is what I think is unique about it

89. Do you feel you have any natural gifts or affinities (premonitions, hearing spirits, etc.) that led you toward the craft? If so what are they? I feel like I am clairvoyant to a certain degree, and I've always had above average visualization skills

90. Do you believe you can initiate yourself or do you have to be initiated by another witch or coven? I feel like you can initiate yourself

91. When you first started out in your path what was the first thing or things you bought? Nothing because I was a child with no money lol

92. What is the most spiritual or magickal place you’ve been? I live in Colorado when I'm not away at school and the entirety of the mountains are pretty magical

93. What’s one piece of advice you’d give someone who is searching for their matron and patron deities? I am definitely not the person for this question lol

94. What techniques do you use to ‘get in the zone’ for meditation? I like to sometimes put on gentle music or nature sounds, quiet every thought that comes into my head

95. Did visualization come easily to you or did you have to practice at it? It came really easily for me, I think its cause I use to read SOOOO much as a kid

96. Do you prefer day or night? Why? Night, idk why I just feel more at peace at Night

97. What do you think is the best time and place to do spell work? This depends on what the spell is, but generally sometime in the evening in my room is the best 😂

98. How did you feel when you cast your first circle? Did you stumble or did it go smoothly? I definitely stumble, I still struggle with casting circles

99. Do you believe witchcraft gets easier with time and practice? I think it does, at least I feel like it comes more naturally with time and practice

100. Do you believe in many gods or one God with many faces? None of the above

101. Do you eat meat, eggs and dairy? Yeah I do, all the time

102. What is your favorite color and why? Green, I've just always loved green since I was a kid idk why

103. What is the one question you get asked most by non-practitioners or non-pagans? How do you usually respond? "What do witches even do?" I usually just say its complicated, because it is complicated lol

104. Which of your five senses would you say is your strongest? I want to say my hearing but I feel like my taste is pretty good too

105. What is a pagan or witchcraft rule that you preach but don’t practice? Always cast a circle and ground yourself before a spell. I am really bad at it lol

[rip-in-peace-eraserhead]

All This for a Cat Nap?

Pairing: Erasermic

AU: Fantasy/cat cafe

Summary: Aizawa Shouta owns and runs his own cat cafe which is paired up with a local shelter to get some of the cats adopted. On his lunch breaks, he uses his hidden shapeshifting powers to join the cats in the main room for a short nap. This backfires when he gets cursed by a witch for something he didn't do. Now stuck as a cat, he needs help to get out of this mess. Maybe that nice blond guy will be just what he needs.

For @gegeru within the @bnhasecretsanta2019. Have a happy holidays and a happy New Year.

Ao3 Link

Read under the cut.

This couldn’t be happening. 

Shouta hissed as the young employee reached for him again, This time he swiped at her hand with his claws, causing her to jerk back, yelping as she struggled to stay on the step ladder she had climbed while trying to reach him. 

With her having retreated for the moment, he bolted out of the cubby he had squeezed into and climbed another level to the tracks running along the upper walls. The thick carpeting under his paws along with the traction his claws gave him, he had enough maneuverability to make it to the other side of the room before she could even look for him again. 

Stupid customer. Stupid employee. Stupid witch making stupid assumptions. Stupid everything!

A new voice joined in with the assistant’s worried fretting. This one a bit lower pitched and calmer. Human words don’t translate perfectly to shifters who are in animal form so it was hard to make out. It must have been the guitar guy. He’s the very generous yet extremely infuriating guy who had decided that Shouta would make a good house pet. 

If Shouta were an actual cat instead of a shifter stuck as a cat, it would be insanely nice for guitar guy to offer to socialize an angry and partially feral cat after he paid for the cat. But Shouta isn’t a normal cat and now the guy’s offer is seriously hindering Shouta’s chance to just chill out at the cafe until the curse wears off.

With a moment to breathe, Shouta could consider his options. 

One: He could wait out this curse in the main room for weeks without interacting with a single human and hope that the curse doesn’t wear off in the middle of a busy day (leaving him buck-naked in a cat-cafe). And then pretend nothing happened when everyone asks. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Except that was unrealistic. The employees only put food out during the day and the other cats wouldn’t leave enough food for him if he waits. Also, he had no idea what curse he was under, so he might have to explain why he was gone for possibly months

Two: Hide under guitar guy’s couch, escape when he goes to work, find someone to turn him back, get back to his own apartment, and act like nothing happened. Then pretend not to feel guilty when he sees the missing cat posters all over town.

It was shitty, but the best option he has at the moment. Guitar-guy would still have Mochi to keep him company and if he really wanted a second cat, he could come back and adopt one.

He didn’t get the chance to consider a third option before another cat climbed up onto the other end of his perch. Happy to have found him, Mochi made a light trilling noise before mashing her face against his and starting to fervently clean his cheek. 

Being so preoccupied with the friendly tabby, he didn’t notice the hand reaching up behind him until it had a hold of his scruff. He yowled in protest but was pinned against a leather-clad chest  (impervious to wild claw swipes) and dropped into a pet tote. 

Mochi, now worried by Shouta’s protests, started to jump down the levels to reach him but was also scooped up by guitar guy who was apparently the one to use his leather jacket to knab Shouta without injury. She ended up being the one put into the temporary pet tote that the cafe offered to adopting patrons. 

That leads to another reason this situation sucks so much. The reason why the man had chosen Shouta and Mochi to adopt together was that he had seen Shouta taking a cat nap with Mochi and when Shouta ran away and tried to make himself look unappealing, the man decided to adopt both in hopes that Mochi would help socialize Shouta. He previously had everything worked out to adopt Mochi by herself and Shouta ended up being an accessory piece

Tired and frustrated, Shouta let out the loudest yowl he could muster, cursing that damned witch. So what if he had been lounging around as a cat. Making the assumption that he was a shifter who lived there as a cat just to advantage of the people’s good nature was incredibly rude. As the owner of the cafe, Shouta was the one who worked his ass off to get the place up and running and paired with the local shelter.

But now he was stuck in cat form until he could wait out the effects. 

Still not satisfied with the amount fo venting he’d done so far, he tossed his head back and made the most god-awful yowl/howl/scream he’d ever heard out of a cat’s mouth. Both humans and Mochi jumped at the noise.

Before he could muster up the energy for another, a face appeared through the bars of the cage. Vivid green eyes stared right into Shouta’s newly yellowed ones. The only thing Shouta could think was, “What a stupid mustache.”

“Hey....hey...little dude. It’s gonna be okay. Sorry for spooking ya. I know the carrier is a bit stressful but I’ll let ya out when we get home.”

Shouta ended up too distracted by the fact that he could clearly understand this guy to hear the transaction between the assistant manager and him as he was paying for their fees (and making a new account for Shouta because “His account must have gotten accidentally deleted.”)

It took until Shouta and Mochi were firmly buckled into guitar guy’s car before he said something more to Shouta. 

“I bet having a human just start chatting with you is a bit freaky, huh? I set up a spell so I could talk to Mochi and discuss her being my familiar but you ended up in the mix too. You don’t have to work as a familiar though. I just thought you needed a good home and if you like Mochi, it’d be best for you to come with her.”

Shouta said nothing in return as he began to reevaluate his life choices.

-----

Nemuri shrieked, half in laughter and half in fear, as Shouta, finally in human form, chased her around the tiny apartment wielding a mighty couch pillow. “I’m sorry!” She yelped out between laughs, diving behind the couch to get away. “I swear I thought you were just a hobo shifter mooching off the cafe!”

“I was almost neutered!” Shouta roared, trying to leap after her. Thankfully for Nemuri, he wasn’t used to human proportions just yet and landed on the couch, half sprawled over Hizashi’s lap. Hizashi just squeaked, his blush now reaching his ears as he desperately tried to avoid looking at a completely naked Shouta.

The moment it took Shouta to reboot after landing naked on top of a guy was long enough for Nemuri to make a break for it, sprinting out the door, boots in hand, with a hearty, “Good luck boys!”

With her gone, the fight left Shouta, leaving him with deep-set aches and a deeper regret towards the intense chase right after a painful shift back to human form.  

When Hizashi said nothing as the minutes stretched on, Shouta finally looked up to see him looking up and away in the most awkward attempt to avoid glancing too far down. It was funny for a second before the discomfort turned out to be contagious

Shouta readjusted so that he was sitting up like a normal person. ”Sorry.”

When Hizashi didn’t respond, Shouta awkwardly continued. “Y’know that I’m not mad at you, right? This month was batshit crazy and I’m the one who didn’t mention I’m a shifter. With the only other witch I’ve ever met cursing me within two minutes of meeting me, I was a little nervous.”

Hizashi finally uncovered his eyes, relieved that Shouta had placed the pillow over his privates. ”It’s cool, I guess. I just can’t believe I gushed about how the ‘cat cafe worker’ was to your face.”

“Well, you thought I was just a cat, so…”

They were interrupted by Mochi jumping up onto the couch between them, trilling loudly when no one began to pet her immediately. Shouta promptly took pity on her and scooped her up onto the pillow before beginning to rub at her chin.

“Speaking of being a cat,” Hizashi said, a tentative but sly grin crossing his face. “I’d better get a discount for life at the cafe after all the money I spent trying to make the grumpiest, hungriest, largest, fluffiest maine coon happy.”

Shouta rolled his eyes, trying to hide his amusement. “How about I help you pick out another cat, get them all settled, and wave any of the fees for all of that? If you want more retribution, ask your friend. She’s the one who put us in this situation.”

Hizashi pondered the offer for a bit, overexaggerating his uncertainty until it was obvious Shouta was Done. “Okay fine. But you have full visitation rights over Mochi and don’t you dare miss Christmas or I’m telling her you forgot all about her and she’s going to guilt you to death.”

This time Shouta rolled his eyes for real, shooing Mochi off his lap and standing up with the pillow still protecting his modesty. “I’m going to go raid your closet so I don’t have to do a naked walk of shame. Give me ten minutes and we can pretend this never happened.”

The humor slipped out of Hizashi’s face before he lunged forward. “Wait!”

Shouta stopped and was surprised by the hand grabbing his wrist.

“One more request.”

“Greedy aren’t we-”

“One date.”

Shouta froze, startled by the sudden boldness from Hizashi considering how blushy and embarrassed he was about his He turned fully, still awkwardly holding the pillow up, to try and gage Hizashi’s expression.

“Are you sure? Because I wasn’t acting like a dickish cat just to be mean. I really am grumpy, depressed, messy, and tired all the time.” It sounded self-deprecating even to his own ears but give him a break, he’d been off his depression meds for almost a month by this point.

Hizashi stood up and moved closer, now taking Shouta’s hand in his. “I’ve seen a bit of that when at the cafe and I think you’re selling yourself short. I don’t know if you remember this but you were the one who pointed out Mochi to me when I mentioned adopting a cat. I’ve never seen someone so compassionate and I’d like to see more of you. Please?”

A million excuses ran through Shouta’s mind as he tried to mentally work out how to say ‘I a mess you don’t want to clean up’. Before he could articulate one, he noticed the soft longing in Hizashi’s eyes, brilliant emerald staring directly into Shouta’s soul. 

“Fine but I’m paying..”

[popculturebuffet]

Analysis of X: X-Men 2k19 #1: Little Scotty, Happy at Last

Dawn of X Begins with an average day for Grand Captain of Krakoa, Scott Summers: Racist Science Gorillas, sexual tension with his former arch enemy’s daughter, and family dinner where his former insane god emperor brother burns the steak while his dad’s space family drops in to his house on the moon. We’ve all been there. Join me under the cut, it’s bang zoom straight to the moon. 

I’ve been a huge X-Men fan since my teens, gobbling up various books, enjoying the hell out of them, and genuinely loving this team, the love only growing with each book I read. Some better than others, we’ll get there, but I have a huge amount of love for the team and i’ts offshoots, so marvel basically taking a bat to the franchise’s nuts for the last 5 years or so, the final embarrassment being the filler stories used to buy time for House and Powers of X. But said series have lifted the clouds: Writers are finally allowed to actually write again, the landscape has shifted and the x-men are truly interesting again. I waited feverishly for House of X #1 to come out. It did not disapoint and while i’ll certainly dive into that series at some point, i’d rather catch the dawn of x as it comes, and thus being a week behind, we come to X-Men # 1. For those of you who didn’t keep up with hosue and powers... Previously on... 

While humans slept, the world change. Professor Xavier and Magneto founded Krakoa, an island soley for mutants, though humans can visit it’s various embassys. in exchange for Nationhood and Amnesty for it’s less desirable members, mutantkind sells them flowers from Krakoa, the island that walked like a man and is fully sentient, that can cure all manner of diseases. The nationhood is approved by the end of the series and mutants at last have a safe paradise to enjoy life in. 

It turns out this power play was in part thanks to Moira Mactaggert, longtime X-Men ally.. and as the series reveals secret mutant who lives a new life every time she dies.. and after 9 failures decides to break the wheel, tell xavier and magneto they always loose and set up a long game. After setbacks due to charles optimism and Erik turning against her, she suceeds.  Said longgame turns out to not only be the nation but using 5 mutants in concert to cheat death. Just about every notable mutant that we’re aware of is alive and well. Death is no consequence for mutants.. as proven when an assault on anti-mutant groups Orichis, made up of agents from various secret agencies across Marvel past and present, big satiltie head results in the whole team dying but the mission being accomplished.. but at the cost of a ton of humans, and with a sacrifice from Erasamus, wife of top scientist Dr. Gregor

Good. With that in hand, let’s start the showwww. We open on...

Sadly, it’s not Garnet but Charles Xavier, urging a young Cyclops to open his eyes. As it will turn out he’s given Scott his first pair of ruby quartz sunglasses, the red peepers that allow Scotty to open his eyes without killing everything he sees, but Scott is scared to open them, afraid of hurting him. Charles gently tells Scott that he understands Scott not wanting to hurt someone, but keeping his eyes shut because of fear? That’s what they do. And he doesn’t have to go through life stumbling around afraid like humanity is of mutantkind. He can be better. So scott opens his eyes, opens his eyes. 

They work, and Charles closes out this great opener promising “Oh the things i’ll show you.”. You know god like aliens that look like your grandpa, far more aliens than you’d expect for a comic about mutants, whatever the fuck vanisher’s wearing, a weirdo calling himsel fthe living monolith that turns into a giant man, and whatever the hell a demi-man is. Seriously look at him. 

What IS that? I truly don’t know. And that’s just before you turn 18. With that and the title for our issue, “Pax Krakoa” and Hickman’s standard cast chart thing out of the way we get into the story proper. Our heroes have been busy since the rager at the end of House of X and once the island’s hangover wore off, set to work dismantling Orichis, something I like as sometimes the X-Men tend to sit on their hands a while with these genocidal assholes. Well it’s a new day and Cyclops and storm are tearing shit up, though Storm almost misses a sentinel because she’s tired.

Scott, at least it’s human sized. You’ve missed far bigger targets. 

I wonder if they knew it was Christmas Time at all? Or maybe simply having a wonderful Christmas Time for a sentinel is roasting mutants over an open fire. 

Regardless, Scott soon figures the fact their stupidly trying to hold the omega level mutant and experinced trained badass off means their hiding something and have Magneto literally tear the roof off this place, before he has his daughter Polaris clears the humans away. 

Cyke clears off the lock and Magneto gently tells him to step aside so he can finish it off, showing clear respect for Scott, something that makes perfect sense to me. He’s fought beside him in two teams, trained his time lost younger self whose memories scott has, and even fighting against him always respected Scott’s strength and conviction. It’s a subtle touch but it’s there and shows that, hickman really gets these two and why they’ve been one of the strongest parts of  his run. Some panicked Orichis Scientests decide the datacore, and whatever their guarding, is too important and decide to stab themselves with science.. and the result.. is sublimely ridiculous. 

I fucking love this book and Hickman’s wilingnesss to remind you “yeah the marvel universe is fucking weird and I love it that way. “ me too man, me too. And it somehow gets weirder. But Mags agrees to hold them off while Cyke goes after whatever they were guarding.. which turns out to be stasis tubes full of mutant children. Cyclopes and Lorna prepare to open them the fuck up while Storm makes a gateway back to Krakoa. only one of the tubes.. dosen’t contain a mutant but something diffrent...

A post-human who’s desyched with time and quickly vanishes, who storm hypotheises is from the Vault, which I don’t know enough about to go into at this time, and she soon vanishes. Magneto and daughter want to peruse her like a hunted animal but Scott, having some empathy, declares they have more important things to do and he’ll track her down if the Council asks. But for now...

This is what I love of HIckman’s Scott Summers: He’s a nice blend of past and future. He has the badass dedication of Claremont, the snark of Whedon and the leadership qualities he’s always had, without falling into being a massive dick as he would sometimes due to poor writing post decimation. He’s no longer the man who has to make the hard choices to survivie or fight against his own friends because they still blame him for a death he was hopped up on unstable emotinally enhancing space god during, he’s a man who wants to keep his people safe, enjoy his life, as we’ll see, and fight as hard as he has to for the innocent wether their his species or not. This is peak Scott Summers and after years of mistreatment i’m sure i’ll get to eventually, this is a GLORIOUS change. 

Our heroes return to Krakoa where Dr. Ceilia Reyes is looking after the rescued children. Since she’s kind of a minor character, Celia is a doctor that can create force fields and never really WANTED to be an X-Man but was essentially fired for being a mutant and had nowhere else to go. She was one of three additions to the X-Men at the time and the only one I really liked the other two being Maggot (who’s power is gross but throughly intresting but whose personality at the time is throughly obnoxious and stereotypical) and Marrow, who at least in her intial apperances is just gross, agressive and annoying. Ceilia was a victim of circumstance, engaging and i’m happy to see her back. Dr. Reyes assures, as seen above, that the kids are fine and that Krakoa is more than equiped to help them. IT’s part of what sells this as a mutant refuge: traumatized Mutants are no longer forced to stew in their trauma but have decent help and genetics to help with the worse aspects of their powers. We then get a nice character bit with storm as she decides to stay with two of the young mutants, a pair of silent blue and gold mutants radiating energy. 

