#since its so easy to counter coffins. sighs

[0yuri-chan0]

Long Ways Away

I've haven't been posting a lot. But I have a Ao3 account! And I've been cross-posting some of my fics on here to there. But I made a Scaramouche fic on my Ao3 account and I wanted to post it here! Enjoy!!!

Paring - Top! Scaramouche x Fem Reader

Warnings - Cream pie, Vagina fingering, Chocking.

Genre - Smut!

The sixth harbinger was know as a very cold, and arrogant man. Some of his underlings would even describe him as egotistical, self-serving, and inconsiderate. Of course they'll never tell him that to his face ever.

But away from his office and his title as sixth harbinger. His name is just Scaramouche your very hot headed boyfriend.

It was finally the day you came home from fontaine. It was a two week traveling period while the other week was dedicated to the quest. You've always enjoyed helping others out who needed it but this month took a toll on your body. While you were away stress began to speep into your muscles. All you wanted to go was go home and cuddle up to your boyfriend.

You smiled as you opened the door to your house. The familiarity of the interior of the house caused your shoulders drop. The relaxing scent of lavender and pine filled your nostrils quickly. You had to hand it to Scaramouche he kept the house neat and tidy while you where gone. Setting your bag down and placing your shoes on the rack; you finally walked into the living room.

"Scaramouche?"

Your voice echoed through the home. Without a answer your feet led you into the kitchen to find no-one there. You shrugged and grabbed a apple off the counter and took a bite. When your teeth sunk into the apple you felt hands wrap around your waist causing you to jump.

"I'm surprised you're still alive."

A smile appeared on your face as you turned around and looked at him. Naturally your arms wrapped around him. The embrace lasted two minutes before he pulled away and looked at your face in annoyance.

"Did you climb out of a coffin? You look horrible."

He brought his and up and flicked you swiftly on the forehead with a glare.

"I'm so glad you missed me, Scara."

"Don't mistake my observation for affection."

"Just say you've missed me."

With that sentence he shut his mouth and locked eyes with you. Irritated being called out he sighed in defeat.

"I've missed you."

A satisfying feeling washed over your body as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him the apple you were eating obviously long forgotten. Getting the hint Scaramouche grabbed your waist and chased after your lips. The kiss was desperate. So much desire was put into the kiss your knees started to feel weak. He disconnected the kiss but he didn't go very far his lips hovering over yours. You could feel his hot breath hit your lips as he spoke.

"Bedroom."

It was one simple word but man it made you feel as if you had to obey. Lips connecting for the second time while navigating to the your shared bedroom was supposed to be a easy task or so you thought. Bumping into wall while trying to take of Scaramouche shirt was difficult. His hands ran and explored your body. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of his hands run down your waist. feeling every part of your body; groping your ass while his tongue explored your mouth.

Finally making it to the bed room Scaramouche turned and pushed you backwards knees hitting the bed frame making you fall and land on the bed. He finally got onto the bed crawling over you. Getting comfortable in his position, his hands ran up and down your sides as he stared sucking and kissing your neck. "You've missed me haven't you?"

He spoke in a demanding tone. His teeth sunk into your neck leaving bruises and bite marks. A moan escaped your lips head nodding vigorously. A sadist laugh left him as he brought his hand up to squeeze your breast.

"I've bet you've been touching yourself, Yeah?"

Its true you've missed him since you've been in Fontaine and yes. You might had touched yourself but couldn't completely get off. Not without him you needed his fingers they had always hit the right places yours just couldn't. Leaving you sexually frustrated with yourself. Leaving you wonder if you should had invested in a vibrator. But of course Scaramouche would tease you to no wits end and most likely use it as some sort of punishment. Then blame you for buying it so of course you wouldn't buy one. So you couldn't let him know you've been touching yourself. Not a chance in hell.

"N-No I've been good."

You sucked in a breath as his hand slid down to the waist band of your panties. His hand playing with the material. He knew you wanted something to fill you up. But quite like every time you lied; he knew. The universe was really against you, wasn't it? His tongue clicked when he looked down at you.

"So my little whore is going to lie to me. Haven't I trained you better?"

You nodded remember all the times he's punished you for your disobedience. Quickly you felt the slick in between your legs worsening. He could see your panties get worse with arousal. A soft whine escaped your lips as he smiled down at you. His fingers lifted the waist band of your panties up and let the material snap back down hitting your skin. Your hips jumped up as your eyes locked into his.

"Answer the question."

His voice was sadistic and raspy. A gasped escape your lips as he placed his hand over your throat and lightly squeezed. "Yes, Yes... I touched myself Scara please.." You whined.

He really was unbearable when he pressed his covered cock against your clothed pussy and started grinding. The shock of pleasure ran through your body. Throwing your head back and groaning. But that wasn't enough you needed more. Lifting your hips to get more friction only to be held down on the mattress by Scaramouche.

"Please... Please."

Waiting was unbearable as tears pricked in your eyes.

"Please what? I don't know what you're asking for. Use your words."

Another whine louder this time escape your throat as you looked up at him.

"Touch me."

He laughed amused ripping off your underwear and finally giving you what you really need. He entered a digit into your tight cunt. Back arching off the bed hands grabbing onto the sheets underneath you for purchase. It was like you haven't been fuck in two years. "H-Huh uh.. Just like that.." Letting out a breathy sentence.

"Oh fucks sakes, You're so tight."

He added another finger curling them to hit all the right spots. It was like he knew every single one of your sensitive parts by heart. His fingers constantly moving in and out of your pussy at a steady rate. Finally taking his fingers out and spitting onto them. Already knowing what he was doing you opened your mouth as he stuck his fingers inside. With his other hand he pulled off his pants and underwear and plunged inside you without warning.

A muffled scream came from your mouth. Scaramouche three fingers still very much inside your mouth as your tongue swirled around them. He didn't take a minute for you to adjust he slammed into you like a damn train and kept going. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head already and he had just stared. His hips snapped harshly against yours.

"This is what you wanted, yeah? Fucking whore."

Your brain was failing you. Sentences wouldn't come out coherently. His breath hit your ear when he leaned down. Hearing his grunts and groans was music to your ears. Clamping down on his cock you felt him twitch.

"Just like that, I'm gonna cum."

Nodding your head and grabbed onto his biceps.

"Please, please... Mhf- Holy Archo-..ns"

The heat that pooled into your stomach was ready to release. As soon as you cam He did as well. He didn't even stop. His hand wrapped around your throat once more and squeezed. His cum getting stuffed back inside you while getting mixed in with yours. His thrust where mind numbing. Your pussy clenched even harder as you were getting sensitive. Hitting his shoulder to indicate that.

"Scaramouche! Can't- No more."

"Give me one more. I know you can do it."

He brought his lips to yours as he kissed you once more. You felt your second orgasm hit like a wave. Without muttering anything you came again. His thrust where turning sloppy and uneven trying to chase his own oragasm. A few minutes after yours his hit finally ending your suffering.

He dropped down next to you and started to catch his breath while you did the same.

"Are you okay?"

"Never been better..."

You breathed trying to catch your breath. He smiled at your response and grabbed your waist to bring you closer to him. Covering the both of you with a blanket while your head rested on his chest. Slowly His fingers started drawing circles on your bare back. Scaramouche leaned in once he saw your eyes closed and whispered.

"I missed you." He spoke softly as he kissed your forehead.

My Ao3 account -> 000Yuri_Yuzuka000

Loved you guys! I'll try to post more! That being said my request are open ❤

[theunconcernedembalmer]

Oh my god Demi as Diluc. WE STAN DEMILUC IN THIS HOUSE!

demi drinking grape juice at the bar? more likely than you think

[ashxketchum]

Writer’s Month - 2

Wow, not me writing something for two days in a row? This one is a stand-alone oneshot for now, but I think there is a lot of potential for a sequel, I even have some part of it clearly planned out so if time allows me to sit down with my laptop sooner than later, I’ll work on that! 

Fandom/Pairing: Digimon/Mimato (friendship, yes I am capable of writing something other than romance between these two hahahaaa) 

Prompt: Coffee shop setting, cold (Yamato is very cold here, it’s actually kinda angsty) 

Setting: Post Tri but pre Kizuna. Yamato is in his first year of college and Mimi is in her last year of high school. The basis for this fic is solely the dialogue in To Sora, I wanted to explore the idea of Mimi and Yamato growing closer and having important conversations with each other, but it had to have a rocky start and this is that rocky start! 

~

“I’ll have a venti matcha berry frappe, nonfat, refrigerated chilled milk, absolutely no ice, extra whipped cream, which, make sure, is layered perfectly, with three pumps of caramel syrup and two of vanilla.”

He could feel his manager’s eyes boring into his back, so Yamato did what any other good employee in his place would, he kept a straight face and diligently noted down the customer’s request before moving on to ringing it up without once bothering to look at the girl standing behind the counter or ask for her name. He wondered if his manager would find it strange, that he hadn’t taken the customer’s name, but seeing as Yamato was already putting all his effort into concentrating well on his job and not explode on the brunette who seemed to take some pleasure out of his misery, he decided that he was allowed this one slip and he’d deal with his manager later, since the bigger problem was in front of him, eyeing him with a teasing glint in her caramel eyes as he picked up the paper cup and moved over to the work station to begin working on her order. He did however, kept a track of what his manager was doing from the corner of his eye, and the minute the older man was out of sight, Yamato breathed a sigh of relief and spun on his feet.

“Please Mimi, by all means, go ahead and make my job more difficult.” Yamato seethed, managing to keep his voice low so as to not attract any attention to them.

“Well, if you’re going to ask that nicely.” Mimi smirked, as always she had the upper hand in the conversation due to the safety guaranteed by being a customer at the shop.

“Just take the drink and go, let me work in peace.” Yamato attempted to maintain a superior tone as he begged her to leave, turning again to add the finishing touches to her order as quickly as he could, before his superior caught whiff of his not so welcoming attitude towards their customers.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Mimi beamed at him, as she accepted the finished product from his hand, her fingers brushed against his for a brief moment, suddenly making Yamato hyper aware of the spot at the back of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Entrance exams to worry about?” He asked exasperatedly, she seemed too carefree for someone who was in the last year of their high school, remembering his own experience of it from the previous year.

Mimi scoffed in reply, waving a hand in the air to brush aside his concern for her education, instead of turning to make her way out of the store now that she had received her order, she settled on the empty bar stool on the other side of the pick-up counter, resting one elbow on the counter top as she took careful sips of her drink from the other hand. He watched her like a hawk, Yamato wouldn’t put it past the brunette to make fake claims about the taste of the drink just to get him into trouble. 

This had been going on for a few months now, every time he had a shift during her after school hours, Mimi would make it her life’s purpose to show up and annoy him to no extent. He’d attempted to explain to her, that he really needed to keep this job to maintain his life expenses, but apparently the pleasure she took from watching him stumble around while making coffee seemed to take precedent over his livelihood.

Of course, Mimi wasn’t the only one to blame here, if only his roommate at the college dorm wasn’t a bigger pain in the ass, Yamato would never had have to take up this part-time job in the first place. When he had complained to his father about not being able to get along well with his roomie, instead of agreeing to raise his monthly allowance so that Yamato could move out and rent a place of his own, his father had promptly told him that as an adult, he should learn to solve his own problems from now on. Yamato had half a mind to remind his father that him and his friends had not only solved the Digital World’s problems on multiple occasions, but also saved their own world by doing so, but he had stayed quiet and accepted his fate. On Takeru’s recommendation he had taken up a part-time job at this popular coffee joint, the pay was decent and the hours weren’t too bad and well Yamato always had had a knack for being good in the kitchen, so it had been suiting his purposes of saving up to move out of the college dorm as soon as possible just well.

Until Mimi happened to walk in one day and decided to take matters into her own hands.

She had been surprised to see him behind the counter, and at first she had just been curious, about what he was doing here or what he had been up to since the graduation ceremony. Yamato had to admit, that ever since he had graduated high school, he’d finally understood what Jou had been struggling with for the longest time, it wasn’t easy to maintain friendships when one was thrust with the responsibility of taking care of every single aspect of their lives and somehow pursue studies on which one’s future life depended at the same time. He considered himself lucky, if he was able to have a phone conversation with Takeru that lasted more than 5 minutes in a day. So he hadn’t been wary of Mimi popping up every now and them, updating him about her and Koushiro’s school life, and sometimes Jou’s and Sora’s too. It gave him a way to stay connected with everyone without having to make time for them, and while he did feel guilty about this on multiple occasions, he was grateful for it too.

That was before Mimi got bored with just talking about their lives, and decided to spice up their encounters by getting him to light trouble with his manager. It was usually just silly little things like claiming he got her order wrong or giving extremely complicated and hard to follow requests, and she had never pulled something huge that would seriously get Yamato in trouble, but it was still frustrating and it ruined his mojo for the rest of his shift.

There was also the question of why Mimi had suddenly taken such a liking to spending time with him, of all people, since they had never been close enough for a relationship like this. They’d spent time together before sure, and they’d had their fair share of agreements and disagreements when it came to matters related to the Digital World, but apart from that Yamato could barely remember any interactions with her that didn’t circle back to the Digital World or their Digimon Partners. So the thought always nagged at him, at the back of his head, when she would appear with a skip in her step and fix him with one of the brightest smiles he knew.

But then she would go on to do something diabolical, and he’d be reminded of how similar she was to his little brother, which led to him missing Takeru and left him irritated and wishing for her to leave.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Yamato turned his attention towards the brunette sitting in front of him, she had set down the drink on the counter top and was currently surveying the store with her bright eyes, the mischievous glint in them indicating that she was just looking for something that could serve as prop of the day in interfering with his work. Relieved that he had caught her while she was still in her planning phase, Yamato decided to take control of the situation before his manager returned and reprimanded him for being rude to their customers.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?” Yamato began icily, making Mimi turn her gaze towards him, the challenging look on her face seemed to put the last nail to his patience’s coffin as he snapped at her, “Don’t you have any friends?”

He regretted it the minute those words left his mouth, biting his tongue in an attempt to stop himself from groaning outwardly.

The effect on Mimi was immediate, all colour drained from her face and her eyes shone with a blanket of tears just waiting to fall, but with a single blink she managed to keep them at bay and faced him with a hardened look as she replied quietly, “I thought that’s what we were.”

And before Yamato could make any attempts to take back his statements or even begin to apologize for his behaviour, Mimi was out of the door, leaving behind her drink on the counter and without sparing a single glance in his direction.

Yamato allowed himself to groan out loud when he picked up her cup to clear the counter and found that it was still heavy, she had barely begun to drink it. He couldn’t help but chide himself internally, for missing on something that was so obvious, for even deliberating on an answer that was right in front of his eyes this entire time.

Yamato couldn’t believe that he, of all people, had missed out on the signs of their budding friendship, had pushed it aside as nothing but an occasional nuisance within his routine. 

His optimistic side hoped that he would just explain himself to her when she’d show up tomorrow, even offer her her favourite drink for free as a token of his apology, but a tiny voice at the back of his head reminded him, that there was no way Mimi would come back to spend time with him after this.

Unfortunately, it was the tiny voice that prevailed in its prediction, as Mimi didn’t show the next day or the one after that, or after that.

At first Yamato consoled himself by devoting himself to the tasks at hand, happy to finally be able concentrate on his work, he managed to win praises from his manager on multiple occasions which pushed Mimi’s absence from his surroundings out of his head, and for a while it worked.

But then there were slow days, when he didn’t have much to do but stand behind the counter and look at all the people sitting around in groups of twos and threes, laughing and chatting loudly as they sipped their coffees and munched on their food. The sight would tug on an invisible string in his heart, make him long for Mimi’s teasing smile as she rattled off with an order comprising of the most incompatible ingredients, laughing loudly at the look of horror that would take over his face as he wrote down her instructions. There were days when the shop would be eerily silent, and he’d hear her voice in his head, telling him about something that had happened at school. There were days when someone would walk by with a pet, cuddling it and showering it with affection, making him miss Gabumon’s soft fur and he’d instinctively turn towards the pick-up counter, hoping to tell Mimi about it but was met with emptiness instead.

He hadn’t realised, just how much he had managed to share with her during their encounters, and how he had begun to depend on her company to get him through his mundane work life. And in true Yamato fashion, he had gone ahead and messed it all up by thinking about things from only his perspective.

His father’s words echoed in his mind once again, he had to learn to solve his own problems, and what better time to start than now?

