#regimen ao3 spoilers

[baconcolacan]

Hello! happy new year ^^ my friend already finished the drawing and wanted me to show it to you (the drawing is from chapter 7)

OUGH THIS LOOKS SO GOOD!! TELL YOUR FRIEND THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!!!! <3

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 22: Threshold [FREE DAY]

a moment for aureia and aymeric on the threshold of change. aymeric x wol. stormblood spoilers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: mature 1273 words ao3 link

Aymeric sighs and sinks into the bath, idly watching the steam as it rises and curls towards the rafters.

It may not be the same as the pleasantness of a hot springs bath, but it is most welcome all the same. His body aches, his muscles stretched and worn. It is a concerning fact of his life how easy it is to strain himself not just from combat, but from a hard day’s ride. Some aides younger than he would find it easy to pin it on his age, but mid-thirties is not old, especially for an Elezen. This is the consequence of countless hours spent at a desk, in meetings, and otherwise remaining stationary.

Guilt twists in the pit of his stomach. He has not been lax, with his life or his duties. Aureia would say he has never once been lax in all the years she has known him, and could benefit from “going rogue”. He has kept regular training, though not as intensive a regimen as many knights can afford. He simply does not have the time. And yet he can and will grace the battlefield, when it is required of him.

He has not once put down his sword. He is both soldier and politician. The latter he is secure in, but the former…? Fighting Garleans is a different beast than fighting dragons. His skill feels eroded. Weathered. Not what it once was.

And it is certainly nothing compared to the tempest that storms the battlefield at his side.

He groans and shifts his position, water sloshing about him as he digs his fingers into the tense muscles of his calf. The bath is a wide rectangle pool sunk into the floor, surrounded by rich red and gold tile. A little ledge runs around the edge for bathers to sit on, carved from the same stone that was used to build Porta Praetoria. A brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its glow hazy in the steam. A few climbing plants stand scattered about the room, vines and leaves spilling over the lip of their pots and dragging on the floor. It must have been some time since anyone thought to care for them.

The Ala Mhigan resistance spared no expense finding the Alliance leaders the best rooms to be found in Porta Praetoria. He almost resisted, insisting that he can sleep in the tents the same as his troops, but—as always—his thoughts went to Aureia. She would not join him, if that was the case, for the sake of her own privacy. And so, a week out from their planned attack on Ala Mhigo, they have found themselves lodged in a room nicer than most Ala Mhigans could ever afford, enjoying amenities most of their soldiers will never have access to.

Who was this chamber’s last occupant, he wonders? A wealthy merchant? A Garlean spy? A distant scion of the Mad King? Perhaps Prince Zenos himself stayed in these rooms, though he cannot imagine it. Garleans think little of the people they conquer, their so-called “savages”. Why would he take refuge in Porta Praetoria when he has a whole palace available to him in Ala Mhigo?

Aymeric sinks deeper into the bath, allowing his legs to float up in the water. Ala Mhigo. It is impossible to block out now, even here in the safety of this room. The far wall faces east and the windows are shutterless, the remains of their wood still clinging to the window frame. Ala Mhigo looms on the horizon, beyond the sea of tents, beyond the dark waters of Loch Seld, its palatial silhouette glowing orange and red with the light of Garlean magitek.

A knock on the door. “Aymeric?”

Aureia. Her voice cuts through the din of his thoughts, and relief washes over him.

“I’m in here,” he calls.

The door creaks open and she slips inside. He raises his head and his shoulders sag with disappointment—she is still dressed in armour, her hair tied back in a tight bun, her weapon strapped to her back. The staff glitters, sharp and lethal, a blue-green focusing crystal interwoven with its deadly blade. A custom design, forged by Cid Garlond from salvaged Allagan tech and crafted to be used interchangeably as a black mage’s armament and a dragoon’s lance. It is impossible to know if she is coming or going.

“Heading out?” he asks gently, careful not to let his disappointment show.  

She shakes her head and moves further into the room, favouring one leg. Is she injured? “Returning,” she replies. “One hells of a scouting mission. Thancred…” She closes her eyes and sighs. “Never mind.”

He pushes himself up. “Are you hurt, Aureia?”

“No.” She crosses her arms, one hand gingerly brushing her side. “I’m going to bed. I wanted to see you before I did. Say goodnight.” Her eyes flick across the room, distracted by the sight through the window. “If I can even sleep with that fucking thing out there.”

“The city may be a reminder of what’s to come, yes,” he replies. “But perhaps we should think of what our deeds will achieve once it is liberated, rather than what it is now.”

“I’m not talking about the city.”

The water’s gentle lap at odds with the fierceness of her voice. She speaks of Zenos—there is no one else she could mean. No one else who raises her ire. No one else who threatens to overtake her mind. He does not know why the crown prince figures so largely in her life. He is a Garlean legatus—a powerful one, of course, but she has laid low powerful legatuses before. The streak of vengeance in her voice gives him pause. It is too powerful, too twisted to simply be anger directed at the general who defeated her at Rhalgr’s Reach.

And a shade too close to the venom with which Estinien once spoke of Nidhogg.

Aymeric meets her eyes. She stares at him, her gaze sweeping over his body but seeing none of his nakedness. Any desire she may have for him has been pushed aside, locked away. With anyone else he could imagine this moment turning into a charming evening, a last romantic encounter between two lovers on the threshold of change. And perhaps it still could be.

“It’s a quiet night,” he says softly. “Why don’t you undress first? Come speak with me for a while. We may not have many chances left.”

Her jaw clenches. “I don’t feel like talking.”

“Then sit with me, then.”

She stares at him, eyes narrowed. With her hair drawn back so severely and her pointed ears on display, she is all angles—sharp and keen and stinging. If he could go to her, he would—to hold her, kiss her, tell her that it will be all right. But he dare not now. Not if she does not want him to.

“I don’t feel like that either,” she says at last, her voice low and ragged, as if she is on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Aureia—”

“Good night.”

His heart pangs. He rises from the bath, water rushing off him, but it is too late. She slips back through the door, taking care to close it without a sound. A gesture, one of her many perplexing voiceless ways of communicating.

A way to say “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you.”

A way to say, “I’m sorry, this is not your fault.”

A way to say, “I’m sorry I’m not enough.”

He would have preferred if she had slammed it.

[improvised-finish]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt #28 - Deleterious

Content Warnings: None

Spoiler Warnings: Spoilers through the end of Shadowbringers, story takes place in 5.1

Summary: A very important person has gone missing in the Crystarium, but Lehon'a Nhavareh is on the case.

Check it out below or on Ao3:

“Lyna, you haven’t seen the Exarch around, have you?”

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen any sign of him so far today. I’d tell you where I might think to look, but I’d wager you’ve already got an idea of where to start. Sorry, Lehona.”

“It’s no problem, I’ll check the usual haunts. Thanks again!” Lehon’a offered her a small wave as she turned to go. Off to the Ocular, then, she thought. You can hide from the others, but not from me.

—

Lehon’a made her way through the large doors into the Ocular, which yielded no clues as to the Exarch’s whereabouts. The space always struck her as needlessly large; especially so when she was the only one occupying it, but it wasn’t like he had designed it like that. The blame, as it did for so many of the world’s woes, lay with the Allagans.

Before she got any more worked up thinking about all of the particular ways the Allagan Empire had wronged her, Lehon’a started to formulate a plan of attack. She listed off possible places in her head while counting them on her fingers. I’ll check his sleeping quarters first, then perhaps the kitchen, his workshop, and then maybe the library. Hopefully I don’t have to check every blasted floor of the whole tower, she thought, looking up to the unusually high ceiling, before setting off once more.

—

Lehon’a had looked nearly every place she could think of, and still, nothing. 

The artificial lights in the kitchen had been obviously dark, and the door to his quarters had been open, revealing the unlit and unoccupied interior. The small workshop had shown promise, with the lights on at the very least, but she quickly found that it too was empty.

She flipped the switch as she turned back into the hallway, sighing in frustration. She loved G’raha to death, but sometimes he just had to make things a bit more difficult than they ought to be. There was only one place left on her list; the one she’d saved for last on purpose: the tower’s expansive library.

Lehon’a set off in that direction, crossing her fingers that he was there so she didn’t have to add Twelve-knows-how-many flights of stairs to her already sizable training regimen.

—

Lehon’a pushed open the towering doors to the library, straining a little to get them open. She knew there was some kind of fancy Allagan system that would open them for her, but knowing her luck, she’d accidentally manage to lock the doors before she’d get them open that way.

Standing before her on the other side were rows and rows of shelves, each of them tall enough to obscure her vision of the whole space. In what was becoming a familiar pattern, she let out another exasperated sigh and began walking perpendicular to the shelves, trying to see if she could save herself the truly mind-numbing task of walking up and down each row. 

She’d gotten maybe twenty-five or thirty shelves down, which was just about the point when she was starting to have doubts about bothering to check this place, when she spotted a strange looking shape at the far end of a row, sticking out amidst the rectangular stacks of books. She turned and made her way towards it, dodging the precariously arranged piles of books that littered the floor. 

And there, nestled between towers of tomes and underneath a sea of notes and smaller volumes, was one G’raha Tia, fast asleep. She knelt down to his level, and rubbed his shoulder, trying to wake him gently from his slumber. In spite of the annoyance at her afternoon spent on this tedious detective mission, Lehon’a couldn’t actually bring herself to do anything truly mean.

“G’raha, wake up. There are better places to rest than up against a bookshelf, you know.”

His eyes slowly opened, looking very disoriented as he tried to piece together the events that led to what was clearly an impromptu nap. He reached a hand up to rub his face as he let out a yawn, which sent some of his notes scattering across the floor. A bit of red was visible in his cheeks when he was able to properly focus and realized that it was Lehon’a who’d found him.

“Ah, Lehon’a, I hope I didn’t worry you too much, I… may have gotten too wrapped up in trying to locate any tomes on soul preservation that I… forwent returning to my quarters.”

“I’m less worried now that I’ve found you, but I certainly wish you took better care of yourself when none of us are looking,” Lehon’a said. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that not resting properly can take a toll on your health. Doubly so given your relationship to the Tower.”

“Right. Right you are, my friend. I’ll try to remember to bring the tomes back to my quarters next time.” He flashed her a sheepish grin.

“That’s a good start.” Lehon’a’s reply was interrupted by a growl from G’raha’s stomach. “I take it you haven’t eaten since yesterday either?” Her voice was a mixture of concern and disbelief, which only served to redouble G’raha’s embarrassment. 

He shook his head no. “It… slipped my mind, I’m afraid.”

She quickly gathered the notes that were scattered about and offered a hand to help pull him to his feet. “First, back to the kitchen for a meal, and then to your bed, so you can get some proper sleep, all right?”

“I’m certainly in no position to object, so lead the way.”

The two of them started back towards the living quarters, and as they discussed what ingredients for a meal G’raha might have on hand, Lehon’a wondered to herself whether any of the other Scions might know of some incantation to better keep track of his whereabouts.

[getosubaru]

It’s such a long walk when you got somewhere to be; I just thought maybe you were gonna walk with me (chapter eleven)

story summary: MC decides all of the student council is going to therapy and hell hath no fury like a prepared human. They’ve got highlighters and they’re not afraid to use them.

chapter summary: plans

pairing: Lucifer/gn!reader

rating: m

chapter wc: 1.3k

warnings: angst & trauma; small text only for description; gn!reader; possible spoilers; not proofread; author rifled in canon’s pockets for loose plot

a/n: surprise, i’m alive

title taken from “therapy” by dresage & g smith

previous | series masterlist | ao3

Only Mammon and Lucifer accompany you home.

Despite their lackadaisical attitudes, all of the brothers take Council duties seriously. Even openly anti-royal Belphie follows his twin towards downtown, drawing up a game plan about what businesses to hit up. It’s Levi’s mutterings about training regimens that worries you. 

“Is it really going to come to violence?” you ask Lucifer when the third-born departs. 

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “None of us think it will, not even Diavolo. This is just Barbatos being…overcautious.” 

Mammon throws an arm around your shoulders, one leathery wing following to hold you closer to him. “He’s always been like this–makin’ sure we’re prepared just in case.” 

Lucifer secures the house with a wave of his hand over the front door. The dark blue pulse that shivers up the walls distracts you long enough for Mammon to toss you unceremoniously over his shoulder. His sharp bones dig into your hip with every step of the stairs. 

“Hey!” You squirm in his hold, only to get flicked in the ear by a wing. 

“Effective, though a bit rude not to ask first,” comments Lucifer blithely. 

You’re deposited in a comfortable armchair before Lucifer’s desk. Mammon drags a second chair over, hooking his ankle with yours when he sits. The pride demon in front of you discards his coat, tie, and gloves. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone and the sleeves carefully rolled back, he might as well be stark naked. 

He raises his eyebrow at your sound of surprise. “The only people capable of getting in the house, much less this room, are family and the royals.” He flicks his wrist, three pristine glasses appearing in front of each of you, while a bottle of Demonus slips off the shelf to pour itself. 

“Breakin’ out the good stuff,” purrs Mammon. “Remind me to send those Celestial bastards a thank you card.” 

Lucifer snorts. “Trust you to know when I’ve reached for ‘the good stuff’, Mammon.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

Before Mammon can work himself into a tizzy, Lucifer raises a hand. “It was a compliment, I assure you. Aside from Barbatos, you have the best nose for Demonus that I know of.” 

“Oh.” Mammon blinks. The motion exaggerates how much of his face is taken up by his eyes, especially when a blush darkens his cheeks. “That why you always drag me shopping with you?” 

Lucifer inclines his head. 

They draw up babysitting schedules while you sip your drink and watch. Both of them are awkward, the conversation stilted and on the verge of turning into an argument. Having a goal probably helps, of course. But it’s more than they would have been capable of a few months ago. The point both of them can agree on is not allowing you outside for any reason. 

“Don’t be absurd,” chastises Lucifer. “It’s a week in a massive manor surrounded by beings that adore you, not solitary confinement in Newgate.” 

“Newgate was torn down like over a century ago, brother. Try to keep up with the times.”

You ignore Mammon’s laughter in favor of glaring at Lucifer. “I can admit wandering around town is a bad idea, but you’re keeping me from attending classes and visiting the castle. RAD is safe. The castle, where Diavolo sleeps, might I remind you, is safe.” 

“You are not Diavolo,” says Lucifer, as if you might be confused about your identity.

“And what about Rissa?” It’s a low blow, but desperate times and all that. “I’m supposed to keep seeing her. All of us are supposed to keep seeing her.” 

Lucifer frowns, contemplating the remaining liquor in his glass. “We will just have to resume our schedules after all of this has finished.” 

“No.” Mammon’s voice is clear and sterner than you’ve ever heard it. “She’ll have to come here. With all of this shit…” He shakes his head before fixing his stare on his brother. “We’re gonna need her around more than ever.”

A shaky compromise is established, though it is contingent on Rissa and the royals agreeing. The therapist will take up residence in one of the empty guest rooms of the house, with another being used as her temporary office. Lucifer is against modifying the wards to accept her coming and going as she pleases, and constantly drawing them down and back up again is taxing on the matrix.

Or something like that. Satan joins you three eventually and Lucifer draws him into a discussion on the intricacies of warding. You only understand about every other word and half the time it sounds like they aren’t even speaking an existing language. 

You’re saved by a cloud of perfume and a soft hand on your shoulder. “Come with me, sweetheart. They’ll be like this for hours.” 

Asmodeus draws you out of the study and into his room, draping you in a soft afghan and bundling you into bed. With the main lights down and just the flickering fairy lights lit, it’s like being in a private garden. 

Asmo lays next to you and looks up at the canopy of his bed. Full face of makeup, still in his outside clothes. The Avatar of Lust is troubled, something a creature made for beauty and pleasure should never be. 

“Asmo?” You peer over at him in the near dark. “What did Barbatos mean?” 

He doesn’t pretend not to know what you mean and you’re thankful not to have to explain it. The butler’s words had nearly been missed by you in the chaos of the meeting, but now they echo around your head. 

Perhaps he wants to meet the person who did what he couldn’t.

Of all the brothers, Asmo is probably the least likely to lie to save your feelings. Mammon and Levi would change the subject. Satan would give you a perfectly political answer that says absolutely nothing. Beel would pretend not to know. Belphie would just go back to sleep. And it’s not like you can just ask Lucifer, not with how high his emotions must be running. 

Asmo closes his eyes and intertwines his fingers with yours under your blanket. “Michael was…is somewhat obsessed with Lucifer. I can’t speak to the whole of their relationship, but what I saw was intense. Lucifer had other duties, not just dealing with his little flock of siblings, so he could never give Michael his whole attention.” He turns over, fixing his sunset eyes on your face with a small smile. “And then there’s you, with Lucifer wrapped around your finger.”

“I don’t think that’s how it is.” Your brows pinch together. Lucifer still works too hard, still has his temper, and still has shit he needs to work through. If anything, you often feel like the one around his finger, bending to follow his shifting tides. 

“You’ve gotten more out of him than anyone, honey,” Asmo points out. “Except for maybe Diavolo, but that’s different.”

All of this for a jilted lover? It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Trite. How many lives and livelihoods hang in the balance while a pissy ex gets curious over the new face? 

Some of your irritation must show on your face, because Asmo giggles, the sound a muted melody in the dim room. “That’s the Celestial Realm for you.” He shrugs. “Not sure why they frown on us for being ruled by our darker emotions when they’re the ones who can’t actually handle them.”

Jealousy you can work with, though. It’s a human-enough concept. An old flame finding about the new lover. It’s not like Michael can just stalk your social media to sate his curiosity. A plan begins to form in the back of your head; and just the demon you need for it is right beside you. 