Speaking of returns to form. Ororo is back from being a plot ping pong ball for various writers and is once again the soul of the X-Men and this is a reminder why: She will never stop fighting for her people but she’ll take equal time caring for them and was likely an excellent queen as rushed as that relationship is and as messy as her reconciliation with t’challa is likely to be now she’s living in a country opposed to his. Yet another of the 80 or so intriguing plot threads this era has set up for other books, X or Not , to pickup. We then get a sight that clearly unsettles Scott. 

No no nothing THAT bad. No what he gets... is this. 

Magneto, his old arch enemy, being treated like a celebrity and hero among the children. Their Tom Hanks if you will, another great character scene as Magneto, being seated as hero and savior of his kind as he always felt he should be. 

Naturally Scott is unnerved by this but for the sake of diplomacy keeps his mouth shut and instead makes time with Magneto’s daughter, inviting her back with him for family dinner. While he does mention her ex and his brother Alex will be there.. it’s subtly hinted there may be more here. And I like it and her refusal as she needs time for the past to be the past and for her to adjust, feels like Lorna when previously she’d been a rather out of character obdient daughter, something I hope Hickman explores and is not just a sudden change for the free spirited, strong willed, snarky daughter of the big M. Also as you can tell i’m not a huge fan of Scott’s brother alex who is barely in this. He’s just never been utilized well and she deserves better.  When asked his thoughts, Scott gives a nice speech about how scared he was having his son and the horrors his son would face.. and given his son was infected with a virus, shunted to the future, became mother fucking cable, and has died twice and has now been replaced by his teenage self who murdered him, yeah, he was right to be scared. but now his son is in a place of peace, and he feels he’s finally achived his dreams and all the fighting and bloodshed has been worth something.

But family dinner will have to wait and we get back to Orichis meeting their leader, Director Devo, who tells them to whip it .. whip it good. Okay obligatory joke aside, we do see a funeral for the soldiers that were killed during House of X. 

Devo and Karima talk over the disaster, how while their location around the sun, in the solar satlite thing reed richards and tony star built, and before you assume the worst they were both thought dead at the time it was stolen, is good for keeping humans from raiding them, it’s not really enough to stop MUTANTS, and Devo wishes he’d been there to stop the slaughter. Really nothing of HUGE consequence, just some plot movement and huminzation of the racist malitia.. which works. While their still not necearily good people: Karima took up with the very kind of people who turned her into what she is, and they kidnapped children just for being diffrent, they are still more than carboard cutout characteratures of racist. These are scared, frightned people wanting to halt what should be inevitible. However it also, like some of mutantkind’s shakier actions recently, dosen’t excuse it either: their still plotting genocide to save themselves instead of trying to find a peaceful solution, and while yes the X-Men strongarmed their way to peace, it was after a good decade and a half of racist  slaughter and trying to be a good example while mankind did hardly anything to help. The mutants, at least to me, end up coming off as more sympathetic simply because they’ve suffered while mankind, even the superhumans, did nothing. While Orichis is more understandable than most anti-mutant militia’s they are NOT heroes. While some of the krakoans may not qualify either and some are outright monsters, Orichis are trying to do a genocide out of fear instead of doing what the X-Men did for years: find peace even though it’s not the easy option. Show you DESERVE to live side by side instead of shunning them so much their forced to make their own home and keep you out this time. Their taking the easy  way out, as did so many other superheroes in turning away, as did so many civliains in giving into fear, and that’s why their the bad guys. Krakoa is far from perfect, but Orichis is not even close. 

One diatribe later, we find ourselves at Scott Summer’s house....

On the fucking moon! As scott says above, he figured why settle and always loving space as a kid, and having lived there in one of his two teen lives, he figured why not. It also explains how Krakoa can be there: while humans can’t live on Krakoa, they can visit the embassies, and given my rant above, you can see why maybe their being a bit paranoid. But yes scott’s pirate dad is visiting. Which is awkard given that his son who killed him is currently grilling steaks int he kitchen. 

Yeah for those of you only casually aware of X-Men, or even just recent fans who wisely skipped Deadly Genisis, he might take some explaning: This is Gabriel Summers. He was born from his dying mother and made a slave, got back to earth, and then charles foolishly used him as the dry run for the all new all diffrent x-men, who all got killed by Krakoa. Double awkard given he now lives in part of him. Two surivived, the other being Darwin who went on to great things in Peter David’s X-Factor and I hope comes back here, and Gabriel later came back pissed as hell, killed a lot of people and became emperor of the shiar then died saving the universe after going crazy town banana pants. Oh and he also killed empress lilandra, Xavier’s long time lady love and empress of the shiar. 

I shoudln’t of been able to make that joke twice, but the X-Men are insanely complicated and Gabe wasn’t a favorite of mine due to being a one dimensional psychopath and making Charles into kinda  huge dick for getting some people killed and then never telling the rest of the X-Men. But here.. he’s fucking hilarious, going on long rants about fire and generally coming off as an entertaining nutjob. Other family activities include kid cable, another character I wasn’t crazy about, trading guns with Corsair’s buddy Raza. Just treating him like a normal teen made him instantly more likable than he has been as a know it all dickhead what killed the original vastly more likable Cable, and giving him a chance at a happy child and adulthood instead of years of misery and war. In one issue Hickman actually made me like two characters I previously couldn't stand... props to him and his hard work. We also get a touching scene where Scott gives his dad a krakoan flower to plant on the Starjammer, his ship, so he can visit anytime, a really touching gesture and a really nice moment. Now that’s out of the way, as the summers have dinner and gabe presumibly rants about fire off screen... it’s time for the elephant in the room. 

If you look closely.. you’ll notice Scott, Jean and Logan all have interconnected rooms. No one has shut up about this since the comic was released and understandably so, as it means that their either both in a relationship with jean or, and I doubt this is true but I can hope, all three are dating each other. Me.. I like it especially if it’s the latter. After all the romantic bullshit i’ve had to deal with, it’s nice to have either possible polyamory, treated as safe and normal, or more likely an open relationship treated the same without it being a farce. Logan finally gets a shot with Jean, Scott still gets her but is free to explore other avenues given he’s been in only two relationships in his lifetime, but still be together and raise their son together. I like it a lot and i’m sure future X-Men issues will fill this out a bit. I also wouldn’t mind a Scott/Logan relationship, as it relay woudln’t hurt to have two of marvel’s biggest heroes be either bi or pansexual.  With dinner finished Corsair offers to help Scott with dishes, only for him to only turn him down because Krakoa uses goo to both wash and dry.. and this was a COMPROMISE over edible plates that just.. no. No thank you. Corsair takes this chance to have a heart to heart over his misgivings at mutantkind’s new mission, especially as a human, and we get one of the best scenes of the issue, if not the best. 

And we see how Hickman, rather than just paper over Scott’s shadier moments over the last decade, instead has Scott evolve past them. He’s done trying to just survive. He wants more than that. Without the terrifying brain computer that sometimes comes with that, but he wants to enjoy his life. He’ll never stop having to fight.. but instead of focusing on the fight every day.. he’s focusing on those he loves and cares about. And we see now WHY he belivies in Krakoa. he may have his doubts, his misgivings.. but after about 15 years of fighting just to make it out alive.. he gets to live. To have fun, to have somewhere where he can be safe, where he dosen’t have to worry about some psychotic jackass sending robots to blow up the kids in his care in the middle of the night. He’ll still give mutantkind every ounce of fight he has, but he can switch it off now... he’s letting himself be happy and it’s just wonderful to see. But of course, this wouldn’t make much of an ending that entices the reader to buy next issue would it... so we check back in on Orichis one last time. 

Devo checks in on Dr.Gregor, finding she wasn’t at the funeral and while he’s fine with rage fueling her work, he’s not so crazy about her using it to sublimate her grief. In truth she knows they didn't have enough to bury.. and more importantly... it may be moot for you see....

And just in case you missed it like I did, said crystal with his memory... looks just like Nimrod’s.. aka the badly named turbo sentinel that has always been key in snuffing out mutant kind. Ruh-Roh. 

Final Thoughts:  This issue kept the momentum and story from Powers and House going, but rooted it more in character, continuing Hickman’s cleanup job on Scott Summers, while doing some on his family, and creating a truly great start to the new era. My only complaint is sometimes Yu’s art looks a bit off when it comes to faces and as with his previous teamup with hickman on avengers, sometimes takes me out of the story.. but the story is so riviting and the better moments of art so stunning that it can’t bring this book down. The future continues to be bright for the x-men.  If you liked this review, reblog or follow, feel free to request an issue for me to review for 3 bucks a pop, or vote in the poll I have going for what dawn of x related issue i’m going to review that closes this friday. And until next time, farewell my x-people. 

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 6 (M)

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, Rape,

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

When the spirit wanderers things does not go unseen

Placed on the bedside table were a thin yellow candle. It was the first thing that had been done as soon as she had settled in. The yellow candle with a matching flame were to be kept there, to be kept an eye on. It linked in with the spell she had placed on the old house so that if any supernatural being were to cross over into her land she’d know. For weeks now it had been lit.

And then it wasn't.

It left a gnawing feeling deep inside, something nagging at her to make her realise something. It was important and it was frightening.

And so she decided that a simple vision wouldn’t suffice. Visions were scattered, they were focused on snippets out of place and mostly they were left for interpretation. For simple visions like that you’d need to touch something that were there in the moment you needed to see. She had nothing.

So she began plucking herbs from her garden, crushed it in a mortar to release its juices. Mugwort for scrying, Star anise for clavoyance, Bay Leaf for its sanctity and visions all mixed together with soil from her garden, bone from a raven and ash from a burned oak. From it she derevied a small potion to be poured in a body of water and that’s exactly what she did.

The bath were filled up to a critical point, the potion mixed in long ago. In the water she drizzled Catnip, the green leafs floating at the surface, and essence of Eucalyptus for the rituality of its cleansing powers. Blossoms of blue rosemary and the stalks of it floated in the water too. It worked as purification. Whatever was on the other side, she’d rather not drag pieces of it with her, nor did she want to get lost to the inbetween.

“What are you doing?” Michael questioned leaning against the entrance of her bathroom with his arms folded over his chest. Oya remained on her knees, drawing symbols on the floor with white chalk. They looked like disfigured stick men or as if a 3 year old tried and failed to draw any form of animal.

“My place got a visitor,” she said while finishing up the last symbols. Michael had impeccable taste when it came to baths, this tub was perfect for these sort of things, standing at enough distance from everything else to make a circle around it. With the small bundles of herbs, in between the marks, were emeralds and moonstones placed. “Or visitors, I don't know yet but I intent to find out.”

“There are other ways to find out than this,” Michael commented. The way he looked at the set up told her that he had never seen or done anything like this and it made her wonder.

“This is how I learned to do it,” she brushed off her hands on her silk robes, standing up. She tied her hair up in a mess that made it look more like an unkempt bush than anything else, with stray tots falling down her neck. “Many of the herbs open up your mind and lets you wander through the inbetween, the symbols are for warding and protection as well as helping the door open and the stones helps with protecting energies. I’m sure the ritual has developed over the years but this is what I know, what I remember.”

Michael remained standing in the doorway, his face in an unreadable mask that she couldn’t quite see past. It almost seemed as if he wary of it. Maybe he had to be, walking through the inbetween weren't easy, if you were lead astray you’d remain atray. Even if you’ve done it before it could be dangerous.

The ritual she had done when she came here were one akin to this, and it left her drained and with bruises. Worse thing could happen.

But as with all other things, worse things could always happen, letting that stop you would effectively stop you from doing everything, anything.

A little thought planted itself deep in her mind, at the very outskirts. What if there were something he didn’t want her to see?

“Haven't you ever seen a ritual like this? Who taught you magic?”

“My teachers were far more focused on getting me through the seven wonders than to teach me witchcraft,” he said with a frown. Oya looked at him in surprise.

So his teachers had focused on passing the supreme tests rather than teaching ways to use his magic. Even if he were naturally gifted and incredibly clever, raw power like his could reach so much further if he had been taught the ancient crafts. Everything he knew he had taught himself, she realised. Like her.

She folded her arms over her chest like him. “Did they know?”

“That I was the antichrist? No, mostly they didn’t question my powers, they were far more occupied with making me the new supreme, the alpha,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that were quickly turned into a frown.

“A male supreme? Unlikely, history has shown that the only supremes that can exist is female. You’re the antichrist not a witch or a wizard or whatever they call themselves, the supremacy wouldn’t be passed to you.” There were something alarming about this mask of his, eyes forming a wild storm and by the way he withheld his tendrils of magic she knew she was on thin ice.

“It didn’t matter, I won, will win regardless.” She walked to him and caressed his cheek.

“Because you have devil juju on your side,” she teased trying to ease his demeanor. It helped, he dropped his arms and leaned into her touch. “And you also have a goddess who owes you a favor.”

Oya turned and felt his hands come to her shoulders, fingers slipping past neck and holding onto it as she stepped out of the silk, naked. He stood with her silk in hand, letting it fall over his arm for her to take when she returned from the bath.

She sunk into the warm waters, the already critical water line rising even higher. Warmth engulfed her body. Before sinking further into the water, she looked over at Michael who stood patiently outside the ritual circle and watched.

“How did you learn? Your teachers were as unlikely to teach you anything like this as mine were,” he asked.

“When you’re not the prodigy you tend to live in the shadows. I stole a whole lot of my mother's books and read them in secret. The things I remember are the rituals I now know, it’s by far everything but it is something,” she answered. Most of the rituals had ceased to work, things get forgotten over time or changed. What she knew she had worked for, she had tested her way through it and if it worked, well then it fucking worked.

Like many things throughout time pieces of magic dwindled. The gods that were had fallen and things changed. That was how time worked. Witches themselves are said to be going extinct, their blood beginning to run thin with magic.

Oppose to them, being a goddess meant you had the possibility of so much more and with that you were a threat, to be hunted and locked away.

Michael would fall into the same category, wouldn’t he? Or just maybe he had the fate of something bigger than one of the last gods on earth.

“Whatever happens do not break the circle before I resurfaces,” she warned moments before diving fully into the water.

Like before there was nothing to begin with. Then slowly she began forming in that nothingness. Everything above the waterline nibbling at her ankles were dry, her hair now free and falling over her naked body. Around her were the emptiness, the abyss. She hated this place, the thought of being trapped there for eternity send shivers down her spine. It was a perfect limbo of nothing.

Oya began to walk, invisible theaters guiding her towards where she needed to be. The soil helped with that, to keep her from going astray and focus on finding the path to her old prison.

She stopped and looked sideways. Even though there were nothing there, she felt her soul being pulled, the back of her mind hearing a whisper that so dearly wanted to be heard. It made her heart speed up in fear. The inbetween called to her and something inside wanted to follow, to see what it wanted to show, what that little part of her told her she needed to see.

Ripping her eyes from the spot of black she had been captured by, she continued to walk a straight line forward. Water became soil, still air became warm and windy, around her formed so familiar and haunting scenery that made her heart stop for a moment in fear that being released from this place had been a dream.

The fine rows of herbs had fallen victim to weed. It looked disheveled and messy, many of the plants now sporting withered parts if it had not died at all. The soil that she had always kept perfectly balanced with water were now dry. Time had really passed.

It wasn’t what she came for.

Oya looked up and observed as two hooded figures entered the premise with a wave of the hand. The spell she had placed on the house from keeping being robbed, broke, the bowl with dried old herbs breaking into. That was the moment her candle went out.

They walked silently through the garden and into her house, hoods still covering their faces. Oya followed at a distance, strangely fearful of their presence. The gnawing feeling returned as nausea, adrenalin beginning to spike in her blood as her heart began drumming. If they were who she thought they were…

One hooded figure revealed themselves. Black hair that were once kept long were now cut to the shoulder, small traces of silver shining through in the light. Her mother turned and revealed the fine turning of time had left small lines upon her face, around her mouth and eyes, and yet she looked youthful. Oya fell to her knees outside of the door, hands gripping onto the wall as a way to keep fast.

“How?” Questioned the other person, her voice soft and young. She pulled back her hood and revealed light blond hair in a braid, eyes that used to be black now a crystal blue. Her sister had much finer and friendlier features. Soft lips the color of pink and a kinder bow to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” Haesoo answered her daughter, bewildered by her other daughters disappearance. “The spell was meant to last, she shouldn’t have been able to break it.” “Maybe it wasn’t her that broke it,” Ina said and kicked at a pillow on the ground. She walked around the room, fingers trailing over everything in an attempt to bring forth a vision.

“There’s no one powerful enough for that,” Her mother voiced in frustration. Worry made her look older.

“What if there were a lot of them then? We were many when we bound her so what if it is a coven we have to look for and not an individual? Maybe the New Orleans coven were desperate enough.”

“It’s not,” Haesoo said and walked towards the cup placed on the table. His cup. She bend down and took it, eyes looking at it as if she read a book. Oya felt herself begin to shake, the tether between this place and her body getting pulled together. It wasn’t long before she had to return. “If it were a coven there’d be left a bigger imprint, of something recognizable. The residue here is… strange, dark. It’s an individual.”

“It's quite similar, isn't it?” Ina asked and came to stand beside her mother.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she clutched the cup and closed her eyes. “Whoever released her is darker than anything I've ever felt and far more dangerous. If they have her by their side then… We have to get her and we have to make sure she’s permanently incapable of being a threat.”