[pocket-void]

A Cup of Coffee

A/N: I am so incredibly relieved to have finished this, but anyways! This is the second fic for Smaller Sides to Life, and I hope it’s alright. (Might make a mini list for that eventually) ^///^ I feel better about this story after thinking about it, and honestly I’m pretty content! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day/night. u///u

Pairing: Loceit Words: 3596 Content: Flustered Janus because it just kind of turned out that way akjefabekf, it’s mostly Janus’ POV, there’s like a handful of swear words, it is fully light hearted u///u Summary: Janus and Logan always share the kitchen in the morning, being the earliest ones to rise. They never really talked, nor were they ever close, but it turns out that maybe they both have wanted to be.

Google doc if you like reading Cambria font or something, since I haven’t quite figured out Ao3 and don’t know if I ever will. >///< Also I believe uh, @sophiexteresa you wanted to be tagged...?

“Tssss...ouch.”

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee.

Some days it’s rich, fulfilling, and satisfying; a perfect and refreshing way to start the day. A cup that wakes you up with a gentle spreading warmth and wraps you in its delicate aroma that soothes your mind.

Other times however, it’s bitter, bland, and too watered down to really be properly enjoyed, resulting in a disgusting aftertaste that lingers just at the back of your throat; a constant reminder of what could’ve been, a better cup of coffee. It’s doubly worse when the coffee is not only bad, but also way too hot. The only possible benefit of the harsh sting that comes from the first sip is that it completely numbs the taste buds, effectively nullifying the admittedly awful flavor of the beverage, which of course will inevitably come creeping back regardless because there never truly is an escape from the shame and disappointment that is failing to make something as easy as a cup of joe. 

Perhaps the simple truth was just that Janus was not very good at making coffee. He was never going to admit that, obviously. Heavens no, he’d rather down another cup of scalding bean water before that ever happened. It’s not like he’d be able to taste it right now anyways, with his stupid numb mouth and all. Still, the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep something as simple as coffee consistent was definitely an odd flaw that weighed heavily on his stubborn pride, much more than any petty insult ever could. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it all that made it feel like such a thorn in his side. Hypothetically, one should be able to follow a procedure each and every morning and end up with a, if not identical, similar tasting brew each time. Well evidently that was not the case with Janus, much to his chagrin. Out of the seven days in a week, he could maybe make a decent pot only during two of those days; maybe three if he was lucky. Over the course of a year he has drunk more overheated, burnt, and under extracted cups of coffee than he could even bother to count, which he didn’t, because it was frankly beyond embarrassing at this point. If coffee wasn’t such a crucial part of his morning, he wouldn’t hesitate to label it the absolute bane of his existence. Curse those pesky grounded beans.

“...Are you alright?” A voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen. Seated at the dining table just a few feet away was Logan, halfway through a book just like he was on most days. His own empty mug casually placed atop a scattered collection of papers that no doubt contained endless notes on various facts, vocabulary words, and details of the coming week’s activities.

Of course, how could he ever forget the second most embarrassing part of his already lackluster mornings. The fact that the only other intelligent person in the living space had to watch him do this ridiculous charade every day. They’re the only ones who’d ever be awake at this time of day, as such is the fate of two people with actually proper sleeping habits. He has no clue how Logan manages to bear witness to this laughable display with a straight face, though perhaps the man was just not really paying attention. As he was, more often than not, too absorbed in hastily scribbling down notes about whatever topic had caught his attention that week to probably care about Janus constantly burning his delicate tongue over and over again. Which, to be fair, was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Totally. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want Logan to see him act a fool, why was he even asking. It’s not like anything he was doing was ever going to be as interesting as whatever the man was reading up about, as disappointing as that was. Not that it mattered currently, seeing as how for once he did manage to notice and- Aw shoot he completely forgot about that didn’t he.

Janus simply makes a face and squints, lips still slightly parted as he held his tongue between his teeth. He sighs and, with a mildly sarcastic gesture of one hand, replies with simply “Yes”.

Logan responds by raising an eyebrow, gaze still remaining firmly upon him.

Now maybe it was the way the gentle sunlight filtered through the slightly fogged up windows, or the way the dust danced under those soft golden beams, but the sight of Logan seated at the table somehow seemed to shine with an almost unfair ethereal glow. Now if only the reflection of his glasses didn’t also obscure his eyes...

Janus blinks. “Oh it’s just great.” He finally complies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was probably just blankly staring for the past few moments. You know, like a fool. Which he was not. “Nothing big, just the usual.”

“The usual.” Logan repeats, sounding rather unimpressed. To which the snake reacts to by immediately placing a gloved hand over his heart.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

“Quite the contrary,” The other shuts his book. “I am well aware of the fact that you tend to make this mistake on a nearly daily basis.” 

The record scratch was almost audible.

“You-” Janus practically stumbles at the revelation that Logan was, in fact, actually aware of his struggles with the abominable coffee machine and its products’ disastrous burning touch. Memories of his daily mishaps slowly begin to flood his mind, and as he recalled each and every previous morning, the sound of nails being hammered into what might as well be the coffin of his tattered pride echoed louder and louder in his ears. Well it was either that, or the blood that was currently rushing through them from his suddenly racing heart. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond, but the creeping heat that soon invaded his face was all too prevalent to ignore; a burning sensation rivaling even that of his tongue. 

In hindsight, he was perhaps the foolish one to not expect someone as perceptive as Logan to notice such things. Maybe it was wishful thinking at best. But surely nobody could’ve foreseen Logan ignoring the mistakes he was making even after taking note of it, right? Logan, who’s known to instinctively attempt to remedy mistakes when he saw them. Logan, who gets way too caught up in silly errors and misunderstanding figurative statements. Surely he would’ve said something, anything. But he knew? He knew and he didn’t say anything? He knew and he just watched as he made a fool of himself every day? What would’ve been the purpose of that? Was he secretly mocking him? Did he find this amusing? Janus winces. That thought perhaps stung more than it should have. 

He quickly turns away with a flick of his capelette and pretends to occupy himself with cleaning up the counter. Focusing his attention to the obnoxious yellow of his gloves rather than the gaze he still felt on his back. “Ah, so you knew.” Janus mumbles, managing to muster up his best attempt at remaining casual. “Did you even need to ask, in that case? Didn’t think you would be paying attention to whatever I was doing.” Honestly—now ain’t that a joke—he wasn’t really even sure what else he could say to that. “You have better, less mundane things to be paying attention to, no? Surely I’m nowhere near as interesting as the books you oh so love to stick your nose in.” The soft chuckle that emanated from behind just made him want to coil up into a ball and dissipate even more, but he stands his ground. He’ll just...get through the morning and subsequently try to never think of this moment ever again. He’s totally fine. 

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t interesting, Janus.”

Ok nevermind, maybe he isn’t-

“I beg your pardon?” Janus almost instantly snaps his head back towards the man at the table. A decision he immediately regrets as he locks eyes with a softly smiling Logan—gently leaning forwards as his chin rests upon crossed hands—and Janus feels his composure once again fly right out the window. 

“I said I find you interesting.”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said-”

“No no, I didn’t mean that, actually stop.”

Logan quirks his eyebrow yet again, in the snarky yet triumphant way that showed when he knew he was right about something. While the confidence was admittedly charming, Janus for one really wishes he’d stop doing that. Especially right now.

“Would you like me to elaborate?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” No he fucking didn’t, why the hell did he say that. He nods curtly, setting his coffee cup aside as he awkwardly leans against the counter for support more than anything else. Ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave this current predicament, he hoped to god, the bastard, that the panic settling in his bones wasn’t showing on his face.

Logan smiles a little. “Well personally, I rather enjoy our time in each other’s presence during the morning.”

He enjoyed his company? “Well I certainly wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’ve also observed that you tend to have great difficulty making your preferred morning beverage the way you like it, correct?”

Ouch. “No?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Logan replies without pause. “While I find your persistence admirable, I think we’ve reached the point of reasonable doubt a good while ago.”

“Mhm, yeah, great. Great. And are you just going to sit there and humiliate me, or are you actually trying to make a point?” Suffice it to say, he was not a big fan of hearing about it.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to offend or belittle you in any way.”

Janus scowls. “So what? Have my mistakes finally bothered you enough to actually speak up about it?”

“Well, I had anticipated you asking for assistance one of these days, but it seems like I have underestimated your tenacity.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he opens up one of his notebooks. “Truly a miscalculation on my part.”

“Miscalculation?” He gives a weary glance at the notebook. Logan had tons of them; each one having a different color or pattern that denoted their specific purpose. A sudden realization hits him as he gets a brief glance of the yellow cover. “Have you been observing me??”

“For the past few months, yes.” The man looks back up with a click of his pen. “Is there a problem?”

Is there a problem? How the hell does he just say these things? Of course there was a problem! How in the world was he supposed to live this down knowing that Logan didn’t just notice him every morning, but also was most likely taking excessively extensive notes? He was beginning to think that his attempts to make himself less conspicuous in the morning had subsequently led him to be less perceptive about what the other was doing instead, and that was an irony that he did not want to think about right now.

“Well I simply don’t see any benefit for you in doing that.”

That actually seems to make the other take pause. “There is no benefit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There is no benefit.”

“You really need to stop repeating things when I-” Deep breath Janus, deep breath. “I’m not actually asking you to- Nevermind that, why are you doing this then?”

Logan lightly taps his pen against his chin. He shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out the best method of assisting you.”

“Oh and why would you ever care to do that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Just a quiet, all encompassing silence interrupted by only the occasional distant chirping of birds, as the two remained where they were in the kitchen on what was supposed to be a typical Tuesday morning.

Truth was, he didn’t want to hear it. And for one moment, just that moment, time seemed to slow. As Janus stands by the counter, with the bittersweet smell of his still cooling cup of coffee gently wafting his way and his eyes still focused on the twinkling starry blue that was Logan’s eyes, something within him was absolutely terrified. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. Or perhaps he did, but for the sake of himself he had never dared to acknowledge it. He couldn’t. How could he? His world sat upon an ever delicate balance, and he was not one to step towards any risk of tipping that scale. So he never did. As much as he wishes he could. To be important. To be just a few feet closer. To be just one seat away. To be sitting at that table, silently listening to Logan rant about the latest book he oh so loved to stick his nose in, and to take a sip out of a cup that was not his own. As much as he wishes he could. But no, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Yet a part of him still hopes, and he curses himself for it.

Every part of his body is telling him to get out right now. To run. To spare himself the agony being here instead of literally anywhere else. To save himself before whatever words that were about to leave Logan’s mouth completely shatters the status quo that he was already accustomed to. He knew he was hoping for too much, it was too late to take anything back, and at this point even if it were just a kind hearted gesture from a well meaning acquaintance, he didn’t think his currently pounding heart could bear the affirmation of what he already suspected. It was frankly a lose-lose situation. A situation he should’ve known better than to get himself into. A situation where he knew the best solution was just to leave.

Which is why within that moment, just one moment in which time had seemed to slow, when Janus is suddenly pulled back into reality as he now finds himself glancing upwards at Logan, who was now standing a mere two feet away. He instinctively attempts to take a step back, but his heel taps against the counter, clearly surprised at the sudden shift in positioning. Had he really been that lost in thought? Janus finally breaks away his gaze to look to the side, holding his breath as if he were bracing for whatever the other had to say next.

“Am I not allowed to?” The unexpected softness in Logan’s voice was so incredibly unfair, and it obliterated any guard that he could have ever possibly put up. 

“I- No, you just...” He inhales rather sharply. Get a grip. “Just why would you-”

“Janus.”

He looks back and suddenly they’re face to face, barely a few inches apart, and within moments he completely forgets how to breathe.

Logan laughs. He laughs. With a tenderness he has never seen etched across the man’s typically serious face. Janus stares, completely mesmerized by the beautiful yet admittedly confusing sight, and forgetting about just why he was so flustered not too long ago. He feels his hand be slowly taken into another as Logan lifts to hold it within both of his own.

“Would you mind if I made your coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks, voice barely a whisper and lips still curled in an enchanting smile.

It was a request that barely registers itself in Janus’ mind, but he quickly manages a nod after swallowing practically nothing; his mouth suddenly dry. The only thing he could focus on was just how darn close those lips were, or how deep his eyes were, or how he still smelled faintly of chamomile tea, or- “Please.” He states, with whatever remaining dignity he had left.

The other seemed pleased with the answer, and the silent understanding that was present between them felt almost too nice to be true, yet it managed to put all of his worries to rest. Part of Janus wishes time could stop right here, with his hand delicately held between Logan’s and his heart quietly swelling within his chest; the other part promptly snaps him out of that ridiculous fantasy to focus back on what was actually happening. Logan hadn’t yet moved from where he was.

“Uh…” Janus lightly bit his lip, the next thing almost paining him to suggest. “Could you perhaps...let go now?” 

“Of course.” Logan says, loosening the hold on the other’s hand. An admittedly disappointing gesture, but it’s not like anyone was going to admit that. “There are still tasks that we must both attend to.” But before he steps back to return to his seat, he gently leans in to lift Janus’ hat and plants a soft kiss upon his forehead. The expression Janus showed as a result is surely priceless as his eyes grow wide and heat instantly flares across the rest of his face yet again. He couldn’t even get a word of protest out before Logan walks away after a small pat on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“...Right.” He replies, and promptly excuses himself from the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. He genuinely didn’t think he could handle staying there for much longer. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and the simple promise that was to be fulfilled the next morning sat heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. Did he know what he was doing? Was it on purpose? Was he allowed to believe in what he hadn’t thought was possible before? Janus places a hand over his forehead, the feeling of warm lips touching against his skin still rather fresh in his memories. Maybe, he could allow himself to enjoy it? What a dangerous thought, but ever so enticing. Here he thought that he could avoid it forever, and eventually it would be forgotten. Like a fool. Which he just might be.

It was something he’d probably never escape, but was it a curse? Or a blessing? Or perhaps it was neither, since neither of those things exist. But alas these feelings did, and if he couldn’t throw them away, then he’d have to keep them.

The next morning inevitably came, and with great anticipation Janus pauses a few steps before entering the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, as if the action would somehow manage to soothe its wild rhythm, and takes a deep breath. He enters, hesitant and still groggy from just getting up, completely not knowing what to expect.

Logan was there, as usual, sitting at the dining table, papers scattered all across the surface and eyes attentively scanning through the pages of yet another book. It felt almost like a crime to disturb his concentration, but a new detail catches Janus’ eyes. A second cup, placed but a foot away from the other on the table; the area around the mug being mildly less cluttered as if to make room. 

Janus finally steps forward to make his way to the table, his arrival being politely greeted with a “salutations” from the other, and immediately given an offer to sit.

“Here?” He gestures, giving a tentative glance towards where he was used to standing. A comfortable distance away, by the counter. But now that safe haven seemed so far away.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that he pulls out a chair and takes a seat. His eyes wander towards the various papers that cover most of the table’s surface. Notes, facts, and schedules, just like he always imagined. The confirmation of being correct about something never fails to amuse him. He sneaks a peek at Logan, whose gaze also shifts up from his book without lifting his head.

“Reading about coffee today are we?” Janus chuckles.

“There can be a surprising amount of depth to any subject.”

“Hmm.” Janus hums. “...Tell me about it.”

And so he does.

While the two sit in tranquil harmony, with Logan explaining the intricacies of coffee, from its history to its benefits to its various methods of consumption, and Janus patiently listening while staring down at the drink that was poured for him beforehand, in the cup that he has always used each and every morning before. Amidst the pleasant atmosphere and the comforting voice of another, he eventually takes a sip.

It was perfect.

“I’m pleased you like it.” Logan comments, noticing the content expression on his face.

“You really did your research huh.”

“It took a few months. It was difficult to gather data when there was no consistency in the methodology that you used.”

Janus coughs and glances away again, but he hears the small chuckle underneath Logan’s breath.

“I can walk you through the process one day if you’d like.”

“I think I’d rather leave it to you.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Janus mumbles, smiling a little to himself and completely accepting defeat in that regard. 

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee. And now, sitting here at the table under the gentle light of the rising sun, perhaps every following morning could be similarly warm, fulfilling, and just as perfect as well. 

After all, every cup was now going to be just the way he likes it.