“Asmo, let’s go take your makeup off,” you say slowly, sitting up and discarding your blanket. “I’ve got an idea you’ll want to hear.”

note: taglist added in a reblog. i’m no longer accepting requests to be added to the taglist from ageless blogs. i post too much non-osha-compliant shit to feel comfortable with that. if you’d like to get added to the taglist please make sure to have your age on your page before you ask~

[mxanigel]

Fic update: Cut to the Feeling

an Attack on Titan (Shingeki no Kyojin) fanfic

[Read on AO3]

An in-progress longfic that asks the question, What if they lived?

Chapter 15: Enemies Within

Hange's recon unit reports on the Ragako investigation, Levi forms a new Special Operations Squad, and their plans to test Eren's Titan abilities are rocked by a murder. But they eventually reach the remote location designated for Hange's experiments, stealing peaceful moments where they can.

Rating: M

Relationships: Levi Ackerman/OC, Levi Ackerman & Hange Zoë, Hange Zoë & OC, eventual Levi/Hange/OC

Additional Tags: They/Them Pronouns for Hange Zoë, Hange Zoë Being Hange Zoë, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Canon Character Deaths, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Spoilers, Friendship, Banter, Swearing, Angst, Love and Loss, Asexuality Spectrum, Levi Ackerman Is Obsessed With Cleaning, Falling In Love, I'm writing this because it's taken over my brain, Literal Sleeping Together, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I have spent so many hours on the wiki lol, Largely Canon Compliant, Nightmares

----- brief chapter snippet below -----

Between Mikasa’s ongoing recuperation and the strict training regimen Levi imposes on his healthy new squad members, they have yet to leave for the remote outpost selected for Eren’s Titan experiments. But the reprieve grants them much-needed time to digest what Ragako revealed and identify a range of options for how to test Eren’s abilities in secret.

Levi puts himself through the same paces he requires of his squad, efforts which Shion didn’t plan to protest. It came as a surprise when Hange brought up his ankle injury shortly after the meeting with Erwin, only to be countered by Levi flinging a rolled-up piece of paper at their head: his official medical clearance for combat.

Hange won’t hear the end of that for a while.

[phoenixtakaramono]

Hi! :) I was reading your post about SQH in TUT and it got me thinking. Since this version also wrote SVSSS, when he transmigrates does he realize his "dream" was real? Also, you hinted that he recognizes SY as the same person who transmigrated into SQQ, so now I'm wondering if he tells SY that, and how SY would react to learning he's the protagonist of SVSSS in another universe. I just love thinking about how meta this could potentially get, haha.

Can't wait to find out more! Keep up the good work!

(Follow-Up Post to: Part I, Part II)

@the-legend-of-chel 👏👏👏 Luv, good to see you in my Asks! I’m glad to hear that you’re looking forward to finding out more in The Untold Tale! And thanks for your support and encouragement. 💖

(TUT ch1 - Excerpt)

You’re right. There is a lot of meta potential with older!Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky being the MXTX equivalent in this AU—or, rather, I like to imagine him growing up to be the Stephen King equivalent of modern day China with a prolific portfolio of written works (novels and short stories, and extras). In canon, he churned out a great number of words per chapter and in a speedy amount of time! Do you guys know how miraculous that is, as a writer? I envy him so much! To be able to churn out that much content in a short amount of time, and in a scheduled regimen, is amazing! That’s basically my angle having written this into the prologue of TUT. That’s partially the reason why I wrote ch1. I liked the idea of paying homage to SVSSS and saying that it’s an actual book series in TUT universe that Airplane wrote (as funny as the idea would be, I wasn’t about to let SY be the one to write it, lol, for intellectual property reasons since the PIDW characters belong to Airplane, which would necessitate SY changing names and character appearances if he published what we know as irl SVSSS, so the best I can give SY is saying he wrote his own PIDW fanfic which basically launched his novelist career because he’d realized, hey, I actually have a knack for writing and the ever so spiteful I feel like practically every writer has had this thought before: fine, if I don’t see what I want to read, then I’ll write it myself!)

(TUT ch1 - Excerpt)

We’re approaching TUT spoiler territory so skip below if you don’t wish to be spoiled.

TUT (Meta) Spoilers

I personally love meta. If I’m to be writing a lovestory to SVSSS, there will be attempts at meta thrown into TUT. And this is one of them:

Airplane did “dream” about canon SVSSS. He basically “dreamt” about his favorite black powder fan, Peerless Cucumber

changing events of Airplane’s biggest regret Proud Immortal Demon Way. (As a writer, it embarrasses me to read my old writing. So I imagine it could be the same for Airplane.) As an author, Airplane recognized what he dreamt had potential to be a commercial success as a danmei transmigration story so basically every time he woke up, he would write pieces of what he remembers in a dream journal when the memory was fresh in his brain. It also allowed Airplane the opportunity to show his readers through the perspective of SY! Shen Qingqiu what Airplane had originally wanted to write, but integrated in a way that blends seamlessly into the reading experience. He would’ve thought it was a bit weird and strange that his brain dreamt about his past critic—whom he’d considered a small celebrity in the PIDW forums back then—aka his anti-fan-turned-accomplished-novelist in the writing industry, so he felt embarrassed that his unconscious brain must have thought very highly of the man.

So Airplane omitted any mention of Peerless Cucumber from the final draft of SVSSS (if he mentioned both “Shen Yuan” and “Peerless Cucumber,” then even SY would be like, Hey, wait one moment....). This detail will be included in a later chapter, but did you know the name “Shen Yuan” has come up in other works? Let’s ignore the variations on the Chinese written characters for the name “Shen Yuan.” There was the evil older brother character Shen Yuan from The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage, a side character named Shen Yuan from a C-drama (I think he was an old minister?), and there’s even an irl visual artist named Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan (Shen Garden) is also a famous romantic garden in Shaoxing, known for the love story between Lu You and Tang Wan.

(Shen Yuan Garden - Trip Advisor Review)

Basically “Shen Yuan” in itself is not a particularly uncommon name in China (imo I would not say it’s super popular either). So when SY saw his name mentioned once or twice in Airplane’s SVSSS—aka rebooted PIDW—during his read-through, he was like, Huh, what a strange coincidence. And then dismissed it as circumstantial and thought nothing of seeing his name come up in a cutsleeve novel as the new protagonist, haha. It’s like a book written by Anne Rice; one of the titles coincidentally has the same name as mine. Now, obviously the book and main character is not based or inspired by me; I just coincidentally share the same name. If I see books which have characters with my same first name, generally I like to read them and sometimes even collect them for my bookshelves. Because there’s something just so fun and interesting about seeing your own name in a fictional piece of work.

There’s also meta joke potential about Airplane dreaming of himself being transmigrated into the cannon fodder Shang Qinghua and seeing the romantic miscommunications between the younger version of himself (his self-insert essentially) and the fictional Mobei jūn character. I can certainly say seeing such dreams would make Airplane question his sexuality and awaken something dormant in him, haha. He’d realize he might not be not as straight as he thought he was, if his brain was capable of dreaming of SY!SQQ being crushed on by LBH, and SQH being crushed on by MBJ and essentially following MBJ around calling him “my king” this and “my king” that. He’ll be sweating bullets when he meets this world’s version of MBJ, because Airplane will definitely remember how the younger Self-Insert version of himself acted toward MBJ in the SVSSS world. (It’s the classic “Just because I dreamed about it happening doesn’t mean it’ll happen here, right? ...Right? Cucumber brother, you’re a fortuneteller! Please check our eight characters for me! I have to know my marriage compatibility with Mobei jūn!”)

In a later chapter, there will be the reveal where Airplane tells Shen Yuan that he “dreamt” of a universe where a younger version of Shen Yuan—having choked on mantou (馒头) (paying homage to the donghua) or just being transmigrated in general after raging at a younger ASTTS’s writing (paying homage to the books)—transmigrated into the Shen Qingqiu we know from SVSSS who married Bing mèi. Because I think it will be hilarious when TUT’s SY finds out about the true source of Airplane’s inspiration, and he’ll naturally freak out over the fact that this is the very same Bing gē from Airplane’s Bing-gē vs Bing-mèi extra and that he’s essentially somehow stumbled on the same path as the alternative younger SY!SQQ “from Airplane’s imagination.” I will leave this open to interpretation if this does show up (it’s just an idea I’m playing with) but I might hint that there might be a higher power at play which allowed Airplane a peek into another universe—which manifested as his dreams.

I very much like this dynamic (we might see this exchange, verbatim, in a future chapter in TUT):

SY/ LBH —> He gave him a disdainful gaze.

Airplane cried inwardly at the oppression and the feeling of being wronged.

Haha, none of this is really Airplane’s fault^ though. It’s a fun parallel and if I’m still motivated when we get to the wedding and consummation chapter, we might see an epilogue where SY and Bing gē from TUT meets SY!SQQ and Bing mèi maybe. Because I think it’ll be funny with the two LBHs getting into a shouting/ fighting match about who has the “superior Shen Yuan” while the two SYs just shake their heads at their silly husbands (and potentially TUT’s SY, as the older party, can impart his fortunetelling wisdom and advice to SY!SQQ).

Personally I can’t wait when we get to those chapters, because I know it’ll be entertaining to write, haha. Personally TUT is a fun project because there’s just so much meta potential that can be incorporated and I have a lot of fun imagining the scenarios.

*Note: like always, keep in mind that these are just my current thoughts. Details are subject to change; things aren’t considered official until they show up in the final draft on AO3. :)

The Novelists’ First Impressions

The first impression SY and Airplane will have of each other will be fun. Because in their perspective, written in my notes it’s essentially like:

(Airplane seeing SY):

His first reaction was shock. Shock because the mere mortal he used to be could not conceive so much charisma being emitted by this guy.

This is definitely a man who had put all of his stats into CHARISMA.

(SY seeing Airplane):

He's suspiciously good looking in ways that normal people are not.

Ah, the Cucumberplane friendship in TUT is going to be so much fun. Not only are these two older souls who transmigrated (both are mid-aged in this universe), they’re both accomplished novelists in their own right in the writing industry. Which means with these two being celestial beings, there’s so many clichés we can playfully poke fun at.

It also makes me laugh because imagine being SY, and seeing a guy (mortal!Airplane) who exudes the same energy as these two imperial princes GIFs:

[haliyam]

interim (iv)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 3 | Ch 5

Hi again! This is a week off-schedule because I needed a week to recover from the disaster that was chapter 139. Anyway, I guess I'll eventually tag the series as canon-divergent when we get to a certain point in the series.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 4

The next few days go by like clockwork. Every morning you are determined to head to the university and request a general book list so that you might study ahead, just as you’ve done for the last few years, but every morning Zeke convinces you to swing by HQ and hang around his office so he can ignore you some more. 

Sometimes he leaves for a meeting while Colt joins you intermittently when he isn’t made to attend, or when he isn’t out on errands or continuing his own training under Commander Magath’s stricter regimen (“Well, he has to suffer something if not babysitting,” Zeke shrugs), and the Warrior candidates join you all for lunch once, during which they swarm Porco with questions about the Jaw but otherwise shy away from interacting too much with you and Zeke, who apparently takes his meals in his office most days. You try not to remember what it was like sitting at the lunch table with Marcel, Bertholdt, and Annie around too.

By the time you realize you should head out, the blazing midday heat has arrived, and you surrender instead to the comfortable breeze lifting in through Zeke’s window. It’s an easy decision to make with a book in hand, stretched out on his couch sipping ice water at his coffee table, though part of you does consider breaking the comfortable silence with your curiosity about his long-lost brother. 

But while you foolishly thought it would have been natural enough to do before… seeing Reiner made you realize it can’t be that easy. There is a reason Zeke pushed you away when you tried to ask, even if you stand by your retaliatory kick, and he’s always been sensitive about his family. 

Your evenings are just as languid. You check in on Mr. Finger before you return home, and after dinner you spend them with Mrs. Yeager in the living room, catching up only between the two of you. She’s delighted to hear about your nieces and nephews, not to mention the way you turned your studies around in your last two years at boarding school. Meanwhile she enraptures you with stories of her young students—she still teaches, though her schedule is much less rigid than before—until she gets a wistful look in her eye when Zeke comes by to scold her for staying up late. 

Arms around knees drawn to your chest on the sofa with her nights later, you glance over your shoulder at the doorway and raise a brow at Zeke. “It’s not even a weeknight.”

“Technically, every night is a week night.”

He shoots you a smug grin as your thoughtful pause breaks into a groan. Before you can respond, Mrs. Yeager chuckles into her hand and moves to her feet. “You’re right, dear. I should be going to bed. After I prepare some—”

“Warm water? I’ve brought it up. Grandpa’s already asleep,” says Zeke, watching his grandmother squeeze your hand in apology. You squeeze back with a smile in understanding as she passes you. 

Zeke kisses her cheek good night and, once Mrs. Yeager clears the kitchen, turns toward you. “Isn’t it about time you turned in, too?”

You stretch out over the couch’s backrest, yawning, and then turn your head to face him. “Are you going to tell me a story?”

He blinks in surprise, appearing to consider you until he notices the mirth curling at the edges of your mouth. Sighing, he reaches for the throw pillow on the seat closest to the doorway and very narrowly misses when you yelp and scoot to the side. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who just couldn’t stop talking.”

You get up and dust off the pillow before setting it back where it should be with a click of your tongue. Standing closer now, and still lamenting the growth spurt denied you, you squint up at him. Or you just liked listening to me that much, you mean to say, but the challenge on his face reminds you so well of the nights he spent humoring you as you kept him awake as a little girl missing home that you can’t help but grant him your defeat this time. 

“Actually,” you say honestly, walking past him instead, “I was going to write Lara.”

You haven’t been able to of late. You’ve been wanting to save stories for her, you tell yourself, make a letter she can really enjoy reading, or maybe you’re avoiding a response which will surely include Willy’s regards. Or his reaction when Lara tell hims of List's plan.

“Oh?” Zeke doesn’t lord the victory over you, only following you out. “How’s her health nowadays? Better, I hope.”

“Oh, er—” you begin to shake your head, only to settle for a shrug as he turns the lights off in the dining room. “Somewhat. But you know her, she’s... always been so sickly. You know.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad,” he remarks, heading up the stairs behind you. You only nod as you move down the hallway, trying to ignore how loud your own gulp sounds to you when you stop in front of your rooms. 

“Actually,” you start, turning back. He’s already facing you, expectation in the tilt of his head, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Zeke can’t know about Lara. When he opens his mouth to ask, you blurt out, “Everyone knows a weeknight is the evening of a weekday. You just like being bossy.”

His jaw drops in surprise, and then he has to stifle a snort. “You little—”

“Good night,” you wave, and slip behind your door as he chuckles in exasperation, none the wiser.

--

Unused to sleeping in even when it’s not a weeknight, you continue writing your letter early the next morning, filling her in mostly on the Yeagers and the Fingers. Mrs. Yeager leaves at some point to spend time with her friends, and you get to making lunch with Dr. Yeager downstairs when the doorbell rings. 

“I’ll get it,” you say, throwing your apron over a chair and heading for the hallway.

You draw the curtains by the front door to peek at Colt waiting outside, fingers drumming over the straps of his backpack. He straightens up immediately once the door swings open only to flush in shock when he sees you. “Miss Lucy?” He glances around to make sure he’s come to the right place. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that you, Colt?” Dr. Yeager calls from the kitchen. “Come on in for lunch!”

“I always come over on Saturdays when it’s not too busy,” Colt answers belatedly when you step aside to let him in, now with a polite expression in lieu of surprise. You close the door behind him as he murmurs a thank you, and then rush to help Dr. Yeager set the table now that a guest has arrived. Colt is relatively cautious but always friendly, warm, not at all like Zeke when he was his age, though Colt’s remarks at the children during lunch a day or so ago certainly revealed humor similar enough to his mentor. 

The man himself eventually comes downstairs, buttoning up his shirt as he opens the door to the dining room. “Oh,” is his greeting, and he waves before heading for his own pack closer to the living room. “Sorry, Colt. You were late last week, so I took my time.”

Colt turns red with shame. “Sorry again about that, Mr. Zeke, I—”

He doesn’t understand Zeke’s teasing. Taking pity on him, you interrupt, “You make Colt work on the weekends?”

Kneeling by his bag, Zeke returns your reproving look, only with a hint of mockery. “It’s not work per se.”

“And I’m happy to come over,” Colt adds without hesitation.

You glance back at the boy questioningly. He looks earnest enough, but wasn’t Zeke the same? Weren’t you, the moment Mr. Ksaver invited you to spend time with them? “What do you two do, anyway?”

“Catch,” says Zeke, and without much more warning throws a baseball at you from the side. Barely noticing the rush of air, you turn and stretch out your hand just in time to catch it, and you don’t know whether to feel pride or offense when you and Zeke share the same incredulous expression. 

You’re ready to fling the ball at him as payback when Dr. Yeager scolds you. “No catch at the table, you two,” he says, but he looks happy.

“Sorry, grandpa,” Zeke chuckles right as you wince, “Sorry, Dr. Yeager.”

Colt watches the exchange with a shy but eager smile. “Are you going to join us, Miss Lucy?”

You and Zeke glance at one another. Clearly neither of you wants to overstep, especially not on fond memories which is silly if you think about it, but it’s still Zeke who speaks first. “You can come if you want,” he offers, gesturing at you unsurely. “If you’re still up for that kind of physical activity.”

You scoff, tossing the baseball back at him. “I turned nineteen, Zeke. Not ninety.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters, setting the ball aside and taking a seat next to Colt. Scooping up his portion from the serving plate, he adds, “Colt, you brought extra clothes, right?”

Still chewing his food, Colt nods and scoops up his backpack from beside his feet, loosing the front straps to reveal its contents: several pieces of extra clothing and a cute little towel that he suddenly covers with his hand. Zeke nods in approval, patting his shoulder. “Good. You’ll need that if Lucy is throwing. You might just be climbing trees today.”

“Thrice,” you sigh, somehow knowing this would be about you. “Thrice in over six years that happened.”

“Thrice too many,” Zeke grins, winking at you before he turns to his food and digs in.

You’re lucky the men are noisy eaters, because the clatter of silverware is enough to drown out the way your heart suddenly hiccups in your chest.