Haesoo turned and looked directly at Oya. No, not directly, through her. Nevertheless Oya felt as if the world pressed in on her, air not getting to her lungs. Scrambling back she fell off the porch in a mess of arms and legs. The ground only seemed to swallow her up just like the fear. She sank, fighting against the soil, hands grabbing onto clumps of dirt and leaves until her head was covered and everything went black.

“Why exactly is it so important to get the ginseng when it’s full moon?” Oya asked her sister that had somehow convinced her to join her on her trip up the mountains. Now they were surrounded by woods, the lights of the city gone, replaced with silver moonlight that only cast an eerie veil through the crown of the trees. She rode beside her sister, accompanied by two armed guards.

“It’s said that if you dig up the ginseng that grows on the side of a mountain in the light of a full moon it’ll improve its qualities,” Ina answered, steering her horse further up. “Mother wanted us to get it.”

“Is it because of what happened?” Oya couldn’t help but ask. Since that day things had been different and why shouldn't it? She killed an entire village. They say it was something in the water but in reality it was her. The power within her had lashed out, she had felt positively euphoric. Even she was afraid of what hid beneath her skin, the monster clawing at her insides, the darkness that wrapped around her soul.

Ina looked at her sister with strange sympathy. “She’s afraid you will lose control again, that’s why we moved.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know what more I can do. I didn’t want to kill them,” Oya pleaded and felt some sort of remorse over the lie. In truth it had scared her how indifferent she felt towards what happened, not the act it self.

“But you did,” Ina said with a cold voice that struck her. “We’re here.”

They unseated the horses and brushed the ruffles out on their skirts. Ina made the guards remain, her powers latching onto them and controlling their minds. Oya followed her sister out into the clearing, carrying the basket on her arm. She frowned, eyes looking for the plant but found nothing but a house surrounded by a stone fence.

“Wha-.” A hand wrapped around her from behind, the basket being ripped out away from her with force. Closing her eyes she searched for her powers but found them as subdued as she was, forced passed the stone fence, into an overgrown garden. In the middle were a table, one she was thrown against moments before hitting the ground. Pain broke through her head, the feeling as if it was split open, she screamed.

“Get her on to the table, we can only hold her powers so long,” a familiar voice shouted. Oya felt hands around her arms, lifting her up and onto the table. Rope were tied around her wrists and ankles but just for good measure she was held down with bruising force.

“Let go of me! Help! Ina!” She screamed for her sister, kicking with all she could against the restraints. A power forced her still, the only thing she could move was her eyes, frantically looking around through blurred tears. Her mother stood beside her, face of stone and eyes as cold as ice. Above her holding her wrists were her sister, with a worried frown on her face.

She wanted to scream her throat raw, to let her powers run through her with vengeance.

“Cut her hanbok off,” her mother ordered. All Oya could do was watch as her fine silk hanbok was cut through, the fabric torn off her body and leaving her revealed and bare to the world. Her heart stopped, the shame of being left so unprotected clutching tightly around it.

She fought the magic stilling her, fought against its restraints until her body began to tremble. Around her gathered hooded figures with lit candles in their hands. They chanted lowly, the words seemingly making the air hum just like it did before a storm would tear through the skies.

“W-what?” was all she could get past her lips. With eyes as empty and cold as staring into a skull, her mother stood above her, knife catching the light of the moon.

“Mother,” Ina said before being stilled by their mothers cold snap of her eyes.

“We were fools for thinking that we should bring back gods,” her mother said. “We were greedy and foolish for thinking we could control something like that. You are by far my biggest regret and this…” Haesoo’s hands levitated above her daughters naked body, paled by the moon as if all colour had left the once sunkissed skin. “this will make sure you can never hurt anyone again. This is our way to make things right.”

Oya finally broke free of the spell that held her still. She screamed like a wolf in the night, the sound tearing through her throat with merciless claws. The rope burned her skin, dug in and left marks that felt like they’d never go away, and in a way they didn’t.

Haesoon began to chant, her words slurring into a language Oya didn't understand. Then her sister joined, her eyes never leaving her mother's form, even when her sister begged for her to help, begged to be released.

The surroundings began to blur into shadows and fine flames, the forms lengthening and twisting to something monstrous. The trees sang a sad song, one of pain and sorrow, maybe if was for her, maybe it sang of this very moment when Oya realised that the ones who should have loved her only saw her as a monster, saw her as something to be kept locked away with betrayal and bindings. Or just maybe it sang the song of all the souls she had taken from the world.

Warm liquid fell onto her body, drawing dark lines over pale skin, smearing and sticking to her. It turned freezing. Above her were now a dead snake hanging limp in her mother's grip, its blood spilled onto her body. Blood of the serpent, symbol of the goddess Ereshkigal, of her.

“Mother, please!” She cried but found her pleas were nothing but empty words to her mother. The screaming had left her throat raw, voice almost burned out of her but her tears kept coming, the tickled down the sides of her face. They meant nothing to them.

Her mother called in someone, one of the guards, that came to stop at her feet. Never had she called so loudly on her powers, never had she screamed into the abyss and found nothing. Never would she have thought that her own flesh and blood would do something like this.

She wanted to throw up, her stomach turning when his hands trailed up her legs and parted them for him. The pain were almost as bad as the betrayal, the uselessness she felt, the utter and total embarrassment. The pain resonated within her and she felt as if she was truely trapped. Burning chains formed around her, searing themselves into her skin with fine imprints.

There were nothing but pain, feeling half of her being ripped from her body, feeling bound to something agonizingly fragile. A part of her wished her dead, wished her gone from it all.

Another part of her burned with reckoning. It cursed them all, saw all those who had anything to do with her binding and rape to die a painful and slow death. She cursed their children and their children's children. She cursed their entire bloodline. But curses from someone who was split in two, whose powers were locked away, were nothing but words.

In a still moment where time slowed down, she looked into the darkness and found a boy the same age as she, with strange clothe and even stranger features. His hair were in golden tossels around his head, golden hair she had never seen before. Maybe he was a spirit, someone who’d help. Their eyes met, obsidian orbs meeting blue angelite. They were beautiful and they were sad.

Pain surged through her once more, feeling as if she were about to explode, she screamed and attempted to kick the man off, to tear her wrists from the bindings even if it tore off her skin.

In the end she was left entirely powerless. In the end she was left entirely alone.

In the end there were nothing but the seed of hate setting root.

In the end the boy haunted her.

With a jolt Oya sat up, water that had been still now violently spilling everywhere, the candles put out and knocked over with force, the herbs washed away and symbols cleaned off. She screamed despite the lack of air, body filled with a hollow pain while her mind was scattered to the then, the inbetween and the now.

She was still being suffocated in the soil, still screaming in the inbetween and in total pain in the now.

Michael had thrown the robe and rushed to her side, his arms sinking into the water and wrapped around her to keep her from sinking in once more. He shushed her with soft words, his hands coming around to hold her face up as she jittered in pain, lips quivering violently and eyes trying to focus.

“Oya! Oya!” He said, trying to calm her. “You’re back, you’re here, I’m here!”

The words she tried so forcefully to from in her mouth came out as strange stutters with no actual words forming. With her mind shattered like this everything felt out of place. She felt out of place.

His eyes were so blue. Angelite. She couldn’t remember were she’d seen them.

It took several moments before her body stopped sizing, before she felt in control of it enough to reach out to Michael. Her hands shook when they grabbed onto his jacket that had become soaked. The pain dwindled, her mind falling into place, leaving behind the then, the inbetween to fully be in the now.

Michael lifted her out of the water and cradled her against him. Without any concern to his attire he held her, softly brushing wet hair out of her face. He felt warm as always. She could hear his heart drum in his chest and slowly she found her way back, her own heart starting to beat with his.

“They’re alive,” she croaked. “They’re alive and they know I’m not there anymore.”

“They won’t be able to find you,” Michael reassured.  There were something there, something pulling at the corners of his sincerity, something that nudged the doubt that had been planted in her. There was a carefulness.

She pushed away from him, hand on his chest. “Did you know? Did you know they were alive?”

“I had my-,” he started after being quiet a moment too long. How easily he lied.

“You knew.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Oya pushed away from him entirely, her skin getting in contact with the wet floor as she pushed over it until they were not touching anymore. There were a callousness to him, like there always were. Another mask, another layer, another shield.

Fear turned to anger and anger burned. It was there to begin with, simmering in the distance and always getting closer and now she were engulfed in it. Rage pure and simple, that left no room for fear or anxieties.

She hated them enough for her to go through him if she had to.

Her powers lashed out and pressed against him until he had scootered over the floor and pressed against the frame of the door. Lights began to flicker, a strange sound filling the room as a gash began to drag over the mirror while it vibrated. The air was windy with magic.

Michael’s eyes flared up with a familiar anger, one she had seen before on him. In contrast to her burning rage his was cold and contained. It made him far more frightening.

“You knew!” She hissed at him, hands balling against the floor so much that her nails cut into the skin of her palm.

Michael simply dried off drops of water before leaning to rest against the frame. Pieces of his hair was wet, the sleeves of his black jacket was wet, his pants were wet. His eyes were cold flames. “Yes, I knew.” He scoffed with cynicy.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d go after them without a second thought,” he answered with a cool drawl. They both stood, glaring at one another. The robe were supposed to bring her some warmth but none were to be found. It covered her up and yet the feeling of being bare lingered.

“You’re goddamn right!” She cursed at him. “You have no idea what they put me through. You couldn’t possibly understand what they did!”

“I understand betrayal, I’ve had my fair share of it,” he countered. Weather it was anger or attraction they always ended up being slowly pulled towards one another. Something about him was restrained, carefully concealed. He moved in an elegant way that no one else moved in. “Understand that it was-,”

“If you way it was for my own good I swear I’ll tear this house down with you in it,” she threatened. Weather she were able to fight Michael head on and survive would remain a mystery, the same goes for him. “Were you afraid I’d leave you?”

“No,” he said in an almost cruel way, slow and drawling, with his eyes narrowed at her. It shouldn’t have surprised her and it didn’t, but it did strike something.

“I want to watch them burn. I want to watch them suffer for what they did to me and you want to stop me,” she hissed and took a step back as he began to press her further back with his presence. It infuriated her, the way he always closed in on her as if she was prey.

“I don’t want to stop you.” His breath hit her face and tickled over her skin. “I want you to get your vengeance. You can leave whenever you want.”

Words that should seem reassuring felt quite opposite. The anger that filled her up ran down her cheeks as evidence, how weak it must seem. A goddess trembling with anger and painful tears tainting her cheeks. The pain lingered in her body and the memory of it haunted her. The shame haunted her.

“I didn’t tell you because you’d act rash. You’d let the anger consume you-,”

“And you wouldn’t let it consume you!” She yelled in frustration. Behind her spiderwebs formed as the mirror continued to vibrate, the lights flickering. The rage burned in her blood, made every breath she took feel strained and painful. It felt as if she’d lose control, even if she tried to remain as collected as Michael, the energy whirled around them.

“I’ve learned to think before I act, to take in every possibility and make plans for every outcome so that whatever that happens I’m the one in control.” He didn’t touch her but his hand followed the line of her cheekbone. “When you were in full control I’d tell you. So that you could think clearly.”

“What do you want from me, Michael?”

“I’ve told you. I want you to reach full potential,” he said with an ease unlike any other. If he lied she wouldn’t know and if he spoke the truth… It was hard to figure out if it were all part of a bigger game, of something she hadn’t yet realised or if it were something sincere. At times he were exactly what he showed her and at other time a cypher she couldn’t figure out. It was infuriating.

“And I want revenge.”

“Then take it but be clever,” he said. With carefulness he touched her cheek and dried off her tears. The fire that burned towards him burned out leaving dust and ashes behind, in the form of a hollow feeling. Pain lingered, however. The memoried burned into her mind.

“For the pain they have caused you I will make sure their stay in hell will be worse than they ever thought possible.”

Oya placed her hand over his and looked into his eyes with undoubtful determination. “In this I don’t need your help. However, I ask that you stay by my side as I take my revenge.”

“Seeing you take revenge would be my biggest pleasure.”

[papipopsicle]

AFTERTASTE PART TWO

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Short!Reader

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether friendship and can co-exist without causing conflict. Including my OC’s Flick & Cherry, a lesbian couple and best friends of Y/N. Set Pre-Veronica.

Warnings: FWB, swearing, mentions of sex and oral but no actual smut

Words: 3.9K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

     One week passed with nothing said between the two best friends. Whilst their teasing way of life carried on, they completely avoided the subject matter of last Friday night. Saturday morning shone through the parted curtains of Y/N's grey and pink bedroom, waking the pair from their dreamy states, and a meaningful conversation began as quickly as it ended.

Y/N let out a groan and tightly shut her eyes after daring to open them, and suddenly a soft hand, that didn't belong to her, unwrapped itself from her stomach. After scrunching her brows together in confusion, the girl processed the sight her eyes caught; the view of her window and dressing table blocked by bare skin. She sighed and nestled into the warmth of a broad chest, the soft arm lacing back around her waist as a groggy voice cut through the air, "Morning, Tiger."

She groaned again in response, not having the energy to speak, and Archie couldn't stop the chuckle falling from his lips at that. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and Y/N was glad at that moment that her head was buried in his chest, because the confidence she had last night wore off like a Cinderella spell and now she was sure her cheeks matched two cherry tomatoes.

"You feeling all right?" The redhead asked, and finally Y/N raised her head to meet his eyes, smiling at the calming effect they had on her. She simply nodded, her hand that wasn't trapped under the pillow now drawing patterns on his upper arm. Archie took this as a chance to ask another question in his gravely morning voice she wouldn't admit she found a little too attractive, "Wanna talk about last night?"

Y/N kept her gaze fixed on his arm and her fingers, searching her mind for the right words to a difficult answer. She yawned and nodded once more, flicking back to the attitude only he could bring out of her, "It was fun, Andrews, I like that side of you."

"What's wrong with the other side of me?" The boy pouted watching her from above as her hand now lay flat against his chest and she wriggled to lie on her side fully.

She smirked up at him devilishly, "Absolutely nothing, pretty boy."

"You have absolutely no idea what kind of affect you have on me, little girl." He matched her smirk and tightened his grip on her waist to bring her the slightest bit closer, her side of the bed left completely vacant.

"You need to stop calling me that." Y/N grumbled slapping his chest lightly, and Archie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. She rolled her eyes at his stupidly adorable face, "It makes my mind think dirty things, dirtier than last night. Things that best friends probably shouldn't think about each other."

He was quiet for a while after that, but then a thought popped into his mind like a bubble and his smile returned. "What if," he began, morning voice wearing off much to the girls dismay, "we're something more than friends? I know you don't wanna be in a relationship right now and you know I'm the same, but what if we're something in between?"

"Friends with benefits?" She perked up and pondered for a moment before her grin suddenly mirrored his, "Okay, I'm in. Just us plus sex, like ice cream and extra sprinkles."

Archie chuckled, "Exactly. Do you have any ground rules? You know, so if we do this it actually works."

"No fucking other people, that's just rude." The petite girl said almost instantly. He rolled onto his back as she spoke and Y/N rest her cheek against his chest as she continued, "And we keep it a secret as best we can. If we decide to tell anyone then give the other person a heads up first or straight after. You got any?"

"How about saying no at any time is perfectly fine? Neither of us should feel forced to do something if we aren't comfortable with it. And it can be stopped at anytime, circumstances don't matter." Archie said with a kind smile, one arm running up and down her back as the other absentmindedly played with her hair.

Y/N grinned, "You've got yourself a deal there."

"So this is actually happening?" The redhead asked almost not believing what had just been agreed to him and his best friend of eight years.

"Yep," She popped the 'p' and snuggled back into his chest, one leg wrapping around his lower torso and an arm lightly draped over his muscular chest, "can we go back to bed for a bit? I don't care what the time is, it's too early to get up."

Now it was his turn to grin, "Of course, Tiger."

And just like that, their deal was struck.

It was the norm for people to comment on how close Y/N and Archie were, but by now the entire school (teachers included) could predict the response of 'we're just friends' even after being caught in each other's arms. Their change in behaviour wasn't picked up by anyone, although when the short y/h/c girl suddenly squeaked out a moan she'd been trying so hard to hold back, sat next to Archie late Thursday evening with the usual suspects surrounding them at Pop's, it raised a few eyebrows.

The weekend rolled around soon enough, and after spending all of Saturday procrastinating and finally getting some work done in the evening, Y/N felt it was only necessary to have a well-earned day off. She planned to stay in bed for the evening, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape, cookies on hand whilst Agent Carter ran on repeat from her near-dead laptop. But, those plans were smashed to smithereens when her sister decided that would be the day to invite half of her year over and drink from dawn until dusk.

Coincidentally, their parents had gone down to San Antonio to visit Y/D's brother since his niece had just gone into labour with a baby boy on the way.

Once again, this left Y/S in charge of her younger sister, meaning whatever happens over the two days stays between them and their parents would get the story of lounging around trying to annoy each other all weekend. Y/N had spent the morning with Cheryl at the gym, afternoon with Betty baking cookies and lounging in her room, and now, she didn't know what to do with herself.

She lay on her stomach in bed, scrolling through Instagram whilst her legs kicked at the air in boredom. Another half an hour past until the banging of EDM and thoughts of drunk teenagers trashing the house became enough to send her wild. With it now being Spring Break too, nothing would stop that party until everyone of them were passed out somewhere. Y/N groaned to herself and grabbed her pink backpack, shoving a few necessities in it and picking up her phone.