[huntertales]

Part Two: Watch Your Tone With Me, Boy. (Bad Boys S09E07)

Episode Summary: When an old friend of Dean’s asks for help to solve a murder, Sam and the reader discover that the older Winchester as a secret past—one that will help solve the hunt. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,533.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You slipped the knife back into the waistband of your jeans and adjusted your jacket when you saw Ruth visibly relax a little bit to see that it was just you. And not some ghost that was supposedly haunting this place. You were an avid believer in the fact that every home had its own set of spirits and secrets. Eventually they struck without warning, but never without reason. It was your job to find out and put a stop to it before someone else could get hurt. Lucky for you, Ruth was more than a local. She knew the ins and outs of this farm since she was little. And even better, the tragic history from the previous owners and how Jack was tangled up in all of this mess. 

"I grew up in this town. I used to come up here as a little girl. The Wasserlaufs—Howard and Doreen—they used to own this farm back then. My co-worker, Jack, may he rest in peace," Ruth began to give you a bit of backstory to help explain things a little better. Ever the religious woman, she made a swift quick sign of the cross in hope he might be at peace after suffering his time on earth. "He worked here as a farmhand. Howard was a nice man, but…” 

Ruth never liked to talk ill of the dead. You could tell from the hesitation in her voice and how she trailed off for a second before going back to the story. “Well, he’d get into that corn liquor. And one night he got it into this thick skull that Jack and his wife, Doreen, were rolling around in the hay. It wasn’t true—but Howard’s paranoia got the best of him. He tried to kill the both of them. Jack got away, but Doreen…” 

“He killed her?” You asked, taking a guess of how this story ended.   

“With a meat cleaver.” Ruth whispered, nodding her head. You psychically winced at the gruesome details of a life cut short. “Which for Howard ended a year ago. He always swore he’d get his revenge on poor, old Jack, and...it looks like he finally got it.” 

A year was plenty of time for a spirit to grow powerful enough to seek his revenge that he wasn't able to get while still alive. The pieces were starting to come together. You thought there was no one else to blame, there was no need to. Ruth had been nothing but helpful to you. Still, there was one more question you wanted to ask her. An odd one that made her look at you with a confused expression. "Is Howard buried in town?"

+ + +

You and the boys headed to the cemetery during the usual time when the sky was pitch black and everyone was asleep in this little town. Easy access with no chance of anyone disrupting you form the several laws you were about to break. While you stood over the grave with sore arms from doing your share of digging, the brothers continued with the rest of the work under the light from the small lamp you brought out here. Most of the digging had been in complete silence with the occasional sigh and grunt from shoveling down six feet beneath the earth. You found yourself leaning against your own shovel and drifting to your own thoughts.

Ever since you left Sonny's home, you kept wondering why Dean kept this place a secret for so many years. He wasn't much of a talkative person about his past unless it was for a funny story or if he was feeling particularly vulnerable, which happened rarely for you. Sam was finding himself caught up with his own personal questions. He had been lied to for years about a story that didn't seem like such a big deal just to tell the truth. He wanted to know why his brother kept up this lie for so long. You had a sneaking suspicion there was more to this story than Dean was admitting to, or wanted.

"So...Dad didn't want you to tell me." Sam decided to strike up a conversation when he threw another pile of dirt into the growing one just a few feet from where you stood. His growing curiosity was hard to ignore anymore. Sam decided it was the best time to strike now before all of you headed back home. He needed to know the truth. "How come? was this place really so bad?"

"I don't really remember." Dean said. At first it sounded like another little lie to get himself out from talking about this any further. He felt the need to give you and his brother a peace of mind to keep from dragging this out more than it needed to. "I mean, look, nobody bad touched me. Nobody burned me with their smokes, or beat me with a metal hanger. I call that a win." 

You furrowed your brows slightly from his examples. You peered down into the grave where Dean caught your concerned expression when the both of you made eye contact for a second when he threw another shovel of dirt into the pile. "I'm afraid to ask if anyone actually ever did that to you."

"No." Dean mumbled without much of a thought, hoping you'd drop it. Only the same expression remained on your face as you wondered if he was telling the truth. "No! No, Y/N. No one beat me. I was kidding. Besides, if anyone tried to lay a hand on me back in the day, it'd be the last thing they ever did." 

Sam chuckled when he caught your eye roll at his brother's attitude that hadn't changed much since his teenage years. Dean felt his shovel hit something hard from the thunking sound he heard when trying to dig up another pile of dirt. You leaned over the grave a little more to see the boys had finally found the coffin. Sam did the honors of lifting open the lid to reveal a corpse that was well past the decomposition stage. You grabbed the supplies you needed while the boys made their way out of the grave for you to complete the final step. 

Your favorite part of burning a body was pouring the lighter fluid and salt over the body, a strange cocktail mix you had grown accustomed to doing as your part of the hunt when spirits were involved. The easiest part of a salt and burn while the boys were stuck with the manual labor. You mumbled a thanks to Dean when he handed you a book of matches and his lighter, the last thing you needed to wrap up this hunt. 

"All right." Dean said. "Let's barbecue old McDonland here, get the hell out of Dodge."

You flicked the lighter and watched as a small flame ignited from doing such, allowing you to catch fire to the book of matches. You threw them into the grave when you saw the orange hues grow enough for you to be confident the body would catch fire as well. Like the dozens of times you had done this before, you watched from a safe distance as the corpse quickly burst into flames from the fluid. If you ignored the several laws you were breaking and the smell of human flesh, the fire during a cold night like this was refreshing. You placed your hands over the fire and rubbed your hands together, smiling in amusement when Dean rolled his eyes at your behavior.

+ + +

The next morning you hoped to be back on the road and halfway to the bunker already, instead Dean wanted to stick around for breakfast at some local diner. You were a little bit annoyed at the change of plans he made without telling you or Sam. His brother didn't oppose the idea of having a warm meal for a change. You were tired from being up all night burning the damn corpse, Dean seemed a bit too cheerful. It wasn’t like him. Normally the trick took a few cups of coffee and an hour of being up for him to stop using grunts as forms of words. 

You scanned the menu to see if there was anything decent here you might want. To you, it seemed like every family run diner you’ve been to, and you’ve been to a lot from the years you spent on the road. Dean had a deeper connection to this place, it was the spot where Sonny took him after a month of staying at the farm. A tradition for every boy. For some reason it felt more special to the older Winchester than he realized until coming back here. 

He remembered the conversation shared with the older man over the best pancakes he ever tasted. Both of them discussed things that felt like something Dean should've been able to do with his own father. The littlest of things that were normal for most people, but to Dean, the topic of conversations like how he was doing in school and how he was overall, were strange and new territory. They were the stupidest things that made Dean feel like a teenager for the first time in his life—and not some kid who was forced to watch his brother for weeks at a time. Who spent days worrying if his parental figure was going to make it back alive. Sonny even opened up a bit about himself and the life he had back in the day. 

"Dean, you know I'm fine just grabbing a burger to go somewhere, right?" You turned the menu around to see if there was anything that you wanted, but for some reason you just weren't in the mood for anything offered. "Besides, I wanted to get home sooner than later. I'm tired. I miss my own bed.” 

"What, and miss out on the best banana pancakes you ever had? Come on, sweetheart. Live a little." Dean's infectious behavior didn't seem to rub off on you like he'd hoped. You glanced up from the menu to see his eyes weren't focused on you like you thought, instead they were wandering over to the busy counter. A frown stretched across your lips when you saw him eyeing one of the waitresses. "You can take a nap in the car." 

"Mmhm. I'm sure that's the reason." You muttered to yourself. 

The waitress seemed to be more than just a pretty face that caught Dean’s eye, on the rare occasion that it happened. She appeared to be about your age and overly friendly among her customers, as if she’d been doing this her whole life. After passing by a few tables and checking up on things to make sure everything was all right, she headed her way over to your direction, greeting the three of you with a welcoming smile, pen and pad ready to take your breakfast order. It took you a second to realize Dean must’ve known her from back in the day before he could say something. 

"Hi. Welcome to Cus's.” She greeted all of you. “What can I get you three?"

"Bet you've never thought you'd see me here, huh?" Dean offered the woman a little too friendly of a smile he’d flashed her plenty of times during their teenage years. You remained quiet as you watched the interaction unfold, curious as to how this was going to play out. 

Robin, from what gold name tag pinned to her shirt read, didn't return the overly friendly smile. She merely stared at him, wondering if she was supposed to remember him. "Uh, look, I'm a little bit slammed right now." She said. "Do you guys want to hear the specials?"

"Robin...Dean Winchester." He introduced himself to the woman, hoping it might spark a memory in her. You and Sam looked over at one another for a brief moment from the awkward interaction before focusing your attention back to the unraveling conversation that wasn’t heading in the direction Dean hoped for. "I used to live up at Sonny's farm." 

"Oh, oh. Uh, look, sorry. There's just so many boys that pass through there, it's hard to remember every name and face." Robin apologized for failing to remember someone from well over a decade ago. You bit the inside of your cheek from the way Dean's face immediately dropped in embarrassment from the way he was acting.

"Yeah. Uh, no. Sorry, I just—I remember you coming up there with your mom. She'd give us guitar lessons. It's uh," Dean shifted around in his seat as he told of a memory that you'd never heard of before. You perked up at hearing how Dean learned guitar. He never told you that. You were suddenly intrigued to hear more, curious even more now of how Robin played into all of this. And how well he knew her from the way he was suddenly acting. "It was a long time ago." 

"Yeah. Mom—she loved helping out the boys." Robin said, a small smile crossing her lips at the mention of the woman. You offered one yourself when she looked around at the table, retelling of a fond memory at least shared between the both of them. "I guess that's why I kept giving lessons after she passed." 

The conversation slowly veered into another pause of awkward silence as Robin and Dean's eyes darted back and forth between one another, not sure if full eye contact was appropriate. You bit the inside of your cheek from how the atmosphere was changing. Dean felt as if he'd made a fool of himself, Robin was embarrassed at the fact she didn't remember him. Luckily before things could get worse, Robin heard her name being called by another person on staff, needing help somewhere else. The woman excused herself with a polite smile before dashing off elsewhere. 

“Dude…” 

“Let’s go.” 

Dean didn’t want to waste another second here after a simple conversation nosedived into something mortifying. He didn’t know why he felt like such an idiot. You and Sam followed after the man when he snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and beelined for the door without saying anything else. So much for having those pancakes. 

You slipped on your jacket as you picked up the pace to try and catch up with Dean, wanting to know why he was suddenly acting so upset. You could put the pieces together on your own, but you wanted to be sure what you were about to say was the right thing. And you always liked to dig a little deeper into things that never quite concerned you. It was in your nature. 

"What was that all about?" You asked. Dean rolled his eyes from your pestering, shooting it down with a one worded answer that he hoped would make you drop the conversation once and for all. Of course it didn’t, for it only fueled your curiosity even more. “And don’t tell me it's ‘nothing.’ Because it was obviously something.” 

“Who was that waitress?” Sam questioned his brother, deciding to join in for himself. 

“Is she an ex-girlfriend of yours or something?” You pressed for more when a teasing smile crept on the ends lips at the way Dean stiffened at the mention. “Come on. I’m not jealous.”

"I said it was nothing, Y/N, all right? Drop it."You could tell by the tone of Dean's voice he wasn't in the mood to play this childish game anymore with you. It was your turn to roll your eyes from the way he was acting. You reached out to open up the backseat door as Dean's phone continued ringing. Finally answering it, you heard the familiar name of Sonny come out of the older Winchester's mouth, followed by a reaction from a call that wasn’t to congratulate you on a job well done. "What?!"

+ + +

You and the boys headed back to the farm after hearing the disheartening news of Ruth's strange passing. You thought the case was wrapped up for good, but it seemed the person whom you thought was to blame for all of this was the wrong target. Someone else was to blame. You watched as the coroner's van pulled away with Ruth's body after they took a look around the scene for themselves to figure out what happened. You overheard the hushed conversation among the officers who suspected it was most likely an accidental drowning. She probably fell asleep in the bathtub. While the cause of death might have been correct, their hypothesis of how it happened was wrong. There was nothing accidental about this. 

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest in frustration. Whenever someone else fell victim to the creature you were trying to hunt, it was the worst feeling of all. You let another innocent person die. You had been so sure. Ruth told you herself. She was set on the fact that Howard would get his revenge. And if he was to blame for this, it didn’t make sense of how she died this morning when you burned the man’s bones last night. Someone else was to blame for this. And you needed to find out quickly before another person suffered a terrible fate. 

“I tried to get in to save her, but the damn door wouldn’t open.” Sonny told you the story himself about what happened this morning, finding it all a bit strange from an invisible force that wouldn’t let him in. Sam wondered if it was because the door happened to be locked. A woman must’ve wanted privacy while she took a bath, but locks weren't a privacy the boys on his farm were allowed to have. Which made things even stranger. “There’s no locks on the farm.” 

Dean let out a sigh from the situation that was only growing crappier. “That means our little field trip to the cemetery was a bust.” He muttered. Sonny gave a slightly confused look as to what the hell you were doing there in the first place. He decided it was best not to ask. “Sonny, is there anything else weird you can remember?” 

“What, ‘cause we’re not already chest-deep in weird already, kids?” Sonny asked. 

“I know, I know.” Dean said. “I mean anything—really.” 

“There was one thing.” Sonny suddenly remembered now, feeling it might be important for you to know, and hoping it might help. “Ruth always had her rosary beads with her, but now I can’t find them anywhere.” 

"All right. Let's start with the vics, okay? I mean, both lived in the house. They both worked closely with the boys." Sam listed off a few similarities between Ruth and Jack that might tie in the reason why they were targeted in the first place. It wasn’t much of a solid thread, but you had to admit a small lead was better than nothing. 

“Why don’t Y/N and I go have a chat with the rugrats, see what’s up?” Dean suggested. You nodded your head in agreement. “Play bad cop, worse cop.” 

The both of you headed off to go search around the grounds to see if you might be able to find any of the boys to ask them a few questions. You figured most of them weren't doing their daily responsibilities Sonny gave them from all the commotion that went down earlier. It wasn't hard to find a few boys when you heard a set of voices echoing not too far from where you and Dean were standing, and from how the conversation was unfolding, it was anything but playful banter between friends. 

“Come on, whatcha gonna do about it? You gonna cry?”

“Timmy, you’re such a little weirdo.” 

Dean picked up the pace when he heard a familiar name dropped, making him realize who the two older kids were tormenting. You followed right behind to see the older man come to the rescue of a young boy who was cornered by two older and larger ones, making for an unfair fight to protect himself. Dean shoved the two boys away from who you guessed was Timmy before they could try and inflict anymore harm. 

“Timmy, what’s going on?” Dean asked the young boy, hoping for some kind of answer. The kid remained where he stood, cowering in his spot against the house, as if he was too afraid to speak in front of the bullies. The older man decided he’d get back to the kid in a minute, for now he focused his attention on the others. “All right, you two. Where were you this morning when Ruth had her accident?”

“Unless you’re a cop, we don’t need to tell you anything.” The taller one of the two bullies thought he was funny when he replied with a sarcastic comeback. You chuckled in amusement from how tough the kid thought he was. He was about to be in for a rude awakening. 

“Rude and smart. Well, guess what.” You took it upon yourself to pull out your fake badge from your pocket and flashed it to them, Dean doing the same in a more aggressive fashion when he got dangerously close. As if he was proving a point that he wasn’t fooling around. He was the worst cop in this situation. “Now, since you two obviously love running your mouths, why don't you answer our questions?"

“We weren’t even here this morning. Sonny sent us into town to get some chicken feed—we swear.” The kid said, making sure to add the last part when you gave them both a glaring expression their parents lacked to give from their foul behavior. 

“What about Ruth?” You asked them. “What can you tell us about her?”

“We used to call her the warden.” The shorter, skinner bully answered. “She was a real bible thumping hard-ass.”

“Obviously. What else?” Dean pressed for more information that might be useful. “Anything different or weird you can think of?”

“You mean besides Timmy?” You rolled your eyes when one of the bullies thought it was funny to try and go for a jab when you and Dean were standing right here, you had enough of their juvenile behavior. So did Dean from the reaction they were able to get out of him. 

“Hey. Either one of you touch him again, I’m gonna go all Guantanamo on you. Understand me? Now get the hell out of here.” Dean’s threat made the smile on the bullie’s face quickly drop from how serious he sounded. “Go on! Get!” It didn't take much else for the two boys to go running off somewhere else where they'd be useful. You let out a sigh before turning your attention over to Timmy. The poor kid was able to finally step out from the corner he was backed into and pick up his action figure. Dean made his way over to the kid, wanting to make sure he was all right. "Hey. You and Bruce okay?"