This time.

--

Somehow, that empty lot doubling as a wide alley where you used to play as a child remained unoccupied all this time, and once again the motions of stepping up to your space near that old tree further into the lot, ready to catch whatever Zeke and Mr. Ksaver threw at you, come as naturally as putting on a wrinkled armband. Instead of Zeke’s mentor, however, it’s his successor who takes your side, at least until it’s either of your turns to throw.

Zeke does as well as ever, and Colt isn’t a bad pitcher. You, however... maybe you’re a little rusty.

“Noo!” you groan, hands dramatically crumpling into fists over your head as you all watch your next shot fly over the wall. Even Colt lets his jaw drop as it lands somewhere into the next street over. You might have heard someone yelp.

Only Zeke is smiling as he lets out a long whistle. “I said what I said. The last generation’s candidate most versatile at arms, incapable of throwing a baseball.”

You lower your hands and glare at him. “You rattled me on purpose. You wouldn’t shut up when I was about to throw!”

“I was just trying to help,” says Zeke, looking all too pleased with himself. Any further taunting is interrupted by Colt who, bless his heart, is clearly horrified at the idea of anyone telling the Beast Titan to shut up. 

“That’s all right, Miss Lucy,” says Colt, removing his baseball mitt. “At least it didn’t get stuck in a tree, right?”

Zeke hums. “You don’t know that.”

Upper lip curled gracelessly against your teeth, you close your eyes and sigh. Colt is about to placate you further by leaving to find the ball when you open them again. “I’ll get it. Sit tight, children,” you say, more at Zeke than his candidate, and walk by the man with a sneer out of Colt’s sight.

Zeke waves at you as you leave, shoulders all stiff, and laughs. “Don’t mind her, Colt. She’s always been a terrible sport.”

Colt does his best not to appear doubtful. “...Not to overstep, Mr. Zeke, but... maybe she wouldn’t be as mad if you, er... stopped heckling her? Her other pitches were okay.”

Zeke allows his smile to fade as he peers down at the boy. “Friendly competition is all well and good, but you won’t find sportsmanlike behavior on the battlefield, Colt. Getting fazed—or making sure you don’t—can tip the scale between survival and death out there.”

Colt visibly pales at the thought. “O-Of course, Mr. Zeke. I understand.” He looks down, ashamed, and while Zeke is often content to leave it at that - even if he rarely feels the need to scold the kid, model candidate that he is - he remembers your words. It’s a weekend, not a work day, and this isn’t really supposed to be work. He knows what Colt meant, too.

If Zeke is going to be truthful, which he has no real intention of being on this entire matter, he didn’t really recognize you at first. Not even when Pieck’s guarded nonchalance melted into an embrace and Porco’s curiosity stiffened into displeasure, and especially not when you were suddenly willing to take Galliard’s shit, much less his. Not even when you tried to talk his grandfather down from an episode the way only Lucy would know how to do.

Was he expecting a twelve year-old brat to show up after all these years? Of course not. But your excessive civility, that constantly apologetic disposition (however deserved), and that overt sweetness… That isn’t the Lucy he knows. Or knew. Zeke was determined to ignore you for the next six years if he had to—just as you had him, fitting—until you came to him on your third night here and told him everything, or most of it. 

Was he angry that you believed Mila? That you turned away from him and Pieck for the approval of a woman who should have loved you worlds more than his grandmother does? How couldn’t he be? But your anger, your frustration, your tears—that’s the Lucy he knows. The one who stomped her foot at his door, who kicked him when he acted like an idiot (however undeserved), who can’t stand a messy room, who feels for the Warrior candidates, however necessary an evil—who worries about Reiner, of all people. That’s you. 

There you are, Zeke thinks warmly whenever he gets a rise out of you, though he doesn’t want to think about the validity of your righteous anger; how Lady Tybur hadn’t been wrong about the Titans and the world’s fear. Those things he’s managed to set aside as he has many others. And over the past few days he’s come to realize that it’s not all that strange that you’re less easily provoked nowadays. That you’re… sweeter. Technically you learned that in your first year in the Warrior program, learning some tact from Pieck and Marcel, and he’s sure boarding school taught you strange habits even the military couldn’t. Like being ladylike. Probably.

He will say that he hasn’t entirely reconciled the girl he knew looking like you do now. That one is… a strange development. But he’s never had time to take that sort of thing seriously, and you seem perfectly happy to return to the way things were between the two of you. He won’t risk ruining that, losing you again, for a trifle like physical attraction. Even if he did feel a little embarrassed assuming you wouldn’t be interested in catch anymore just because pretty blouses and long skirts suit you.

Besides, that hasn’t stopped you from being a terrible pitcher when you’re unnerved.  The thought makes him chuckle.

“Lighten up, Colt. I’m just kidding,” he says, walking up to the boy and clapping him on the back. “What I told you is true, but between me and Lucy—it’s just a bit of friendly ribbing. When you’ve known someone that long… you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Colt glances up at him in confusion, as expected, but smiles in relief. “Okay,” he nods, which comes out sounding more like If you say so, but Zeke doesn’t mind too much. 

Colt’s mother actually bought him an extra baseball, just in case, and they continue to play catch using that until enough time has passed that it’s clear you’ve been derailed in some way. Catching an impressive shot from Colt, Zeke says so and then motions for him to approach. “Lucy’s been gone too long. Get your things and we’ll go find her.”

Upbeat with praise, Colt is ready even before he is, pack slung over his arms so that he can tie it closed while they’re walking. “You said she hasn’t been here in years, right, Mr. Zeke? Maybe she got lost.”

“Maybe,” Zeke answers, gaze ahead, but he doubts that. This area hasn’t exactly changed, and you spent how many years here? You don’t forget things like that.

In a few minutes, Zeke learns that he’s right. You just get distracted by new faces.

“Who’s that?” asks Colt, taking a few steps back to stand next to Zeke when he realizes he’s stopped walking. A block over, further down the street from your lot, you’re smiling at a man holding Zeke’s baseball while he talks animatedly at you. Dark-haired guy, slightly younger than him, not too bad-looking. 

When he doesn’t answer, Colt asks again, taking one step forward to peer more closely. “Was he in the Warrior program? They seem like friends.”

“Beats me,” Zeke mutters, scratching at the side of his jaw. “Let’s not interrupt them.”

After what feels like ages and several moments of mirth on your end, you hold your hand out to the guy, who finally passes you the ball. He watches you go with a smile until a passerby bumps into him, after which he finally turns around and leaves himself. Zeke still has an eye on him in the crowd when you notice them, picking up the pace as you wave.

“Hey!” you grin, coming up to them with a jog. “Sorry about that. It wasn’t stuck in a tree, by the way. I, uh... just hit a guy by accident.”

Your eyes flit to Zeke, clearly expecting him to make a funny remark, but he only shrugs. “I said what I said,” he repeats. “That was a pretty long apology.”

“I’ve made longer ones,” you say, pointedly, but glance back to where you last saw the accident with another laugh. “Funny thing, he’s a med student at the university.  I met him when I confirmed my slot the other day. What a coincidence, right?”

“Yeah,” says Zeke, giving you another chuckle even if he doesn’t really get what’s so funny. Unlike his pupil, he takes care to hide the If you say so in his tone. 

--

You play catch a little longer after a snack break, asking Colt about his family (or Falco, mostly, when he visibly winces at the f-word), and avoid any more overthrow incidents for the sake of your pride. Is it your fault you assembled weapons better than you threw a dumb ball? Mr. Ksaver used to say no, but then he made you catcher more often back in the day, too.

Colt turns down Zeke’s offer to join the Yeagers for dinner, having promised Falco and his parents he would come home as soon as he was finished today. The two of you consider buying food on the way home, but you aren’t sure that Mrs. Yeager has returned, and it’s best not to let his grandfather be alone for too long, especially when he’s expecting you.

You still wish you hadn’t said all that about leaving on your first night. Dr. Yeager has forgotten many things, but he’s remembered the important ones. You wonder if that’s worse. 

“Tired?” Zeke asks when you’re near the house.

“Huh? Oh—no, why?”

He shrugs. “You’re quiet. Unnatural, is all.”

You elbow him at that. “I was just thinking. You weren’t talking to me either. Are you tired? Old age, perhaps, Mr. Zeke?”

Zeke sighs, as if he didn’t start all this, and as though it pains him to deal with such a child. “I’m turning twenty-five, Lucy, not fifty-two.”

“So you don’t want a cane for your birthday?”

He’s clearly trying to push down a grin, which only makes you cackle. Zeke forgets why he was so pensive himself as he forces a stern look on his face, his best Magath expression. “Keep laughing. I’m—”

His retort dies in his throat as you turn the corner. A familiar man stands near the door to the Yeager household. He’s dressed in casual clothing, wearing a white armband to blend in, but his posture is unmistakable. 

You’ve stopped in your tracks, already pallid next to Zeke, but the man hasn’t noticed you just yet. “We can always take a detour,” he offers. “Swing by that one dessert place near the Lorenzes’. Or was it called the Lorenzes’?”

You give it some thought. It’s tempting, but you doubt Dr. Yeager left the house today, and you don’t want him to be alone. “No. She shouldn’t even be here.”

“All right,” Zeke says, and leads the way ahead. You follow closely after him, hands cold as you undo the ribbon from your hair and comb through it in an attempt to make yourself more presentable. You end up tying it into a loose half-ponytail again.

The guard at the door smiles warmly at you, in contrast to the scrutiny he has always reserved for Zeke, even if he’s the one who gives him a cheerful wave. “Evening. Long time no see!”

If Tybur guards were permitted to look sour, the man at the door would. But that isn’t part of their training, so the man only turns to you as if to ask if Zeke is being as much of a nuisance to you as he supposes, or perhaps hopes. Unable to humor him at the moment, you only raise a hand in greeting and head inside after Zeke.

You know exactly what you were expecting, but that doesn’t make you any more prepared for the familiar sight of a woman waiting at the dining table, a glass of water raised to her lips. She wears a shawl over her hair, but you don’t need to see her face to know her. 

“Mila.”

Of course she must be announced before she cares to look at you. With reproach, because you shouldn’t say her name around here, but your curiosity and frustration overpower any possible embarrassment in that second. Still, she says nothing until she notices Zeke at your side, which is the only time she sets the glass down to acknowledge him with a nod. “Zeke Yeager. You’ve certainly grown.”

Standing next to you, Zeke takes just a step forward and nods in return, but he seems to have no intention of shaking her hand. Not that she’s offered it. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Mila, gesturing to the water as she rises. “I treated your grandparents to an early dinner and asked for some time alone. They mentioned you were due to return home soon.”

Zeke only inclines his head again, a silent shrug as careless as the day he first met her, only this time he knows who she is. You wish you could affect the same nonchalance, but you do mind that she’s here, again, in the place where you feel safest.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mila?” you cut in.

Or try to, because Mila continues to smile at Zeke. “I would greatly appreciate a word alone with Lucy, Zeke.” 

Zeke doesn’t say anything. He only glances back at you, his face expressionless, but you know the question in his lowered head. You want to tell him to stay, to grab his hand which must be warm compared to yours, all clammy—if only you didn’t have your pride to consider. That and you don’t want Mila talking to him more than she has already. So you respond with what you hope is an encouraging smile, even if his knowing gaze makes your fingers tremble. He nods and steadies you with a squeeze of your shoulder before leaving the room.

When you’re finally alone, Mila sighs, the picture of poise you can only attempt to play at as she finally allows you to meet her gaze. “I merely thought you knew better, Lucy.”

“Better than what?”

“Than to go through with this… scheme,” she says, settling on the word as though it isn’t exactly what she thinks of it all. “You were permitted to take the state exam, but you know very well it should have ended at that. The gall of proceeding with this farce… Really, Lucy, I thought even you above it.”

The words pierce right through you, though you remain perfectly still. Again you tell yourself you’ve been through worse with your former drill instructors, with Magath, who has called you much worse in the regime’s bid to train perfectly mindless Warriors, and you try to replace the hurt with the indignation you felt all those years ago. 

Struggling to keep your posture from slipping, you ask, “Does Willy know you’re here, Mila?”

She gives you the lady’s equivalent of a snort. “I don’t require my husband’s permission to go where I choose.”

“Then why,” you repeat slowly, doing your best and somehow managing to sound perfectly level, “are you here? I thought my departure would please you of all people. Please tell me, Mila, how I’ve offended you by choosing to pursue the medical profession.”

You raise your head as you speak the words, almost proud—or thinking that Zeke will be, because you’ve never spoken this way to Mila, you doubt anyone has—until she laughs, and you want to shrink into the ground so she can squash you like a bug and end this misery. You bite your tongue to keep yourself on your feet as she answers, “Let’s not pretend that you do this for a cause so noble as that.”

Now you’re genuinely confused. “...Why else would I be doing this?” 

Suddenly, Mila’s eyes flash with anger. “‘Why else?’” she mocks, her venom teetering on the edge of propriety. “To shirk your duty, of course. First you convinced Lord Walter to let you escape it for thirteen more years, and now you pursue this ‘dream’ of yours? Don’t think for one second,” she might spit, if she weren’t so dignified, “that I’ll let you foist it off to one of my children before it’s time!”

She hasn’t advanced an inch, but you find yourself taking a step back. That a single movement can cause you to feel so breathless is ridiculous, but you feel the emotion rising in your throat. You try to swallow it down nonetheless as you gawp at her like a stupid little fish. Your chest feels completely hollow, and your stomach has sunk to your feet. “You…” you gulp again, mouth dry. “Mila, you think I would do that?”

“Not even a denial,” Mila murmurs, unmoved by your clear distress. “You should be ashamed, you selfish girl.”

“Mila,” you say her name, as though it’ll make her look at you any different, listen to you for once, “I didn’t ask father for anything. In fact, I begged him for the War Hammer.” You are strangely calm even if you’re on the verge of tears, even with your composure on its last legs. “Why would I ever want my nephews to go through the training? If I could keep them from inheriting it one day, I would. How could you ever think otherwise?”

Your voice twists with pain at the tail end of your question. For a moment, you almost think you see sympathy in Mila’s eyes. Maybe belief, even just pity—but it must only be the vain hope your heart knows too well, because she only scoffs. “Your nephews,” she sneers as though you’re lying. “You needn’t pretend that you care for my children.”

You cannot understand how she can think that of you. You’re aware she isn’t fond of your spending time with them, and it’s always been Willy’s invitation that permits you to see their children. But you’ve always believed that was due to her own feelings about you. You’ve never imagined it might be because she could truly believe that you could want less than only long, happy lives for them. That you would wish those dear children harm, even passively.

“Mila!” you finally react, halfway between grief and fury when the door to the hall swings open, slamming into the wall next to it as Zeke sweeps ahead of you. His heavy hand finds your arm again, and he yanks you behind him, his back as steady as your knees are trembling. 

“I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Zeke says simply, face impassive, as if that isn’t the flashiest entrance anyone has ever made on your behalf. He uses the Warchief voice you made fun of the night he forgave you, only now you are incredibly grateful for it. The truth is it does suit him—deep, stern, and utterly cold—especially when he’s using it to protect you. 

Mila watches him, bug-eyed as she trembles with fury. “How dare you. After the kindness my husband has shown this family?”

“Be careful, Lady Tybur,” Zeke says lowly, very literally looking down his nose at her. “The walls here are thin, and we want our neighbors talking about as much as you do.”

Gently moving you aside, he makes his way out to the front door and opens it. The general noise of the city rushes in with the cold night air, putting an end to any words that might be left between you. Mila seems doused herself, maintaining only her dignified displeasure, and she walks out without another word. 

Zeke shuts the door. He mutters something about getting the locks replaced as he turns toward the dining room, but you’re already behind him, close to the stairs. The sudden quiet is deafening.

“Thank you,” you say to him, trying but failing to give him that same smile he received before he left you with Mila, and leap up the stairs, skipping a few steps in your haste. 

“Lucy.” You’re as spry as ever, but that’s never mattered where Zeke is concerned. He goes after you, calling your name, and is upon you before you can flee to your room. “Come on, Lucy.” His hand finds your shoulder again. He lets you shake it off, but it’s enough to get you to stop.

You’re not breathing. Mostly because your nose is full and your eyes are blurry, and exhaling means letting him figure that out. You inhale through your mouth instead, hoping he can’t hear you gulp as you take another step toward your room. “I mean it. Thank you,” you say, inwardly cursing your shaking voice. Your throat aches all the way to your ears. “I just want to be alone right now.”

Zeke’s voice is quiet now. Gentle, which makes it worse. “Do you really?”

You can’t help it. You turn around, as pathetic as that snot-nosed brat from years ago. You’d thought that after you discovered Mila’s ploy to make you hate the only people who have ever loved you apart from Lara that her words would lose their power over you—but here you are, a woman grown, eyes still brimming with disappointment, lips quivering like a little baby. 

Zeke watches you, quiet under the stark light of the hallway. You feel naked. Aren’t they supposed to be dimmer?

“Lucy, you know what I wanted from Grisha. Just like I know what you wanted from Mila.”

His compassion makes your face scrunch up in anguish, but you’re still trying to bite it back. Wiping, covering your nose with your knuckles, you peer up at him, feeling smaller and smaller the longer it takes you to just open your mouth. “...You gonna call me a crybaby?”

The hallway light seems so bright now that Zeke’s eyes are shining too. His voice remains soft as if to make up for it. “Aren’t you?”

He smiles tenderly, and you can no longer hold it in. Six years without comfort catch up with you in seconds and you burst into tears, stumbling toward him. He opens his arms to you, one hand sinking into your hair, drawing you into his chest. The other gently rubs your back as you weep into his shirt, grieving for something you’ll never have.

“Were you… were you listening?” you ask in between sobs, muffled by his now rumpled button-down. 

You feel Zeke nod against your head. “I didn’t—I don’t trust her. And…” he takes a second to clear his throat, “you shouldn’t either. I know how much you love those kids. So do my grandparents.”