Tiger 😸💞 Guessing you're awake/home rn?? x

Flame Crotch 🔥 Ofc I am I don't have a social life, you wanna come over? x

Tiger 😸💞 Yep, Y/S has terrible taste in music and I'm pretty sure if I don't make a break for it now I'll be dragged into a very non-consensual orgy :/

Y/N slid her bomber jacket on and picked up her bag; she wore a bubblegum plaid skirt with a ribbed cream turtleneck jumper tucked in and a pair of grey ankle boots. Her hair had been pulled up into a messy bun, and nothing but freckles covered her skin. She and Betty decided to dress all cutesy for an afternoon of baking, and Y/N was sure Archie would appreciate her short schoolgirl-esque outfit too.

The girl let herself out through her side door, luckily an unknown area to party-goers, and locked it after leaving. With her backpack slung over one shoulder, Y/N went incognito through her own garden and avoided the gaze of intoxicated minors. She crossed the quiet street and sent two soft knocks to the door of 113 Elm Street.

Silenced enveloped her until it was shattered by rushed footsteps, barking and a whole lot of indistinct clatter before the door was answered a minute later by the eldest Andrews. He put his body between the door and the free space created by it being opened, not looking too comfortable in the position as he attempted to keep Vegas from attacking the girl with slobbery wet kisses.

"Hey Freddo, heya Vegas buddy." Y/N beamed, and before he knew it the Labrador had broken free to be fussed over. Although she grew up with cats and was therefore the designated 'crazy cat lady' of her clique, the petite girl adored all animals, especially her best friend's 11 year old dog who was still a 2 month old puppy at heart.

"Thought you would've had a key made by now, kid." Fred greeted the girl with a side-hug and chuckled to himself, stepping aside and pulling the bundle of energy with him so she could step through the door.

"Must've left it at home." She shrugged and sent him a lop-sided grin mirroring Vegas's current expression.

Then, a loud crash from upstairs startled the two, and a few seconds later Archie stumbled out of his room whilst fumbling to get his shirt over his broad shoulders.

Y/N furrowed her brows, but happily drank in her friend's perfectly disheveled appearance, she let her head rest on the railings of the stairs and peered up at him, "Did you just fall off your bed?"

"N-no. Definitely not." Archie responded almost instantly, his lack of hesitation proving the statement to be false. Y/N simply shook her head and followed the boy back up to where the noise had come from just moments ago. She slung her bag onto the floor nearest his mess of a wardrobe, the patch being claimed as her spot whenever she came over.

Y/N huffed, and in one step she face planted the boy's unmade bed, finding conflicting emotions within the musky smell of his duvet that usually only brought her comfort. Archie chuckled dryly, mimicking her movements to flop down next to her with their noses now touching, "What's up, Tiger?"

"Nothing." The girl pouted a little but it soon softened into a smile when she noticed his frown, she lifted her head ever so slightly and pressed a light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "I'm just happy, full stop."

"So..," Archie mimicked her movements and quickly pecked her nose before continuing, "what's made your nonexistent heart suddenly start beating?"

Y/N shrugged for the second time that day and answered simply, "Everything. There's been no fall-outs with the girls, Josie hasn't said anything to me recently, my cousin's baby boy is perfect and happy and healthy, and then there's you, obviously. You, Archibald Andrews, on top of all the good that's happening right now, you're what makes me the happiest."

"Ah, we're playing this game now?" He asked with a smirk, one hand finding its way to her shoulder and he began to twirl strands of hair between his fingers aimlessly. "Well, I'm sure your main reason for coming over here was to see Vegas and that I was just an afterthought, but you're what makes me the happiest too."

This wasn't exactly a game, more like a reoccurring conversation over the past ten years. At their brightest, darkest or most boring moments throughout their lives, the answer to whatever made them the happiest would always be each other. It made no sense most of the time, and was just a strange little phrase to the outside world, but to them it was a promise.

Out of the blue, the girl shot up. Archie jumped up at her sudden movement, but watched curiously as she rearranged herself to sit cross-legged with her head in her hands. "Written anything new recently?" She asked hopefully, then before he could answer she added, "Don't you dare say no, your guitar's not in its case and your good luck pen's on an open page of Lola. I don't need to be Sherlock to see that you were writing before I arrived."

The redhead rolled his eyes playfully at her antics and reached for his lyric book, easily handing it to her. He normally didn't share his songs with anyone, but in the sweetest way possible Y/N would pry it out of him eventually so there wasn't any use fighting her, not that he would keep it hidden from her for long anyway. Archie stood to grab his guitar before sitting at the side of his bed, propping the instrument up against himself and looking back at the girl as a smile made its way to her face. He watched for a moment, mesmerised by her concentration on his work; the way her lips quirked up at the lines she liked, or the pout that appeared when she couldn't work out what something meant due to his scrawled handwriting.

The redhead finally decided to interrupt her thoughts, "It's not finished yet, and I'll probably change a few things, but this is what I've got so far- and before you ask, I'll tell you what it's about after you've heard it."

(song is When You Can't Sleep At Night by Of Mice and Men)

He began strumming his guitar and settled for a mellowed rhythm, and just as he began to sing Y/N leant back against the wall with her eyes closed to fully appreciate the lyrics she read just moments ago.

He breathed in deeply, "Here in this world I'm awaked with mistakes, but it's love that keeps fuelling me, fuelling me."

"Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes, would you show them to me? I know I'm not that perfect, but you stay awhile, baby, then you will see."

There was a pause, and Y/N opened her eyes to see Archie with his closed, deep in thought as he began to sing the next few lines, "Miles away I can still feel you, lay your head down on my embrace, my embrace. Far away."

"Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes, would you show them to me? I know I'm not that perfect, but you stay awhile, baby, then you will see."

"Don't give up, baby. I know that it's shaky. Just let love consume us, consume us..."

As she realised the song was coming to an end, Y/N quietly sang along matching the boy's pitch perfectly, "Here in this world I'm awaked with mistakes, but it's love that keeps fuelling me, fuelling me to love you."

"Miles away I can still feel you, lay your head down on my embrace, be not afraid to love me."

Archie repeated the chorus one last time and the song finished as the last strum of his guitar ricocheted through the room. A moment of silence past before the petite girl let out a gleeful squeal and began clapping to hide the fact that hearing him sing such reassuring lyrics brought tears to her eyes.

"That was beautiful, Arch. Like I know I say that every time you play me something new, because it's true, but that may just be one of my new favourites." Y/N sighed contently, "So, what's it about then?"

The redhead placed his guitar back down and leaned back against the headrest of his bed to get comfy, but this only prompted his best friend to lean against him. So, there was a moment of awkward fumbling as they shifted to get themselves comfortable, but in the end Archie settled with his arm protectively around her as she lay against his chest with her legs over his.

"It's about everything really." He admitted with a hidden but faltering smile, "Life isn't perfect or the best in any way, it can get really fucking rough at times, but love and positivity will always beat that. All that cliché kinda mushy stuff. The bond between family or two people who love each other can overcome any of those difficult obstacles. Originally, I wrote it as a sort of lullaby, it's been ripped out of Lola and rewritten so many times I couldn't ever get it right. This is so stupid- I was meant to send it to you last year after what happened, because I knew you were having trouble sleeping, but something stopped me every single time."

Y/N didn't respond straight away, she snuggled into his chest more whilst processing the words. Her best friend didn't find confidence in his work easily, but she never saw anything but pure talent in its rawest form. The fact that he wrote for and about her was something she treasured, it meant the world to her that he'd spent so long trying to find the right words to help her.

"I think it's perfect just as it is, I might be a year late hearing it, but I love it just as much." She sniffled, using the sleeves of her jumper to wipe away her tears. Archie's expression changed in a split second when he heard the noise; before he was frowning, thinking he'd left it too late to show her that he was there for her, but now he was just downright confused and concerned.

Sniffling again, Y/N twisted in his arm and raised her head ever so slightly, pressing her lips against hers softly. It was completely unadulterated, only lasting a few seconds before she pulled away with a smile.

"I loved it." She affirmed, gazing up into his doe eyes with her wide ones as he relaxed instantly with the words. And with that, she wrapped her arms around his torso in a bear hug and let her head rest on his shoulder as he rubbed her back on instinct.

Archie shook his head and chuckled slightly at his own thoughts, "You know, I lied, I did fall over before, and it hurt real bad, I'll probably have a bruise in the morning."

This got the girl's attention, rather unintentionally though. He just wanted to hear the laugh that made his stomach do somersaults again, but the devil on Y/N's shoulder had different ideas. She eagerly sat back up, to the side of Archie this time, with her legs over his and her arms around his neck, then she grinned out the most wicked of smiles.

"Can I add to those bruises?" She temped, one hand weaving its way into his bright hair as the other settled on his shoulder.

Archie groaned in response, his head falling back ever so slightly, "How the fuck do you do that?"

"Do what?" The small girl asked innocently, her bottom lip jutting as she batted her eyelashes. She knew exactly what he meant, but needed the satisfaction of hearing the words leave his lips.

Archie held her by the shoulders in his tight grip, staring at her with darkened eyes now, "How the fuck do you go from the girl I play GTA with three days straight without showering to the sexy little girl you are right now? It's driving me insane, you parade around in these tiny mini skirts. I can't cope, you're meant to be my best friend but all I can think about is fucking you 'til the sun comes up."

"I can safely say I want nothing more than that right this second, and I'm not saying I'd stop you either. But from what I know, I'm not exactly quiet and it would be oh so unfortunate if your dad walked in to see you neck deep in my pussy, now wouldn't it? Because that would end this before it's even begun, and that's the last thing I want to happen." Y/N all but whispered into his ear, her breath hot against his neck making him tighten his grip on her.

"Fine." He sighed and knew she was right, but that didn't mean he was alright with it. "Want a top to sleep in, Tiger?" The redhead asked in vein, by now he knew if the option was ever there she'd take his shirt over anything. He never got why exactly, but went along with it anyways.

Y/N chuckled, tapping his chest a couple times before leaning against the wall and away from the warmth of his body. She knew he wasn't happy with the situation, and truth be told neither was she, but knowing his unsettled reaction was only a joke made her feel safe. She trusted him with everything.

The girl smiled up at him as he began to get off the bed, predicting her next words before they'd even left her lips, "Yours, pretty please."

Seconds later, Y/N sat up and drew her knees to her chest, only to have Archie throw a black t-shirt in her face. It was one he didn't wear very often, since helping his dad and going to the gym more now meant it showed more abs and biceps than it covered. But that wouldn't stop it from drowning the petite girl like all of his tops.

She stood up and grabbed her bag with the t-shirt in her other hand, and turned to Archie one last time, "I'mma go change into this, could you close the curtains? You know, so if anything does happen, Betty doesn't find out about our little agreement by randomly looking out of her window."

So, that's exactly what they did. Y/N changed out of her cute ensemble and into the boy's shirt, and as predicted, it sat just on her thighs. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, smiling with satisfaction at her fresher appearance. Taking off her underwear, she put on a pair of Calvin Klein's and packed everything back away again. With one last look in the mirror, the girl unlocked the bathroom door and made her way back to Archie's room.

The sight she was greeted it made her core twist and tighten, but she ignored that and focused on putting her bag back down. Archie had been leaning against his desk scrolling through something on his phone, in nothing but his boxers. It was something only two other people had been graced with, one of those being his father and the other Betty through the safety of her window. He was hot, and the Y/L/N girl couldn't stop her mind from flashing images of him on his knees, tufts of orange hair gripped in her hand as he brought her to the brink of cumming over and over again until she was screaming his name.

Reluctantly, she pushed those thoughts aside for another night and plonked herself down on his bed again. The night went on for hours as they talked about everything from alien invasions to the newest Stranger Things episode, and had a small game of would you rather somewhere in-between. But now, around three in the morning, Y/N was fast asleep curled up against the wall with Archie closely behind her in his own happy little dream.

It was nothing less than bliss.

PART THREE

[overwatchladieslover]

The Moon Circus chapter one: La fille du soleil

She was tired. Undeniably tired. Under her eyes were bags larger than those she had packed when leaving Switzerland, in her hand, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee. Her hand had cramps from holding her pen for so long.

“Ziegler, we need you at the drive-through!” Yelled her boss in her shitty earpiece, which matched her equally shitty fast-food uniform. She nodded, running over to her post. “Good evening! Have you made a choice yet?” She asked, trying her best to sound welcoming and happy. Her French was perfect, from the accent to the pronunciation. Perks of being Swiss.

Even if she had barely slept in three days, even if she got the shakes from her caffeine high. She had just gotten back from her college, where she was studying the medical arts, she barely had the time to trade her blouse and skirt for an orange and bright yellow uniform, she was already getting yelled at by five different persons. Angela Ziegler kept her voice even and joyful for the rest of the evening.

“Good evening! Have you made choice yet?” Her throat was dry, she was tired, and her voice slightly raspy, yet her interlocutor did not seem to mind in the slightest. Excited babbles of children could be heard, chanting ‘circus’ with enough energy to bring a melancholic smile to Angela’s lips. She remembered, when her little world was covered in snow, as her parents, holding her hands, stood by her sides, leading her to the circus. She fondly recalled the feel of her mother’s hand against her gloved one, or how her father laughed when he gave her piggyback rides.

She was brought back to the moment by her colleague, Hana, who looked at her with compassion. Decembers always were trying times for Angela since her parents had passed away. Sighing sadly, she resumed working, trying to keep herself focused.

Her service had finally ended, after dragging out slowly like a dying snail trying to reach its final destination. She simply could not wait to take a shower and pass out on her couch with some silly TV show playing in the background. On her way out, she waved goodbye at Hana, who was in charge of the night shifts. It was pretty cold outside, but Angela had had worse. Plus, she welcomed the freezing breeze like an old friend, as it seemed to dance with her blond hair. Angela Ziegler liked the calm, she checked her phone, it was almost midnight. She hurried back to her apartment. If she liked the Lyon nights, she certainly was much less fond of the dangerous back alleys.

She opened the door to her small lair. It was nothing fancy, but given the fact that she was living in the third arrondissement, right next to the docks, she was lucky. It had a living room with a kitchenette, a decently sized sofa who could serve as a bed in case Lena got in trouble with her girlfriend, Emily. Angela’s room was small, but efficient. A small bed, a bedside table drowning in books, notes, and a glass of water that had been sitting there for way too long to be drinkable. There also was a small desk, equally messy, with a small plant, which she lovingly named Freud, for she loved to pour water on little green Freud, chanting ‘drown, drown’. She let her bag fall to the ground, as she kicked her shoes off, jumping on the sofa, turning on TV, as she stared at the ceiling. Lord, was she tired.

She eyed the pack of cigarettes on her table. Lena gave them to her, as a ‘thank you’ for letting her stay over a week. Angela was not a smoker, not a regular one, but she could use something to take the edge off, and the smell of fast food oozing from her made her too nauseas to drink any of the cheap liquor she kept stashed in her cupboard. Grabbing a cigarette, she opened her window, pulling a lighter from the empty ashtray sitting on the windowsill. As she was smoking, her mind wandering, paying no attention to the political debate in the background, a blaring noise echoed through the street, she almost dropped her cigarette.

“What is that?” She muttered, leaning over the railing to see what was going on. “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Le Cirque D’Andromède is in town! Head over to Place Bellecour, and witness the impossible! Under the big top, you shall find us! Our first representation is going to be public, and completely free!” Enthusiastically spoke man in a megaphone. He was standing atop a car, which was blaring an obnoxiously loud circus music. He waved a top hat around.

Angela chuckled, he had cliché long moustache, a white cane and a black tailcoat, complimenting his pristine white shirt. The med school student checked her phone. Lena could definitely use something fun to do tonight. She called her, the brit answered almost right away. “What’d’ya need, Angie?” Asked Lena, upbeat as ever. “There’s a circus in town, first night sounds free. Want to check it out ? Bellecour isn’t that far from your place, is it?” Angela was already stripping for her shower, holding her phone with one hand, letting the cigarette fall down. “Please, I live in Bronc, that’s right next to the Jean Masset train station. I’ll be over in a second, meet me there!” Chirped Lena cheerfully. “I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll meet you at the station. Bring popcorn!” “Will do!” Angela hung up, before getting in her shower. She felt all the stress of the day wash off pleasantly. Sure, she was still tense, but she got used to this weight on her shoulders a long time ago. As soon as she was out of the shower, she tried to figure out what she was going to wear. Was it going to be casual, or classy? She had like, one good dress, and that was it. Her paycheck didn’t really cover much over the essentials.

She ultimately decided that she was too lazy to dress up, plus Lena had seen her at her worst caffeine-fueled extravaganza at 4 AM, trying to turn a semester of slacking around. She opted for dark jeans, a blue top which really brought out her eyes, and some light mascara and eyeshadow, just to pretend she actually made an effort. TV: turned off. Purse: Grabbed. Makeup: On. Ready to roll.

The streets were pretty calm for the 3rd district, which was known to house some of the city’s poorest students and people who didn’t have enough money to move to the suburbs. Still, it was a nice place. She lived Rue De Marseille, where shops almost never closed, except during Ramadan, where everything was quiet during the day, but so lively during the night ! Children playing soccer in the dead of night, under their mothers’ and the moon’s supervision. Teens smoking on the docks, carving their names in every available surface, or graffitiing the walls. Lena was a pro at that. Her nickname, ‘Tracer’, was almost everywhere in the borough, to her utmost pride. The train station was her favourite. The brit liked to go on trains, especially when she had no idea where they were headed, and just leave. Emily hated that, she once had to get Lena back from Valence, the brit still had not lived that one down.