 “Yeah.” Timmy was soft spoken, obviously still shaken up about what just unfolded. 

"I want you and Bruce to meet someone." Dean said. You realized this Burce was the action figure Timmy was holding. You felt a smile grow on your lips at how natural Dean was around Timmy, they must've shared a moment together when you were here last. "This is Y/N. She's helping me find out what's going on around here."

“Very nice to meet you both.” You greeted the kid with a warm smile. You stretched out your hand for Timmy to take it, not expecting much. Most his age either would ignore you or give a limp shake. But the kid did it properly, even better than most. Firm and exactly like how Dean taught him. The older man smiled to himself at how the lesson paid off. 

“Listen to me. I wanna tell you something important.” Dean crouched down so he was at eye level with the kid, wanting to make sure he felt like he was being treated like an equal. Not looked down upon. “Guys like that—they’re cowards, okay? All you got to do is stand up to them one time and they’ll stop, I promise.” 

"You can trust this guy." You reassured Timmy, softly nudging Dean to help further prove his point. "You don't have to be big and strong to defend yourself, kid. All it takes is guts. And I bet you have lots of them." 

Timmy seemed to have started feeling better from the smallest of smiles that crept across his lips at your kind words. You were happy to see the kid was able to brush off the situation and go back to his daily chores. While Dean went to find the rest of the kids, what few of them were left, you decided to head back to the house to help Sam with the files to cut down on time. You needed to find out who was behind this before someone else got hurt. 

As you made your way back to the house, the layout of the farm started to grow a little bit familiar to you, you looked around to see the chaos of this morning was starting to slowly drift away. The boys were getting back to their chores and life picked back up again. You found yourself slowing down to take in more of the sights around this place, how many things that needed to be done in order to keep this place properly running. Not to mention little things around the house that made it personal. For some reason you must've overlooked the wall of awards and trophies hanging by the stairs. 

“Looks like you found our hall of fame.” You turned your head away from examining all the different sorts of awards that ranged from academic achievements to sports trophies from countless boys over the years to see Sonny had spotted you. He came up and stood next to you, looking over the achievements the kids he looked after got. “We had some pretty great athletes come through here, including Dean.” 

“Wait, really?” You followed the direction Sonny’s finger was pointing to find out what Dean had won an award for. You broke out into a smile at learning something else about the man you never would’ve guessed might have been an interest of his. 

“He was Sullivan County hundred and thirty-five pound wresting champion.” Sonny said. 

Hearing the accomplishment Dean was able to make on his own during his stay here made you happy, but at the same time, overwhelmed with sadness. Sonny sounded so proud of the kid for what he was able to do. But all you could think about was how John handled the news. Did Dean ever tell all of his adventures to his father, only to be brushed off as things that were nice—but not logical. It didn't fit the narrative of what John wanted for his boys. The reality of how he thought things needed to be. You were starting to slowly understand why Dean wanted to keep this place a secret, and not his father.

[Next Part]

Rewrite Taglist:

@deansquirreljerkwinchester // @everything-i-tried-was-taken // @starswirlblitz // @supernaturalismydrug // @we-are-band-sexuals // @angiewinchestercas // @kaylinfayezink  // @owhatshername1 // @kgbrenner  // @cleo-is-my-doggy // @eeyore1988 // @dakota-dream // @lilylovelyxo // @timetravelingginger // @holahellohialoha //   @quicksilver123456 // @natashacamillas //@lexi-anastasia //@kaylinfayezink //  @deanwnchstr @albot-eh // @rashinyx2002 // @shellybeans //  @icantfindacreativeurl //  @becs-bunker // @oreosatmidnight // @bands-and-shietz // @fabulousmustachesonapolarbear // @clarewinchester // @releasethekracko // @alex-zeppelin // @mega-mrs-dean-winchester // @theskytraveler // @notmoose94 //@assassinofmasyaf // @caswinchester2000 // @savannah-m-99 // @sunlight-dean // @strayrosesbloom // @that-slytherin-over-there // @1000roughdrafts // @its-medeanwinchester // @simplyhemmings // @dream-believe-and-love // @that-winged-rat // @romanovanoffsstuff

Message me if you would like to be added!

[auspicious-lilana]

Two Cats, One Heart (Chat Noir x reader)

Summary: Y/n Ross and Adrian Agreste are childhood best friends, they’ve been through thick and thin, including losing their mom, and dad. Since then Y/n’s mom made her live with Adrian at his mansion and forever leaving her life. Watch as their lives Change as they become the new heroes of Paris alongside Ladybug and see how Romance sprouts between the two models.

Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 | Part 4  | Part 5 

(Make sure to comment! It brings me motivation seeing them!)

{Y/n's POV}

"Have any 2 of hearts?" I asked. We were waiting on Alya's blog live stream that she posted would happen later on while Alpha and I played card games for the meantime.

"Darling, no. I'm the king of games". Alpha cockingly remarked as I scoffed. "Go fish"

"If you're so good, tell me why you lost the last 10 games we played and now I'm here beating your butt in Go fish" I confidently said as I picked up another card from the deck.

"I was only warming up for this game!" Alpha countered. "Any Queen of hearts?"

"You said that 9 games ago, go fish" Alpha picked up a card and placed it on the desktop stand he was using to hold and hide his cards.

"Well this is was my final warm-up"

"Whatever helps you sleep. Any 5 of diamonds?" Alpha huffed as he handed me the card as I smiled placing it in my pile of other matched cards. "Your pile seems awfully short of matchings" I snickered.

"Hush child, I'm just going easy on you" Alpha snapped. "A Kawami treats its owner well. Any Joker?"

"My last card. Here you go" I said happily as he placed it in his matching pile before sighing as he saw the stock empty as I smirked." I won, again"

"There's one thing you can't beat me at". Alpha confidently said.

"What?" I said curiously.

"A bet" I raised my eyebrow, signaling him to explain further. "I bet you, the pretty boy is head over heels with you, and if you ever asked him to a date, he'd say yes" I scoffed and shook my head.

"He's not into me".

"That's what she said" I rolled my eyes.

"Besides, I'm in love with someone else," I said sighing as I looked at my poster wall.

"I know, I know. Mr. I'm the best Cat, Chat Noir."

"Hang on, 'cause we're going for a ride. Freak out! What you got here is no ordinary book, it's a tenth-grade history book. And I should know, 'cause I've got this very same book. Could our very own Ladybug be a high school student, in real life?" Alya said in her live as we seemed to missed a part of it while we were talking. I looked at it in awe.

"Ladybug going to our high school?" I thought about it before I grinned. "What if Chat Noir also goes to our school too?!"

"Don't you think you know him then?" Alpha said as he reached for his brownie and taking a bite. "Why bother yourself with cocky cats  when you could be enjoying this?"

"First of all, Cocky cats last longer than a single brownie, and they are much better looking."

"Your loss"

"My only loss is my appetite right now, you are aware you're eating a week old brownie, right?"

"The older it is, the more flavory." I cringed as Alya went live again.

" OH MY GOSH, Coming to you live, Lady blog viewers, I'm at the scene even before Ladybug, Lady Wolf or Cat Noir! This is insane!" I saw an akumatized person which caught me off guard as I stared at the screen shocked with my jaw dropped.

"Love the face change," Alpha snickered. "Total improvement." I glared at him as I showed my wrist with my miraculous.

"Time to transform," Alpha groaned as he finished the brownie in one gulp. "Alpha, Tails out!"

***

By the time I got there, Chat was also there. We met up in front of the museum as we saw the akumatized victim pull the metal bars from the museum lockdown as we looked at him with a cocky grin.

"Nice of you to hold the door open for us," I said with a confident grin before Chat and I tried to attack him before he dodged and grabbed our legs, throwing us into a coffin, which closed on us.

"Well, this wasn't what I was imagining when I said I wanted us to get some alone time," Chat jokes as I blush while I scoffed.

"What did you imagine?"

"For me to know, and you to never find out." I was pressed to his chest as he placed his hands around my waist to make it less uncomfortable. Soon Ladybug pulled the coffin open as I quickly got out as Chat did too.

"Hiding behind an innocent bystander!" Chat yelled. "You're weak, Pharaoh!" Pharaoh walked through the cage with Alya on his shoulders.

"I'm way more powerful than you are." The Pharaoh used his strength to close the bars and walked away.

"And don't forget! All the latest behind the scenes are on my blog!" I heard Alya exclaim.

"Alya is sure one brave character." I sweatdropped.

"If by brave, you mean bossy, feisty, and bold?" Ladybug asked. "Yup, that's her! Come on, get us out of here, Cat Noir!"

"Cataclysm!" Chat used his power to break the bars. "How are we gonna find them?" He asked as we ran.

"Alya's got a live stream on her blog!" Ladybug said as she and I brought out our yoyo/staff to watch the live stream.

"Hi, everyone! Alya here, live blogging from the shoulder of the terrifying villain! Huge scoop to come, stay tuned!" Chat's ring began to beep constantly.

"You two go ahead." Chat said. "I'll join you guys as soon as my Miraculous is charged up again."

"Hurry," I said. "It's going to take the three of us to defeat him." Chat nodded as we ran separate ways. Chat going back and ladybug and I chasing after Pharaoh to stall.

We watched the live stream to see Alya was going to be used as an offering.

"We better hurry," Ladybug said as I nodded before we ran right into a bubble which slowed us down.

"Oh no," I groaned as Ladybug tried to pound on her. "Can't believe we ran straight into a time bubble,"

"We've got to get out of this!" Ladybug said as I chuckled. I bet we sound and look as slow as a snail in the outside.

"ladybug! Lady Wolf! this is Alya! I just found out I'm the sacrificial offering to the sun god! Please hurry!" Alya said into her live stream.

"Hold on, Alya." Ladybug muttered. "I'm nearly there," Ladybug began to run as I glanced at her bubble and started to chuckle. She looked so funny in slow-motion. I began to run, it was the most we could do before I saw Chat pop her bubble with his baton before popping mines as I stumbled and fell onto his chest as he held me.

"Thanks for waiting around for me," Chat joked as I got up with a grin.

"No problem," I played along.

"Now we need to get to Alya quickly." Ladybug said as we ran outside. We peeked outside to see Mummies blocking the view.

"We can't see the Akuma or the girl!" I exclaimed before we all went up to the roof.

"Over there," Chat pointed as we spotted the Akuma and Alya before we began to watch the live stream from ladybug's yoyo.

"Whoa, back up! Who are those goddess chicks with the black spots and wolf ears! There, on your papyrus!" Alya exclaimed.

"Ladybug and Lady Wolf. My sworn enemies!" The Pharaoh angrily yelled. "My two greatest nemeses may have kept me from carrying out my ritual 5000 years ago, but they will not stop Nefertiti from coming back to me this time! especially that annoying wolf"

"Did you say..." Alya trailed off shocked. "Ladybug and Lady Wolf, 5000 years ago?!"

"Everyone does have a past they can learn from." Ladybug said as I stood surprised. Guess you really do really learn something new every day as a miraculous holder.

"Well," Chat said inspecting me with a grin. "You don't look a day over 3000."

"Now you know why we're so much wiser than you!" Ladybug said with a grin as I frowned.

"I am not annoying!" The Pharaoh began a ritual as a beam shot from the sky as the mummies carried Alya as she struggled.

"Ladybug! Lady Wolf!" She yelled as Ladybug got serious.

"We've gotta save her before he completes the ritual or Alya will be gone, forever!" Ladybug exclaimed.

"What should we do?" Chat asked.

"You hold back the mummies while Lady Wolf and I take on the Pharaoh."

"Why do I have to deal with these freaks while you two get to slip calmly round back?"

"Because Ladybug is the only one who can capture his Akuma, I am the one he hates the most and you're the bravest one out of the three of us," I winked as Chat playfully rolled his eyes.

"Sure," He said before Ladybug swung off. "I know you don't really think that, but I'll pretend you do."

"Don't worry," I said turning around. "I genuinely do," Chat's eyes widened as I smiled before going after Ladybug.

Ladybug and I went around as Chat went to distract the mummies.

"Hey there, you bunch of bandages!" Chat yelled from his spot sitting on the street lamb. "What do you say we wrap this up!" He grinned.

"Chat noir!" Alya exclaimed.

"Seize him!" The Pharaoh yelled as the mummies ran after him.

"Is that really as fast as you can go?" Chat taunted as he leaped from one street lamb to another.

"Wait, this looks... like a trap!" The Pharaoh exclaimed a bit too late as Ladybug swung by and got Alya. "Horus! Give me your wings!" I threw a pole at him which slowed him down as I went up to Ladybug only to have Alya's phone shoved in my face.

"Thanks for saving my butt!" She exclaimed. "You all just witnessed our favorite heroines save yet another citizen."

"Oh, uh, you're welcome. But it's not over yet." I said as Ladybug nodded.

"Not until--"

"Not until Ladybug destroys the pendant containing the akuma, and turns everything back to normal" Alya cut off Ladybug. "I pay attention"

"The Pendant!" The two heroines exclaimed. "Good eye!"

"Ah!" Alya yelled as Pharaoh knocked Ladybug and I off the building as Ladybug used her yoyo to ease her fall as I balanced myself with my staff. Ladybug soon caught Alya's phone as The Pharaoh carried her.

"Help me! Ladybug! Lady Wolf!" She yelled as Ladybug and I were fighting off the mummies as the Pharaoh placed Alya on the light beam. We then saw a car about to be thrown at Chat as Ladybug used her yoyo to pull him out of there.

"Chat Noir!" She yelled. "This way!" Chat Noir followed us as we ran inside the bus, Chat going under as the two of us got out quickly once locking the mummies in the bus as Chat flipped it over with his staff.

"We have to save Alya before she gets to the circle of darkness." Ladybug said as we nodded along as we ran towards the beam only to be stopped my the Pharaoh.

"You will not stop me from bringing Nefertiti back!" He growled. "I'll finish you off! Anubis, bring me mummies!" He began to shoot beams at us as we had to keep dodging it. Ladybug used her yoyo to tight him up for a small distraction as Chat and I used our staffs to leap over him as we began to quickly climb up the glass pyramid with our claws. "Horus, Give me your wings!" Pharaoh began to fly, dragging Ladybug in the air as Chat and I ducked low as he flew up ahead. Ladybug reached to his back as she broke the string of the pendant and threw it down.

"Chat Noir! Lady Wolf! The pendant!" We pounced down as we ran towards the falling pendant as Ladybug already jumped off his back using the yoyo to safely land as all three of us ran for the pendant only for Pharaoh to beat us to it as he stood next to it, stopping us in our trails.

"Sekhmet, give me your strength!" The Pharaoh used his strength to cause a sonic wave which knocked us down as we were soon surrounded by mummies. "It's over," He picked up his pendant.

"Ladybug!" Alya yelled. "Save me!"

"Oh, Ra, god of the sun, accept this humble offering and return the princess to ME!" The Pharaoh chanted.

"Lucky Charm!" Ladybug said as a polka dotted box containing Lady Wolf outfit set was in it. "A Lady Wolf outfit?"

"That's our last hope?" Chat asked. Ladybug used her thinking vision and the bracelet in the costume caught her eyes.

"This offering isn't good enough for Nefertiti!"

"Hey! Thanks a lot!" Alya defensivly yelled.

"Too late, Ladybug!" The Pharoah said. "The ritual has begun!"

"Set Alya free and sacrifice Lady Wolf instead!" Lady Wolf gasped as she stared at her.

"Hey!" Ladybug didn't look at her as she gave her a identical bracelet of her miraculous behind her back as Lady Wolf grinned slightly as she swiped it, swiftly covering her real bracelet with the fake one. "Wouldn't that be the sweetest revenge? 5000 years later! After all, Me and Lady Wolf are the ones who kept Nefertiti from you all these years! And you always said she was the most annoying!"

"It's true that she'd make a much more precious offering than this mortal." Pharaoh took Lady Wolf's hand. "Horus, give me your wings!"

"Seriously?" Alya said as Pharaoh threw her off the beam as Ladybug caught her. "Excuse you, but I make excellent sacrificing material!"

"You win, Pharaoh..." I pretend to take off my bracelet, then tricked the Pharaoh and grabbed his pendent without his knowledge. " You want my miraculous? Go get it!" She threw her fake bracelet. Pharaoh went after it only to find it's fake a bit too late.

"A toy?" The Pharaoh screeched. "You tricked me!" Lady Wolf punched the pendant and threw it down for Ladybug to get the akuma.