The truth only makes you cry harder, but he doesn’t complain. Even in his silence, Zeke is all warmth, his comfort steadfast despite how uncomfortably damp you’ve made his chest. His shudders too, but eventually, the even rise and fall of it brings you down to hiccupy whimpers that his hands, stroking your hair and your back, soon manage to quiet. You expect him to let you go, tease you about it the way he has before, but his arms are still wound tightly around you, soothing. You don’t know that he’s been alone all this time too.

You’re the one who pulls away after what feels like both an eternity and a brief moment, avoiding his gaze as you mutter an apology. He doesn’t say much either, only leading you to his room and guiding you to sit at the edge of his bed. Handing you a clean handkerchief this time, he leaves the room and then reappears with water. It’s almost enough to make you break down again.

You drink through it and blink away the emotion that still gurgles in your chest. Zeke has sat next to you, arm on his knee folded over the bed as usual, ready to reach out if he has to. You feel as grateful as you are pathetic. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

Zeke shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You can’t resist your humorous huff at his teasing, even if you do flick a finger at his arm. 

“Ow,” he whines, flinching very affectedly, only to grin as you chuckle hoarsely. You fall into another silence as you take another drink from your glass. When your eyes are surely dry, he looks at you again. “Do you want to tell me a story?”

You consider it, but he already knows your history with Mila, and you feel childish enough as it is. This isn’t the Lucy you wanted him to see.

Your eyes are puffy as you smile at him, but you are smiling. Genuinely, even if your face feels gross and raw. “You like listening to me that much?”

Zeke glances away and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look around you. I’m a captive audience.”

In spite of everything, laughter bubbles out of you. Zeke rolls his eyes but says nothing else, just letting you—until the creaking sound of the front door opening reaches you both. You freeze, fingers reaching for your face, and quickly get to your feet. “I’ll go wash up. Can you come up with an excuse for me?”

“You don’t have to—” Zeke begins, until you give him a funny look. Your face is puffy, sticky with dried tears, not to mention you can’t breathe right. He cuts himself off and shrugs helplessly. “Go ahead. I need to change, anyway.”

His shirt isn’t as damp as it was before, mostly wrinkled since it’s dried, but you smile sheepishly anyway. “Sorry.”

He’s turned for his closet by then, only waving you away, so you hurry over to the bathroom and lock the door as you wash your face with cold water. You consider showering, but you would never do that before dinner if you can help it and then the Yeagers will know something is amiss, which defeats the purpose. Instead you linger in the bathroom, cupping cold water to your eyes until you feel a little less like sleeping, like you used to do after a good cry.

You hear voices calling from downstairs and feel Zeke’s footsteps outside. He manages to buy you time, but inevitably knocks on the bathroom door saying Dinner. He leaves you to follow after a while. 

Correctly guessing that you and Zeke would not have started with dinner by the time they arrive home, the Yeagers bought you meals instead. Predictably, they speak highly of Mila and ask after her as you dig in, and it’s Zeke who changes the subject to Colt’s weekly improvement. It works, with the topic settling on the Grices. Dr. Yeager accepts your excuse of it must be the weather when he asks why your nose is all stuffy.

“Lucy,” says Mrs. Yeager, while Zeke tells his grandfather about Falco, “did you see your letter?”

You cock your head, finishing up the last of your plate. “My letter, Mrs. Yeager?”

“You haven’t seen it?” she asks curiously, but brushes the question aside. “I brought it to your desk when it arrived. I believe it’s from Lara.”

Her face lights up watchings yours. Mrs. Yeager knows you well enough, after all, to understand how much you looked forward to those letters as a girl. And she’s right—much as you dread news from the Tybur family, a letter from Lara is still a letter from Lara. “Go on,” she pats your hand. “We can handle clean-up.”

“But—”

“Go on,” the Yeager men turn on you and insist, and you smile, thanking them with a nod before bounding up the stairs to your room. True enough, an innocuous white envelope sits beneath your paperweight, and you have to take care not to rip it to shreds in your haste to reach its contents. 

Sweet Lucy, Lara begins as she always has. She talks about the estate, mostly, the summer flowers that bloom in the gardens and the pair of sunbirds that have finished building their nest by your old window, because you both know she can’t talk about where Tybur business has taken Willy and, as a consequence, his War Hammer. She mentions your nieces and nephews, how the twins have both said their first words, and to your delight sends Fine’s love (and quiet insistence that you visit as often as school permits). 

With little else to discuss apart from her own questions for you, she finally explains why she has written ahead. Mila, she writes in code, has business close to the city. Sister may deign to see the doctor this week. It’s too late for that warning, you think glumly, but it’s not Lara’s fault. And anyway, you’ve forgotten all that by the time you read her parting words. Not her old I miss you every day, or even With love, Lara, but her little postscript, which you know is hardly an afterthought. She must simply not have known where to place it. 

Small wonder now that she hasn't bothered to send Willy’s regards.

Brother means to visit Liberio soon.

////

Thank you for reading! I know I had a footnote for something in the chapter, but I've forgotten now. Oops. I'm sure I'll edit this later when I remember!

04/24/21 edit: I remember now. Is it obvious how much I wish Colt and Lara had more screentime? XD Lara’s not all that talkative here either (aloud anyway) but I’m so excited to write a little bit of her POV way way down the line. (I actually did write a little of that earlier and then made myself all sad 😪)

I'd love to hear what you think!

[giggly-squiggily]

At Ease, Leo (Black Clover)

Heyo! So, this is a re-upload of my fic “Calm Yourself!” on my other blog (and also called “Take a break” on ao3 Because I can’t decide on a name, lols) Sorry I haven’t been posting as often! I hope this makes up for it! X3

Also, Spoiler warning for Black Clover Vol. 5-7! (Chapters 35-62) (Chapter 172)

Summary: Leopold has been overworking himself during training. Fuegoleon comes to remind him the importance of a break.

When Fuegoleon was told where Leopold was, he wasn’t surprised.

Be it, a tad frustrated, but not surprised.

Ever since the Crimson Lions' Captain had entered his coma state, Leopold had been training nonstop. Constantly working on his magic spells and enhancing his battle technique had become top priority. Now that Fuegoleon was awake, feeling stronger than ever, you'd think Leopold would slow down a bit and give himself a day to rest.

Nope. He was as dedicated- and as stubborn- as ever.

This inherently wasn’t a problem. Becoming strong was a big part of the Vermillion honor, and the training helps a lot when you're a magic knight. It was, however, a problem when you don’t give yourself enough time for rest. The captain had heard many reports already of Leo collapsing from exhaustion, only to get up and throw himself back in when he was awake once more.

This was getting unhealthy; Time to put a stop to this.

The second eldest Vermillion walked into the courtyard, finding his brother immediately among the ash and smoke. At first glance, Leopold looked fine, bright and lively. Fuegoleon could read the signs though. His arms were starting to shake as he held them up, and his normally bright green eyes seemed dimmer. His stance was unsteady.

Even his fire magic was weaker, and slowly starting to wobble out of control. He needed to step in. “Leo.” He called, making his brother shoot up straight and whirl around. “Oh! Fuegoleon! You’re here! Did you come to see my new spells! I’ve been improving a lot since you-” He stumbled on his words here, eyes dimming even more before he shook it off, grinning up at his brother. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna show you just how strong I’ve bec-”

“Leo.” Fuegoleon cut off his ramblings, making the younger boy straighten up with a tiny yelp. “While it's true you've improved in your strength, that’s not why I’m here.” He took in Leo’s exhausted state before continuing. “I’ve been hearing about your training regimen, and while I think it’s good you're improving, you shouldn’t overwork yourself either.”

Leopold casted his eyes downward in thought, biting at his bottom lip before looking up at Fuegoleon with a forced smile. “I’m alright! Really! I can’t stop until I’ve surpassed you and my rival!” He pumped a fist into the air, though it threw him off balance slightly. Fuegoleon quickly intercepted him, catching his brother in his arms. “You can barely stand, Leopold. You need rest.”

Leopold cast his eyes downward once more, his cheeks puffing out stubbornly. It was rare the younger Vermillion pouted these days, especially around his brother, but he was tired and it was just the two of them. No need for appearances.

Fuegoleon bit down a chuckle, resisting the urge to reach up and poke his brother’s cheek, the way he did when Leo was just a baby. Thinking back, Leopold had taken quite the stubborn side, even as a small child. He remembered the various ways he and Mereo used to get their baby brother to behave.

Speaking of…

Fuegoleon looked down at his brother now, memories resurfacing in his mind as a warm smile crossed his lips. “Leopold. I will give you one more chance to take a break, or else I will be forced to reprimand you.” He said in his most commander voice, knowing full well what would happen. Sure enough Leo only pouted more, even going as far to cross his arms with a ‘hmmph!’

Well. That was that then.

“Alright. You have forced my hand, Leo. Prepare yourself!” Leopold barely had any time to react before he full body spasmed, falling against his older brother in a hysterical fit of giggles as Fuegoleon tickled him, ten deadly fingers poking at his sides and ribs with merciless precision. “GAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA! NOOHOOHO! NHOOHOHO THIHIHIHHIHCKLING! HAHAAHAHAHA!” The smaller Vermilion squealed, trying desperately to escape. It was useless, for he was far too ticklish for his own good, and Fuegoleon had a pretty solid grip on him.

“I’ve warned you Leo! You refused to take a break, and directly defied an order from your Captain! This is what you deserve!” He said this with a soft smile as he utterly destroyed his baby brother, leaving no spot un-tickled. He tickled him until he was as red as his hair and practically pleading for mercy. “AHAHHAHAHHAHA! OHOHOHOKAY! IHHIHIIHI GIHIHIIHIVE!”

Fuegoleon stopped his tickle attack, watching his brother all but fall against him, breathing heavily and wrapping his arms loosely around his waist. Once he recovered, he managed to sit up properly, staring down at his hands. “Now that I’ve made you take a break, do you want to tell me what’s really going on?” The captain asked, his voice soft as he took in Leo’s sagged shoulders.

For a minute, it seemed Leo wasn’t going to speak. Eventually he confessed. “I...I can’t stop thinking about what happened to you.” He admitted, bowing his head to hide his eyes. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you lying there, bleeding out on the pavement as those bastards laugh. You almost d-died.” He choked through gritted teeth, forcing down the lump in his throat. “And I..I-I couldn’t do anything about it! I stood there, watching you bleed out. I didn’t stand a chance against the people that nearly killed you!” Leopold clenched his fist, knuckles white as bone. “That’s why I need to get stronger! I don’t ever want to be helpless in a fight again!”

Fuegoleon watched his younger brother with soft, sad eyes before reaching over, resting a hand on his messy mane. Leopold froze briefly, shocked out of his spiraling thoughts. “It’s alright, Leo. I’m not going anywhere.” He gently pulled his brother close to him, wrapping his arm around his shaking frame. “They caught me by surprise, and I won't let that happen again. There's no need to work your body beyond it's limits. Don’t overexert yourself because of me.” He smiled down softly at his brother. “Besides, Mereoleona would be rather upset if you pass out spontaneously again.”

Leopold let out a choked laugh and reached up, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You’re right. I’ll...I’ll take a break.” With that, the two walked back inside. Leopold at some point leaned into Fuegoleon's side, his fatigue making him feel too lightheaded to carry on. "I'm happy you're back...I missed you."

Fuegoleon smiled softly, hugging his brother tightly. "I missed you too. Like I said, I'm not going anywhere. Not again."

I hope this was good! Once again, my apologies for the lack of posting lately! I’ll have some good fics coming out soon! Thanks for reading! X3

[villainousshakespeare]

A Forest Interlude Chapter 23 - Visitors

Summary: Eleonore (OFC) discovers a wounded man in the woods near her home and seeks to heal him. Little does she know that it is none other than the heir to the throne, Prince Hal of England.

Chapter: 22 of 25

Rated E

Warnings: smut, sex fluff, angst, oral sex, fingering, hand jobs

(spoiler - don’t worry, it will all work out okay in the end)

In this chapter:  Nell receives some less than welcome visitors.

Read the entire story on AO3

@nrthmnsplbnd09 ;  @nonsensicalobsessions @yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @from-hel-i-with-love  livviedoo @hopelessromanticspoonie @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @dangertoozmanykids101 @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @shiningloki @hiddlesholic @isitmadnessrpg​

Nell sat on the wall overlooking the inner courtyard of the house, eyes glued to the figures battling below. For the life of her she could not make out any concessions the combatants were making to safety. It looked for all the world as though they were actually trying to kill each other. Still, Hal had assured her that short of a bruise or a pulled muscle no harm would come to him, and it was exciting to watch him fight.

She had never been one of those women to lust after warriors, but then she had never seen a warrior quite like her husband before. Hal's tall, lithe body made the deadly moves seem more like a dance, the sword an extension of his arms. There was a catlike grace in it that she found unexpectedly arousing, although why it should surprise her she didn't know. Everything her new husband did seemed to arouse her.

Hal had not been joking when he threatened to keep her locked in their rooms for the start of their marriage. For the first week they had left only a handful of times, and even then he had kept possession of her hand, or and arm firmly wound about her. Her trips to the privy were the only moments she had been out of his presence. The rest of the time had been delightfully filled with romance, food, or just sharing silly tales of their childhoods.

Finally, after a week had past, her insatiable husband had sighed that he did have some responsibilities that could not be neglected, even for so tempting a distraction as his bride. It seemed he took his duties more seriously than she would have guessed, sitting on several councils in London, seeing to the needs of his lands scattered throughout the kingdom, and keeping up a grueling workout regimen.

Nell had responsibilities of her own, but made time to watch him with the last, as seeing him work up a sweat tended to do the same for her. She knew from the last two days that when he had finished below he would wink at her, and raise his eyes to their rooms, racing to meet her there. She would take great delight in stripping his armor from him and bathing that overworked body, kissing every last sore spot that he had acquired in his training. She rather fancied he made some of them up, but she was not complaining.

"You Highness," the low voice of Cecil, Hal's major domo, sounded behind her making her start, "there's a visitor at hand."

"A visitor? We had not planned on one."

She was still not used to hearing herself address with a royal title, and blushed every time one of Hal's servants did so. This dour man especially made her feel the merest rustic. She could not believe that he could approve of her.

"Tis only young Ned Poins, so please you ma'am," he shrugged. "An intimate longstanding of the prince. He often calls at any hour of day."

"The prince is at the moment occupied," Nell said, wincing as Hal took a particularly hard blow, "but since he is so good a friend to Hal, pray send him up and I will see to him."

Nell spared a brief moment of regret for her appearance. She had not planned on going out today, and their own household, even now combined, must be used to her ways by now. She was dressed in her boys garb. She was more comfortable this way, and Hal seemed to be partial to the look. Hopefully this Ned Poins would not take disgust at so casual dress, but if he was truly a good friend of Hal's she could not imagine him being so particular about such things. She had to admit that she did not look forward to meeting someone who had been so integral in Hal's wilder days.

"So you, I take it, are the little wife. I now begin to see the reason why our Hal hath been a truant these long days."

The young man walking towards Nell set her on edge from the instant she saw him. His hair, lank brown, hung down about a sharp, sallow face. Brown, keen looking eyes were rimmed by dark circles and shot through with red, and his clothing was rich but disheveled. All in all he looked thoroughly dissipated for one of his youth. And this was an intimate of Hal's?

"I am, good sir. My name is Eleonore, but all my friends do call me simply Nell," she said, shoving down her unease as she rose to offer up her hand. The man kissed it with practiced flair that was almost mocking. "I hear you are a friend of my dear lord."

"More brother than a friend, I blush to say," Ned smiled. "I'm sure he's told you many tales of me."

"Some, yes, although I think that most of them, from little things that he has let slip out about your wild exploits in the past, are not the sort of things one tells one's bride."

She hated that she sounded so prim, but everything she had heard of Hal's time with Ned was the part of his life she feared the most. The thoughtless, bullying exploits they had pulled on those of lower rank did not sit well with her. And, of course, she knew that this man was Hal's partner in carousing the alehouses and brothel's of London. She did not blame him for her husband's coarse past, but nor did she like to be reminded of it.

"It is a very wise wife that doth know that there be things a husband should not tell," Poins said with a sage grin. "For what concern should such things be to you, as long as he doth keep them from your eyes."

"You misconstrue me sir, I meant not so, that Hal should keep from me his future acts," she replied tartly. "But only that such follies of his youth, that he partook in ere we two did meet, need not upset our happy current peace."

"Why is our rapscallion so far reformed? Then tis a miracle and God be praised! For your sweet sake I hope it may be true, but leopards they do say change not their spots. And so I hope you be not too upset when he doth wander back to his old ways. You have acquired the title of Princess, and weighed against so great an honor won, what is an indiscretion now and then?"

"It looks as though they have now called a halt," she said tightly, noting that the clanging of metal had ceased. "Come, I will take you down to where he is."

"There is no need, for certs I know the way," he smiled thinly, and with a quick bow turned and walked towards the stairs.

Nell followed quickly after him, fighting to compose her face into softer lines, not wanting to show her quick dislike, bordering on hatred, of Hal's friend. Her husband, sweat drenched but laughing with his master of arms, looked up as they came down into the yard, his smile at seeing his wife dimming for a so brief a moment Nell thought she must have imagined it as his eyes lit upon Poins.

"What, Ned? We did not think to see you here," Hal said with a tight smile, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. "I see that you have met my darling wife."

Reaching out, Hal caught Nell's arm and pulled her tightly against his body. She squirmed a bit, suddenly finding herself being embraced by a metal clad arm. Still, after the slithery comments Poins had tossed off before, it felt good to be reminded of Hal's affection for her.

"We have begun to know each other well," Ned smiled. "And I do hope to know her better yet."

"Not too well, thank you Ned, an if you please," Hal's voice was dampening as his fingers dug into Nell's arm. "But tell me, what doth bring you to our house?"