Angela ran up the stairs to Jean Macé, where Lena was laying on a bench, watching something on her phone, kicking her crocs-clad feet in the air. “Hi there!” “’Sup Angie!” The brit greeted her with a hug. “When’s the train getting here?” Asked the blonde, sitting on the bench, as her friend let her feet lay on her lap. “Shouldn’t be too long now, I s’pose.” Lena looked as tired and dead inside as Angela, she too had to work a part time job, but it was far less classic than Angela’s. “How are things?” Miss Ziegler knew that Lena did not exactly enjoy bringing her adventures as a ‘criminal’ (after all, poor Lena Oxton wouldn’t hurt a fly). “They’re good, Jalel and I just lounged up in the HQ all day, not much traffic. Even enough time to actually turn in my assignment in time, for the first time like, ever!” Jalel, Lena’s boss, was a dear, but was not to be messed with. He was like a teddy bear which would turn in an actual bear if provoked. He /adored/ his assistant, and always made sure not to drag her into overly dangerous tasks. “Sounds great! But I am afraid your professor might have a heart attack when she realises that you were actually one time, for once.” Lena was studying animation, and her art teacher, in spite of her appreciation for the very much loveable brit, was growing more and more exasperated each time she turned assignment in late. Her current high score was two months late, she had had to dodge the teacher’s incessant calls, emails, and even had to hide in the boys’ bathroom to escape the animation teacher’s wrath. “Are we going by TGV, or are we going the wild way?” Asked Lena, knowing fully well that there were no TGVs scheduled for the day, only trains carrying merchandise or materials for the ever-expanding city that was Lyon.

“Wild way, I imagine.” Grinned the blonde, cracking her knuckles. Lena started stretching, before a distant light warned them of the train arriving. Angela sucked in a shallow breath, she had gotten slightly used to it, but before the big jump, she always got stressed out. Lena took her hand, squeezing reassuringly. They stepped back a bit, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The Brit whistled, and the two girls broke into a sprint, jumping on the train. Angela looked down as she jumped, it felt like time itself had slowed down, the tracks moving fast beneath her feet.

In this moment, she felt everything, the wind in her hair, the blood hammering her temple, the adrenaline running wild in her veins, just like the train speeding through the city. She landed on her knees, but she didn’t feel any pain. She just felt relief and joy. “Not bad, Angie!” Yelled Lena, barely audible over the wind rushing around them. The blonde giggled in response, grabbing Lena’s extended hand, pulling her to her feet. She opened her arms against the wind pushing against her. “Wooohoo!” The tiredness in her bones left, replaced with cheerfulness. Lena imitated her, the two of them started a screaming contest, knowing that nobody could hear them. They screamed in unison, in their heads, they screamed against mean bosses, late nights on papers they knew were going to be awful, failed romances, against a world that kept trying to bury them, yet, here they were: on a train, in the middle of the nights, surrounded by the city’s lights coming from the cafés, the rooftops lit with fairy lights.

Once their voices had died down, it was almost time to get off the train. “Part-Dieu’s in view!” They got to the opposite side of their wagon, trying to avoid the pieces of wood firmly held by metal chains. As soon as the platform was in sight, they ran and jumped. Their landing was not exactly smooth or elegant, but they managed just fine, rolling onto the unclean ground of the C platform. Luckily, there was no one in sight. They got up and dusted themselves off. “We should hurry, I don’t want to miss the opening!” Lena, hyper as ever, grabbed Angela’s hand, running through the train station. Angie really liked the ambiance in those late nights in the train station. People asleep on the benches, or on their luggage, the brave, daring youth vomiting in the bins, getting chastised by the personnel, or the soldiers patrolling under the Sentinelle Act.

Part-Dieu was a street away from Bellecour. They raced down the stairs, to the surprise of a few young men, trying to soothe the burn of alcohol in their system by laying in the fountains, which were luckily not turned on. They didn’t even have to raise their heads to know where the circus was. Loud music echoed through the street, along with a tremendous cheer, from a seemingly overhyped crowd.

Their steps led them to the place, and the crowd that had formed there was nothing short of massive. All around the titanic place that was Bellecour, were decorations, poles challenging the height of the surrounding buildings, with various strips of coloured cloth twirling and joining the other poles in a whirlwind of undeniable beauty. Thankfully, the spectacle had not started yet. “Oh! Cotton Candy!” Exclaimed Lena, almost running to the small stall, dragging her friend along. “I’ll never get over how ridiculous its French name is. Barbapapa.” Angela shook her head, as her friend grabbed their sticks, handing her the extremely sugary candy. “C’mon, Angie, French is the language of love, shall I say it again?” Lena wiggled her eyebrow suggestively. “Do no-” “Omelette du fromage…” She winked, as if she had dropped the smoothest pickup line known to mankind. An exasperated sigh made them turn around. A woman, clad in tight, dark green leather, and what seemed to be a huge necklace made of various leaves, feathers, and flowers. Her hair, held back in a ponytail which showed her remarkably high cheekbones. “Omelette AU fromage.” Sighed the beautiful woman, walking past them, stopping to catch a side glance at the duo. “Jolies crocs, ma belle.” Grinned the Frenchwoman, fading into the crowd. “Angie, I’m pretty sure my ovaries just exploded.” Whined the brit with a shaky voice. “For fuck’s sake, Lena.” “Exploded!” “Oxton, your gay ass is the reason I can’t take you anywhere nice.” Angela sighed, and resumed trying to eat her cotton candy without having it stick to her fingers, which was frankly impossible. While her friend was off rambling about her ovaries getting destroyed by yet another woman, Angela dragged her towards the scene, trying to avoid running into people too much. “It’s about to start, snap out of it!” Chastised the blonde, lightly shaking her friend’s shoulders. All the lights suddenly went down. The crowd went dead silent, and thank God, Lena shut up. Various noises, resembling those of a forest rose from seemingly everywhere. There must’ve been some speakers hidden in the poles’ cloths. On the scene, rose poles looking like bamboo, in a dim cloud of smoke. The first men appeared. Clad in skin-tight blue costumes, with intricate patterns which looked like scales. They gracefully split across the stage, revealing a huge man, whom looked similar to Poseidon, wearing a similarly blue costume, however this one was cut at the torso, revealing an impressive chest covered in blue tattoos, which ran up to his neck, and got lost underneath his equally impressive beard, also covered in the aqua glyphs. He rose his voice. It was not a language Angela knew, though it did sound similar to a mix of Spanish, Italian, and a few hints of French.

Then, the violins started to accompany him. The subtle melody was sublimed when cloths from the nearby polls were thrown onto the bamboos, as the acrobats started their hypnotizing dance, which consisted of intricate swirls and jumps, getting nearer to the public, studying them with their immense, child-like eyes, before promptly jumping back a few steps, as if they were afraid. Their arms moved in perfect harmony with the song, their long arms wrapped in foliage made them look like brisling bushes, moving with the wind. Then, a bright spotlight illuminated a pole on the other side of the Place. An acrobat was standing there, it didn’t take long for the two girls to recognize who it was. “It’s the ‘crocs’ girl!” Thought Angela. “It’s sugar-tits!” Exclaimed Lena, ever a one-track mind. A line from the pole she was currently standing on, with perfect pointes, as if she were a feline and not an actual human being, was linked to the main scene. Graceful as a feather slowly making its way towards the ground, quick as a leopard dashing on its prey, she pounced on the thin line. She rolled on it like it was solid ground, landing on the tight string, under the public’s delirious applause. Her skin, coloured in blue, seemed to sparkle under the limelight. She stopped for an instant, as if enraptured by the art flowing endlessly throughout her body.

In that moment, to Lena ‘useless horny lesbian’ Oxton herself, she was much more than simply a pretty face, she was an ethereal vision of pure, unaltered beauty, as she fended through the air, not unlike a falcon seeking its prey. It felt as if her lungs exalted art, in each and every subtle puff she let slip, as she danced across the thin line, her naked feet strutting, carelessly taking dips, standing on one foot, as the other carelessly dangled in the void. “Woah,” Sighed Oxton, her eyes refusing to leave the entranced woman’s lithe figure dancing across the line, her very ears refusing to acknowledge the man starting to sing in the background.

“She looks…” She didn’t even finish her sentence, completely mesmerised. Angela didn’t dare to shake her friend out of her trance, instead turning around to follow the main attraction. The man whom spoke earlier was now singing, his loud voice booming through the audience, enrapturing, enchanting people who knew little to nothing of the quality of the performance they were currently experiencing. Because such a thing shan’t be qualified as a simple performance, nay, ‘twas an experience, one which touches your very essence, leaving it forever altered. The beauty of the spectacle, the sheer elegance, art was dripping everywhere, like honey from a lover’s lips.

Angela was not exactly a patron of the arts. She was quite fond of them, sure, she even took an option in college, yet, no painting, no simple youtube video of a performance could ever match the feeling which flowed through her veins, drowning her sense with a feeling of everlasting satisfaction. Each artist, acrobat, every piece, foliage of the décor belonged there, it had a meaning, it had an IMPORTANCE.

The dancers strutting along the stage, carrying their aforementioned colleagues, whom were once terrified by the public, were now dancing a breath away from them, standing on the brink of the stage. The public, even though they perfectly could have, did not dare to touch them. The imposing man strode forward on the scene, his glorious mane dyed in various shades of blue, aqua green and purple, his voice carrying the strength of the whole company. The dancer they had met earlier jumped on the platform, landing with a graceful bounce, followed by a salto, ending in the man outstretched arm. They swung their hips rhythm for a short while, before a sharp cry stopped the whole stage altogether.

The artists looked around, jumping away from the crowd. The bamboos-like poles seemed to shake. Then, a creature, which resembled the chimera from the Greek Mythology, fell in the middle of the stage, forcing the imposing man and the gorgeous dancer to step away elegantly. “How many people are in this costume?” Wondered Lena, aloud. “Shhh…” Hushed Angela, entranced couldn’t move her eyes away from the scene. A man, shirtless, flaunting his flawless body, rock-solid abs enhancing an already entrancing silhouette. His dark skin was covered in white war paint, he was walking like a gladiator in an arena. He came to an eye-level with the chimera, growling loud enough for Angela and Lena to catch it from where they stood. He raised his fist, preparing to strike, but suddenly, both him and the beast knelt. A woman, clad in dark red and black from head to toe made her way between the both of them. Her face was covered by her hood, in her hands, she carried two lanterns, oozing purple smoke, adding to her already frightening aura.

“We get it, you vape.” Snorted Lena, not even realising that Angela didn’t even hear a word she said, her eyes almost forgetting to blink, too focused on the spectacle. She dismissed the Gladiator with a flick of her wrist, before running her hand against the beast’s flank. The beast seemed to shudder, whining for everyone to hear. The impressive man left the blue-skinned acrobat, trying to push away the wraith-like creature from the distressed animal.

With a twist of her finger, the man fell to his knees in front of her, as his comrades gasped in shock. She flicked his forehead, causing him to stumble backwards. She pointed an accusatory finger at the man, before gesturing to the blue skinned acrobat. The woman collapsed on the spot, her long hair falling over her face. The other dancers slowly stepped back, some of them running towards the poles, climbing them up, resting at the top like lemurs. Just one remained by the fallen dancer’s side, rocking her in his arms, seemingly weeping. The singer wailed, as the violins’ strings joined his voice, in a requiem-like mood.

The hooded woman, with a lift of her pinkie, invited the fallen beauty to rise, which she did, grabbing her companion by the collar, effortlessly flipping him over, her hands around his throat, strangling him. The blue-skinned woman then joined the mysterious figure. The latter grabbed her smoke-oozing orb, bringing it to her lips, inhaling some of it, before letting the smoke go in the fallen beast’s nostrils. It promptly got up, its previously cream-coloured fur turning a twisted shade of grey, before charging an acrobat. He jumped over the ferocious beast, evading his hit. Its lion head roared at the public, before turning tail, exposing his back, which bore a goat head where his spine met its rear, and most importantly its tail, an enormous snake head, which hissed menacingly. “You know what this reminds me of. Eww, that’s why I’m a lesbian.” Commented Lena, still not deterred at her friend’s lack of response. The hooded lady offered the dancer her arm, and they left together, walking among the forest of bamboos, as the man, rose to his feet and raised his voice, now thunder-like. The artists, hanging on their perches, jumped to the ground, bouncing on their feet, as if there were springs underneath them. They started to run in circles around the singing man, the tempo increased, the hammering of the acrobats’ feet on the stage sounding like drums of war, as the impressive man’s voice grew louder and louder.

The public saw a grapple falling in the middle of this mosh pit-like circle. The man, holding the line with a death grip, showing off his imposing musculature. The violins simply went insane, the musicians, appearing perched atop the poles all around Bellecour, in an orchestra of grief-fuelled wrath. He rose to an incredible height, the climax of the scene was his vertiginous fall. Right as he was about to hit the ground, the music stopped dead in its track with a final bang, the subjects fell to the ground, leaving him standing there, on one knee, his strong fist against the ground. The crowd was silent. He got up, his hair hiding on of his eye. He walked up to the end of the stage, standing on the edge. “This, is not the end,” He started, his shoulders heaving menacingly with each breath.

“Merely the beginning!” As he ended his sentence, fire sprouted from the bamboo poles illuminating Place Bellecour. The lights remained for a few seconds, before the fire died down. The public was cheering, clapping enthusiastically. The whole stage was in the dark, before some dime lights revealed the whole cast, bowing to the audience. “Where’s the hot chick?” Asked Lena, looking frantically on stage.

A noise similar to one of a zipper made them turn around instantly, ever so mindful of pickpockets. “Why, I do hope you meant ‘me’.” She was standing there, hands planted firmly on her hips. Lena was speechless, just looking at her up and down, in utter disbelief. “Your performance was incredible miss…?” Asked Angela, extending her hand, which the acrobat shook with in a most firm handshake. “Amélie.” Confidence was practically oozing off of her. “A pleasure Amélie, I am Angela, and this is Lena.” She pointed to her lust-struck friend. The brit seemed to regain her composure, extending her hand, expecting a handshake. But the Frenchwoman gently took her hand, bringing her lips to her knuckle, leaving a feather-light kiss upon it. “Heureuse de faire ta connaissance, ma belle.” She smirked, as Lena sported 50 shades of red on her face, ears and neck. “The mine is the pleasure.” Blurted out Lena, to Angela and Amélie’s hilarity. The acrobat reached in her more than generous cleavage, to reveal a sticky note. It had a number written on it. “Gérard is going to give out a speech, it should cover the basics, I do hope to see you around at the Moon Circus.” She stuck the note on the gay mess’ cheek, before kissing the other one, pretty close to her lips.

She turned around, raised her arm to a nearby pole, and grappled away. “I hate to see her leave, but bloody hell do I love to watch her go.” Whispered Lena, in awe. “For fuck’s sake.” Sighed Angela, recovering the sticky note before the brit could forget about it. The man Angela had seen earlier appeared on stage in a cloud of smoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We are delighted to hear that you appreciated our opening! However, I must inform you of a most tragic news for us, but a truly interesting opportunity for you! Due to the snow blocking the air traffic, a lot of our artists had to cancel. If you have any particular skill, visit us next Sunday for the auditions. Weeeeelcome to the Moon Circus!” His moustache moved with each word he said, speaking in a microphone bearing a similar one. The crowd cheered some more, as paper and leaflets flew across the sky, shot by some cannons which were hidden under the stage.

Lena caught one, looking it over with interest. “Want to apply, Lena?” Angie looked over her friend’s shoulder. “You could, I mean, you’d be bound to earn more than you do at that crappy MacDonald’s. Didn’t you study this before?” Asked the brit, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I studied Les Arts Du Cirques back in Switzerland, yes, but I am afraid my level of skill is not what they’re looking for.” “There’s a role you’d be perfect for.” Stated Lena, showing her the leaflet. “And what would that be?” “La fille du soleil.” “Your French is fucking awful, Lena.”

[world-of-verse]

The Night

A story centering around Uriel and Lilith! Ah…could this be a romance blossoming? I wonder!

It was a cold winter night, like any other time of the season. The snow had just ended it’s performance for the night and all was peaceful. Lilith had just come home from a stressful day at the Tokiyama Design company. Throwing her purse on the ground next to the door, the brunette sauntered to her living room where she flopped onto the couch with a big sigh. Jumbling her job and exposing that stupid demon at the small boutique proved to be quite the challenge for her to balance. Lilith was so exhausted, mentally and physically. Maybe I should give up?  The 24 four year old thought to herself. I may be a great queen, an amazing one. But it seems that that stupid Uriel is probably just a mortal with a weird fashion sense…

Sitting up on her couch, Lilith began to unbutton her blue stripped jacket until she heard a loud crash sound from outside of her apartment. Quickly moving to the balcony, the brunette slid open the glass door and leaned over the balcony to see what the commotion was about. Lilith gasped as her non bandaged eye widened in surprise as she looked down into the street below.

Stomping along in the middle of the road was a strange person who looked to be covered in blood. My darkness! That mortal clearly needs help! I’ll run down right now and see if he needs me to call an ambulance! Lilith thought as she quickly ran out of her apartment and headed down to the entrance of the apartment complex. 

Stepping out of the front enterance, Lilith was relieved to see that the stranger hadn’t moved too far ahead, “Excuse me! Mortal!” The brunette called out as she ran to the person. Closer she could see that the person was indeed covered in blood. “Don’t be afraid! The queen of hell has arrived to help you!” Now standing just a few feet away from the bloodied individual, Lilith could see it was a woman who was staggering in the street. The woman slowly turned as she heard Lilith call out to her.

“Oho~? You’ll help dear old me?” The woman sneered as she fully faced Lilith.

Caught off guard, Lilith began to stumble on her words, “Well..well I was…you’re covered in blood..I the..I..do you need help mortal?!”