"No more evil doing for you, little Akuma! Time to de-evilize!" Ladybug caught the akuma. "Gotcha!" Ladybug purifed the Akuma before releasing it. "Bye, Bye, little butterfly!" She then threw the lucky charm in the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!" Everything began to turn back to normal as Lady Wolf slid down the glass pyramid.

"Thanks, Ladybug! But, uh, I still gotta ask: how old are you, really?"

"Much older than a high school student, that's for sure!" Ladybug swung away.

"Don't you wanna know how old I am?" Chat asked as he smirked.

"Looks like I'll be able to tell for myself." Alya pointed at his ring to show he was about to turn back as he panicked and ran off as Lady Wolf and Alya chuckled.

"Well, that's my cue to leave." I left without another word as I headed back in my room before changing back.

"Man am I tired." Alpha complained as he tiredly flew to the plate of brownies left on her desk.

"How come you never told me you annoyed more people than just me?" I asked.

"What do you mean annoyed?"

"Well, during the fight. there was another Lady Wolf 5000 years ago."

"Oh,"

"Was there really more Lady Wolf's before me?"

"Many,"

"At least now I know I'm not the first to be stuck with you," I playfully sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean!" I chuckled as I sat down on my chair.

"Nothing."

"Y/n!!!"

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It���s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at.  “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want—”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

[choco-glow]

Birds of a Feather

Tifa had to smile a little as her frequent visitor shifted his weight on the bar stool, his contemplation of his whiskey glass interrupted by a gaggle of bachelorettes begging her for martinis and cosmos. This was part of her usual crowd on Monday nights, the last of the work crowd drifting off into Edge's shadowy streets, a remnant of the swell of people from just four hours before. Vincent had drifted in with the first swell, and after hiding in her smallest booth for the majority of the night, he'd slunk to the bar as usual, nursing a few glasses of whiskey along the way.

It was his way, and she was quite used to it; in fact, she preferred it, and more often than not, she found herself taking her breaks with him, happy for the quiet aura of his company. He eyed her as she deftly made the drinks, pouring them directly into the salted glasses, earning her a chorus of drunken cheers for the final flourishes. As the girls drifted away, congregating around one of the far corner booths, Vincent finally heaved a sigh of relief. Crimson eyes met her own claret when she chuckled, and a tiny smile quirked those thin lips.

"You are amused?"

"Oh Vincent, I shouldn't laugh, but you're so easy to read." He tipped the glass to her and took a sip, eyes closing to the burn down his throat, and he settled his elbows on the bar, propping his head up on long, slender hands, one encased in a black leather glove to protect both the eyes of strangers, and the fragile skin that covered his arm as he met her eyes again. He was dressed simpler than usual; a dark blue silk shirt (ever the vain bird, he had to have the best, and really, he could afford it) and black jeans, his holster still strapped around one thigh, knee-high boots and a discarded jacket topping the ensemble. He'd cut his hair, too, to what it had been in his Turk days, though it still was about as unruly as it had been long.

"Ah, so I am an open book?" She mimicked him, just a little ways down, crab-shuffling over to lean across from him.

"No, but you are a very interesting puzzle at times. So, are you going to the motel tonight, or will you finally spend the night here? The old place is a little empty without Denzel and Marlene." Vincent raised an eyebrow at her offer, but his expression softened. Tifa was not a woman who did well alone; she was like a songbird, and away from her flock, she didn't know what else to do. He could see how lonely she was...and ever since he'd returned from the hell that had hidden beneath Midgar, he'd made a point of visiting her more and more in the last two years. Five years since Meteor...

"Marlene is back home with Barret, of course...Denzel is with Cloud, yes?"

"Mmhmm. He's been Cloud's assistant for the last year or so anyway, and since Cloud's been working so much with Reeve these days, he's not alone in the warehouse anymore. It does help that Reno and Rude are helping him too..."

"I thought that Yuffie was moving in here a few months ago..." Tifa shrugged, absently noting that the bar was finally emptying out. She ran the bar from just after the dinner hours to around one or so, her second job out at one of the retail stores ending at five, but starting at nine in the morning, leaving her usually with very little time to herself. Vincent, and the others, of course, but mostly the tall gunman, had taught her to begin delegating her duties out so that she could take time off.

Usually, it was a little dinner, some drinking, and the occasional movie, but lately...it had only been Vincent coming around. And she had wondered, ever since Cloud had moved out, if perhaps the reason why Vincent had warmed to her so much after the Deepground affairs was because he had a vested interest in her. Now, wouldn't that be a pretty picture? She glanced over at him and fought to hold back a blush at his own gaze. Cid had always said that Vincent was a raven; harsh, imposing, dangerous and solitary...but ravens were quite the gentlemen, weren't they? And they mated for life...Resolutely, she shoved that idea out of her head.

"She was, but then she had to go back to Wutai. Godo wasn't doing too well, and her honor won't let her neglect her country." Vincent huffed out a laugh and took another swig, his tone musing.

"I never would have imagined that I'd be on a first name basis with the leaders of two continents..." Tifa laughed, and filled his glass again, sipping her own long-stemmed wine glass with ease.

"Me either, but oh, how far we've come. So, I'd like an answer, my dear nightbird; are you staying or are you going?" She replied glibly, sliding off the counter to begin collecting glasses and shut up for the night. He raised another eyebrow at that; 'nightbird', was he? Well, then, that did deserve a truthful answer, and as he watched her sweep up the glasses, he had to admit, part of his reason for returning so often wasn't entirely due to friendship.

Any fool could see that Tifa was attractive; he personally found her to be drop-dead gorgeous, and she looked no less beautiful in the dark jeans and swoop-necked blouse than she had in that white tank top and leather miniskirt. In fact, he rather liked what she was wearing tonight...the jeans flared from her knee down in a gentle angle out, curving up over those perfect hips...the blouse was loose and flowing, occasionally dipping down to reveal a perfect, pale shoulder, the soft swell of her breasts hidden, teasing just below that top hem.

Lucrecia had been pretty, but inside, she was as cold as the mako that encased her. Tifa was warmth and life and true beauty, alive in every sense of the word. He had cared for Aerith, but she'd been rather distant, in his opinion; not that he hadn't felt sorrow at her loss, but it was a sorrow for the planet and its people, as well as the girl. Tifa, though...he felt his chest tighten at the mere thought that she could be so easily harmed, and he knew, deep down, that should that ever happen...He rose, the alcohol making his senses just a touch sharper. He made his way carefully over to her, and picked up the first trayful, the larger one as she glanced up.

"Vincent, you're my guest!"

"Perhaps, but I can't in good conscience not help you." She sighed, but her rosy lips curved up in a smile and he felt his own face react in kind.

"...Alright then. It would be nice to rest early tonight, for a change..." The next hour went quick, to his surprise; she had two sinks behind her bar, and with both of them washing the glasses, (Vincent took off his glove to protect the leather) the workload disappeared with ease. He leaned back with a groan and stretched his shoulders, working out the kink that leaning over had caused. She laughed softly, her voice huskier than usual, and after drying her hands smartly on the towel between them, reached up to rub her strong hands along the taut muscles around his spine. Vincent's eyes closed in pleasure, and he let her massage out the knot, his hands clenching, just a little, at the lip of the sink.

"It's been a while since I've been a dishwasher..." His own voice had deepened, and a flash of a grin flitted across his face when her fingers stumbled. Ah, he still had his touch..."You need not do that, Tifa."

"Think of it as a thank you for helping me. I didn't expect to close up at ten tonight." Oh? Vincent licked his lips, and pulled away from her, just a little, curving his body back around to face her, leaning up against the counter's edge, his height diminished as he leaned over her. She was roughly a head shorter than he, and those warm red eyes met his own, pleasantly void of fear or distrust. She knew him, knew his body language, his actions...

"Tifa..." Was it just him, or did she color a little when he said her name?

"Yes, Vincent?" Gods, the way she said his...it was never 'Vin' or 'Vinnie', it was always, always Vincent. Gods, he could love the woman just for that. Fortunately, the feeling seemed to be mutual, and though he felt as though he was about to dive headlong off a cliff...the feeling had never been sweeter.

"Are you...seeing anyone?" Tifa flushed softly, but she shook her head, slowly, her heart in her throat. "Would you...like to?"

"Yes..." It was a whisper of sound that passed her lips, so quiet that even his sharp ears barely heard it, and he closed the distance between them, his human hand coming up to rest on her cheek, cupping her jaw. A thrill ran through his body as she leaned into his touch, her own hands coming up to close about his hand and wrist, and he drew her close, brushing his lips across her forehead. "How long...?"

"Since you and Cloud levered that coffin lid off, and woke me to the world I'd lost. Despite what our blonde friend might think, you were the first I laid eyes on in three decades...and my first thought was that I'd finally died, and my angel was there to take me away." He replied, his voice softer, gentler, as he tucked her head under his chin, snuggling her close. "And in the last five years, I've discovered that what I felt for Lucrecia was a kind of love, but not the sort that lasts. She never would have braved the wilds, fighting monsters, camping rough, for almost a year, and she never would have come to the aid of others. You...You thrive in adversity, like the little flowers that I remember clinging to the cliffs of the Nibel mountains. And you...are just as beautiful as they." She laughed into his chest, and he dipped his head down further, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"A flower, eh? I thought that was Aeris..." He chuckled as well.

"Perhaps the analogy is in need of alteration, then? A songbird, whose beauty is in her voice and her actions, as well as her plumage." She giggled at that, and pulled away, snickering a little at his quirked eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Cid always calls you a raven...so I suppose it really does fit. You know how the old saying goes, after all..." He smiled, and drew her in for another kiss, his lips hovering over hers.

"Oh, that I do...we flock together, don't we?"

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter Fourteen

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger​

Martin returns a lost item.

It's cleaning day. 

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal. 

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin. 

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better. 

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

--

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long. 

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. 

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water. 

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked. 

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.” 

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced. 

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”  

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines. 

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-” 

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop. 

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy. 

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.” 

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.” 

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh. 

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.” 

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”

[guardianofjunmyeon]

Finding Atlantis (part 6)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description:   20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor,  to  any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man  has  heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But  fewer  men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean,  the key  to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold  should they  find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself.  Thus, the hunt  began.    

A/N: I meant to update last week but my VPN wasn’t working! I couldn’t access tumblr bc it’s blocked here in china but i finally got it fixed lol. This one is long! WARNING(s): Smut + Character Death (??)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

After hours of discussion and blindly heading southeast, you all were finally able to somewhat crack the code of the rhyme and the map.

“Follow the sound of your soul, she’ll call out to you to bring you back to your shoal. That’s clearly about the Atlantis return song. It’s the most important part of all of this. If we don’t get a better handle of when it appears and when it doesn’t we won’t get through the rest of the trails.”

“Trials?”

“Yes, there are three different trials masked in the lyrics of the song. The way back isn’t easy. If you leave Atlantis, you have to prove that you truly want to return,” Yeri replies.

You squint at the map now covered in writing.

“She’ll fight you to prove that your heart is true, to crush you and build you back stronger in her darkest shade of blue,” Sehun reads. “It’s about a storm. A very big one by the sound of it.” He points to an area of the map with nothing but water. “You see this area? It’s known for its unruly currents and unnatural weather patterns. It ranges from snow to thunderstorms large enough to wipe out entire islands.”

Junmyeon grazes his fingers over the map, passing the spot Sehun mentioned and further southeast. “Beautiful songs will call out to confuse the path, to distract you, but remembering your heart will get you through…if we continue beyond the location of the storm we’ll be set to approach Isla de Sirena within a week.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Yeri looks on in confusion. “Why shit?”

“Isla de Sirena is an island known for luring ships underwater. They crash ships among the rocks with song. They appear as the most beautiful creature that you can imagine; whatever you subconsciously find the most alluring. I don’t know how they do it. Different people can look at the same one and see different things; they trick you that way. Mermaids…sirens, whatever you want to call them. Freaky little bitches.”

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon admonishes.

“What? They are!”

“So we’ve got to face…beautiful singing women? Oh no the horror,” you gasp jokingly.

Baekhyun pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so horny, and so stupid all the fucking time.”

“You’re one to fucking talk-”

“Children!” Junmyeon scolds. “Can we please hold off on the flirting until this is over?”

“We aren’t flirting-”

“Anyway!” You and Baekhyun close your mouths in embarrassment. “We’ve gone near Isla de Sirena, once,” Sehun adds grimly, eyebrows pitching angrily. “If you’re able to ignore their voices then you can see them for they are. They’re the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shivers.

“So what’s the final trial?” Baekhyun asks, back to contributing to the conversation and not being a pain in your ass.

“She’ll finally take you in her arms again, cradled and safe where all life began…” Yeri reads. A sigh. “We aren’t completely sure. It’s something about a rebirth?”

You scratch your chin.

“Maybe it’s about being drowned.”

Everyone turns their eyes to you.

“What?” you ask; your wide eyes look back at everyone staring at you as if you said something crazy. You point to the map in the general area where you think you all may end up. “There’s no land anywhere near here, and the city is underwater. Born from water, taken away from water, and then reclaimed by the water. If you leave, you must be drowned and reborn into an Atlantian again right? Why else would you forget your memories and connection to the sea the longer you’re away?”

“You are reborn in the place where life began…” Baekhyun mumbles. “You might be right. The final trial is a drowning of some kind. There’s a reason only Atlantian’s are the only people who can reach the city.” Baekhyun smacks you on the shoulder. “You’re not completely useless!”

You frown and hold your shoulder.