"Perhaps you two would like some time along," Nell suggested, wanting to be anywhere but around this obnoxious friend of her husband's. "Why don't you, husband, go upstairs and change, your friend can go along and wait for you."

"I'd much prefer to have you help me sweet," he purred into her ear, sending a wave of desire through her.

"Oh, come now Hal, tis been more than a week," Poins laughed. "You must be over bedding her by now!"

"I'll just go see refreshments may be brought," she said quickly before he could answer. "Now go, and do not let me hold you up."

With a reluctant look, Hal bent down to kiss her slowly, hand running up her back as he did. For a few sweet moments she forgot that they were not alone and leaned wantonly into the embrace. All too soon it was over, and he raising each of her hands to his lips before trudging off with a smirking Ned to their rooms.

"I've never cared o'er much for that young man." Nell spun to see Cecil standing behind her. How the man managed to sneak up on her every time she had no idea. "The likes of him did often hang about before the prince did meet you some time back. It hath been good to see him break away from such rude boys and men of ill repute. You have, I think, brought out his better side, if I may be so bold to say it, ma'am."

Nell stared at Cecil as he gave what she was coming to realize was his version of a smile. Tentatively she smiled back, realizing in surprise that she had an ally in the man.

"I'll go and see the prince is brought some wine," Cecil told her, pulling back into himself. "And hopefully he soon bids Poins adieu."

Nell smiled walked out of the practice yard. It seemed she was at loose ends. She had no idea what to do with herself. It had been some time since she had been alone, and suddenly she longed to be at home, able to stride out into the wood and ramble at will where ever she chose. Hal had spoken the other night of a wedding trip, perhaps she could convince him to go someplace more rustic, where she would not be so hemmed in by propriety and safety concerns.

A pounding at the gate grabbed her attention, and she changed her direction to see who now was at their door. She arrived to find half a dozen men in red livery, swords at their sides, being escorted quickly inside. The gateman was scrambling to accommodate them, babbling that he would quickly go to seek his mistress.

"No need to seek, Nathaniel, I am here," she said, stepping forward.

The leader of the strange guardsmen, a tall, sinewy man of middle years, turned to her and gave a crisp bow.

"You are the Lady Eleonore D'Amboise, who lately wed unto the Prince of Wales?" he asked in formal tones, eyes flickering in disapproval over her boy's clothes.

"I am good sir, what would you have of me?"

"You shall, My Lady, come along with us," he instructed, not making it a request.

"And where, I pray you, is it that we go?" she asked, not moving a step.

"My Lady Nell, do you not know that crest?" her gateman asked quickly, agitation clear in his voice.

"Nay, I do not, but I know curtesy," she snapped, not liking the way they were all looking at her. Her nerves had been put on edge by Poins, and this additional intrusion into her peace did not sit well with her. "This is my home, I'll suffer no commands, unless they come from my husband alone. Who else would dare to give me orders here?"

"Your Highness, these are soldiers of the King," Nathaniel told her. "Their orders carry all of the throne's weight. Forgive her sir, she is but new to town. You must, My Lady, go along with him."

"Indeed it seems I must, forgive me sir," she blanched, all of her haughty indignation leaving her at once. "Permit me just to go and change my dress."

"Our orders are to bring you in at once," the guardsman said brusquely. "We have not time to spare for your toilette."

"I must at least alert my husband sir, lest that my absence leave him in alarm."

"Your man can see to that, now come your ways. We've been already too long at this chore."

"Nathaniel, see his Highness is informed," she quickly told the man, "and bid him if he would come join seek me out, for I will need his escort home again."

"Aye that I will my Lady, count on me!" the gatekeeper assured her, on impulse taking off his burgundy cloak and handing it to her. "Perhaps it shall be chilly ere you're back."

No longer able to stall, Nell allowed herself to be escorted from her home, thankful for the man's kindness. It was a balmy day, but the cloak allowed her to cover most of her unconventional attire. That it was also in Hal's color gave her a sense of security as she trotted along in the center of the group of armed men.

She could not begin to think why she was being summoned in such abrupt fashion to the court. From the brief note they had received from Dr. Hobbs, expounded upon by another from Jon and her mother, she knew that the King seemed to be fully recovered from his illness. She knew Hal also had a man at court particularly watching to make sure that his father did not suffer any ill effects, and that they would have been sent word at the least bit of trouble.

Did this mean, she wondered, that the trouble was she herself? Could it be possible that, now that he had had time to recover and consider it fully, King Henry had decided after all to try and dissolve their marriage? Hal insisted he would not, but Nell could not be so sure. He was a proud man, and even more than her less than regal birth she knew the King was offended by the fact that she and Hal had openly defied him. Was this borderline clandestine summons an attempt to separate her from him, that she could be more easily bundled off to some remote location, Hal none the wiser?

She was beginning to panic she realized, and forced herself to remain calm. There was no reason to suspect the worst. Even if it was the King's plan to be rid of her, Hal would not abide it. Nathaniel would tell him where she had gone, and he would race to secure her release. Why, even now he could be but moments behind them, riding to her rescue.

Unless, of course, Poins was correct and he was beginning to tire of her. That had obviously been the point of all of his thinly veiled thrusts at her. The man clearly was jealous of her place in Hal's life, and his ouster from it. No, she would trust in her husband, in the love that they shared. Nothing in his manner had given her to believe that he was anything but besotted. Why, even his leaving of her had been heated to the point that she feared they would disgrace themselves in front of his guest.

Hal would come. All would be well. There was no need worry. But maybe, just maybe, a little worry was understandable none the less.

[intothestarkerverse]

Welcome to My Dark Side (2)

Sequel to ‘Time of Our Lives’

Tony Stark has done his best to fit into the 21st century by embracing his new role, new family, and even his new nicknames.  Determined to become a hero worthy of calling Peter Parker his life partner, everything seems to be going better than he could have hoped…until Tony’s efforts to help Peter uncover the truth behind his parents’ death put everything he knows and loves in terrible danger.  In the face of absolute darkness, how can love and life survive?

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

“You have breakfast yet?”  Tony eyed the six year old perched on a stool at his breakfast counter.  Her responding expression was beyond her sparse years, little mouth drawn into a serious frown, brows furrowed, dark eyes humorless with their intensity.  “Guess I should ask if you had anything good for breakfast, instead, right?”  Without waiting for a response, he turned back to his cupboards, plucking two bowls, two spoons, a carton of milk and a box of cereal out before precariously balancing his bounty back across the kitchen to the counter.

Morgan immediately perked up at the sight of the sugary breakfast treat that Pepper tried very hard to keep away from her growing daughter.  The fact that she had dumped Morgan on him this morning because she had an early morning conference call with someone in Japan just meant that Tony had a chance to spoil her, and spoil her he would.  Tony couldn’t bring himself to look on her as a daughter no matter what genetics said about the matter, but he’d always wanted a little sister and Morgan Stark was special in every single sense of the word.  He loved that kid and he’d happily murder anyone who even breathed on her wrong.

Morgan examined the box of cereal carefully as Tony prepared their meal, amused by the sugar-covered pieces of processed grain in the shape of tiny arc reactors and corresponding red and gold iron man helmet-shaped marshmallows.  “Let’s not tell your mom about this, huh?”

Morgan cocked her head at him, providing him with a half smirk as she chewed.

“Yeah, okay, don’t know what that means.  Kid, you’re the most cryptic six-year-old I’ve ever met.”  He enjoyed a few spoonfuls of his own bowl before he thought to ask, “Happy’s taking you to school in a bit, right?”  Pepper hadn’t said anything about Tony playing chauffeur, but he also hadn’t been paying much attention when the mother and daughter had arrived early that morning either.  Pepper could count her lucky stars that he didn’t require a lot of sleep and that he was still almost obsessively focused on the puzzle that Fury had presented to him after the fundraiser or he’d likely have been down for the count like most of the civilized folk in Manhattan at that hour.  As it was, he’d been deeply ensconced in his workshop with something that was going to benefit his future plans with Peter...a project he’d had to artfully hide from Pepper before she connected the dots and realized something he’d rather she not know.  

“Mhm,” Morgan barely afforded him a grunted response around her heaping mouthful of cereal.  It really was a shame how Pepper fed this kid.  Cutting sugar out of her breakfast food regimen was un-American.  School plans settled, the two fell into a companionable silence, eating their cereal and glancing over the graphics of the Old Man on the box from time to time.  Some kind of idle statistics about his do-gooding and IQ adorned the back.  The IQ was off by twenty points.  He was going to have to make them fix that.  

Tony didn’t realize Morgan had finished her cereal until he looked up from the box to find her staring at him with that same intense expression.  “You okay, Maguna?”

“How come you and daddy are the same?”

Tony almost spit his cereal out.  Somehow, he managed to swallow it in a gulp and stall for time with a little coffee as he coughed and sputtered on the soggy grain and milk.  “Uh, well, it’s just genetics kid.  You and the Old Man are a lot alike, too.”

“Um...no.  You and daddy are just alike, TJ.”

“Okay...well...there’s an explanation for that...”

Morgan pursed her lips and raised both brows at him, moving to a kneeling position on the stool so she could lay across the counter and reach out to place her hands on his face.  “You look just the same.  And sound just the same.  And your fingers are the same.  You’re the same as my daddy.”

Yeah, okay, so she was a Stark and he really should have seen this coming.  He could almost pity Howard in this moment if this gave him any clue about what he’d been like as a six year old.  Christ.  Tony cleared his throat, searching for something to say to explain it all away.  Instead, all he could do was stall for time.  “How did you figure this out, Kid?”

“Miss Friday helped me.”

“Seriously? What do you have to sat for yourself, Fri?”

“You told me to assist in Morgan’s education whenever possible, Boss.”  Tony let out a long sigh, that had not been what he meant.  “She asked me about your fingerprints and voice analysis and how they corresponded to Mr. Stark’s so I provided her with detailed comparisons of both.”

Tony tapped the back of the little girl’s hand on his cheek with his finger.  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

“Cause I am.”

“Mhm, and what made you think to compare my fingerprints and voice with your father’s?”

“My teacher said everybody has a voice that is just their own and not like anybody else in the whole wide world but you and daddy sound just alike.  Sometimes when you put me to bed I close my eyes and pretend you’re him.”

God, she was actually trying to kill him, now.  Tony felt his throat constrict as he plucked her hands off of his face and gave them a tight squeeze.  “I’m not your daddy, Morgan.  I wish I was because you’re so damn smart and beautiful and amazing, but I’m not.  You’re right, though, I’m not you’re brother either.  I just....I really need your mom and everyone else to believe that I am so can this be our little secret and I promise that sometime real soon I’ll sit down and tell you everything, okay?  For now...believe me when I tell you that your daddy is out there watching everything you do and he’s so freaking proud of you kid.  Whenever you see a rainbow or a shooting star or something crazy good happens to you out of the blue, that’s your dad telling you how much he loves you.”

“3000.”

Tony blinked away the tears in his eyes, clearing his throat and abandoning the counter to tidy up.  “Exactly.”

“Boss, Happy is here to pick up Morgan for school...” Saved by the AI.

“You hear that, Maguna?  Get a move on or you’ll be late.  Wait...I want a hug first.  Yep, that’s the stuff right there.”  He buried his nose in the little girl’s hair for a moment and gave it a good ruffle with his fingers before he let go.    “Be good and kick butt in school, okay?  Love you, kid.”

“I love you too, TJ.”

“3000?”

A pause.  “2005.”