The woman looked confused at first but went back to her sneer before speaking again, “Well..I do…”

Lilith’s face lit up, “Of course! Do you want me to call an ambulance?!”

“No..no..that isn’t what I need..” The stranger shook her head, blonde hair falling in front of her eyes. “I need..I need a victim of course!”

Eh? Victim..?  Lilith eyed the woman with weariness. Before she could speak up again, the woman suddenly withdrew a large knife. One covered in blood. The brunette went cold as she realized that this woman was some sort of killer. Run! With a sudden flight response, Lilith’s heels spun around and she took off back to the front of the apartment enterance. The woman began to chase after with the knife raised and she cackled as she gave chase. It had seemed that the neighbors had noticed the commotion. Several people stood out on their balconies looking scared.

When Lilith reached the door, she grabbed at the door and tried to open the front door. She gasped as she realized the door had been locked. Standing in the lobby, the manager and a few others watched pitifully as Lilith banged on the door trying to get them to open it. They only shook their heads not wanting to deal with such trouble.

“Haha!! Come here~!”

Lilith immediately took off again, giving up on the door and tried to find somewhere to hide. Not even looking back, she knew that that maniac was still chasing her. Lilith could hear her shoes against the sound of her own heels hitting the rocky pavement.

Make noise! Scream!!  Lilith yelled at herself as she ran. As much as she wanted to cry out, she was too scared to even let out a small squeak. She tried to muster everything she could to scream for help. “Haah..please! please please please! HELP!” Lilith finally found her voice and began to call out as she ran in the street. Soon she eyed a familiar store and saw the lights were still on. Using every ounce of energy she still had, Lilith made one final sprint to the store. Running to the door she was scared that the door would be closed but cried out with joy as she swung open the door and ran inside. “PLEASE HELP! THERE’S A MANIAC OUTSIDE!”

A surprised yelp echoed from the back as a familiar figure walked from the back and to where Lilith was holding the doors closed in the front of the boutique. “Oh! Queenie~! What’s wrong?”

She didn’t have to answer as loud laughter erupted from outside and suddenly scrapping sound against the door began. Uriel’s purple eyes went from Lilith to the door and back to the poor brunette. 

Calmly, the taller man walked over to the door and fished out the keys to lock the door. “We should hide then, go to the back and I will deal with this!” He gave a cute smile to the trembling woman. She nodded and stumbled as she made her way to the back to hide. 

Uriel looked back to the glass door and finally was able to look at the crazed woman on the other side. She was panting heavily as her eyes were filled with craze and a lust for blood. Her blonde hair was messy and her clothes were dishievield along with the blood that was splattered on them. Uriel gave a cold glare to the person on the other side.

“You really have to come here and bother others?” He said coldly as he unlocked the door and threw the keys off to the side, “You really have no manners, it’s not very cute of you.”

When the door was unlocked, the woman rushed inside with the knife raised. She let out a yell as she tried to swing the knife down towards Uriel. Without so much as a wink of the eye, Uriel swatted the knife out of the crazed person’s hand and grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back and slammed her against the wall. “What’s a demon doing hunting humans? Don’t you have enough food back down in hell?”

“Kukuku..I don’t have to explain myself to an enforcer who was tossed aside like trash.” The blonde woman cackled.

Uriel sighed, it seemed like he was going to have to get his hands dirty. What  a waste of time..The scarred man thought. Still gripping the demon’s wrist, he swung his arm and effortlessly slammed the demon onto the hard ground. With the demon still, he dragged her unconscious body out the front of the store and pulled her aside to the shadows.

The night was quiet save for the sound of bones cracking, then a red light lit up the darkness for a couple of seconds and then became dark soon after. Uriel returned into the store whistling as he hurried to lock the door again and headed to the back of the store where Lilith was still hiding. “Dearie? It’s safe! Come out now!”

He had to admit, she looked pretty adorable trembling as she came out from under the table. She’s cuter when she noisy..Uriel noted as he watched the poor woman tremble as she looked around.

“She..she’s gone? The cops got her?” Lilith asked and got a nod from the other in response,

“G..go…good..OhmygodthatwassoterrifyingIthoughtIwasgoingtodieand..!” she began to sob as she hugged her arms around Uriel and buried her face into his stomach.

“Aw~! Don’t be afraid! I-! I mean the cops took care of everything!” The blue haired man gently patted the brunette woman’s head, “Would some sweets make you feel better?”

Raising her head, she looked teary-eyed at the man and nodded sheepishly. Uriel chuckled as he lead her upstairs, “Great! Sweets are the best mood booster, I mean at least for me!”

Once Lilith calmed down and was eating some ice cream, she told the story from the beginning of how she ended up being chased by the maniac.The two had sat down and were both busy eating loads of sugary delights that he had brought out. Uriel was shocked that she had been locked out of the apartment. She would’ve been safe and I wouldn’t have had to…tch I should visit this stupid manager..Uriel pouted.

“..Uriel?” Lilith tilted her head.

“Oh! Sorry! I was just so stunned that all of this happened to you! Are you going to be okay walking home?” He asked.

Lilith looked away from his gaze, “I…I don’t..really want to go back right now..”

Uriel nodded, “Okay..then…oh! Stay here!”

Lilith jumped and let out a squeak in surprise.

“I don’t mean to be weird! Oh no! It’s just that you’re already here, I will sleep on the couch so you don’t have to worry!” He put up his hands up defensively as he explained.

The brunette took a minute before speaking, “I guess..I guess it wouldn’t hurt..since you saved me..I trust you.”

“Alright! Then it’s settled! Wait one second!” Clapping his hands, Uriel stood up from the table and headed downstairs to the boutique.

Lilith sat there finishing her ice cream wondering what he was doing. She also took the time to fully look around the room. It was…Uriel.. The room was plastered in all things pastel and cute. Since the kitched was an open room and connected to his bedroom, Lilith could see everyting. Stuffed animals sat at the end of his bed and some even on the shelf. Maniquenes stood with half finished dresses and suits. Lilith thought it was very much Uriel.

“I’m back!” The blue haired man called out and startled the poor girl, “Oh sorry! Here!” He handed her a neatly folded set of clothes.

Lilith took the gift with a look of awe. That expression was plastered on her face as she quietly unfolded the clothes and then gasped as she held it up. It was a beautiful blue nightgown adorned with yellow stars and white lace on the straps and bottom of the sleepwear.

“I hope it’s the right size! You don’t have anything to sleep in so I went ahead and grabbed you something. It’s good that my store is also apart of my house!” Uriel chuckled.

Tears threatened to appear as Lilith whimpered. Uriel looked confused but Lilith shook her head quickly and spoke up, “Thank you…this is beautiful.”

After the two cleaned up their mound of sweet wrappers and ice cream, Lilith went to the bathroom to change into her newly acquired sleepwear. Uriel hurriedly cleaned up his room and kicked pieces of fabric under his bed as she changed. Lilith came out soon after wearing the nightgown and had taken off the bandage revealing her yellow colored eye.

“Wow…that looks great on you..it’s…ah it looks great!” Uriel hid his face and stared at the wall. It’s a bit small on her chest..I didn’t expect that.. He blushed.

“Thank you..uhm..thank you for allowing me to stay here.” She gave a curtsy lifting the ends of the nightgown as she did.

“No no, don’t thank me! It’s only right.” His eyes flicked towards her once more then back at the wall, “Well we should probably sleep! You’re probably exhausted!”

“Of course. Thank you. Goodnight Uriel.” Lilith said before heading over to the bed and crawling into the covers haphazardly.

With instincts kicking in, Uriel went over to the bed and properly tucked in the covers and made sure Lilith was warm. With a quick peck on the forehead, Uriel walked to the light and flicked it off. “Good night Lilith.”

Uriel walked to the couch and kicked off his socks and tried to find a comfortable position to lie down, but being tall had its downsides. Once he was finally comfortable, he slid off his pants and slept his tank top and boxers. With one leg hanging off of the couch, Uriel sighed before finally closing his eyes. In the morning, 

Lilith woke up in an unfamiliar place. Sitting up hastily, she looked around and began to panic before she remembered that she was at Bunny Boutique. That demon man’s store…

Tch, I slept with my contact on..ow.. She thought while she rubbed her one yellow eye. After she looked around the room and thought about the events that occurred the night before. The woman’s crazed look still was fresh in Lilith’s head. But what was also fresh in her head was the kiss on the forehead that Uriel had done. Her cheeks burned as she touched a hand to her forehead.

“Good morning~!! Ah, I made breakfast! Are you not feeling well?” Uriel suddenly popped out of god knows where wearing a frilly pink apron and holding a plate with food.

“No no..I am fine. Ahaha! Of course I am fine! I am the queen of hell!” Lilith laughed.

Uriel sighed with relief. It seemed that Lilith was at least feeling a bit better. He really preferred her normal self to the one he saw last night. “Alright then! Let’s head to the kitchen for some breakfast! I don’t wanna get the covers dirty with food! So hard to get out!” He gave a small pout as he walked into the kitchen with the plate of food.

The brunette swung the blankets off of her and hopped out of the bed. She expected the floor to be cold but thankfully the heater was probably on because she landed on a nicely warm wood floor. As Lilith made her way to the kitchen she saw something…interesting…

Are those..Hello Kitty? Hello Kitty boxers? Oh..he has a bubble butt..it’s probably all the sweets.. The brunette had to place her hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh that was to surely arise if she didn’t, but it seemed Uriel might’ve caught her because his body tensed up and he pouted.

Lilith sat down and kicked her long legs as she waited for Uriel to finish cooking the last bit of breakfast. It felt nice, to be spending the night with someone. Even if the situation was completely different, it still had an aura of calmness.

“Here we are! Cat shaped pancakes with a cute little face!” The blue haired male set down both plates onto the table, one for Lilith and one for himself. Sitting in the seat across from the brunette, Uriel gave a gentle smile. “Eat up!” The two ate in peaceful silence, each savoring the flavor of the sweet pancakes. Lilith wasn’t too shocked that this weird man could even make breakfast cute, she just assumed everything that Uriel did was going to be cute in some way or another.

After breakfast, Lilith changed back into the clothes she had the night before. Putting on her blue stripped jacket, flashbacks invaded her head as terrible alternative endings played. Shaking her head, Lilith looked at herself in the mirror and gave her reflection a small reassuring smile.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Lilith went to hand the nightgown back to Uriel. He was already dressed with some black denim pants and a pink shirt. Looking at the cloth in front of him, Uriel just smiled and pushed the silk nightie back towards her. “Keep it.” Was all he said with his trademark smile that Lilith had seen over and over again in such a short span.

Maybe this man isn’t a demon. MAYBE HE’S AN ANGEL!  A light bulb thought crossed Lilith’s mind and she looked wide eyed at the horn wearing male, who weirdly enough shared a similar look. Just a bit more confused. Quickly he went back to doing whatever he was busing himself with.

The two walked downstairs to the front entrance of the Bunny Boutique, and stood awkwardly as both tried to find their voices.

“Uhm. The Queen thanks you for your hospitality! I owe you a great debt; please, if you ever need something do not be afraid to come to me!” Lilith barked out among the silence and bowed to Uriel.

“No no! It’s nothing, please. Huh? Would it be weird if I said it was fun?” He cocked his head to the side with an innocent look on his face.

Blushing, Lilith shook her head violently. “YES! Jeez! You just had to go and say that!”

Uriel only chuckled and Lilith left the boutique, heading back to her apartment. Once the doors closed, the demon let out an exhausted sigh and headed back upstairs to his room. On the way he fumbled with the back of his pants and out uncurled a devilish white tail that swished about. “Tch, I hate having to curl my tail to hide it..it’s so sore afterwards..” He whined as he massaged his tail as he sat on the bed. 

A peculiar smell wafted around the bed and Uriel curiously checked around his bed to find the source. Oh.The pillow! The man soon realized as he grabbed the cushion and smelled it.

It smelled differently. Most humans wear cheap perfume or other scented products, but this one smelled nice. Like strawberries.

Suddenly Uriel realized how strange he was being and quickly tossed aside the pillow. Standing up, he walked away from the bed and dug through his fridge in the kitchen. He settled on some macaroons and bit into it with a stubborn pout on his face, Uriel’s scarred face blushing red.

What a weird woman…I hope she stops by again. She seems fun.

[mysmeprotectionsquad]

Hello! Can I request an RFA + Saeran reaction to MC falling into a coma as the result of some major accident? How would they react upon MC waking up from the coma? Спасибо и удачи!

I… don’t know what happened here?? omg. I also suffered a lot and someone more talented than me should turn one of these into a 15k word fanfic so I can continue suffering. 

hopefully this isn’t too disappointing, dear anon;;

- Admin Cat Mom.

Yoosung

he’s heartbroken.

to think that not long ago you were both cooking and laughing and goofing around.

now, even though you still have a pulse, you look so… lifeless.

staring at you for more than two seconds makes him feel sick.

still, he somehow manages to stay strong in front of you.

sweet boy only cries after stepping out of the room and it’s nearly impossible to console him.

when your doctor tells him not to get his hopes up as your test results are bad news, he turns into anger ball.

nO, you’re going to come back eventually, no one can convince him otherwise.

he can’t lose you, he’s endured enough loss already.

so he is now duty bound to visit you everyday, bring you presents and make sure that you won’t forget his voice.

he tells you how hard he’s studying just for you, he keeps you updated on everyone and everything, and he even sings lullabies to you.

he also befriends all the nurses just so he can get a few extra minutes past visiting hours and stay with you a little more.

what is LOLOL at this point? devoted bean doesn’t care enough to even dye his hair, brown roots now covering most of it.

he almost goes into cardiac arrest the moment you wake up.

his smile is so big not even v’s presence could wipe it off.

there were people losing hope, but he never did! he believed wholeheartedly you’d come back sooner or later!

now he has to help you recover, and he demands to be an active participant in every step you take.

he even comes up with a special communication system to rely on until you’re able to speak.

Zen

he goes berserk.

he can’t contain his anger nor his thoughts of running away.

I mean, getting lost on his motorbike is quite a tempting idea, because it’s either that or taking his rage out on someone else.

but when he’s pretty much pushed into your hospital room by jumin and yoosung, every ounce of rage in his body turns into tears.

even like this, immersed in what it looks like a deep sleep, you still look breathtakingly beautiful.

and vulnerable, so vulnerable… he should’ve been there to protect you.

when he manages to pull himself together, his next step is to obtain information and talk to your doctors himself.

as expected, he fails.

there’s not much that can be done aside from waiting and monitoring your progress.

but he can be strong for you.

though he doesn’t know how, he can try to be strong.

he makes the most of every single visit, he’s cheerful and positive, he makes jokes and performs little acts for you.

he pours all his energy on you because there’s this slight chance of you remembering everything that happens during your coma.

he wouldn’t forgive himself if the first thing you remembered after waking up was his pathetic weeping face.

when he’s out, though, he is reckless, he drinks and smokes an neglects his own health.

zen, honey, please take care of yourself, mc wouldn’t want that.

after a month of battling to regain your consciousness, you wake up.

and he smiles for you like he’s in the presence of an angel.

“it’s me, baby, zen. how are you feeling?”

he’s kind and delicate to you during this confusing time, and he’s holding back his excitement in fear of startling you.

Jaehee

this is such a familiar feeling, almost like a déjà vu.

she’s been here before.

the distinctive hospital smell, the dim lights and colorless hallways, the long waiting hours, the look on your doctor’s face when she comes out of the OR…

this whole situation is enervating, not even prayers can calm her down.

she swallows and squeezes her own arms to try and comfort herself, not sure if she’s ready to face what follows as she lacks the strength to go through this yet again.

but when she’s informed about your actual state, she immediately holds onto this small fraction of hope she’s been given.

is it wise? probably not.

does she care? not really.

she’s lost her mother, she’s not ready to lose you as well.

while taking good care of you, she does plenty of research about coma patients, how high your chances of snapping out of it are, what she can do to help…

plus all the workload she has pending, one can only assume she’s getting little to no sleep.

but it’s okay, she’s “used to it”.

after reading a few articles about the positive effects of familiar voices on comatose patients, she decides to visit you daily to talk to you.

it’s kind of awkward at first, but as days pass by, she gets the hang of it.

she even sings to you a song from one of zen’s plays on one occasion, her voice is quite soothing and sweet.

the day you wake up, she’s sleeping soundly next to you.

she feels a hand softly stroking her arm and hears someone whisper.

is she dreaming? she keeps her eyes closed and gives out a muffled groan until a sudden realization hits her violently.

so she wakes up startled and stares at you for a few seconds, eyes wide open, to convince herself that it’s real, that it’s not a dream.

Jumin

he knows no amount of money or influence is going to fix this.

he can move mountains for you, put you in a first-class long-term care facility, get the best specialists in the country to treat you…

but this? this is out of his hands.

all he can do is wait, have faith and use his brain instead of his heart.

but is it possible to do so when the odds of you emerging from the coma are getting lower and lower? three months have passed and you’re not giving any signs of improvement.

without even realizing it, he starts neglecting his responsibilities at work to spend more time with you.

he reads to you, combs your hair, and holds your hand until his arm starts tingling, other times he simply falls asleep right next to you.

on a more lighthearted note, he gets you cat patterned bed sheets and covers as well as stuffed animals oh jumin sweETIE ok moving on

jaehee urges him to pull himself together and his father isn’t too pleased either: once again he’s being treated like a robot.

trust him, he wants to go back to work so he can distract himself, but he can’t bring himself to leave your side.

the moment you finally snap out of it, he was at work sorting out his paperwork before taking another week off.

when he returns to check on you and spend the rest of the afternoon making you company, your doctor receives him with amazing news.

there’s still certain grade of uncertainty about your recovery, but everyone’s hopeful you’ll get better, therefore he, too, feels this way.

feeling sad for not being right there when you woke up, he glues himself to the chair next to you and does nothing but kiss your hand, exchanging meaningful looks.

though he has a LOT he wants to say, he doesn’t want to overwhelm you with a bunch of nonsense.

instead, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a promise.