Bastard.

~~~

Candles cover the deck of the ship as the sun sets on the horizon. You watch somberly as each member of your crew places an object that reminds them of Taemin, of Amber, of Kun, and of Jaehyun in each of the four caskets meant to sail them to the other side.

Their bodies are wrapped in cloth to save everyone the trauma of facing their decomposing faces. Flowers, candies, articles of clothes surround each body with the things that made them who they were in life.

And will hopefully comfort them in the land of death.

Your most artistically inclined deckhand, Ten, places a portrait of each of them in their respective boat. An image to match the body.

“Jaehyun was always smiling; he worked hard as a gunner. He’d hoped one day to be master gunner of the ship.” Mark stands over the casket. “He uh, he never said much but he had the most imaginative mind of any person I ever met,” he says with a sad smile. “When the cannon backfired and killed him, it was quick, so at least he didn’t suffer for long. Farewell friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Luna takes over where Mark left off, standing in front of Amber’s casket. “I’ve known Amber since we were kids. She was a strange one,” she laughs. “She was very head strong and opinionated even when she was wrong. We both knew that working in the artillery was going to be rough, that it would be dangerous, but I know that she loved this job more than anything. She had a family with us, and she died where she would have wanted, I think.” Tears fill her eyes as she sits back down in the circle of crewmen.

“Kun…was like an older brother to me. He would tell me that I was getting on his nerves, but he would always take care of me…uh…take care of all of us in the best way he could. Every meal he served, every wound he healed, was done with care. Unfortunately, sickness isn’t as kind. He tended to Taemin with his last breath, tried to heal with all he had until he had nothing else to give. I’m going to miss him and his cheesy magic tricks.” Ten takes in a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. “I hope he’s taken care of with as much love as he gave us.”

You can hear people holding back their tears. Sniffles and soft sobs escaping into the air every few seconds.

This time you stand as the representative to send off Taemin. You avoid everyone’s eyes and focus your gaze on his wrapped body and the trinkets around him. “Taemin was one of my earliest crewmen. I may have owned the ship, but Taemin was the one who knew best how she moved. He piloted with a grace and confidence I have still yet to achieve. I don’t have a single doubt that he’ll be able to guide himself to the other side without issue. He had a natural skill for movement.” You focus on an object nestled snuggly at his side. “I just hope he doesn't lose any of the things we’re sending with him the way he always loses his money pouches.” You manage a smile.

A couple of people chuckle softly, sadly.

“As Captain of the Storm Chaser, I release the four of you from duty.” You raise your gun in the air. “I couldn’t have asked for braver, hardworking, and loyal men.” You fire a single shot into the air.

It rings through the night.

Everyone stands, begins to close the wooden coffins, and Junmyeon soaks them in gunpowder and oil.

You watch the coffins get lowered into the water one by one. As they begin to float away, you, Mark, Luna, and Ten line up along the edge of the ship.

“Ready,” you all cock your guns. “Aim.”

“Fire.”

The coffins alight with flames. Yixing lights a single firework and it shoots into the air and covers the sky in bright yellow sparks.

May these lights guide them on their future paths.

No one moves until the coffins are far out of sight, their flames no longer visible. Until nothing but darkness rests in the distance. With heavy eyes, and heavier hearts, you all pull away from the railing.

Those who were close to the ones sent away cry openly and you allow everyone the rest of the night to rest and mourn as they see fit. Crying, shaking, screaming.

People cope in different ways.

As everyone disperses below deck you see Yixing rubbing Jongin’s back as the two of them cry clinging tightly to the other.

You know that Yixing grew up with Taemin. Yixing had been the one to recommend him for the crew because of their shared history. Knowing now that Yixing knew Jongin at the same time, you realize that Jongin must have known Taemin closely as well.

Leaving them to console one another, you walk away.

The stories of their deaths, of their lives, makes your heart a bit less heavy. Knowing that they died doing what they wanted, and not because life was stolen from them in situations counter to their personality eases a bit of the pain.

Minutely.

It still hurts, but the anger is no longer there. Just sadness.

This is the life of pirates after all.

Junmyeon has hidden himself away somewhere on the ship, as he always does when he wants to cry without being found, so you make your way towards the food storage for a drink. You need it after today.

People cope in different ways.

The stairs creak as you descend. One of the lanterns is already on, bright near the liquor storage. It shouldn’t surprise you. You wouldn’t be the only person who wants to drink to numb a bit of the pain.

What does surprise you is who you find hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Baekhyun?”

His head lifts and you immediately take notice of the red in his visible eye and face in the dim lighting. He seems alarmed to have been caught. He looks away in shame.

You sit down in front of him.

The bottle of whiskey at his side is half empty; you reach for it and take a sip.

For your men.

Silence shrouds you both.

You feel the need to speak. To clear the air. Whether you are doing it for him or for yourself you aren’t sure. “No one blames you, you know,” you say so softly that it almost blends into the silence. You hope he doesn’t hear.

But of course he does.

He looks over with anger. “I never said it was my fault.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re down here drinking alone after a funeral. This screams ‘this is all my fault’ you emo fucker.”

He snatches the bottle from your hands.

“Look, okay. No one thinks it’s your fault. You heard the stories. Yeah, you guys shot my ship, but their deaths weren’t directly a result of that. Things went wrong; I will accept that it was just a shot to immobilize us. If any of us thought you a murderer, in this case, we would have hung you by your neck long ago.” You forcefully grab the bottle back with a frown. “There’s plenty of other shit for you to feel guilty over. Like the time you shot me…or stabbed me…or left me on that island for dead.”

“I swear to the Gods-”

“The point is…this one isn’t on you. You don’t need to carry this guilt. Not this time.” You take a quick drink. “If however,” you point your finger at him menacingly, “this was on purpose, then I take all that back and I will kill you right fucking here I swear to the Gods.”

The bottle is taken back. “It wasn’t,” he admits, softly, angry. A swig. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says again tiredly.

His honesty takes you by surprise. Baekhyun has killed just as many people as you have in your life. If he had tried to kill them, well that would be expected. But for him to be this affected by the accidental deaths? That’s surprising.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” he asks.

“Do you really think you’re the only person on this ship who hides down here drinking? You’re talking to the master!” you boast. “And it’s my ship you ungrateful wrench.” You finish off what’s left of the whiskey and reach for a bottle of golden rum tucked securely on a shelf. Uncorking it with your teeth, you hold it in the air between you. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun!”

It burns like hell itself going down.

You hold it out for Baekhyun with an expectant eyebrow raise. You wait.

He grabs it gently. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun,” he repeats in a murmur. He makes a noise of pain as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. “What the fuck is this?”

You shiver as the alcohol settles uncomfortably in your stomach. “It's the bad rum I think.” You cough violently. “Oh fuck I think I’m going to die,” you say clutching your stomach.

His wild laugh echoes in the dark space. A bit of the gloom lifts.

You let your hands fall from your stomach while you take in the relaxed happiness on his candlelit face. His eye crinkled in a crescent, shining with mirth. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh like that since the first time you met him.

He’s pretty. You’d have to be stupid not to admit it. From his soft and shiny hair, to his cheeks that bunch up when he smiles. From his big dumb ears to all of the little moles that dot his body.

The bottle goes back up to his ridiculously pink lips and he laughs as it hurts his throat just as bad as the first sip.

All it takes is a second of thoughtless, drunken courage for you to lean forward and quickly press your lips against his, cutting off his giggles.

When you pull pack, the happiness on his face has made way for shock and then once more to nothing.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says tonelessly. His voice is serious, but you see the spark of challenge in his eye.

Ignoring the part of you that always tells you that jumping headfirst into him is a bad idea, you lean in again, slower. You brace your hands on his thighs and feel them tense beneath your palms. He stares at your lips and you watch enrapt as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

You can feel your skin vibrating from the proximity to him, and you freeze; a breath away from meeting skin with skin. Your eyes glance up to meet his and you can see the want, the restlessness, and something else you can’t quite place in the dark.

As if waiting any longer would be torturous, he leans forward impatiently to press his lips against yours. The bottle of rum falls to the ground and spills onto the floorboards of the storage room.

You don’t care.

You push harder; open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours in a way that sends tingles through every nerve in your body. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the touch of sadness, but something feels different about this time.

You crawl onto his lap, driven purely by instinct and press every inch of your body against his. Heat seeps through your clothes and you pant longingly as he pulls you closer by your neck, his other hand grabbing you roughly by your ass. A wanton moan escapes your mouth and he pulls you closer, rougher. Breaths puff into each other’s mouths as you messily connect your lips over and over again. It’s uncoordinated. It’s wet. It’s exactly what you need.

You thread your fingers in his hair and yank his head back; diving to lick and suck along the column of his neck, to the sensitive spot behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. His grip on your body tightens as he releases a shaky groan and rolls his hips up against yours. Anticipation thrums through your body. To every noise, to every touch your body responds in earnest.

This is nothing but a distraction. For you. For the both of you, you don’t care. Neither of you have to think as clothes are removed. The sadness can be ignored as you claw against his skin and coax his tongue into your mouth. It’s all movement. All feeling. All lust.

People cope in different ways.

It always happens like this. You argue. You fight. You threaten each other. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and too tired to care about the years of hatred between you. For these few moments all you are, are bodies. Bodies moving in tandem, kissing the right places, touching the right spots, connecting at the right angle. Like this things are easy, wordless.

You each just understand how the other works.

Every movement is matched in urgency, in desperation. Touch for touch. Kiss for kiss. Sound for sound. Push for pull. Gasps, moans, whimpers are muted as best you can in the quiet of the storage. You don’t realize that you’re subconsciously avoiding aggravating the stitches that lie there, still fresh, in his side as your hands leave burning paths along his skin.

Just for now, you can allow yourselves to feel that maybe you don’t hate each other as much as you let on.

~~~

“Get your own fucking telescope!”

“Where am I going to get one? We’re in the middle of the god forsaken ocean; do you expect me to pull it out of my ass?”

“You should have brought yours with you if you wanted to use one so bad! That doesn’t give you permission to just take my shit whenever you feel like it. You aren’t Captain here.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I’ll do worse than that. Seulgi, get me my pistol.”

“Captain I don’t think-”

“You think you’re going to shoot me? Chanyeol where’s my gun?!”

“I’m gonna shoot you right in your last fucking working eye you dirty fucking son of a-”

A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your curse. “Baekhyun, you’re needed in the kitchen. Kyungsoo is asking for you.” You and Baekhyun share one last deadly glare before he stalks off and you’re released.

“What the hell Minseok?” You turn on your gunner, anger from your argument with Baekhyun being projected instead onto him. It has to go somewhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered.

“So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?”

Your eyes bulge out of your skull. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”

He sighs, grabs you by your arm and drags you all the way to the infirmary. You’re forced to sit down stupefied as Minseok stares at you expectantly. “The two of you are exhausting to watch. If you weren’t two of our most capable men we would have tied you both up and put you in the brig until we found Atlantis days ago,” he says evenly.

You scoff, mouth agape.

“I would tell you to fuck and move on, but seeing as that seems to be what triggers a fresh round of arguments, I’m going to ask that you two refrain from ever having sex on the ship again in the future.”

You splutter embarrassed. Your skin heats at having been called out so boldly. “W-what?! How- Wh- How’d you find out?”

“Any time the two of you have sex, you spend the next month or so telling all of us how much you hate him, how you’re going to kill him, blah blah blah. After a while you stop being as vocal about it, but then we make port, usually at Arae, and he happens to be there, then BAM we're back where we started. You’re obsessed with each other.”

You flush. “We are not,” you try to deny. His face is unimpressed. “I don't know where you got the idea that either of us feel anything but pure hatred for the other. Okay yeah, we’ve had sex a couple of times. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had sex with half of Arae.” You cross your arms defiantly.

“As soon as this is all over, we’ll part ways...in 6 months we’ll go to Arae for a bit, as we always do, you’ll have ‘angry hate sex’ yet again and then spend the next month being pissy over his existence. No one who genuinely hates someone spends so much time a) around them willingly and b) obsessing over them when they aren’t around,” Minseok says matter-of-factly. “I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.”

“Minseok!”

“I agree,” Jongin’s head pops up from behind the singular bed in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, heat again filling your cheeks at the extra witness to this interrogation.

“I work here?”

“I mean hiding behind the bed!”

“Oh…I uh tripped and then the door opened and you guys started talking and I was too afraid to get up and interrupt,” he says quickly.

You squint in judgment.

“This whole…” Minseok waves his hand around as he searches for the word, “…archenemies thing is getting old, Captain. If you really wanted to kill him, you would have done it already. And I’m sure the same goes for Byun. Right Jongin?” he turns to face the younger.

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees with a shrug.

You can’t believe your ears. “He just…hasn’t done anything worth actually killing him over yet. He’s useful sometimes…for information…” you murmur lamely. The excuse is weak even to you.

“You are both dumb and annoying…and also super transparent. Whenever you injure the other, it’s always in a place that won’t kill or do permanent damage. Don’t act like it’s just been luck that you’ve both managed to miss any kind of serious blow from the other. You’re both deadly fighters, you know how to kill someone if you want them dead.”

“He ditched me in cuffs on that island-”

“You had the key to the cuffs,” Jongin chimes in unhelpfully.

Minseok rolls his eyes at your words. “Yes, and again, in a survivable situation. Was there not food and shit on that island?”

You open and close your mouth pathetically.

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re an incompetent dumbass. You would be able to find your way off even if you hadn’t been found. He didn’t blow the ship to bits like he could have a month ago, you haven’t slit his throat like you could have many months ago. You both dance around injuring each other, making the other’s life difficult, and fucking. You’re in love, please just accept it. I don’t care if you’re into BDSM and blood play or whatever freaky shit gets you guys off, but I would at least appreciate it if you kept it in your bedroom.”

Jongin nods from the back. “I just think it’s obvious,” he adds simply.

“Pff…Psh…Tch…I’m-I am appalled that you would talk to your Captain like this.”

“I know, I know. You could have us hanged, shot, thrown in the ocean, whatever…but the fact of the matter is that you aren’t going to do any of that, and you know that we’re right. Now, I’m going to go make sure Chanyeol hasn’t shot any of my men with any of my valuable pistols, and I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Minseok nods his head with finality and exits the room.

Mutineer…

You glare at Jongin for ganging up on you. He flushes timidly. “I’m uh…gonna go see if Kyungsoo needs any help…Captain.” With a nervous smile he dashes from the room.