“Ouch.”

~~~~~

“I’m still not sure about this.”

“What’s not to be sure about, Beautiful?  I’ve thought of everything.”

Peter turned back to the holographic read outs with a long sigh.  They were blueprints of the old Oscorp labs, or at least what little information Tony had been able to hack his way into at Shield, along with a few other reports that looked like weather and topographic readouts of the area.  Peter knew that this was their best bet, but he didn’t like it.  He didn’t think he could attribute it to his Spidey Sense, or Peter Tingle as the rest of the Avengers had taken to calling it (thanks to May).  No, it didn’t feel quite the same.  There was no sense of impending danger, just a heavy blanket of foreboding that was threatening to choke off his air supply.  Tony obviously didn’t feel the same, so maybe he was just being silly.  Or maybe he wasn’t.

Peter was supposed to tell May that he was going on a spring break trip with Tony, MJ, and Ned.  While MJ and Ned were actually going to go to Florida to live it up, he and Tony were heading to upstate New York to infiltrate Osborn’s lab.  Ned would be armed with a special Stark Phone that Tony had outfitted with the tech to provide realistic synthetic substitutes of Tony and Peter.  If May or Pepper sent texts, they were going to get varied and believable responses meant to replicate the young men’s actual speech and text patterns.  If they called or video chatted, a variant of the BARF technology was going to provide a realistic computerized response that would again fool the older women into thinking they were both in Florida living the good life by utilizing actual noise pollution and visuals from Ned and MJ’s vacation.  The guilt of leaving May at the airport thinking they were taking Tony’s private jet to Florida when they were instead flying headfirst into danger...it was almost suffocating and he couldn’t ignore the worry any longer.  “What happens if we’re not back in a week, Tony?”

“If we’re not back by the time that MJ and Ned have gotten back, than Friday is going to reveal our true destination to May, Pepper, and Fury so arrangements can be made.”

Funeral arrangements or just rescue mission arrangements?  Peter wanted to ask, but he knew better than to say any of that out loud.  He and Tony rarely fought, but Peter knew that nothing made Tony angrier than mentioning their own mortality.  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”  Because Peter wasn’t sure at all.  He’d heard Tony’s argument a hundred times but part of him still felt sick at what they were planning to do.

“Your parents are out there.  They’re alive.  We don’t leave men behind.  Besides, if there is something big and nasty coming than we need to know what it is and how to stop it.  I refuse to do what the Avengers did and just sit around waiting for the Big Bad to come knocking down our door.  We’re not going to be surprised again, Peter.  Whatever this bad thing is...we’re going to identify it and even after we close that gateway...we’re going to be ready for it because there’s no guarantee that closing the gateway will end the danger.  None.”

Peter could only nod slowly.  “Yeah, okay.  No, you’re right.  Of course you are.  I’m just...I’m nervous about getting my hopes up and visiting another world and just...everything.”

Tony laughed, reaching out to tug Peter across the room and into his arms.  His lips ghosting against the younger man’s, breath hot against Peter’s mouth as he embraced him, “We had sex in two different times, Baby, now we get to consummate parallel earths.  Tell me that’s not hot as fuck.”

“Depends on the parallel earths.”

Tony snorted a laugh as he nuzzled into Peter’s neck and nipped at his ear, “You need to stop worrying.  We’re superheroes, Baby.  Arguably the two best superheroes on the planet.”

“Only because Thor is off world with the Guardians...”

“Honestly, you and Thor.  If I didn’t know better, I’d be jealous.”

Their conversation died off as the Quinjet came to a quiet landing.  Peter held onto Tony for several more seconds, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the older man in an attempt to calm the frenzied beating of his heart.  Finally, though, he gently pushed himself away and tapped his watch to engage the Ironspider suit.

Several things became apparent to Peter as the two descended the ramp from the cloaked jet plane.  This was clearly going to be even more difficult than Peter had thought.  Fury hadn’t been lying when he said that Shield had sealed the lab in an attempt to prevent anything from the Gateway from breaching the outside world.  From outward appearances, it looked like the entire building had been encased in a giant block of cement.  “Uh, so...” 

“Don’t worry, I had the Iron Legion working on our way in for the last twenty-four hours.  Believe it or not, inside this cement, there’s another layer of titanium.  Anyway, it took six suits, but we have a way in.  Follow me.”  Iron Man circled the building with Spidey close on his heals.  The moment they turned the corner, Peter could see the suits.  It appeared that they’d concentrated their repulsers into a succession of laser-like beams that had sliced a rectangular chunk of cement and metal to reveal one of the doors on the blueprints.  “I’m leaving them on guard duty while we’re gone.  Friday will make sure that nothing comes out of this facility until we get back...and if by some miracle something gets by, she’ll radio the New Avengers.  You don’t have to worry, Pete.”

“Famous last words.”  It was in times like this that Peter found himself missing Mr. Stark.  Tony just hadn’t experienced the level of failure and defeat that Mr. Stark, or even Peter, had.  He didn’t know to expect the worst, but Peter did.  He cast a wary glance at the Iron Legion, biting his tongue as Tony moved for the door.

It came open with a pop, the musty smell of stale air, dust and mildew washed out around them.  Peter only got the smallest whiff before he felt the filtration system in the suit come online. 

The interior looked like nothing but darkness.  No light could penetrate from the concrete and titanium covered walls, so there was nothing visible beyond a few feet into the entry.  It wasn’t as if Mr. Stark hadn’t thought of those concerns a long time ago.  Something as mundane as darkness was hardly any match for Iron Man.  Lighting and night vision had been built into the earliest models of the suit, after all.  As Iron Man stepped into the abyss beyond, that tech came online to illuminate the area around him and several feet in front of him.  A similar array of artificial illumination ignited on the Ironspider suit as well.  Gulping back his fear, Peter reached out to close the door behind them and they were bathed in black.

The entire facility was filthy, awash with dust, debris, and cobwebs.  Out of the corner of his eye, Peter caught sight of what he could only assume was the corpse of a fallen Shield Agent, but he did his best to avoid looking at it for too long.  Still, the momentary glimpse of the skeleton was burned onto is retinas.  “Tony...”

There was something wrong with that sight.  The body.  As much as he wanted to avoid looking, he couldn’t help but glance back towards it.  “Tony, if the building is sealed...how is that body not mummified...”

Tony was already bending over it to examine the bones as the oddity of the body struck him as wrong at almost the same time.  “I think these are tooth marks...”. He held up an ulna, running an armored finger over the grooves on the bone.  “These are definitely toothmarks.  Friday says they appear...humanoid.”

Peter certainly hoped that Tony couldn’t hear him gulping in fear behind his own mask....but with the sensitive comms, he probably could.  “Tony...what are we locked in here with?”

“I don’t know.  Let’s just...be careful, and hope that Peter Tingle of yours is on point tonight.”

“Spidey sense.”

“Hmm,” Tony reverently replaced the bone and stood, brushing off his gauntlets.  

“I prefer the term ‘Spidey Sense.’ “

“Give me one good reason why I should call it Spidey Sense, Baby, because that name isn’t nearly as funny...”

“Because you’re the only thing that makes my peter tingle.”

Tony had to brace himself against the wall to support himself as he laughed.   “God, Beautiful, every time I don’t think I could love you more...you go and drop one of those gems on me.  Damn.”

Peter’s response was lost on his lips.  He felt the telltale warning of danger shiver down his spine as he caught sight of movement just at the periphery of their location.  There wasn’t time to warn him, there was really only time for Peter to fire a quick line of webbing at his lover and tug him back as something dark and terrifying lunged from the shadows.  Peter could swear he could hear it moaning the word ‘meat.’  

“What the fuck...” A repulser blast bit into the wall inches from the creature, scorching its arm and the tatters of what appeared to be clothing and once more driving it back into the shadows before either hero could get a good look at it.  “Well, at least we know what ate the bodies...”

“Yeah, Tony, that’s not nearly as comforting as you think it is.”  Even worse, perhaps, were the observations from both Karen and Friday that the creature had no heat signature and wouldn’t be visible on infrared.  Now their trek through the building was much more careful and calculated.  There were signs of the creatures everywhere.  Claw marks on the walls, ransacked rooms, shattered furniture, the little skeletons of rats and mice and anything else unfortunate enough to have been sealed into the lab with them.  It was only the knowledge of the Parkers’ distress call that kept Peter moving through the corpse of the once thriving laboratory.  His parents were alive.  They’d escaped this place, and so would he and Tony.  They just had to.

At least Tony seemed to know where he was going.  He’d studied the blueprints much longer than Peter and had no doubt pinpointed precisely where a lab with a dimensional gateway would be located.  Neither man mentioned the occasional sound of shuffling footsteps, the soft grunts and moans, the momentary glimpses of shifting shadows.  There were clearly more than one of those things in there with them, but for the moment, they were hanging back.  Maybe Tony had scared them with the repulser.  Or, maybe as with many of the hunters in the animal kingdom, they were stalking their prey and waiting for exactly the right moment to strike.

The Gateway didn’t look anything like Peter had imagined it would.  Shows like Stargate had always made them out to be large and imposing, a shifting, whirling mass of colors housed within an intricate metal or stone structure that provided it shape.  This portal was anything but. 

Peter could barely make it out without one of the specialized lenses of his suit.  To the naked eye, it appeared as little more than the somewhat fluid appearance of very hot air on a humid July day.  It was in that subtle wavering of the light that the slightest glimpse of a world beyond their own could be captured...but never long enough to make anything out.  A quick sweep of the area showed that the portal was being maintained by a strip of metal along the ground that was joined to a large and imposing computer.  While Peter had been examining the Portal, Tony had been taking stock of the technology.

“They cut off power to the lab in the hopes that it would cause the Gateway to close.  It didn’t, which means that whatever is powering this portal isn’t coming from our dimension anymore.”

“That’s comforting.”  Peter reached out to touch the shimmering air.  As his finger hit the air, the tip of it vanished.  He felt nothing.  No pain, no tingling, no disconnection.  Nothing to suggest it was a portal to another world besides the fact that the tip of his finger had vanished before his very eyes.

“Peter, stop poking the portal.  It has a radiation signature...”

The young man withdrew his hand quickly, glad that Tony couldn’t see what he was certain was a guilty look on his face.  Neither of the men had withdrawn their suits since entering the laboratory.  The air inside the lab was breathable, if their read outs were any suggestion, but also so stale that it would likely not be pleasant for either one of them.  Besides, with those monsters running around, it seemed smart to have some kind of protection on hand.  Now, with what looked like a radiation signature emanating from the portal...the suits were staying on for the foreseeable future.

Tony was busy patching one of the main computer terminals into a handheld arc reactor to allow him to reboot and access the information they both hoped was still accessible on the hard drives while Peter was pacing the lab like a nervous animal in a zoo.  Just like a nervous animal in a zoo, he could feel what was an indeterminate amount of eyes trained on his every movement and his inability to know where they were or what they were planning was making his every instinct scream warnings in his head.

Desperate for some distraction, Peter started to look more closely at the room itself.   It looked as if the place had just been abandoned in the middle of a shift.  There as a mug of coffee by one terminal with what appeared to be dried contents of a cup still housed within it.  A stack of granola bars and food from what must have been a break room vending machine  sat next to a swath of complicated equations that Peter picked up and shuffled through silently.  Not everything was immaculate, however.  A few desks had been upturned.  Chairs broken.  There were bullet holes in the wall near the door and the door itself had clearly been forced open from the outside by organic means.

“I think...I think after they sealed them in here, my mom and dad must have gathered some supplies and tried to stick it out in here.  But um...whatever’s out there...it must have wanted them pretty bad.”

Tony glanced up from the computer, the expressionless mask of his armor giving Peter no hint as to what was going on in the mind beneath.  

Peter’s foot met with something on the floor and it skittered forward.  Upon closer inspection, he recognized an old school camcorder with a tape still housed inside.  “You um...you think you can make this work?”

Tony had already Jerry-rigged a thumb drive to the computers’ memory to download any and all information he could.  Waving Peter over, he took the camcorder and in a matter of minutes had it once more powered up, tape rewound.

For several seconds it appeared to be a tape recording the team’s initial attempt to establish the Gateway.  Then, the scene cut out and a familiar face came into frame.

She was a little older and much less put-together than she had been the last time that Tony and Peter had seen her, but there was no mistaking Mary Parker for all that she and Peter resembled one another.  She was dirty, sweating, tired, but still very much alive as she addressed the camera.

“If you’re seeing this, than that means you came back for us...which...all due respect, Fury, but that was stupid.  I told you we’d be okay if you sealed us in here, that we’d figure something out...and we did.  I think.  I hope.  No, I’m sure that we did.”

A loud sound shook the frame and with wide eyes Mary glanced off camera where Richard was shouting “Hurry up, Mary, we don’t have a lot of time here.”

“Right.  Right.  We can’t stay here, Fury.  The anomalies are...they’re not like we thought.  They appear to have higher brain function, an ability to communicate.  They’ve displayed a remarkable ability to reason and hunt and now that they know they’re trapped in here with us...that we’re the only food supply left...they’re pretty determined to eat us.  So uh....it’s time to go.  And since we can’t get out of here through the door....we’re going to use the Gateway.”

“I’ve had a little bit of time to work on the math.  I think I understand how this thing works at least as well as the men who built it...which arguably isn’t very well.”  She held up the swath of complicated equations that Peter had seen on the desk nearby.  “It’s all here.  I’ll...leave if for you.  Hopefully...hopefully it‘ll still be here for you.”

Another loud sound, a curse from Richard, and Mary paled considerably.  “I’m sorry...I’m sorry I’ve got to cut this short.  I...I can’t shut the Gateway down because it’s not being powered by our dimension anymore.  Unless or until we find the power source, this thing is open for good...but I can change the world it opens up to.  We’re not going to the world where these things originated...but beyond that.  I don’t know.  I’m going to try to make it home, Fury.  But if we don’t...you keep your promise and you make sure my baby boy is taken care of, you hear me.  You owe us that.”

The sound of wood splintering, of those creatures hissing and screaming and moaning.  The camcorder dropped, still recording and slid against a desk, catching the image of Richard and Mary Parker as they ran through the Gateway to the screams of the monsters they left behind.

Peter closed the camcorder, hands trembling slightly.  “Tony...if those things are as smart as she says...why aren’t they coming after us?”

Tony hazarded a glance towards the broken door and rubbed the back of his neck with a gauntlet.  “I don’t know, Beautiful, but I don’t like it.”

Peter considered it for a moment.  “Maybe they’re trying to get out again...”

“I don’t care how scary they are, Peter, there’s no way they’re getting past the Iron Legion.”

“So...when they can’t get out the door and they realize that we’re the only food source...”

Tony cursed, “Yeah.  I think the ones we can hear are sentries...”

“They’re watching to make sure we can’t get away.”

“‘Fraid so.  Or hoping that when we get done here we’ll leave them an opening to get out.”

Peter was already gathering the papers his mother had left behind, stuffing them into a briefcase he’d found discarded beneath a desk.  He threw the camcorder in with it and after a moment’s hesitation grabbed the handful of granola bars as well.  They probably didn’t go bad, right?  And he might get hungry later.  “What I don’t get...is why they didn’t go through the portal, too.  If they’re smart and they’re hungry and they’ve been surviving in here for over a decade....why not try that other world out?”

“Because your mother was smart enough to leave it open to a location they wouldn’t be able to utilize, Pete.  Radiation signature.  Whatever is on the other side of that portal is deadly for them...at least as deadly as it would be for us.”

“But my parents...”

“They didn’t go through to that world, Pete.”  Tony gestured to a read out near the floor where a long alphanumeric sequence could be seen.  “You can see most of the readout on the video.  It’s not the same.  After your parents went through...they must have found a way to redial the Gateway and make sure it emptied to someplace...innocuous.”

Peter didn’t know if this new made him feel better or worse.  “Okay...so...what’s our next move...” His words died on his lips, replaced by an anguished cry brought on by what felt like the pain of being set on fire.  His Spidey-Sense had never felt like that before.  It had never been so strong that it was excruciating, but as his gaze moved from Tony to the doorway and he caught sight of what had triggered the tingle...Peter completely understood.

His Spidey Sense was right.  

They were so totally and completely fucked.

[ao3feed-iwaoi]

one extravagant family quarrel

Read this masterpiece on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2ENTb2T

by sumeshi (hannies)

Iwaizumi should be elated to be here. Any sane person in his position would be. But the unfortunate truth is that when you’re dating a six-foot-tall menace of an Olympic athlete, who follows his ten-step Korean skincare routine more closely than his training regimens, things are never that simple.

(Alternatively, Iwaizumi can't catch a break at the Tokyo Olympics.)

Words: 8532, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru, Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Japanese and Argentinian National Teams

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Olympics, Established Relationship, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, misuse of instagram stories and the olympic condom machine, i'd like to formally apologize to miya atsumu and sakusa kiyoomi

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2ENTb2T

[baconcolacan]

Hello! I hope you are well, I have some questions:

1- I know I've already asked this question and I think it's the third time I've asked it, but how would Hillarson's unit react if they found out that the red leader is in love with Tom? Would them suppose that would be the reason Hillarson cares so much about Tom?

2- If R!Tom were a cannibal, would R!Tord still love him?

3- What do Paul and Patryck think about their leader wanting to make Tom his own?

4- (It's a stupid question) What does R!Tord think of Tomme bear?

5- The entire Norwegian EFA unit is dead?

6- Are all sentinels programmed to kill soldiers? If so, do civilians also count? What if a sentinel came across a child, would he kill him?

7- What were Hillarson's unit's thoughts on having an EFA soldier join their unit? What were their thoughts after Tom attacked Finnigan?

8- R!Tom has depression?

9- Regarding the question you answered about their heights, are all your AU's the same height?

10- If R!Tom told R!Tord that he was bored, what would R!Tord do?

Thanks for writing such an amazing fanfic like regimen! I told my friend about the fic and now every night we start reading regimen and go through chapter 8.

When he read about Morales' death it affected him so much that he dreamed about him, I remember he told me, Hey, I dreamed about Morales 😭

Oh! He is drawing a regimen drawing for you! He hopes you like it, he hasn't finished it, but he's very happy to finish it, well this is getting too long and I don't want to waste your time.

Have a good day and take care of yourself! ^^

Hello! Hahaha I hope you're doing well too <3 Answers below the line

1- Notable people like Morales, Finnigand, Baxter, Corporal and Hilarson himself might feel disgusted for Tom as well as flabbergasted that that was the reason why RA was hunting him down. People who may not know Tom well might be sorry for him, and those who left the unit earlier on might even push for Hilarson to give Tom up faster.

2- Odd question but yeah, R!Tord would still "love" him 3- They think its weird but don't mind it much, its none of their business and it isnt the first time they went with the whims of their leader.

4- It's cute. He thinks its precious that Tom still has it.

5- :)

6- Sentinels are generally programmed to kill soldiers only. Civilians are usually avoided, but if a fight happens in a residential area some casualties may occur, but as their A.I. develops that happens less. So no, children aren't among the body count, usually.

7- The unit was....very hesitant. I wrote about it a bit in Regiminis but EFA soldiers have a bad reputation in the army, mostly because it's an accepted fact- though not readily admitted- that EFA soldiers aren't meant to survive their station. After the attack on Finnigand, they became wary of Tom and his reactions.

8- Yup.

9- More or less yeah! I might change it around a bit but they often stay around the heights I assigned.

10- :)

OOO IM EXCITED FOR THE DRAWING!! THANK YOU FOR LOVING MY FIC SERIOUSLY <3 Take care of yourself too!

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Juliet Dies in This Chapter Six: Life