“it’s going to be hard, yes, but it’ll be okay, I’ll help you regain your strength.”

Seven

don’t ask him to get out of bed.

it’s physically impossible for him, he’s drained of all energy and wonders if this is what hitting rock bottom feels like.

there’s only so much one person can take and he believes he’s officially reached his pain quota.

this goes for the first weeks until he comes to his senses and decides to pay you a visit, because he loves you way too much to leave you by yourself in such a critical state.

but when he arrives at the hospital and enters your room, he’s welcomed with wonderful news.

you’re there, you’ve snapped out of your coma and though you still have a long way to go before fully recovering, the sole fact that you’ve woken up is progress.

unable to contain his laugh (and ugly sobbing) he sits on the chair next to your bed and holds your hand, sniffing and wiping half his face.

his hair is messy, there are bags under his eyes, he looks like a little boy.

“don’t you dare scare me like this ever again, understood?”

ah, he wants to get mad, but he’s so damn happy he ends up laughing even more harder instead, like his brain is malfunctioning while trying to balance his intense emotions.

can he hug you? is he allowed to do that? he feels like he’ll break you if he touches you, so he rests his head on your lap and closes his eyes instead.

he stays there until he starts dozing off, you’re so warm.

following that heartfelt and intimate moment between the two of you, it was time to cheer you up.

he was told it’d take you some time before being able to speak and sit properly, so he’s super careful and understanding.

but that doesn’t mean he can’t bring some joy and encouragement back into your life, right? you’re going to need it when you undergo rehabilitation.

V

this appalling piece of news breaks him entirely.

just when he had stopped isolating himself, he finds himself in this dark place once again, biting his lip, refraining from sharing his pain, and keeping relevant information from everyone else.

if one of them asks, he’ll say you’re going to get better soon.

they’re all lies, of course, because not even your doctors are sure about your outcome.

so he takes on the burden all by himself, never leaving your side, gently stroking your face, your bruises and your wounds whenever he gets the chance.

“are you having sweet dreams, MC?”

although it’s highly unlikely, he tells you stories about his past trips in hopes of fueling them with peaceful adventures.

but your coma doesn’t last that long, barely a month.

they felt like years.

he is right there when you were able to keep your eyes open for a longer period of time, and you were trying really hard to say something.

“it’s okay, love, please take your time,” he begs you as he tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses your cheek.

but something’s not quite right.

why are you looking at him like you’re scared?

perhaps you’re still shocked and disoriented, and you’re probably feeling exhausted too.

hell, who knows if you even remember you had an accident.

…wait a second.

“who are you?” he hears you say.

his heart breaks as he does his best to let your question sink in.

he should’ve expected it, he was warned about the after effects of a coma, yet there he is, not wanting to believe it.

“what.. what are you talking about?”

Saeran

he hasn’t got a clue on how to deal with situations like this.

what’s he supposed to do? wait for you? avenge you? whose fault is it anyway? should he give up on you?

it feels like there’s something clogged in his chest making it difficult to breathe.

and all it takes to break him down is just one visit to the hospital.

seeing you lying there unresponsive, connected to a bunch of different machines and tubes, eyes taped up shut…

it’s way too much to take in, and holding back the tears welling up in his eyes is not an option anymore.

so he ignores everyone’s protests and disappears for weeks to sort out his thoughts without leaving a trace, only for him to return when the guilt starts eating him up inside.

the day he gathers the courage to pay you another visit, he’s carrying a huge stuffed animal and mentally preparing a speech of some sort.

he knows you won’t be able to listen to him, but he feels like he owes it to you for being such a coward and leaving you alone.

and there you are, your eyes are open but you look weak and tired.

he takes a deep breath and steps into the room, eyes wandering around nervously.

“hi, it’s me, saeran.”

there is a prolonged silence, but it’s not awkward.

and it lasts for a few minutes as he sits next to you and pretty much strangles the poor animal with both his arms.

it looks as though its head is going to pop out in any minute.

a single tear rolls down his cheek, and he clenches his jaw in order to keep himself together but it’s useless.

“you had me worried, I thought you were gonna die.”

he’s been staring at the floor all this time, and when he finally looks up, he catches you reaching for his hand.

he hesitates for a moment before intertwining your fingers and then it clicks to him.

yeah, this boy is not leaving you any time soon, he’ll be your main support system from now on.

[thomasreedtn]

Sacred Decorating

Today’s post comes as a follow-up to a post from two years ago: How to Thrive in a Less than Ideal Location. I write now from a place of gratitude, post-relocation and feeling ideally placed, but I thought I’d share additional insights from the new location. So often I hear from clients that they feel misplaced, lonely, sick or stuck, with no sacred space to call their own. If that describes you, then do check out the previous link, too. If, instead, you feel largely well placed but you want to upgrade your surroundings, then today’s post offers suggestions for adding even more sacred experience into your everyday home, office, or little corner.

Why Bother?

“I have more important things to worry about than decorating.”

“It’s too overwhelming. If I start, I’ll never finish.”

“My space looks good enough, but I don’t feel inspired or energized. Why can’t I get things to flow in other areas?”

Decorating might seem superficial, but it’s one of the fastest ways to shift energy in other areas of life. Whether you study feng shui, or just pay attention to colors and shapes that delight your senses, your everyday environment seeps into your subconscious. As your subconscious works nonstop to filter and create your outer experience, changing your external environment alters your internal feelings and perspective. These, in turn, alter how you experience your external reality.

It’s like breathing: in, out, in, out. You live and breathe and move in your everyday experiences. Like polluted air, a space that irritates, annoys or crushes your soul does more damage than it would first appear. On the flip side, a space that calms, uplifts and expands your soul acts like increased oxygen in the body. Most parasites and other nasties can’t stand a well oxygenated environment. As you clean and uplift the areas in which you spend your time, you welcome fresh inspiration, healing and opportunities in life.

Toadstool fountain, ferns and orgone pyramid by the meditation chair in my office.

Little Things Count — A Lot

In sessions, I always ask people to pay attention to the little things. What small, symbolic step could you take today, which would move you towards your larger goal? Little things add up. They also take less time, energy, focus and determination. In many instances, little things feel like throw-away’s: five minutes to take out the trash, ten minutes to file the pile. A little thing could include changing your screensaver to something that makes you smile. Maybe you move your desk or bed so that a pleasant view greets you instead of one that sinks your spirit.

While getting my M.A. in English Language and Literature at University of Chicago, I called the school counseling office in search of career counseling. I learned from the person who answered the phone that they did not offer career counseling, but if I didn’t like my trajectory, I should get myself down to their office so I could join the 80% of students on psychotropic drugs. This was 1996, but it remains a “wow” moment. If 80% of your students require meds just to tolerate your school, then school environment’s a problem!

Instead of taking her advice, I bought flowers. Every Friday, as a symbolic act, I brought home a small bouquet and placed it on the kitchen table. Those flowers marked the start of “weekend space.” Every Friday, I packed away anything to do with school, bought myself a nice bouquet and spent the weekend “as though” I just happened to live in the great city of Chicago. (Of course, I did live in the great city of Chicago, but graduate school often overwhelms all areas of life. I made a conscious choice to separate — i.e. set apart, make sacred — weekends. And the ritual of a small bouquet of flowers made that transition real.)

Sometimes I made elaborate vegetarian dinners and invited neighbors in for a low cost but home cooked meal. My only rule at those dinners: no discussing school. Any other topic would do. Other times I went dancing uptown with friends. My one rule was that weekends were “my time.” Yes, that rule made for long nights during the week, but it kept me sane while most of my classmates spiraled into deep depression. Knowing I did not wish to continue at that school, I withdrew my PhD application in February. I wanted nothing tying me to a future that would murder everything I valued in myself. I didn’t trust myself to turn down their offer if it came.

Sound dramatic? It was, yet I managed to thrive. My sunny smile and levity about the whole competitive BS environment drew many friends to me. U of Chicago marked my first foray into spontaneous intuitive readings and dream interpretation. It honed my hostess and vegetarian cooking skills, and it taught me the importance of small details when feeling trapped by commitments or lack of plan.

Having navigated nine months of hell while making my own beauty and fun, I skipped graduation and vowed never to return to Hyde Park. Never say never: in February 2010, a series of dreams led me right back to the belly of the beast. Guess what, though? I had changed.

Post-TBI, post-marriage, now accepting my life path instead of fighting it, I found a different world than I left so many years before. People were no longer getting kidnapped or mugged at one in the afternoon. A new park lined Lake Michigan, and a health food store specializing in fresh veggie juice and homemade raw vegan food options now brightened 53rd Street. The apartment building my dreams and visions led me to ended up providing a Mother Lode of Doors for me to paint. These portal paintings, in turn, directly led to me meeting and eventually marrying David.

In a similar way, when David and I arrived in Goshen and felt led to rent a gut rehabbed cottage across the street from a factory and a very loud train, the external environment felt like a kick in the gut. Little things shifted the energies step by step. Until Goshen, U of Chicago was my main example of living somewhere that crushed my soul. I spent nine months there, whereas Goshen turned into a five-year stint to support David’s aging parents. Because I spent more time there, years of little steps turned into a one-third acre permaculture food forest and two fully decorated cottages, but even more ideal places can welcome upgrades.

We love our new house and all its views. That doesn’t mean neglecting the inside, though. The simple act of putting floral placemats with scalloped edges on a red tablecloth brings me many moments of delight throughout the day. In the midst of our long, gray winters, this post-Christmas table setup makes me smile every time I walk by. Find your own little things that make you smile. You don’t need to do a gut rehab or relocate to find ways to turn your home into your own personal paradise. Often times a little nature goes a long way. Whether real or artificial, flowers, plants, natural materials and/or images that bring you in touch with nature ease the soul and help concentration.

Bring the garden indoors.

Use What You Have or What You Can

Speaking of real or artificial flowers and plants, I’ve purposely included both real and artificial plants in the photos so far. I love gardening, but not everyone has a green thumb. Some people can’t have plants due to animals, allergies or lighting conditions. I forget where I saw this, but I’ve long sensed its truth: scientific studies show that having real or artificial plants in your office improves focus, concentration and creativity. Obviously, avoid toxic smelling faux plants or at least let them off gas. Real plants clean the air on a literal, as well as symbolic level.

But some areas of the home don’t allow for real plants. You can spend a lot of money buying and killing plants to fill dark corners or windowless rooms. Eventually, you might want to consider a tapestry, photograph, coffee table book, or other way to get calming greenery into your space. My office has become a haven inside Dra’Faven:

The cactus and ivy are real. The boxwood hanging from the ceiling and in the cherub’s vase are faux. Those boxwood balls make me giggle when I walk into the room. They also make me look up. This portal door (aka The Tree of Life or Daphne Door) is the first thing my eyes see when I enter the diagonally opposite door. Hanging those balls from the ceiling draws the eye from bottom to top, which corresponds to an uplift of spirit.

This shows a different angle at night with the overhead light on — a bit bright for regular use, but it helps for photos.

Lighting can make a huge difference for not much cost or trouble. The fireplace has a flame-like Himalayan salt lamp, which provides a warm glow, and I have a yellow-toned LED bulb in the lamp behind my computer desk. Using an LED allows me to get much more light out of a 1950’s lamp from David’s parents. Anything more than 20 watts made that lamp dangerous to leave on. For the cost of one LED bulb, I get the equivalent of a 100 watt bulb’s light if I need it, without needing to replace a vintage lamp.

Although I consider our house in Kalamazoo an ideal spot for us right now and into the foreseeable future, I do miss having a water view. I’ve had water views in many locations, including Monterey, Southern Oregon and Lake Michigan. We spend a lot of time on the Michigan shores of Lake Michigan, but in terms of amenities, David’s employment, general attitude and opportunities, Kalamazoo makes sense to live. How to have the best of both worlds? Water sounds (fountain, CD’s) and water tapestries.

Below, you can see the huge Goddess of Summer tapestry, a gift from Tania when I rented Haus Am See as an office.

This tapestry gave me a year round indoor garden view, but the thought of living somewhere “permanently” without a water view made me a little sad. I didn’t even realize I felt sad about it until I spent $12 on this waterfall tapestry to hide a messy area of David’s office while he still lived in Goshen finishing up his old job. I thought I’d feel celebratory when he set up his office. I was surprised to feel sad not to see the waterfall anymore. At the risk of turning my office into a crazy riot of color and nature, I decided to hang the tapestry in my own “Wealth Corner.” As with the boxwood balls, seeing the waterfall makes my heart sing.

The point is to find ways of using what you have and what works in your space. If you truly want to live by the beach, then having a screensaver or tapestry now that puts you in the beach vibe will help you manifest that beach home sooner. If you don’t want to move to the beach, but you love vacationing there, then sprinkling some beachy elements will improve your mood and outlook. A little bit of “ahhh” enters your uggh. Your subconscious registers everything. Bring more of what you wish to see, smell, taste, touch and hear into your immediate space, and watch the larger reality mimic your sacred spot.

You don’t need to follow my ideas or decorating style. The important takeaway is to pay attention to your own preferences, delights and aversions, and respond accordingly. If you want more nature, find some way, somehow to bring nature into your home. If you love a particular color, paint a bookshelf, wall or entire room that color. If you can’t do that, at least get a notebook in that color. Or wear that color. Use what you have or find ways of bringing “the not yet possible” into your reality, right now.

Become Your Own Sacred Space

For all the power of environment to help or hinder people from living dreams, you can become your own sacred space. You can choose to fill your time with little details or symbolic shifts that move you in the direction of your dearest hopes. Instead of waiting for inspiration to complete a masterpiece, commit now to five minutes per day or one afternoon a week to play with creativity. Find the smallest gesture you can for sure commit to, and then follow through. Those tiny actions will build upon each other to change the look and feel of your inner environment.

As with your home, take care whose energies you allow into your inner space. If you find repeat thoughts trouble you, write them down and ask where they come from. Whose are they? Do they belong in the inner space you’d love to create? What upgraded thoughts might replace them?

For example, gratitude stymies worry. If you catch yourself worrying, pause and list five things for which you feel grateful. The first might take awhile, but as you get to five, you’ll probably find even more “thank you’s” flowing in. You cannot feel worry and gratitude at the same time. Gratitude is the antidote to worry. If a worry continues beyond the gratitude, then ask what practical guidance it can offer you at this time. What little step could you take right now or today that would reduce (even very slightly) the cause of worry? Pay attention to those little things. They all add up.

Every home benefits from regular cleaning, and so do your body and your mind. Decluttering your outer space helps to declutter your inner space. You might also find that writing lists declutters your mind and allows you to get more done. If you just flail your arms at dust, you make more dust. Put all those thoughts flying around onto a piece of paper — sweep the dust into one location, then get to work on it. Just having a list you can check off brings some order to your inner space.

One of the most life changing books I ever read was Sarah Ban Breathnach’s “Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.” Another life changing book was Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way.” Neither book felt good all the time. The soulful elements of each forced me to recognize where my soul lacked expression. Both books resulted in moves and lifestyle shifts. I came to accept myself as an artist, not only when I paint, but in my daily life. I breathe beauty. I need beauty to flow in me, around me and through me. As a young adult, I felt inadequate because of that, like I had some weakness or flaw that made me vain or superficial. In different ways, each book helped me to honor beauty, sensory pleasure, order, color and creation as conversations with my soul.

I feel lucky that a 1998 brain injury forced me to set aside my rational mind for four years while I healed. I longed to live a more intuitive and artistic life, but my left brain always said “No way, that sounds crazy” or, at best, “Come back later.” Eventually, my soul got tired of knocking, so a car accident knocked me out, along with my rational side. It only became safe for reason, logic and sequential thinking to return once I consciously gave my soul permission to run my inner household. When I consciously aligned with Divine Guidance, I found that life flowed better, and lo and behold, Divine Guidance led to fulfilling, soulful experiences.

The soul exerts tremendous influence whether or not you give it permission or room to do so. When you honor your soul through sense and symbol, you retain some conscious influence over the soul. You get to compromise in little steps instead of having a disabling traumatic brain injury or other crisis force the issue. I’m a stubborn lass, so it took a TBI to save my soul. It set me straight, required to live on a path I just happen to love. My brain healed, but more importantly, my soul did, and it’s the little things, Mother Nature, symbols and beauty that soothe the soul. Sacred decorating, inside and out, gives you a chance to align with your soul’s highest hopes and dreams, as well as deep nourishment that works for you.

You’ll feel more productive and more loved. My Aunt Kath and Uncle John always make a toast, “To more love!” That feels like a good way to end this post. Do what you can, with what you have to show more love to your innermost you. Delight that inner child; soothe the frazzled senses; smell the roses. However you bring sacred decorating into your life, do it with the mantra. “To more love!” Your soul will thank you.

from Thomas Reed https://laurabruno.wordpress.com/2019/01/15/sacred-decorating/

[bosstoaster]

Here's a thought for you, when Shiro comes back from wherever he vanished to, for him it's only been like an hour but for everyone else it's been like five years or maybe even a decade?

:3   I like a decade.

Immediately after stepping out of the Black Lion, something felt wrong.

Something was different.

Shiro stood in place, helmet on his lip until it clicked.  The hangar was rearranged.

Not that it had a lot of things in it already, but there was some equipment on the walls and shelving, and it was either switched out or moved around.