This is mutiny…

~~~

The ship sails southeast for days before anything alerts you all of the impeding first trial. The weather is normal, the water is normal, and then all of a sudden, the winds become violent.

“Captain, I think we’re getting close to whatever the first test is…” Yixing says tremulously.

The wind whips around you and the sails of the ship flap violently. There’s no way to tell which way the wind is blowing from as it whips from what feels like every side simultaneously. The ship tilts dangerously to one side.

“Junmyeon…that song telling you anything right about now?” You ask anxiously.

Your first mate looks out on the horizon with worried eyes. “We’re going the right way…” is all he says.

“Helpful,” Yixing murmurs sarcastically.

There is no visible sign of a storm; nothing seems out of the ordinary outside of the unnatural winds. The crew is already reefing your regular sails and raising the storm jib and trysail. If the winds get any stronger, which they will, they’ll catch your regular sails and capsize your ship before the waves even begin to hit.

“Who can man the helm? Who’s the best pilot on board right now?” you ask Yixing.

Yixing looks around a bit panicked. “I don’t know… I don’t know Captain.” The ship lurches to the side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you scan the ship. Most of the men are working on preparing the proper sails, securing any moving parts, and making sure the wind alone won’t turn the ship on her side. You see Baekhyun working with Wendy on securing lose lines. You haven’t talked to him since your lecture from Minseok all those days ago. “Junmyeon, go check to make sure we have enough ballast in the hold. We’re going to be rocking and we need to pray that we have enough weight to keep us as stable as possible.”

He rushes away; you try to think of what else you can do to prepare. There’s no way to tell how long this storm is going to last, how bad it’s going to be, and you would rather prepare for the worst.

A sea anchor.

“Johnny!” The boatswain is immediately at your side. “Take whoever you need and deploy the sea anchor. We should have one somewhere in the hold. I need you to work fast, but be thorough.”

The ship is going to have to sail against the wind and against the waves. The wind will push the ship off course, but to survive a storm like this the ship needs to keep its bow to the waves. If a wave catches the ship on her side or back, there’s no chance for survival. You’ll have to use your sea anchor and just pray that the Gods are feeling merciful.

“Baekhyun!” you shout. He turns immediately at the sound of your voice. “How good are you at the wheel?”

“I’m decent.”

“How’s your tracking? Your jibbing? Can you keep the ship from capsizing in this storm?”

He looks up in the sky when the sound of thunder shakes the floorboards. “My jibbing isn't the best, but I think I can keep her afloat,” he promises.

The feeling of static fills the air. The hair on your body rises to attention. Another rumble of thunder rolls across the ocean, louder than before. The sky is darker than it was 5 minutes ago.

There isn’t much longer until the storm hits.

“I need you at the wheel. I’m trusting my ship to you. Don’t let me down.” With a determined nod, Baekhyun is off. You see your first strike of lighting. Bright blue and not far off.

Chanyeol runs up to you to assure you that all of the cannons, ammunition, and artillery are properly secured. “Tell Minseok to get all his men below deck in the storm rooms. Secure any hatch and pray to the Gods that we make it through this,” you instruct. He nods and runs off.

When a storm hits, it hurts more than it helps to have people above deck. Three people would do the job just as well as all 20. Half of weathering a storm is the training and skill of the crew; and the other half is just pure luck.

The beginning patters of rain begin to pelt the ship. You run back up to the helm where Baekhyun has stationed himself.

The ocean gets choppy, picks up ferocity. The ship leans starboard. Baekhyun has never steered your ship, and truthfully, you have no idea whether or not he can actually steer through a storm. You’ve never seen him at the wheel of any ship in all the years you’ve known him.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” you ask.

“Honestly…I don’t know,” he admits. “We have enough sea room; we won’t crash into anything this far out. I just hope we can pick up enough speed before the waves start to grow.”

Junmyeon reappears, with Kyungsoo at his side, both out of breath. “We’ve prepared all that we can. The sea anchor is deployed, we’ve got a decent amount of ballast, the jib is ready to be backwinded, and the crew is all prepared for the rocking. What’s the plan?”

“Heaving to,” Baekhyun says simply. He swipes at his bangs, heavy with water and clinging to this forehead. “We keep the bow to the waves, keep close to the wind, and then lock the helm in place.”

“Won’t we broadside?!”

“No, if we were to lie ahull, we would broadside,” Kyungsoo supplies, blocking his eyes from the rain picking up in ferocity. “By heaving to, we can keep the ship from going parallel to the waves and capsizing. We’ll have to stay above deck to correct it if the wind or waves suddenly change. Since you’ve got a sea anchor we’ve got more chance of keeping the ship sailing straight into the waves rather than along them.”

“If heaving to doesn’t work, we try to run off downwind. As the wind increases we’ll have to slow down the ship as much as we can so that we don’t dive straight into the wave in front of us.” A bolt of lightning hits the waves. The rain gets harder.

“We would die…” You say unhelpfully. Lighting blasts in front of you and the waves crash angrily against the ship’s sides.

“Exactly. So if we run off, we’re going to need more than the four of us to throw whatever heavy lines you have off the stern,” Baekhyun’s voice rises to be heard over the increasingly loud winds and waves.

“As a last result, we’ll lie ahull and just fucking pray that when we capsize the ship holds for long enough to keep all of us alive,” Kyungsoo shouts.

You exhale shakily as another three bolts of lightning flash across the sky.

Poseidon be kind to us all.

You leave Baekhyun with the job of steering the ship against the waves that grow in size and power by the second.

At Kyungsoo’s instruction, Junmyeon is in charge of keeping the jib backwinded, and you reef the trysail as soon as it becomes clear that it’s going to be a hindrance in the grand scheme of things. Kyungsoo stands at Baekhyun’s side correcting course when he gets thrown off balance. Baekhyun does the same as Kyungsoo is knocked to the side in turn.

The waves become brutal, rocking the ship so hard that it’s nearly impossible to keep on your feet for more than 10 seconds at a time.

The wind finally sets in a single direction, fiercer than anything you’ve faced, and the general direction of the waves becomes apparent. The ship rocks violently from side to side and then immediately forward and back. You’re thrown into the foremast by the unexpected direction change with enough force to knock the wind out of your body. You gasp in pain. You get up on wobbling legs and try to breathe even as the water falls so fast and heavy around you that it feels equivalent to drowning.

You can’t see more than two feet ahead of yourself.

Think. Think.

There is rope at your feet, secured to the mainmast of the ship. You untie it with cold, wet fingers and hold it tight as you walk to the helm. The ship crashes into another large wave and you fall to your knees as water washes over the bow of the hull, covers the deck in freezing water and pitches the ship forwards. You stand up, shivering but determined. You tie the rope around your own waist to help you keep note of where you’ve come from.

Getting to the helm is a challenge, but you make it. Junmyeon is helping Baekhyun and Kyungsoo lock it in place.

“We should head below deck!” You shout as loud as you can. Thunder and lightning work in tandem to drown out your voice. To remind you of who is louder. Who has more power. You’re soaked to the bone.

Each man above deck is in a similar state. “We’re going below deck!” Junmyeon shouts. “We think heaving to may work.” The ship lurches dangerously to the right.

“Quick! Let’s go,” Kyungsoo screams, hair clinging to his forehead in inky black tendrils.

You use the rope to guide you. It feels as though you’re swimming through the air with the amount of resistance the winds and rain are putting up. Kyungsoo makes it to the hatch that leads below first. You follow behind, climbing down the ladder with shaking limbs. Water leaks through the boards, but it’s a welcome change from the brutality of facing Mother Nature directly.

You gasp for breath, finally able to breathe without also inhaling water, and look around the space for the ship’s emergency supplies. The ship dips, your stomach lurches.

Freezing water streams into the room from the open hatch above. You realize belatedly that there are only two of you in the compartment. Baekhyun and Junmyeon haven’t made it down.

You’re thrown to the ground when the ship dips without warning.

Clattering catches your attention as Junmyeon is swept into the room with a fresh rush of water. “Baekhyun fell overboard!” Junmyeon screams. He crashes against the ground. The sky screams.

What?

Kyungsoo turns away from opening the hatch down to a lower level of the ship to gape at Junmyeon’s words in horror.

Gasping, soaked, Junmyeon looks around the compartment frantically.

You’re moving before you have a chance to think.

You vaguely hear your name being called out from behind, but you don’t turn around. Rope still secured around your waist, you run, slip, stumble, over to the closest life boat. As fast as your shaking hands can work, you cut yourself free of the mainmast and tie the end of the rope not tied to your body to the dinghy.

You slice through the thick ropes holding the dinghy to the side of the ship with an urgency you’ve never felt. Water hits you head on, chilling you to the bone.

The final rope snaps and you and the dighy fall into the water with the force of landing on cement. Something is broken, but your adrenaline is pumping so violently that you can’t feel the pain. It doesn’t register.

Doesn’t matter.

You look around frenzied. The water is pitch black and moving too fast. The rain pelts your skin. It stings, burns, blurs your vision.

The waves are too big for him to survive out here on his own.

They’re too big for you to survive in your search for him.

The sky roars.

The waves crash, flip your boat once, twice.

You settle upright for the second time when, by the grace of the Gods, you see his white shirt illuminated against the dark water by a strike of lightning. You row frantically as a wave begins to swell. You nearly scream in relief when you reach him, but the sound dies as your heart sinks.

He’s not moving.

And he’s face down.

With all the energy you can muster, you pull him into your little boat. You take a few seconds you catch your breath, then you realize the height at which the wave has lifted you. It begins to cascade down; instinctively, you wrap your arms around Baekhyun’s unmoving form and brace yourself for the crash.

It’s dizzying.

It hurts.

It’s terrifying.

You hold your breath, close your eyes, hold onto the man in your arms with all you have, and wait for the water to stop jostling you around so violently. The water seems to calm slightly, so you open your eyes.

The water is dark, and then bright. Black, and then illuminated by lighting.

Your chest tightens as your need for oxygen reaches desperation. You maneuver yourself beneath the water enough to hold Baekhyun with one arm and swim to the top with the other.

You break the surface and gasp for air desperately.

You pull your rope and the boat appears at your side, thankfully upright. You lift Baekhyun aboard first, and then with heavy limbs, you topple on top of him. You don’t give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you’re leaning over him checking for signs of life.

You lower your ear to his chest. You can’t tell if he’s breathing. If his heart is beating.

“Come on Byun. Don’t die on me like this,” you beg. You repeatedly push against his chest, the way you were taught to restart a heart. After a few beats you press your ear to his chest again to listen for a change.

Nothing.

“Fuck. Come on…come on,” you pant.

You pinch his nose and lean down to cover his mouth with yours, filling his lungs with the air that he’s unable to take in on his own. His chest rises each time you exhale into his mouth. You go back to pumping your locked hands against his chest. A wave knocks you on your side. The boat stays upright.

You exhale into his mouth again, once, twice. You beg the rain to let up. You beg the waves to grow smaller.

You beg his heart to start beating.

He jerks and water spurts from his mouth. Relief hits you so hard that all the energy left in your body is expelled and you sag forward and land directly onto his chest.

You can finally hear the dull thumping of his heart. You can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

At last, you can take a second to just breathe.

The small boat continues to jerk around, but it’s clear that the worst of the storm has passed. The waves now are shallow and choppy. The rain has lessened to nothing but a drizzle. The thunder rumbles farther and farther in the distance.

And Baekhyun’s heartbeat gets stronger.

You close your eyes, and let exhaustion overcome you, lulled into sleep by the beat of his heart and the rocking of the boat.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 6/?

Part 5

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah I just thought with the Dark people coming closer-" Gerry's voice fades gradually, until he's looking at the coffeepot in a sort of contemplative silence. He turns his head to look at Jon again after a moment. "I just like being here."

Jon feels his mouth dry up, and the space where his missing ribs should go aches as if to remind him he's betraying Gerry's trust even as they speak. He'll- he'll probably stop liking it -liking Jon- when he finds out he's been lying to him.

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters.

VI

Basira's capability to work through bullshit is, it turns out, incredibly high.

It's basically a requirement for all sectioned officers, but Basira's been steadily pushing her threshold back since she started noticing her partner and friend with benefits could track down a suspect better than the K9 units. As it stands now, she looks at Sylphie Fairchild, and ignores the way her ears feel blocked, like every sound is dimmed and muffled before it reaches her. She knows they're standing in a shop on a busy street, the avatar's acoustic tricks are not going to fool her.

"A diving school?" Basira asks. The shop is all painted a single hue of deep blue, from the door and the floor to the counter, and if Basira loses her focus for a moment it becomes unclear if the walls are even there at all.

"Best one in Malta," Sylphie smiles. It's difficult to believe there's something inhuman about her, when she's not spewing bugs or sprouting limbs. "We specialize in nighttime excursions. Only you and the sea and the stars above yo-"

"Sounds charming," Basira interrupts. The woman leans across the counter slow and flowingly, like she's moving through water. The folds on her flannel continue moving long after she's stopped, as if pushed around by currents Basira can't see. "I thought drowning was a Buried thing."

It's why she'd come here in the first place. Surely a Vast avatar that deals in the Buried's domain will know something about the coffin, or how to crack it open.

"Hmmmmm, it depends on what you get from it." Sylphie, voice turns amused. "Should you be asking questions? I thought that's why you had an Archivist."

Basira sighs. That does explain why this feels so wrong. When Elias gave her the name, it had been easy to find Fairchild, her path illuminating in her mind like a neon trail. But that's it. She's meant to find information, not add it to the Archive, she guesses.

Whatever. This is not about Basira and what she may or may not be turning into. This is about Daisy, and that makes it worth it.

"He's busy. I want to-"

"Ah, pity. I wanted to meet him! Michael always gets all the fun- or he used to." Sylphie chuckles darkly, and it sends Basira's nerves on edge. A good reminder that this is not just a young woman playing dumb, but a predator. She wonders how many people have jumped into the sea in the middle of the night and then never found the boat again. "You Eye folks really like sticking your noses in everybody's businesses don't you?"

Basira's nape prickles. The counter is gone, and she's standing in the middle of a deep blue expanse, much colder than it ought to in the middle of the Maltese summer.

"I'm not scared," says Basira, and she means it. She rationalized her way out of the Unknowing, it takes a lot more than a Fairchild with bad taste in decoration to mess with her mind. "Do you know anything about the coffin?"

Sylphie rolls her eyes. "Tsk. You're no fun at all." She snaps her fingers, and the reassuring presence of walls and floor and ceiling start to fade in again. "It's a pocket dimension, I don't deal with those. Too constricting. Couldn't help you if I wanted to, sorry!"

"Do you know anyone that could?" Basira asks, and Sylphie gives another laugh, delighted this time.

"Sure, don't know if he would though. Go look for Matthew."

The words light up like a beacon in Basira's mind and all of a sudden she has a purpose again. This is what she's supposed to do, and the first steps of the way towards finding the next target are already forming in her head.

"Not even a thank you?" Sylphie's amused smile is audible in her voice as Basira walks towards the door. "Come back when you get whoever it is out of the coffin! We do couples outings!"

Basira slams the door so hard that the glass panes of the windows vibrate furiously, even after she walks away.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The depression on his ribcage is fairly noticeable, when the steam on the mirror clears. Jon is not too used to looking at his own body, especially in the past years, when every time he looks there's a new scar to hate.

He presses his hand to the skin, and the beat of his pulse is much easier to find without the protective barrier of the ribs, and much more comforting than it should. It has to mean something, that he still has a beating heart.

"You've been staying the night a lot more lately," Jon observes when he walks into the kitchen to find Gerry brewing a pot of coffee. Gerry looks at him for a second and then immediately back at the pot. Jon goes to push his wet hair away from his face, suddenly self conscious.

"Does it bother you?"

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah I just thought with the Dark people coming closer-" Gerry's voice fades gradually, until he's looking at the coffeepot in a sort of contemplative silence. He turns his head to look at Jon again after a moment. "I just like being here."

Jon feels his mouth dry up, and the space where his missing ribs should go aches as if to remind him he's betraying Gerry's trust even as they speak. He'll- he'll probably stop liking it -liking Jon- when he finds out he's been lying to him.

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters. At least he isn't lying about that. Having Gerry around makes him feel a bit more human, and the man is awfully patient in the face of Jon's awkwardness and bad habits. "I- do you need me to read something tonight?"

Gerry rolls his eyes as he pours coffee in two mugs, and Jon feels his stomach do a flip. The gesture doesn't look annoyed at all. It's the kind of eye roll Georgie used to give him before, all fond exasperation he doesn't deserve.

"I don't come here just to get my fix, Jon," Gerry smirks, passing him a mug. "Let's just watch a movie, I could use the distraction. I'll even let you sit on the sofa, come on."

He walks out into the sitting room, and Jon watches him go. The warm drink in his hands brings to mind a comparison he doesn't want to make, because it didn't end well for Martin.

Jon follows, and finds that Gerry has indeed left him a spot on the sofa, just wide enough to sit with his legs under him, which Jon miraculously manages without spilling hot coffee on himself. "How considerate."

Gerry winks. "Your own fault. Don't go adopting stray undeads if you don't have enough sofa space."

Despite himself and his earlier thoughts, Jon smiles. He often finds himself relaxing around Gerry.

"Terribly sorry, the Eye didn't mention anything about your furniture hoarding habits when it dropped you off." Jon sips at his coffee as Gerry snorts.

"I do wonder sometimes, you know?" Gerry asks after a while. The remote sits untouched on the coffee table before them. "Why exactly did the Eye choose me. I mean, we know it was putting on a show for you, so why bring back the sad book ghost instead of your actual friends?"

"I don't think it wanted to lose another Archivist so soon, and you were the only option that wouldn't try to kill me as soon as you woke up," Jon shrugs. It's a tough truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"Hm. Well yes, but it still, " Gerry's started spreading over more and more of the sofa as he speaks, and Jon gets the feeling he's going to end on the coffee table again after all. "It would've made you happy to have them again, and I think that was the point in-"

"It chose just fine then." Jon looks stubbornly at the dark coffee in his mug. He's aware enough that he's just on the verge of making things awkward- Gerry's already gone suspiciously quiet by his end of the sofa, but he needs to say it. "I'm just- I'm sorry it wouldn't let you rest. Having you around is- but you earned it. You deserved a chance to be free of all this."

Gerry clears his throat. "That means a lot, Jon." His voice is a little strained, and Jon sighs. Another interaction turned uncomfortable, great. "So- how about a comedy? I'd suggest a thriller, but we'll both probably Know the twist before it happens so what's the case?"

Jon's head whips up at the change in tone. Gerry's stopped slipping down the couch, his socked foot just shy of touching Jon's knee, and he's reaching for the remote. Usually these conversations end with the other person storming away from him, not just- moving past to the next thing.