Claire is alive. She is not well.

Welcome to the final chapter, sorry for the late update! In exchange, have some art of Jim and Claire.

If anyone thought this was going to be a happy chapter, though... well, trigger/spoiler warning for offscreen torture and death, mentions of malnutrition, PTSD, and some internalized ableism.

Also, huge thanks to everyone who has reblogged the previous chapters of this fic.

AO3

FFN

The walk to the hospital felt so very long.

The walk to the hospital was two agonizing blocks and one alley they had taken because Claire had taken one look at the mass of people and –

She didn’t remember what she did, but she remembered Jim and Toby trying to calm her down, telling her that she didn’t have to interact with a lot of people yet, that they knew a shortcut.

What had she been thinking? That once she got out of the Shadow Realm, her anxiety would suddenly go down to zero?

The entire way to the hospital, Claire had been on the edge of a panic attack and she didn’t know why. She was safe now. She had saved Enrique. Her friends were still alive. Jim was alive. She had escaped. A mob of people doing last-minute Christmas shopping – because she had been there for six months – wouldn’t be able to hurt her in a meaningful way, so why was she so scared?

Was it because everything was so loud? She was used to sounds only happening because she made them happen, but she had been always listening to make sure Morgana wasn’t coming back to torture her.

Claire was thankful for the diversion from the crowd. Her knees, ankles, and hips were not thankful for the supposed “shortcut.” She had tried to keep up an exercise regimen, but it was hard to keep to a schedule when the passage of time was a nebulous concept. The amount of weight she had lost didn’t help, either.

Jim didn’t let go of her hand. Toby only let go of Claire’s hand when he needed to readjust Enrique. It was better for him to hold her brother; there were sharp edges on his armor. He was less of a hazard.

The waiting room for the clinic was empty. There was a clock reading 3:46, and it ticked, because time was meaningful on Earth. The receptionist looked up and immediately reached for their pager. “Doctor Lake? Your son and his friends are here.”

Barbara must have been close, because not a minute later – Claire kept the clock in her vision – she came barreling down the corridor.

First Barbara’s eyes landed on Toby, and she looked relieved to see Enrique, alive and mostly well, aside from the cut on his hand. Then her eyes passed over Claire in favor of Jim; Barbara had a look of frustrated concern upon seeing Jim’s burns. It was as if burns from the sunlight was a too-common occurrence. Then, finally, Barbara noticed the figure standing between the two boys.

She looked like she had seen a ghost. Claire didn’t fault her for that; just because she was opaque didn’t mean the girl who had jumped through the portal hadn’t died six months ago.

Barbara recovered quickly. “Toby, take Enrique to the pediatric ward. Jim, I’m sure you know where the burn treatment center is.”

Toby ripped his hand from Claire’s with an apologetic look. “I’ll call your parents, tell them that you and Enrique are here,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Jim began to move away from her, too, and in panic – chains, Blinky, torn, snapped – Claire used her other hand to hold onto his. Immediately she felt guilty, but she did not let go.

“Hey, Mom? Is it okay if I stay with Claire for a bit?” he asked, giving her a comforting smile. Or at least, it was supposed to be one. Claire took no comfort in the situation, no matter what changed.

“Five minutes, maximum, and then you’re getting those burns looked at.”

They walked to an empty patient examination room. Claire couldn’t remember if this was the same one where Barbara had proclaimed that Claire’s illness from the portal was due to stress. She hoped that Barbara had gotten better with identifying the symptoms of dark magic.

There was a scale and a blood pressure cuff in the room. Claire felt her eyes widen; she didn’t want anyone to see her. She didn’t want anyone to see how much she had been warped.

 “Can you take off your armor?” Barbara asked. Claire’s joints ached even when her armor braced them; if she wanted them to heal, she would have to let a doctor see them. Barbara had accepted when her son had become a troll, so she was the best bet for not casting Claire away in horror.

Claire braced herself against the wall with one hand. With the other, she closed her fingers around the crystal in the center of her breastplate and pulled it out. Her armor glowed and was pulled in like a star into a glowing black hole. Her porcelain-white hair floated around her head for the briefest of moments as she placed the crystal in her pocket, carefully wedged so that she could don her armor again in a half-moment’s notice.

Someone inhaled sharply. Shock, probably, from seeing the way cracks crawled their way up and down her arms, with a concentrated group around her wrists and elbows. From seeing the irregular choker of cracks around her neck, a scar from when her neck had snapped when she had first become trapped; a brand that said no matter how many times Claire died, Morgana would resurrect her again just to make sure the agony never ended.

She was thankful that she woke up cold, and wore sweats, socks, and a t-shirt instead of the tank top and shorts she had gone to bed in. She wished she could be wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, and a hood, and gloves, and maybe a glamour mask while she was at it.

Taking off her armor was a mistake. Not only was she shaking, but they knew, now. They knew that she was not the Claire they knew anymore; she was broken, and her body was just a bunch of brutally glued together pieces. She was very tempted to take out her hairclips and hide behind her hair like she did as a child.

“Hey, Claire?” Jim asked. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”

“What?”

“I mean, you wore your Papa Skull shirt when… on that day, when you and Toby were putting on your armor.” His face fell, but then he grinned. “Why are you now wearing gym clothes?”

She couldn’t help the laughter that caused her to nearly double over. “You, you aren’t even funny,” she said when she was able to catch her breath. How long had it been since she had laughed like that? How long had it been since she had last smiled?

Barbara pushed her glasses up slightly to pinch her brow, despite her shoulders shaking slightly from laughter. She and Jim then helped Claire to the scale.

Concern flashed across Jim and Barbara’s faces as they saw just how little Claire weighed. Claire didn’t think her weight was that bad; it was harder to see her ribs than when she had first escaped Morgana.

She had to be helped to the bed, too, because her arms and legs ached, and she didn’t want to risk triggering a panic attack by levitating herself. Claire pressed her lips together and tried not to think about the way the blood pressure cuff squeezed her arm.

“Hey, I don’t know if I told you this, but that was pretty cool, what you did with the chains,” Jim said. He was trying to distract her. She appreciated it, because logically she suspected that no one wanted to attack her in this hospital despite her anxiety telling her to be vigilant.

“Thanks,” she said, the energy from her laughter gone. She glanced at the blood pressure monitor and realized that she had no idea what 130/78 meant, though she was pretty sure usually the top number was lower.

“Claire, I’m going to ask you some questions. Jim, go get your burns treated,” Barbara said as she removed the blood pressure cuff.

“Yes, Mom,” he said, reluctantly. “See you in, like, twenty minutes, Claire.”

Claire waved and winced at the strain.

“The places where the cracks are,” Barbara said. “Do they hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Claire said. Her eyes darted about, looking for a clock. Twenty minutes. One thousand, two hundred seconds. Without a clock, it meant nothing to her. She didn’t hear a ticking noise.

“Have you… were any of your bones broken?” Barbara asked, and her voice was awkwardly stiff, like she was trying to stick to a procedure. A list of questions to ask a former POW, or something.

Claire nodded. “They… they got healed, though.”

“Okay,” Barbara said, writing it down. “Can you say how long ago that was?”

“No.” Claire found the clock. It read 2:10. A large post-it note was on top of it, and it read “REMINDER: FIX!”

“Do you think they’re the reason why you have difficulty walking?”

“Uh… no, it was… it was… I’m sorry.” Chained, pulled, snapped, slammed –

Claire gnawed at her lip. She was supposed to be okay here. “I can’t remember which, which method of torture made my joints bad.”

“It’s okay, it shouldn’t affect the treatment,” Barbara soothed; she pulled her stethoscope from where it hung around her neck. “I’m going to check your heartbeat and breathing.” She pulled Claire’s shirt up from her back. Barbara’s gasp would be inaudible for anyone who wasn’t hypersensitive to every sound.

The feeling of the cool metal circle against the crisscrossed scars and cracks was an odd one, but Claire tried to keep her breathing steady.

“Well, the good news is that your heartbeat and breathing are normal,” Barbara said. She smiled, and Claire tried to mirror it. Her own felt like an ugly, broken mess.

“When was the last time you ate?” Barbara asked.

Claire shrugged. “I… I don’t know, I guess in the last day?” As if on cue, her stomach growled. “Yeah, last day, since my body is still acting human.” She had come to notice that if she didn’t eat for a long enough period of time, her magic would switch on to keep her alive. She always felt more tired than usual when that happened, though. Maybe more depressed and anxious, too.

“When was your last period?” Barbara asked.

“Um, like, a week or two before the Eternal Night?” Claire said. “I… I think between the, the torture and the forgetting to eat it just… stopped.”

Barbara pulled out a small flashlight, and then put it back into her lab coat. Since she then began to gently feel around Claire’s head, Barbara must have realized that Claire didn’t have pupils anymore.

“I’m going to start an IV,” Barbara said. “Will you be okay for that?”

Piercing, claws, heart, ripped –

“I should be,” Claire said, blinking away the flashes of memory. “Will you be able to find a vein?”

“Your veins shouldn’t be harder to find than Jim’s,” Barbara said, feeling around Claire’s elbow. “Make a fist?”

Claire looked away but complied.

“Your parents are going to be so happy to see that you’re alive.”

Would they be, when they saw?

Pain, piercing, claws, gold –

“Are you cold? I can go get a blanket,” Barbara said. Claire realized she was trembling, and that there was an IV drip connected to her arm.

“I, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you have a lot of flashbacks from what happened to you, in the Shadow Realm?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You’re safe here,” Barbara said, looking Claire in the eyes. “And even if anyone were to come after you, I keep an enchanted knife on me these days.”

And Claire had her armor, and her magic, and maybe she could fight well enough. She was exhausted, though.

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” Barbara said. Claire realized she must have frowned or did something wrong because Barbara rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s hospital food, not my cooking. The bread shouldn’t upset your stomach.”

Claire was pretty sure she had eaten a jalapeño or two while in the Shadow Realm, but bread was fine. Barbara left the room. Claire was alone, again.

There was noise, though. A lot of noise. Had Earth always been so loud?

Enough time passed for Claire to count forty of the white parts of the triangles in the ground, with the couple times she had restarted twice because she had lost focus because a noise outside had startled her.

Claire heard three sets of footsteps as well as Barbara’s voice.

“She shows some signs of malnourishment, and I’m going to want to run x-rays on her later, to see how well her broken bones healed, and also maybe find a cause to her bad joints,” Barbara said in a hushed tone. The footsteps stopped outside the door. “And, please don’t take this as a formal diagnosis because I’m not a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I think she might have PTSD. She’s really spooked, and she says she often has flashbacks to her trauma.”

The door opened.

Barbara held a small tray of food, but despite her hunger she wasn’t the person Claire focused on.

Claire’s parents looked ecstatic, and then bewildered. And why wouldn’t they be? They were expecting their daughter, not a girl covered in black cracks with white hair and black-and-purple eyes.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to put on her armor, even though surely that would make her parents realize who she was.

“Claire?” her mom asked in a shaking voice. Her mom’s voice never shook. Her dad looked like he was about to cry but was holding himself together for the sake of her mom and Enrique. Enrique, whose hand had been bandaged from where the sorcerer had cut him.

Claire couldn’t bring herself to speak. Couldn’t speak, not really, not with the panic settling in. The muscles in her jaw and neck kept twitching as the left side of her mouth kept trying to move downwards. It wasn’t a frown her face was trying to form, it was a raw expression of pain she knew too well.

She missed them so much, but surely they would leave, now that they knew the truth about her.

Claire gave a slow nod, and that was enough permission for her family to suddenly be close and hugging her.

Suffocated, restrained – no. Claire forced herself to breathe deeply.

She had survived the Shadow Realm.

She was safe. She was home.

She hugged her parents back and began to weep.

She might even get to live.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

It's fine if I'm used to it.

Confession: I love Ichihoshi. I'm the first to point out flaws in Inazuma and, well, Orion is clearly not exempt from that. I know Ichihoshi's redemption arc isn't the best, that it has wasted potential (especially with Mitsuru being heckin' ded), I know. And even then? I'd protecc Hikaru. He falls into almost all of my favorite character credentials: hardworking, good-meaning, pretty intelligent, cool motif, (most likely has whump stuff attached to them in canon...). Oops. About this oneshot, it's abstract on purpose because, well, you've most likely read the tags. It's almost a cryptic character study because, man, I want to write more about this stardust boy. Most likely won't be this abstract next time. It's also much softer than the previous one because I felt softer and sweeter this time, enjoy the calm before the storm, before the storm before the calm. I've taken a lot of liberties with the actual nightmares Ichihoshi is shown to have in the anime, but hey, fanfiction is also for that, right?

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Wishing Upon a Shooting Star in the Twilight Sky

Summary: Hikaru, the eyes who slither in the dark, and an ever-changing corridor. Nothing out of the ordinary. (or: yet another feverish nightmare in the mind of a boy who used not to have people to rely on)

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin (spoilers for up to episodes 13-16) Relationship: Ichihoshi & Inazuma Japan

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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A pair of eyes welcomes him as soon as his lids open, shining in the dark, viciously staring at him wit the intensity of a thousand stares. He remembers the story of the poisons of poisons and wonders if those aren’t the eyes of the eyes, those who can see through walls and peek behind the curtains of the mind, those who ignore the skull entirely.

He’s too used to them to be scared of them anymore, so he gets up and running for the day, dressing up as the red irises still dissect his anatomy from where they stand, shrouded in the darkness of the corners of the bedroom.

 It always feels cold, his skin shivering, hair dressed on his arms and legs before he puts on a jacket and decide to ignore the chills. The eyes don’t leave their prey, the shine of a fang piercing through the shadows like a claw tearing through a curtain, but that’s to be expected. There’s still a hinge of fear in the back of his mind, the non-null risk that he could get eaten alive, but he shouldn’t let that phase him. He’s not a prey worth the effort anyway.

He exits the unfamiliar room, ready for the day, leaving the creature in the shadows as the day finally shines upon this country again, sunlight bathing the corridors through the windows. It’s soothing, somewhat.

 The faces around him ignore his presence entirely. Far away, his brother, his beloved older brother, glaring at him, surrounded by people whose language he suddenly doesn’t understand anymore, whose alphabet reads like drawings on old stone walls. He’s lost and getting scared, the place changing constantly, and he’ll never get used to how the colours and noises keep transforming each time he tries to focus on one sound or object.

His forehead hurts from how many things his brain analyses at once, trying to give sense to the nonsensical maze of sensations swirling around him. He feels smothered, wrapped by a snake that doesn’t exist, head like a nebula who cannot settle for one star and instead decides to confuse him even further. He’s in the eye of a tornado, watching its curves surrounding him with nothing but confusion and a headache.

 He manages to peek through the wind curtains, handing his hand outside as to try and catch his brother’s attention, yelling but never hearing his own voice doing so. His brother’s name is missing from his boggled memories, those trying to claw at his wounded throat during this moment of vulnerability, so he calls out in vague manners, words running away from his mind. And yet, despite the dread, despite the panic and despite the horror, it feels like a déjà vu.

He’s been here before, he realizes, as he notices the patterns the walls’ changing forms adopt. They switch in cycles, colours succeeding each other in disharmony, unsynchronized among themselves to create a nauseating vertigo, whose dazzling lights blinded his eyes used to the darkness, rendering him dizzy. And, even then, he can still notice the cycles and how they function, using what’s left available of his brain to clear his way out of the mess.

 His brother glares at him from the outside, defying him with a smirk to get out of the tornado. Closing his eyes as not to enforce his migraine, he steps blindly forward, hands trembling and eager to find a wall to find some new failsafe support. His fingertips don’t quite touch anything of note, brushing against the temperature-shifting air he breathes. He continues on anyway, now aware this is a place he knows, a corridor that makes sense if he stops seeing it.

He needs to exit this place, this is all that comes to his mind. The creature will soon get used to the dizzying sparks of the outside. The storm will let down only once he’ll have found a room of calm and serenity. He’s used to it, he knows where he should be heading: the dark blue door, the one decorated with starry-like white dots that reminds him of the night sky. He remembers it so clearly.

 He trips on a misplaced carpet and scratches both knees and palms in his attempt at stopping his falls. It stings, but he’s used to such small pains, and he continues walking as the wooden floor under his feet starts catching on fire behind his back. It smells like ash and smoke, going into his nose and down his trachea, making him cough as he tries to still breathe. His sense of smell is neutralized, with his earing and touch all he has left to guide himself. It’s fine, he’ll manage: sensory deprivation isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

Around him resonate double, echoing laughter. He doesn’t recognize the voices enough to tell who they belong to, yet they’re familiar: they sound like former friends who turned his back on him once upon a time, people he’s wanted to forget the faces and names of, who’ve only stared at him with vengeful eyes since then. Some sound more common than the rest, others are more recent and he can swear he hears accents in some of the whispers thrown his ways. It’s fine, he’ll manage: being told he’s useless and getting threatened for being ineffective isn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

 He falls again, but this time, his eyes open. Before him is the bloodied hand of his brother and blue irises staring right into his, daggers planting themselves in his flesh as wooden shards search for a way to pierce through his legs’ skin. It hurts, he thinks he may have sprained his wrists and ankles in his fall. The hand is unwelcoming, the smoke invades his vision, makes his eyes tear up and blurry, water running down his cheeks. He still takes the offer nonetheless and tries rising to his feet, only to fall back down as he gets thrown backwards.

His brother sneers, words unintelligible, but hurtful anyway; and, in a moment of solace, he witnesses his own past self get engulfed by the snake who slithers in the dark of his bedroom, until the fangs throw themselves at him and he stops feeling anything.

 It’s fine because he’s used to the acid inside this deadly jaw, it’s fine because he’ll wake up in a sweat, just like he does every time. It’s a loop he’s not found the hole to yet, but this time, he finds back the hope spot before he can—

 Not unlike every other night before, Hikaru wakes up in a bolt, drenched in sweat, light hurting his eyes from how suddenly they’ve snapped open. His vision is blurry at first, but then clarifies, and he notices something strange right from the get-go: he isn’t alone.

Hanging right over his is the face of Endou, looking right at him. By sweeping across the room with his glance, he recognizes other faces: Nosaka, Hiura, Mikado, Asuto, Nishikage in the distance. It’s not his bedroom either: it looks like they’re near the pitch instead, if he can trust his sole vision of the ceiling and vague patch of green on his left.

 “Ichihoshi, can you hear me?” Endou asks, looking somewhat concerned.  

He tries smiling as an answer (that’s kind of a weird reflex to have), but chooses to also add a weak “yes” to his reply.

“Thank goodness!” Asuto sounds relieved. “We were so scared when you just collapsed like that!”

Ah, he’s forgotten to wonder how he even ended in this situation. On the other hand, is there really a point in asking himself questions he can’t find a reply to? His head is a mess.

 He feels something cold and wet being put on his forehead. He tries to put a hand on it to identify that, but his wrist won’t move, and he wonders if he’s not sprained it. Of course, it’s not possible: that was in his dream. He’s wide awake now, as he can tell from the lack of eyes trying to peek into his mind’s stained secrets.

“Take some rest,” Endou continues speaking, this expression not leaving his face.

“W-wait… What happened…?” He manages to ask.

 Endou’s face gets pushed aside by Nosaka’s, whose eyebrows are frowning and usual smirk has made a hundred-eighty. He looks less than pleased.

“Like Asuto just said, you suddenly collapsed during our usual training regimen. Technically, you merely fell asleep, so we were relieved until you started thrashing in your sleep.”