An odd thing to do, while he was flying around Zarkon.  Shiro found himself a little irritated at the idea - he was the one who used those tools most, after all, and someone else messing with it made him antsy.  But he shook that off.  It wasn’t like Shiro owned any of it, and Allura and Coran had every right to move it around as they pleased.

That settled, Shiro walked back out, head tilted.  Was he the first one back, somehow?  He didn’t remember anything after passing out during that battle until he woke up in the Black Lion, hungry and cold but otherwise intact.  Maybe Black had flown him back and he had just woken quickly?  

Shiro put his helmet back on, listening for the inevitable post-battle chatter, at least from Allura and Coran.

Nothing.

(read more below)

Maybe it had been damaged in the fight?

Worry started to bubble in Shiro, no matter how many reasonable explanations he had.  Something just felt weird.  Even the hallway felt off, in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on.  Brighter, maybe.  Better lit.  The blue lights seemed to be stronger now, like they’d been running on less power until now.  Which didn’t make sense.

Then he heard voices.

“Did you leave the door open?”

“Did I- am I five?  Of course I didn’t.  I never leave that door open.”

“I don’t see how else someone got inside, then.  They were messing with Black, too.”

The voices were familiar, but they weren’t right.

Like everything else in this place.

Shiro cast a glance around, looking for the best way to defend himself, but whoever was speaking came around the corner and he was too late.  Instead he snapped into a battle stance.  Whoever these beings were, they didn’t belong in the castle.

Four people - for humans, even - looked down the hall at him and froze.

At first, Shiro didn’t recognized them.  Individually, he didn’t know them.  But he knew them in pattern.

It was his team.  Except it wasn’t.  Because all of them were older.  Significantly. Their clothes were different and their faces were longer and their hair had changed and nothing was right.

Shiro dropped his arm, staring back in equally stunned silence.

What.  The. Hell.

***“We have to be sure,” Allura told the others, arms crossed.  She, at least, looked similar.  Whatever aging the humans had gone through didn’t have nearly the same effect on her.  She was wearing different clothes too and her hair was shorter, but other than that it was still Allura.

Shiro might have latched onto that, except for the deep distrust she watched him with.

And he couldn’t blame her, because Shiro had been gone for 10 years.

The enormity of that hadn’t fully settled yet.  There was some layer of disconnect, like how he got after a particularly bad nightmare.  That the world wasn’t realy, and Shiro was just following along as everything was acted out around him.

He had enough of a grasp of his psychology to recognize it probably wasn’t super healthy, but Shiro wasn’t particularly up to fighting.

“It’s Shiro,” Keith replied flatly, arms crossed.  When he did that, Shiro could see scars over his forearms, old cuts and wounds that Shiro hadn’t been there for.

Assuming this was all real.  Shiro wasn’t sure he wasn’t having a really strange dream, or maybe someone was using one of those ‘mental landscape’ type things the Blade of Marmora used on him.

Allura frowned him, and seemed to be taking him at his word.  “How can you be sure.”

“I know Shiro.”

“It’s been ten years,” Lance offered, tone sympathetic but eyes sharp.  He looked Shiro over carefully, and there was caution to his posture that hurt to see.  They’d been hurt before.  They’d all been betrayed and attacked and Shiro hadn’t been there.  “We all loved Shiro, but memories fade.”

Shiro tried not to wince at the past tense.

Pidge leaned in closer, scanning something down Shiro’s side.  Data flashed over her green visor, which had apparently replaced her glasses.  “Why now?”  She asked.  “It’s not- today’s not the anniversary or something, is it?”

There was a pause as Hunk checked.  “No, it isn’t.  Do you think it should be?”

“It’d be weirder if it was,” Shiro offered, and everyone froze like they’d forgotten he could talk.  Which was fair.  Shiro hadn’t said much of anything since he’d gotten the elevator pitch version of what happened.  “Why would I reappear exactly ten orbits of a planet around a sun that’s far from here?  I mean, by that logic, every day is probably some planet’s ten year anniversary.  Infinite chances and all that.”

Hunk chuckled, and it was the first time Shiro felt like someone was engaging him and not the situation since they’d found him.  “He’s got a point.”

“I’m not picking up anything weird,” Pidge offered, settling back.  She took off her helmet, and Shiro could see her undercut again.  Noticing his gaze, she ran a hand through the buzz on the side and offered a little shrug, almost shy.

It had been because of him, probably.  In honor of his memory.

Was Pidge older than him, now?

The haze of shock deepened.

“What do you need to do?” Shiro finally asked Allura, meeting her gaze steadily.  “I’m happy to go through with it.”

Allura met his gaze steadily, but there was a hint of sadness to it.  “I’ll connect to you, and I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

Connect?  Shiro tilted his head until Allura hold up on of her hands.  It it up with pink, crackling energy, and the smell of heat and ozone and magic filled Shiro’s senses.

It was exactly like Haggar, except for the color.

Shiro jolted instinctively, trying to buck to his feet, already backpedaling passed the chair.  But Hunk moved to block him, keeping him from running out.  “Hey, woah there!  What’s wrong?”

There was a hissed intake of breath and Lance finally pushed off the wall, the cautious melting into concern.  “Haggar.  For him it’s been months.  Did he ever see-?”

“I didn’t know until after that battle,” Allura replied slowly, her hand dropping. “Oh, Shiro, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t think of it.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Shiro stepped away from the too old version of Hunk, with his lack of headband and longer hair.  “I’m fine.  I just wasn’t expecting it.”  Despite his words, there was a shiver running through him that felt like it came from inside him.  “What if I’m not lying but I’m still fake?” He asked, eyes tracking over to Allura.  It would certainly explain the haze of his head, the way he felt like a newborn foal, barely managing to stand.  “What if I just don’t know?”

“I’ll be able to tell that as well,” Allura replied, and her voice gentled into something near melodic.  “I’ll be tracking the flow of your thoughts, and I’ll be able to detect disturbances.  This could mean a lie, but it could also be where your memories don’t line up correctly.  Not where you’ve forgotten, but the act of implanting memories is... messy.  It won’t be so simple.  It would be disorder.”

Shiro would have to take Allura’s word on that, because all of Shiro’s head felt like disorder.

“Can we try something else?  Like a polygraph?” Lance offered, and the change of tune made Shiro glance at him.  He was staring at Shiro like the sun was dawning.  Somehow, he was convinced.

Shiro wasn’t sure why.  He didn’t feel like he was convincing himself, honestly.

Pidge considered, glancing at Hunk.  “Well,” she offered.  “Sure, we could build one.  But they’re not exactly foolproof.  Honestly, look at him.  His heart rate is probably off the charts already.  We’re not going to get a good baseline, putting aside everything else.”

“We could try it first,” Hunk offered, and he put a heavy hand on Shiro’s shoulder.  “There’s been enough shocks today.”

Keith drew himself up, and Shiro’s breath left him in one go, because that looked like the leader he’d seen in Keith recently and before, back at the Galaxy Garrison.

Except it wasn’t just Keith.  They all had that air of quiet competence, that they could work with what they had and take it to victory.

Shiro’s head hurt.

“I’m willing to accept the consequences,” Keith offered.  “That’s Shiro.  He’s Shiro.”

Allura only looked grim and sad.

So Shiro stepped forward, hands clenched tightly at his side.  “Just go ahead with it.  It’s better to be sure.  And I’d rather not have it hanging over my head, if I’m being honest.”

“Are you sure?” Allura asked, back to that careful, gentle tone.  The one that sounded like she was talking to a skittish animal.  “It’s necessary, I believe, but it can wait for you to collect yourself.”

Shiro barked out a laugh, loud enough that everyone in the room jumped, the same way Shiro would have if the noise hadn’t come from him.  

Ten years of battle would do that, no doubt.

“Do you have another ten years to wait?” Shiro asked, going for joking and falling far, far flat.  “Ten minutes isn’t going to do me any good.  Just do it.”

Keith stepped closer, hovering protectively at Shiro’s side.  The gesture was familiar, and Shiro resisted the sudden urge to lean against him.  Somehow, it was just as much a comfort that Keith hadn’t managed to grow much taller, despite how he’d filled out.  He didn’t say anything, but his glare spoke volumes about his opinion of this idea.

“Shiro’s back for ten minutes and he’s already back into old habits,” Lance stage-whispered.  “It’s like old times.”

“He did get pretty protective fast, didn’t he?” Hunk replied, tone conspiratorial.  “Like, bam.”

Pidge snorted at them both. “Because you two are totally acting like mature, nearly 30 year old adults right now.”

Finally, same of the tension started to leak from Shiro’s shoulders.   He caught Keith’s eye, then peered over his shoulder.  “Lance!” He barked, the exact tone he usually did when Lance was running off to try and flirt.

Lance straightened up instantly, his shoulders set and unslumping.  Then he caught himself, eyes wide.  “Well damn.”

Okay, not everything had changed.  And that particular leftover was pretty damn gratifying.

When Shiro met Keith’s eyes again, his expression was soft and nearly misty.

Shiro looked away quickly, nodding to Allura.  “I’d like to get this done.”

Allura smiled, her hand raising.  Shiro tensed but didn’t move away.  “I don’t believe there’s anything to find,” she admitted.  “But I’d rather check.”

“I rather you would, too.  I don’t trust this myself.”

With a nod, Allura rested her hand on where Shiro’s neck met his shoulders.  He had just enough time for one wild thought - was he about to get Vulcan neck pinched? - before it crackled again, and his mind jolted.

Shiro was vaguely, distantly aware of Allura asking him questions and his mouth answering, but neither of them were paying attention to what he said.  Instead, Shiro could see the wild, raging flow of his thoughts, leaking and churning and twisting like the space right outside a black hole, strained and pulled, distorted and cracked.  Spaghettification, the result of gravity too strong, pulling the thoughts apart to hair thin lines.

He thought this can’t be me.

Then, the crackle died, and so did the pain he hadn’t been registering.  Shiro stumbled, but there were hands on him, thin and strong, thick and steady, small and clever, shifting and adaptable, keeping him up.

“It’s all him,” Allura replied, and her smile was blinding.  “Just him and all of him.”

That was his mind?  That was his mind?

The door opened behind them, and Shiro tried to turn to look, but his world tilted and the hands on him tightened to catch him.  Okay, moving was a bad idea.

“Is it true?  Takashi is...?” Someone asked, their voice familiar but not right, and Shiro’s brain was still twisted, still thin, still twirling together to a single point, a singularity of his mind, crossing some event horizon, a cliff he hadn’t seen but shot over, or maybe the one he sent himself and Keith down to practice tricks.

...What had he been thinking, again?

Someone stepped into his field of vision, and Shiro offered Coran - just Coran, nothing different, stable, amazing Coran - a smile.  

He got one in return.  “Ah, seems we got Number One back, did we?  Well, maybe not anymore, I believe Hunk is taller now.”

Shiro blinked, and the movement felt too slow.  Or maybe that was just because there were spots in his vision, making him feel like his eyes were still closing.  “Make it so,” he muttered, and his voice sounded drunk to his own ears.

Then the spots overtook him, and there were cries of alarm, but Shiro was falling into the black hole and then he was gone.

***

Sitting up slowly, Shiro rubbed at the aching point of his shoulder, where Allura’s magic had touched him.

He remembered everything almost immediately, and part of him wished he hadn’t.  A few seconds of thinking life was normal would have been nice.

“Hey,” someone said, and Shiro jolted and looked at Lance, eyes wide.  “About time you woke up.  Then again, you haven’t had a sleep in for ten years, so maybe you’ve earned it.”

Shiro stared for a moment, then slumped back against the wall.  Lance was only a few feet away, in a chair by the foot of the bed, and now Shiro had the opportunity to really look.  There was a scar on his face, from forehead and eyebrow, just barely missing the corner of his eye to curve around to his cheek.

A terrifying wound for a marksman.  And one Shiro hadn’t been there for.  

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“For the sleep in?  Eh, we’ll get work out of you yet, lazy bones.  Besides, I think we can chalk that one up to Allura anyway, her magic’s not exactly graceful.”  But then Lance paused thoughtfully.  “Or do you mean for something else?  If it’s about disappearing, you couldn’t exactly help that.”

Shiro didn’t even know where to start, so he just closed his eyes and shrugged.

Ten years of fighting.  Ten years of struggle.

He’d never meant to sign them up for this.  He desperately, achingly wanted that fight with Zarkon to be the end.  Not because Shiro cared to go home - Earth was nice, but it was such a distant memory it felt like a dream, half the time.  It didn’t feel like reality.  It was because he’d wanted them to go, to finish school and graduate, to live the lives they’d wanted.

Nine years later, scared and wounded, his paladins were...

They were like Shiro.

He’d never wanted that for them.

“Hey.”  Lance moved over, sitting down on the edge of Shiro’s bed.  The bed.  This wasn’t his room.  Or maybe it had been, and it had just been cleaned out.  “I know you were never a big fan of this, but how about you talk to us?  We’re not kids for you to protect anymore, you know.”

Yeah.  Yeah he knew.

The rub was that Shiro missed those kids, even if they were only a few years younger.

“Just getting used to the idea,” Shiro replied.  “I didn’t really think ahead to what the future would be like. Not beyond...”  Not beyond Zarkon.  Not beyond the next few weeks, maybe months if he was lucky.  Shiro wasn’t made to survive this conflict.  He was how the Galra made him, and he hadn’t really thought about the after.

Yet here he was, and they were still fighting, so maybe he’d just been an idiot.

“Not beyond one step at a time?  Yeah, I know the feeling.  There was a lot time where we- you just disappeared you know.  Not a trace.  So for months - a year, really - we went through each mission like it was the last before you came back and everything went back to normal.  And that’s not... you don’t make good decisions like that, sometimes.  You rush things.”  Lance shot him a sideways look.  “Not that you had any other choice.  Keith was the only one you knew could fly the Black Lion, right?”

Shiro froze.  “Has that changed?”

“No,” Lance replied casually.  “Well, I mean, maybe.  Allura can, and Hunk managed it once.  Mostly we leave it to Keith.  But that doesn’t- what we knew, then, was that the Black Paladin was in charge and that was that.  No exceptions.  Except, like, why?  ‘Cause they’re the head?  None of us felt like it.  And when Allura was in charge it felt so weird, especially at first.  So we figured, you know what?  We need to do this our way.  We’re not the head, we’re the four limbs, and each of us has something we do.”  Lance shot him a grin, the one Shiro knew from him.  Impish.  “So no one’s really you.  It’s for the best, we were all shit at it.  So instead each of us leads when the mission calls for it.  Makes it easier to split up, too.”

That was...

Specialization.  It was such an obvious choice.  But Shiro hadn’t thought about it, so preoccupied in making things work before he was gone.   

“You did well,” Shiro offered.  At Lance’s startled look, he straightened and focused, sitting up properly.  “I am.  That was a good solution.  I’m glad you made it work.  It had to be hard, not knowing if I was alive.  And you’ve done well.  You’re all around and in one piece.  That’s better than I can say for myself.”

Lance eyed him.  “See, I know you’re joking.  But you may not want to say things like that if you don’t want to get mauled with flying hugs.  Seriously, now that we know it’s you?  It was a pain in the ass dragging everyone away.  But Hunk and Pidge have their projects, and Keith already hadn’t slept in awhile, so I kicked them out and promised I’d keep an eye on you.  And that was only after we got Sam to stop fussing.  He’s going to do that, by the way.  A lot.  Let him get it out.”

Blinking slowly, Shiro frowned.  “Sam?”  Did they know a Sam?  

After a moment, Lance cracked a smile.  “Shit.  You- Commander Holt, to you.  You’re better of calling him Sam, though.  And Matt, too.  He just got back, actually.  Pidge is probably telling him now.”

Blood rushed past Shiro’s ears.

Matt and Commander Holt.  Alive and well.  Rescued and at the castle.

And they’d thought he was dead.

“Woah, there, don’t pass out on us again.  We just got you up, they’ll kill me if I send you back down.”  Lance reached over, resting a steady hand on Shiro’s shoulder.  “We’ll do introductions a little at a time, alright?  If nothing else, it’ll limit your exposure to Matt’s Matt-ness.  Only a good thing.”

The fact that Lance knew what Matt’s Matt-ness was like...

Closing his eyes, Shiro took a deep breath and ducked his head.  He wasn’t going to cry.  There was no need.  Especially not in front of-

Hah.  Old habits died hard.

“Do you need a minute?” Lance asked, painfully soft.  “I know you were- are a reserved kinda guy, but you know you don’t have to hide, okay?  But if you need a minute you’ve got it.  Seriously, ask for anything, we’ll give you the moon.  You’ve got no idea, Shiro.  You were missed.”

Something gave.

Tears forced their way out and Shiro curled in further, legs coming up to hide his face.  “I’m sorry,” he managed, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.  “I didn’t mean to leave.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted you all to go home and be okay.”

“Ah, Shiro.”  Lance moved over, pulling him into a hug.  “God, you’re young, aren’t you?  Man, it’s weird that you’re the young’un now.  You didn’t mean to, like you said.  It’s okay.  We’re not mad at you for leaving, and nothing about it was your fault, alright?  Everything that’s happened to us... it’s not on you.  And we survived because of what you taught us.  We survived to be older than you.”  He paused.  “That’s weird too.  Damn. Space, man.”

Choking out a laugh, Shiro nodded against Lance’s shoulder.  “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.  “I don’t really understand.  Everything’s so different.  I can’t take back over, I don’t know how to.  There’s so much, and I can’t take someone’s command.  You deserve it.”

Lance paused, his hand heavy on Shiro’s back.  “Screw all that.  Shiro, what do you want?”

Good fucking question.

Shiro had no idea.

Maybe it was time to figure that out.