“Ah, yeah,” Asuto chimes in, “that was scary! Are you sure you’re okay?”

Good question.

“I guess…?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Nosaka comments, arms crossed.

“You have a fever,” Mikado ends the sentence.

That makes sense, he supposes… It’s just weird that he has no recollection of ever getting this fever in the first place, even if it doesn’t sound too out-of-place for a thing like this to cause his memory to

“I’ll fetch Sekiya,” she adds before leaving.

 Despite the tension and the concern, these stares are comfortable, and he surprises himself to catch his eyelids closing on their own again. While this isn’t foreign, it’s been years since he’s felt this way. Strange and yet soothing, his brain doesn’t know what to make of it.

“You’re sure you’re fine?” Asuto asks, insistent. “You really looked in pain when you were asleep!”

Hikaru sits up, now that his body finally responds, making sure the cloth doesn’t fall off from his forehead. He still feels hands in his back, most likely Endou’s.

“It’s fine… I’m used to it.”

“Used to it?!”

 Both Asuto and Endou look horrified. Well, he should have seen it coming that others wouldn’t find it that usual, but it’s not worth this sudden appal.

“That makes it even less okay!” The former yells, drilling a hole through his already thumbing skull.

“I agree with Asuto,” Endou adds. “You should have talked to us about these. These absolutely can’t be good!”

“I know, but really, I’ll be fine…” He doesn’t like all the fuss, especially when he considers what he’s once done to them. “They’ve gotten better with time too.”

“For how long have they lasted?” Nosaka then asks again, not letting himself display the same kind of horror as their other teammates.

“I don’t really remember… I think they started when I joined Orion, but I forgot when exactly. They come in and out…”

 Everyone still looks appalled.

“What are those about?” Endou eventually speaks out.

“I don’t really know… They’re about my times at Orion, I’m sure of that, but they’re usually so abstract that it’s hard to tell. I think that’s why there’s always eyes glaring at me whenever I have those nightmares…”

He giggles at himself, “today was just worse than usual. It’s calmed down considerably since joining the team and… that’s why I’m convinced they’ll go away, eventually.”

“You’re still overexerted,” Nosaka comments, not without reason. “Even if we’re fighting Orion, you shouldn’t do that again. Having you collapse during a match would be a disaster.”

“I’m with Nosaka,” Endou adds. “You need rest, or else you won’t be able to do anything on the field!”

“B-but… If I’m not playing, are you going to…” Abandon him? No, he can’t say that out loud, not after what he’s done… Instead, he goes silent. He just can’t say that.

“Don’t worry for us, we have your back!” Asuto sounds as confident and happy as ever, even if he can tell his teammate is worried.

He laughs again, softly, to himself. “Thank you…”

 To his numbed surprise, Hikaru falls back asleep almost immediately, energy dragged down the well of the thoughts and wrapped in warmth again. Passing out like this in full daylight is but a weird experience he isn’t used to, but that’s fine: change needs to happen and, for once, he isn’t scared about losing something if he goes unconscious for a couple hours.

May the nightmares stop, now that he feels safe and sound.

[redrobin-detective]

BNHA Fic Recc List

Ok, so here's my fic recc list (AO3 exclusive) for Boku no hero academia/My hero academia. It's in no order but I order I bookmarked them. I'll probably come back and make edits when I find new stories.

MS- Manga Spoilers, so anything after season 2 in the anime. DFO- Dad for one story

Smile Again AU by Sevi007- a series of stories about mostly Dad Might and Izuku learning to work together and be a little family. Adorable. MS. Platonic/family pairings.

A riddle to guess if you can by PitViperOfDoom- All Might gives the new Number One a piece of his mind. No pairings.

Breach by ForgedObsidian- Toshinori's injury cause bad days but this one just might end up finishing up for good. MS. Family parings.

Solar Flare by jinkiess- The story that spawned my headcanon that young Toshinori was a bitter, angry young man. It's short but man I love this idea for Quirkless Young Might. No pairings.

Getting to Know You by TaurusVersant- The members of 1-A reflect on Midoriya Izuku and their daily interactions. Great characterization and I'm a sucker for people appreciating my boy. MS. Platonic pairings.

Barology by MissAquarius- A beautiful little piece exploring the Izuku/Iida/Urakara friendship. Platonic pairings.

A Shared Consequence by GuardianLioness- The cold causes pain for both Toshinori's old bones and Izuku's injuries. Family pairings.

Reunions, Of A Sort by ForgedObsidian- All Might joins the kids on a trip to a hero museum and reminisces on old heroes with a stranger. MS. No pairings.

Get Well Soon by brickboat- Jirou sometimes eavesdrops on her teachers while bored in her class and hears some interesting things about All Might. Really good, has 2 sequels if you liked. MS. No pairings.

Off Beat by ForgedObsidian- Jirou hears something wrong with All Might's heart. No pairings.

United in the Storm by theslytherinpaladin- The Villain Alliance becomes interested in Izuku and makes a statement by killing his mother leaving Izuku lost and alone. AU. Character death. No pairings.

Out of Character by PitViperOfDoom- Aizawa sees no problem with Endeavor talking to his son after the license exam but Midoriya seems worried. Dadzawa to the rescue. MS. No pairings.

count your blessings not your flaws by PitViperofDoom- probably my favorite Tododeku oneshot. The idea of Izuku thinking that Todoroki would joke about liking and Todoroki thinking that Izuku laughed in his face about his feelings hurts but then becomes sweet comfort

by you gotta get up at least once more by simkjrs- AU where Izuku follows the OPM training regimen and accidently becomes stronger than should be possible for a quirkless nobody. Sounds like crack, is actually about character development and Izuku's incredible perseverance. MS. A couple of hinted pairings (ShinDeku, TodoDeku etc) but nothing outright.

Yesterday Upon The Stair by PitViperOfDoom-  Izuku is given One For All but he forgets to mention to All Might that he isn't quirkless and has the ability to see dead people. Amazing story that twists canon with the addition of Izuku's ghostly friends and enemies. Good depiction of Bakugou's past abuse. AU. No pairings. Some graphic descriptions.

U.A Unsolved by  kabukichou- a silly spin-off of YUTS where the kids at the dorm believe it's haunted by ghosts. Little do they know that it is but because Izuku lives there. Hilarious and a nice break from the stress of YUTS. AU. No pairings

United We Stand, Divided We Fall by CaptainKaruAndTheRedShirts- My favorite of the Mighty Family AU's I've read (All Might is married to Inko and Izuku's biological father). Izuku coping with his father's injury, later being outed as the Number One's son and coping with being a quirkless shame to his dad's legacy. AU. Toshinko.

One Life for Them All (If That's What It Takes) by AthanatosOra- Toshinori comes across a precocious 11 year old named Izuku and considers him for a successor. Little does he know it's actually an adult Izuku who has been sent back to his 11 year old self trying to relive his life, and maybe make a few changes. AU. Family/platonic pairings.

The thin gray line by A_ToastToTheOutcasts-  All Might may have shot down his dreams of heroism but Japan's former #1 vigilante believes Izuku can make a difference. Vigilante Izuku is amazing and wow, yes, so good. AU. No pairings.

know what i've made by the marks on my hands by simkjrs- All quirks are the result of guardian spirits. Izuku is the only one who can see them but he really wishes he couldn't. Sassy Izuku ftw, I love this so much. AU. No pairings.

Mr. Yagi by AoiMikans and Swiftwidget- the men and women who work at Might Tower have come to adore the tall sickly man who serves as All Might's personal secretary. Precious to the max. Minor Tsukauchi/Toshinori.

Erased Potential by theslytherinpaladin- Aizawa has enough going on trying to teach his lazy students but the quirkless middle school who showed up at his door, begging to be trained, shows potential. So so good. AU. Dadzawa.

Daymare by IntrospectiveInquisitor- Izuku lives his whole life pretending to be quirkless because it's better than acknowledging his nightmarish quirk. AU. Platonic pairings and hinted KiriDeku. Warning for graphic horror descriptions and violence.

break your bones not your promises by PitViperofDoom- Look I don’t even like fantasy but I really love Pit’s approach here. It’s a blend of modern life with the fantatsical realm all stuffed into bnha world. The characterization is really good and the worldbuilding captivating. AU

Atimy by milky- Izuku and Yaoyorozu hear a noise in the middle of the night and check it out. The real horror of the story is what's revealed in the notes at the end. MS. No pairings.

Moebius by PitViperOfDoom- Izuku, Urakara, Tsuyu, Iida and Todoroki head to a seaside town for a rest but end up caught in the midst of a deadly attack that repeats itself over and over. Minor Tododeku.

i'm proud to say i got you by taizi- Iida takes notice of the way Midoriya stutters and flinches and draws some unhappy conclusions about the life his friend lived before Yuuei. I'm a sucker for 'Izuku's past abuse is acknowledged and refuted' stories. MS. Platonic pairings.

It's Spelled 'Trader' Not 'Traitor' by JackobolTrades- Izuku is taken in by All For One and given his quirk. Instead of using it for villainy, he sneaks off and opens a quirk trading shop because even AFO couldn't steal his desire to help people. AU. Brief/Unwilling Toga/Deku.

starry eyed and history has its eye on you and another face in the crowd and know who you are and will I ever be more than I’v always been? and who lives, who dies, who tells your story and all the love i dreamt by aloneintherain- beautiful and amazing. Look into class 1-A 10 years in the future as heroes and friends. Various stories told through the eyes of the students and media. Wonderful beyond measure, can't reread enough. Tododeku, Kiribaku, Jiroruzo.

home is just a room full of my safest sounds by aloneintherain- Izuku and Todoroki end up in a cuddle buddy sleeping arrangement for various reasons but end up really coming to enjoy the peace they feel together, super cute.

Conversations with a Cryptid by AMournfulHowlInTheNight- After his capture, Izuku begins having weekly meetings with All For One to extract information but can he really handle the revelations? AU. DFO. MS. No pairings. Izuku's brains get the spotlight and hints at one of my favorite theories

Kidnapping of a Cryptid by AMournfulHowlInTheNight- The sequel to the above story. I can't really give any details without spoiling but this whole series is amazing and I recc it so much. I talk way too much about it but it's so good. AU. MS. Pairing I can't mention

Aphelion by ForgedObsidian- Izuku is kidnapped as a middle schooler by AFO due to his quirklessness. Luckily Izuku isn't alone in captivity and has the sickly Mr. Yagi to keep him company. If only All Might hasn't been missing for several years. AU. No Pairings

Patience and I Would Understand and You Found Me (on a summer breeze) and Guide to Getting Your Teacher a Date and Little Talks by yaanchan- The best 'Aizawa takes in Shinsou' fics I've ever read. I have? so many emotions. Made me ship Erasermic. AU. MS. Erasermic.  Try, Try Again is mostly in this series but Shinsou gets turned into a 4 year old.

Switched and Scattered by kazzarole- The typical bodyswap story but it's really well-done also absolutely hilarious. You'd think it'd be easier to impersonate each other when they're crushing so hard. Tododeku.

Conventional Taste by SoAshamed- Todoroki's grandparents are in town and he'd wish to avoid them so he agrees to go with Midoriya to QuirkCon, Japan's biggest hero convention. Queue Deku being an overenthusiastic fanboy and Todoroki being content just watching him. MS. Mild Tododeku

count your blessings, not your flaws by PitViperofDoom- Izuku has only ever been confessed to as a joke so when Todoroki says he loves him, Izuku can't bring himself to believe it. Tododeku.

a beacon in the dark by Nohaijachi- At 4 years old, Izuku woke up one day unable to see. Completely blind, Izuku does his best to survive in a world with both a disability and a supposed diagnosis of quirklessness. Really good guys, updates very often. Family pairings.

Re-Examined Archives by beachbb- 15 year old Izuku is thrust by a quirk 10 years into the future only to find out he was murdered several years previous by a serial killer. Now it’s up to Izuku, plus friends from the past and future to unravel the cold case and maybe prevent it from happening. MS. No pairings.

Save The Last Dance by Lesetoilesfous- Based off the Fantasy AU ending, Izuku lives in the town of Silvia, home to the great All Might. As the All Might’s successor, it is his duty to confront the evil storm that threatens the kingdoms. With his friends, and a few alluring strangers, they set off on a journey to defeat the evil. AU. Tododeku, Momojirou, Tsuychako, Bakushima, Erasermic. I may be missing some but everyone is gay so there.

Izuku is (Afraid) by sleepingugly- this fic haunts me, it’s SO good and it just put me on edge the entire time and I couldn’t stop reading because the tension was mounting and driving me nuts. Izuku is haunted by the ocean, he attends quirk counselling for a quirk he should have but doesn’t, something sinister is rising. AU. No pairings.

Choices by Fayah- Another AFO is Hisashi fic in which Inko dies in childbirth due to Izuku activating the FAO quirk during birth. Hisashi raises his rambunctious boy alone, all while feeding his son stolen quirks and avoiding an investigation into his activities. DFO. Love it. 

Fun at Hero Con by wolfsrainrules- Pro hero Izuku at hero convention where he’s so busy being a fan he forgets that he’s disgustingly famous. Any fic in which Izuku goes to hero cons and gives his fans heart attacks is the best fic.

Viridescent by darkfire1220- Izuku’s dad is a well-known villain who passed onto his Izuku his very distinctive green fire quirk. All Might still chooses to pass on OFA but Izuku needs to overcome his hatred of his quirk, his father and deal with everyone else’s suspicions. AU. Some Izuku/Toga

Future’s History by Neehl- I LOVE THIS FIC. It’s a super long shot but man, everything about it is stellar. An examination of captainkirkk’s OFA is known AU where everyone knows about All Might’s ability to pass on his quirk. It centers around Izuku trying to keep under the radar then later embracing his fame as the Ninth OFA user. AU

From Muddy Waters by HLine- Another dad for one fic, Izuku and Inko are trying to hide from AFO who they know is a supervillain. Izuku gets into Yuuei by hiding his AFO quirk behind a normal strength enhancing quirk. Someone give this boy a break, he just wants to be a hero and is so stressed out. DFO. AU

Hero Class Civil Warfare by RogueDruid- man what do I even say about this fic? The hero classes are split into hero/villain teams for a 3 day exercise to test strategy and teamwork, Bakugou the hero leader and Izuku the villain leader. Our green bean turns his brain to wickedness and the heroes sure are glad they got to Midoriya before a villain claimed him. Now has a sequel Hero Class Danger Days 

Do What You Will, If That’s What You Want by stanzas- After a few years of being a pro hero, Todoroki, the #5 hero, retires suddenly to follow a new path. He finds himself growing closer to Izuku who is supportive and all too adorable. Terrible description but its really, really good. Tododeku. Momojirou.

Something Borrowed by ThisCat- Izuku has the ability to borrow people’s quirks as long as he is looking at them. He rarely uses his quirk bc it frightens other people but still decides to try and be a hero, applying and getting into Yuuei and working to use his power for good. AU. Lovely idea well executed.

journey to the past by aloneintherain- do you want to cry actual tears and throw up from feels?? This is the fic for you. Izuku has been attacked by villains his entire life but was always saved by mysterious pro heroes who seemed to know a lot about him. He never understood until he reached Yuuei and saw those same heroes as teenagers. I ugly cry every time I read. 

Bloom in Winter by e_va- Izuku was taken by his father at a young age used used his insightful analysis for villainy. Izuku is forced to go along with this for years until, at 14, he’s enrolled at Yuuei to be a spy. He’s always wanted to be a hero and now he’s forced to betray his idols. Save this child. AU

Curse of the anime protagonist by masterdipster- Izuku has a quirk that allows him to sense when people are danger and rush towards them, it’s perfect for hero work, if only he wanted to be a hero. Thought this was crack? psych, it’s actually really heartfelt, hilarious with some stellar writing. AU

Victim of Circumstance by Chalcet- quirkless, orphaned and homeless, Izuku lives on the bad side of town acting as a vigilante to protect his crime ridden city the heroes overlook. He begins training to be a hero to try and change the system from the inside out. This boy, is amazing. AU

i am cold, can you hear me by midoizuku- Todoroki runs across a boy at a hero fight and soon realizes he’s stumbled upon All Might’s illegitimate child. They strike up an odd friendship as Todoroki view Izuku as both a potential rival and someone who can maybe understand his situation. AU. Going towards Tododeku.

Known Variables by pockettramblr- Another OFA is known AU fic which explores Izuku gaining the legacy quirk and how having other students and teachers in the know affects his early experiences at Yuuei. AU

Cardiac Arrest by AMournfulHowlInTheNight- During the battle of Kamino Ward, AFO topples a building in his fight with All Might which crushes izuku to death. AFO grabs the boy’s body and flees leaving the heroes mourning but maybe izuku is going to experience something worse than death. DFO. AU

and while we’re waiting by Kemmasandi- and absolutely adorable one shot exploring the early and good days of Nana and Toshinori’s relationship as Toshi grows from a small stick of a boy to a giant young man with enough power and heart to save the world.

Diametrically Opposed by Golden Wooly and Murky Muse- Most likely DFO story in which Izuku wants to be a hero and thinks he can when AM gives him OFA but his over-protective father sometimes gets in the way. DFO.

The Roots the Clutch by Laquearia- Pro hero Deku tries to stay in touch with old friend Todoroki even after he moves to New York and gets married but Shouto still carries a torch for his oldest friend and first crush. SO much angst my friends, so much goddamn angst. Future AU. Tododeku. 

I’ll carry the secrets, you carry by the umbrella by ArgentCross- Todoroki starts to notice there’s something weird about Izuku and his quirk and decides to investigate. Also may be realizing that he’s got feeling for his friend at the same time. Tododeku. 

Subject: A Comprehensive Report by BonesofBirdWings- AU where young Izuku realizes he can’t be a hero and interns with Nighteye as a hero analyst and shows off his heroic spirit by helping solve crimes with heroes and the police. A fascinating look at Izuku’s strategic mind plus the very hands off writing style interspaced by news articles and interviews is magnificent. AU.  

One Shot Wok by AMournfulHowlInTheNight- A crack AU born in the discord where future Izuku is transported back to his younger self and decides to take care of business by wrecking the LOV and other assholes with a Wok. AFO would be proud if he weren’t confused and terrified. AU. DFO.

The Long Way Around by redrobin1989- casually adding by own story cause why not? Izuku never meets All Might during the sludge monster incident but is inspired anyway to become Japan's first quirkless hero. Slow burn, lots of OCs. AU. MS. No pairings.

[leonmckennedy]

melancholia

Characters: Noctis + Lunafreya; Mentions of everyone else

Summary: For Noctis, love has never been large or grand. Love had always been a soft yet all encompassing emotion, and it had always come easy, and it had always been there. 

Warnings: Spoilers up to chapter 10 | Blood | General sadness bc Noct can never be happy apparently...

Posted onto AO3 Here!

When Noctis sees Luna’s would be wedding dress on display in all it’s white laced grace, he thinks it’d look better if it were blue. Luna was so proud of the sylleblossom’s deep, rich color that it has been embedded deeply in Noctis’ mind: Blue — childhood — happiness — Luna . Blue could be the color of his blood, pumping endlessly through his body, and he would not be surprised.

For Noctis, love has never been large or grand. Love had always been a soft yet all encompassing emotion, and it had always come easy, and it had always been there. Love was the warmth in his father’s voice when he told him embellished battle stories, to soothe him when he was injured. It was Gladio’s strict training regimen, his gruff but oddly gentle way of encouraging him to improve. It was in the way Ignis would bring freshly made pastries for him to snack on following a lengthy scolding, or right before, as it were sometimes. It was the weight of an arm around his shoulder, when the child from years ago finally told him his name and called him Noct, like he was just The Prince anymore. He was Noct and Prompto was Prompto, and that was it’s own form of love.

They made flower crowns; years ago he had met Luna, who was a few years his senior, and she showed him how to fashion a crown from the best blossoms Tenebrae had to offer. She had always been enveloped in a bright light, and Noct had been quickly convinced that she could light their star all by herself with her smile.

She knew everything. She had many stories to tell, even when they went right over his head. And when she smiled her eyes rolled up at the edges like they were smiling too, like they were holding back a secret he wasn’t privy to yet.

Upon careful consideration though, he isn’t sure he was ready to get married. He wanted peace, and he wanted to see Luna, and so it all fit together like pieces of a puzzle he’d been trying to crack for ages. A crumbling ensemble, each piece the right shape but not quite the right size, jammed into holes they were never meant to fill. When he thought of marriage he thought of… nothing at all. When he thought of Luna he thought of warmth, secrets, a presence washing over him like soft ocean waves, a weightless blanket.

And it hurts when he sobs, all choked up with nothing to soothe it. There’s another hole ripped into this carefully woven tapestry of love, this small but intricate creation formed from his beating heart. His father had taken a rather large patch with him, and as he feels the weight of Luna’s death looming about him he realizes the gap has grown twice in size. Torn unceremoniously, ripped, ragged at the edges and he can’t sew or crochet or knit to save anything.

He feels cold all over and he thinks, maybe he should’ve gone in her place. And he thinks, when he knows he doesn’t have the time for it, that had she stuck around they could still get married now.

He could open his own veins to free the wilting flowers within, and dye her dress blue with them.

It’d look better that way.