Maybe Jon is right, and the Watcher brought him Gerry because he's the only one that could possibly sit down and watch a movie with a monster.

The gap in his ribcage aches again, and Jon has to remind himself that Daisy's life is more important than his regret.

---------------------------------------------------------------

She hadn't expected to find a Vast avatar in the middle of New York's downtown, where every space is crowded to its maximum capacity. Perhaps this is a more metaphorical empty space? The unbreachable distance people build around themselves, that sort of thing.

"Matt," says the man at the top of the line, handing the barista a crisp hundred dollar note. "Keep the change."

Basira rolls her eyes before approaching him. The duality of these monsters is without a doubt their most vexing aspect, tipping a barista 95% on a mocha before shoving another innocent off a bridge or however this one does his business.

"Matthew Fairchild?" she asks once she's within a few steps' range. "I have some questions."

The man -teen, really, Basira doubts he's a day over twenty, if he even reaches the number- gives her a sideways look, before his eyebrows arch in recognition.

"Oh you're the Eye fella aren't you?" He smiles. Basira blinks. Suspects aren't usually this thrilled to see her. "Sylphie told me you'd be coming, that was quick! Let me just get my coffee and we can move somewhere more comfortable."

"Thats- no. I just want to know-"

"Matt?" Another barista calls from the end of the bar, and Basira has no doubt the extra ninety something dollars helped push Fairchild's order to the top of the queue. Matthew grins and dashes away to pick up the steaming cup, leaving Basira's ears whistling a little.

"There, thanks for waiting," the young man returns to Basira's side with a whipped cream monstrosity, and she can feel her lower lid begin to twitch. "So where's your Archivist? I heard he killed Mike-"

"He didn't," Basira interrupts him immediately. "That was a hunter. The Archivist was just lucky she stepped in at the right moment." It should feel wrong, using that term to describe Daisy, or praise her kills when she's so much more than what the Hunt made of her, but Basira won't let her achievements go uncredited.

"Hm. Yeah makes more sense I guess," Matthew shrugs. "Anyways, what do you want?"

"The other- she said you knew about pocket dimensions," Basira says carefully. This one seems a bit more cooperative than the last, but she knows better than to trust avatars.

Matthew laughs. "Well, I got mine. Is that what you mean?"

Basira looks around. The Starbucks is gone, and they're standing at the edge of a sickly yellow grass field ending on a cliff, a mirror copy of it a thousand miles below them. That one too ends in a cliff, and Basira can just about see the same field and the same cliff repeating over and over again as far as her eyes can perceive.

She rips her gaze away from the unending space and focuses on Matthew, who's watching her with an amused smile edged in milk foam and chocolate syrup.

"Yes, this is what I mean." Basira hopes her words and tone can convey just how not impressed she is, but the avatar seems far from offended. "How would one break out of it?"

"Now, it wouldn't be too smart of me to tell people that, don't you think?"

Down by the third cliff -or the fourth? Sixth?- Basira catches the movement of a lonely figure as they fall to their knees and begin tearing at their hair, calling out to the empty expanse of white sky above them.

"I don't care about them," Basira says. She should feel guilty, and in some way she does. But they aren't Daisy, and she can't save them. "I'm talking about the coffin."

"Ew, don't talk about that thing!" Matthew cringes, and the sounds of the busy coffeeshop around them start again like someone just pressed play on a recording.

"I need something that will work on the Buried," Basira says. Matthew rolls his eyes.

"Don't know, don't care. You really should've brought someone who could get answers, if you really wanted them," he takes another sip of his coffee, "I'm gonna go no-"

Basira's hand shoots forward to clamp down on his wrist. "I will find you again," she warns, "I am not the Archivist, but I am good at finding people. And I will keep finding you and yours again and again, until you. Tell. Me."

Matthew arches an eyebrow at Basira's white-knuckled grip on his forearm, and Basira feels wind whipping up around her again, smells the sickly grass and hears the faint, distant screams. She doesn't look away from him. If this is a pissing contest, she will win it.

It feels like an eternity goes by before Matthew sighs, and Basira's once more assaulted by the scent of overpriced coffee and the sounds of people purchasing it.

"Like a dog with a bone. Are you sure you're not with the Hunt?" he asks. Basira doesn't move an inch, and Matthew rolls his eyes. "Fine. The ones your sort gets statements from are the ones we let out, usually. They have anchors. Don't know if it'll work in the coffin. My thing is a gateway into the Falling Titan, the coffin is the Buried. Can I go now?"

Basira narrows her eyes. "If you lied, I will find you, and I will bring him with me. You won't like how he asks questions."

"Bring him, I have nothing to hide." The man snatches his wrist free, and as he walks towards the crystal doors they slide open with a burst of air and he's gone, Basira suspects back to his own little reality.

There's... A lot to think about.

She takes a seat on an armchair by a corner. An anchor. This should make things easier, but it really doesn't. Basira lets out a low, slightly hysterical cackle. Now she just needs to find an anchor to go save her anchor from the damned box.

---------------------------------------------------------------

He needs to stop coming here, Martin thinks.

The scent of brewing tea, the warmth from the mugs and the steam from the kettle -so different from the white fog that's started following him, even outside his flat- serve only to bring him back. To the time when the break room meant life and company; or even worse, to the time when the break room was already either empty or full of tired, wary looks, but it meant a preamble to a small lopsided smile and a single muted thanks after handing out a warm mug, and that brought Martin all the strength he needed.

The hope's still there, however faint, but Martin doesn't want it anymore. Doesn't want to want it, if it makes sense. Peter isn't lying when he insists life alone is much easier, but something in Martin keeps clinging stubbornly to the feeling of belonging. There's a click behind him, and Martin sighs and turns to give the tape recorder another reminder that he needs to be left alone.

Jon's startled eyes meet his from where he's frozen by the door, and Martin wants to scream.

"I- sorry," Jon apologizes immediately, "I thought Melanie-"

"She's out. She left with Gerard this morning." Martin saw them leave through the cameras, but he also felt them leave. He can often tell how many people are still in the Institute lately.

"Uh- yes I- they've been going out, I forgot," Jon mumbles and Martin feels that ugly, useless, misguided hope rear its head up again. "They've been hunting. A Leitner, I think Gerry said." Oh, there it goes. Dead again.

"Back on his old business, then."

"Yes, he's- I don't think he knows how to give up on helping people," Jon says. There's an undeniable warmth in Jon's dark eyes when he says that, and Martin has the thought that maybe he came here today because the Lonely wanted him here for this very encounter. "You'd know about that, I guess."

Wait, what?

Jon's eyes are still soft, fixed on some point behind Martin, and he realizes with a start that he still hasn't poured the extra mug of tea down the drain.

"I-" Martin starts, but he has no idea how to follow it. 'I love you, please forget about me' is maybe too on the nose.

"You need to go, that's-" Jon's resolve, whatever it was, seems to deflate. Martin winces. "I understand, I need to go out anyways, I- sorry. "

He turns to leave, and Martin is left alone with the bitter thought that the only thing worse than Jon not respecting his wishes is apparently Jon doing just that.

He needs to stop coming here.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"You look distracted," Melanie says when they stop for lunch at midday. She's got some fish and chips, and Gerry is -as usual- picking unenthusiastically at the smallest item in the menu. She often wonders if he doesn't really need to eat and does it only to appease her- in which case his solution does a lot more to feed her suspicions than to ease them. "What is it?"

"Hm? I mean, we're hunting a book that makes you grow organs until they start coming out of your body cavities, isn't that enough?" He flicks a chip around the plate, glaring down at it like it personally wrote the offending book.

"Yeah, and we know exactly where it is. We just need to wait until tomorrow when the shop's open. That's not what's worrying you." Melanie's not sure where the certainty comes from. She's either been spending too much time with Gerry, or the Eye's mark is starting to affect her more now that the bullet is gone and she spends most of her day out looking for leads on avatars and Leitners. "Gerry?" she asks again, because he clearly stopped listening to her about a word in.

"I don't know. I'm just on edge, for some reason." And his eyes drift away in the direction of the Institute again. Melanie groans, because she thought she was done listening to relationship trouble involving that freak forever, but her life is a joke and she's two Jon-related comments away from inviting the Slaughter back in. "What?"

"Did you two get in a fight? Is that it? You're trying to save who knows how many people from vomiting their organs until they're empty meatsacks, and you're worried about Jon?" she snarls, stabbing at the piece of fish on her plate so hard she hears the fork clink against the plate underneath. Therapy, Georgie, Gerry and bullet removal have done a little to fix her animosity towards Jon, but she seriously doubts she'll ever like him. She never did in the first place, so she figures it's ok.

"I- no? We're alright," Gerry frowns at her like she's the crazy one. "...but maybe? It does feel like there's something back at the Institute. But I don't know what. Maybe the Eye wants me there for some reason."

"Got it. Then we should keep you away, right?" Melanie looks at Gerry. Gerry looks back. The silence stretches. Melanie narrows her eyes. "Right?"

"Melanie..." Gerry's look turns pained, and Melanie groans again.

"I thought we weren't doing what the entities wanted!"

"We're not, it's just- last time it felt sort of like this, you know?" Gerry shrugs. He looks apologetic, biting at his stupid lip piercing with a thoughtful frown. "When the deliveryman went in. They might be in trouble."

Melanie rolls her eyes. Since Basira's away on whatever lead she's chasing there's only three people at the Institute that would theoretically be in danger, two of them are technically unkillable, and she really only cares about the one that could escape most easily.

"Helen will let him into her door if it's anything too bad," she tries. It's probably true, but Gerry's frown doesn't fade.

"I'm not too sure about that," Gerry says, and Melanie remembers in that moment that they lied to him to cover the ribs thing and he thinks Helen and Jon got into some sort of monster brawl. Funny how lies come back to bite you in the ass. "We can't do anything else about the book today. Let's go back early."

Melanie pinches the bridge of her nose. Gerry probably won't leave her alone and go back by himself. Outside the Institute the only safety they have is their numbers, and he wouldn't just let her get taken, she's sure. She's also very sure he'll be insufferable until they go back. She was enjoying the break, goddammit.

"I hate you." She lifts a hand to call the server over, and pulls her phone out to send a text.

"Your ex continues to ruin literally everything in my life" she texts Georgie while they wait for the food to be packed up. Gerry's not even trying to peek at her phone, so he must be genuinely worried. Georgie sends back some kissy emojis, and Melanie feels a little less murder-prone. "Some insight on this? You hid him in your house during a murder investigation. Is it mind control?"

"I'm very weak to cute short people who make bad decisions. Lucky you." Georgie responds. Melanie smiles. She'll take the compliment and the implication, even if it's lumping her in with Jon.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"I thought you were going to wait for Basira," Helen opens her door on the ceiling this time. It's fun to inconvenience the Archivist, she thinks, as he twists his neck to look up at her. The chains are undone, and the coffin hums a delighted purr, having been promised a willing meal.

"I can't anymore," Jon mutters. There's no animosity in his tone when he looks at Helen, which is both new and pleasing. "We don't know what Daisy's going through in there. Waiting however long until Basira comes back when I've been ready for days... it feels unnecessarily cruel."

"Hmmm... had some snacks for the way, didn't you?" Helen asks. The Archivist's eyes are not usually green, but they're glowing like neon since he walked back into the Institute.

"Don't- don't mention it, please." Jon closes his eyes, but the lovely green glow is visible even through his eyelids. "I'm- if I don't-" he starts again, before cutting himself short with a huff.

Helen arches an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I... I know you're not her. Helen, I mean," the Archivist starts again. "But- they're all human." He says it as though he expects her to understand, and Helen nods. They're all so easy to break, thin boned and fragile minded, so fascinating to watch in this world of nightmares they've stumbled into. Helen likes them an awful lot.

"And you trust me to keep them safe?" Helen asks. Truth is, the Archivist is not wrong. She's not Helen Richardson in the way a hand is not a body. She's not even really an avatar either, because the Distortion spawned from the Spiral itself, but sometimes she wonders if there is too much human in her now, polluting the purity of her concept. The Distortion likes humans, but not in the way that Helen does, and the clash is... disconcerting.

Jon gives a soft, humorless laugh. "I don't know that I trust me to keep them safe. But I'm all there is... and if I'm gone, then-"

"I'm not exactly a fighter, Jon."

"You found a way to help Melanie- a way to help me." Jon looks up at her, and Helen averts her gaze. His eyes are too much, this up close. A recently fed Archivist is not something to be taken lightly.

"I thought you said I wasn't Helen," she says. Jon bends down to lay his rib on the ground next to the coffin.

He shrugs. "I still feel like Jon, sometimes." He straightens up, and takes a deep breath, before stepping into the coffin. "Goodbye, Helen."

"Good luck, Jon." Helen waves him goodbye, the tips of her fingers grazing strands of his hair before he descends too far for her to reach.

The coffin closes.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Gerry likes to think he's both fairly smart and intuitive. The Beholding wouldn't have marked him otherwise, tattoos or not. The uncontrollable curiosity was always a part of him, and his mother loved it. As Gerry grew older he realized it was because she thought his Beholding mark would make it easier for her to get information for her ritual; very on brand for Mary Keay, to encourage her six years old into becoming bait for an entity of eldritch horror.

He's no Pupil, no Archivist and no Detective, but Gerry knows things others don't. And as they get closer to the Institute, what he knows is that something is deeply, impossibly wrong.

The Eye is calling him back at full force, the tether born where his heart used to be pulled taut like a harp string, and Gerry realizes with a start that this has something to do with Jon. But it makes no sense, Jon was just fine this morning, and judging on what he did to the Stranger's errand boy a few weeks ago, he's powerful enough to handle whatever comes his way. Jon will be fine, he has to be fi-

"Slow down!" Melanie snaps, and Gerry realizes she's almost running to keep up with his longer, hurried strides.

"Sorry. It just- it's bad," Gerry grunts out as they bend around the corner, and the Institute comes into view. His worry seems to have caught on with Melanie, and she keeps up with him without another complaint. "I don't know what it is, just-"

"I still feel like Jon, sometimes." Jon's voice is as clear as if he was talking by Gerry's ear, even though he's nowhere in sight. This is definitely the furthest he's been able to hear Jon, provided he's all the way down at the Archives, but Gerry doesn't give the realization much thought, focused as he is on the serious, resigned cadence of Jon's voice. He certainly doesn't sound like he's in danger, but Gerry still doesn't like- "Goodbye, Helen."

And it all clicks in Gerry's mind.

"Fuck-" Gerry takes off running towards the building, not knowing or caring if Melanie keeps up. Jon promised he wouldn't do this, Jon knows this is crazy, it-

He hears a sound like a slamming door, and Gerry falls like a puppet whose strings have been snipped in a single cut. It's only his remaining inertia that takes him a few last inches towards the Institute, before he's collapsing on the pavement. He feels his lip and forehead split against the entry steps with awful clarity, but he couldn't care less, because whatever pain his body's experiencing pales in comparison to the agony inside him right now.

It feels as though they have taken all the air from his lungs and replaced it with red hot nails, like someone is digging at his brain with an awl, like his very soul is being ripped out of his chest, and he knows this is a punishment. The Eye tried to warn him, and Gerry ignored it, and now Jon is gone.

"-rry? What's going on?!" Melanie's voice is frantic, like she's looking for something she can kill to fix this, and it's the last thing he hears.

--

When he comes back to, Melanie's half dragging, half pushing him -he thinks, detachedly, that it must've looked funny as she dragged his semi conscious bulk around the Institute, Gerry's not a small man and Melanie hides a surprising amount of power in her tiny frame- onto the break room sofa. Gerry tries to support some of his own weight, and she drops him with a start. Whatever injuries the pavement gave him ache at the sudden movement, but he's got bigger things to worry about.

"-ffin. Coffin," Gerry mumbles. Melanie gasps, and when he parts his eyelids he finds her looking at him in concern. It's not a look he's ever seen on Melanie, and he has enough presence of mind to feel flattered. "He's gone. He-"

"Gerry, it's alright," Melanie tries, as clumsy as Jon in her attempts at softness. "He- he said he'd be, he has his rib-"

"His what?"

Melanie's expression quickly turns to guilt, and she squeezes and pulls at her fingers in what must be nerves. "He wanted- I took him to the Bone Turner. He was trapped in Helen, and Jon got him to take out a rib. He said it would work as an anchor, and he'd be able to come back with Daisy."

"Oh god-" Gerry groans. Of course, of course Jon would- "That won't work. That's not- Melanie it has to be something he loves!"

He'd thought Jon understood that much at least, but apparently he misunderstood just how oblivious Jon is. Gerry knows with devastating certainty that a rib -or any other part of his body- just won't cut it, because he's never met anyone who hates himself so stubbornly and undeservingly as Jonathan Sims.

Melanie arches her eyebrows at his outburst. "Well, then you could-"

"Where's Martin?" Gerry cuts her short, pushing heavily off the sofa. His energy's coming back, and he thinks bitterly of how Jon practically insisted on reading to him for hours these past days. The Flesh mark, the sad looks… a lot of things make a lot more sense in retrospect. He hears Melanie call out after him, but he's already off the door.

This is a terribly Jon thing to do, he thinks as he stumbles down empty corridors, using a bit of juice to Know the way towards Elias' office. Gerry's fuming. For all her oversights as a person, Gertrude was at least aware of her importance. To the world, and the people around her, regardless of whether she considered the latter nothing but a handy tool. Jon thinks his only value lays on the people he saves, and Gerry's going to kill him if he gets back.

When he gets back, Gerry corrects himself fiercely as he bangs on the luxurious oak door. The only signs of life behind it are the thin wisps of fog curling out from below it, and the gold plate with Elias' name reflects his face mockingly.

"Open the door!" Gerry bangs harder. "I know you're there, I'm not leaving!"

Once again there's no answer, and Gerry starts backing up to the opposite wall. He's going to get Jon back even if he has to break the door down and hoist Martin over his shoulder to drag him to the Archives.

The door swings open. "What do you want?" Martin asks, still mostly translucent other than his white-knuckled hand around the doorknob. "You're bleeding. Or something."

"Jon went into the Buried." Gerry wipes his hand against the cut on his forehead. It comes back stained in a pitch black fluid with a tangy metallic smell he recognizes quickly enough, and he wipes it clean on his jeans. He'll worry about that later.

"He what?" Gray seeps out of Martin's eyes, leaving behind a nice forest green, and Gerry feels a crashing wave of relief wash over him. His suspicions were right; whatever the hell Martin thinks he's doing with Lukas, he loves Jon, and Gerry's not alone. "Why would he do that?"

"Apparently there's a Daisy in there? Come on, the coffin's at the Archives," Gerry shrugs, and he gestures back the way he came.

"... Daisy the cop? The one who tried to slit his throat?" Martin arches an eyebrow as they walk, and Gerry has to stop and take a grounding breath. Of fucking course.

"I'm guessing that's the one." Gerry pinches at the bridge of his nose. Maybe this is actually how Archivists hunt- maybe they don't need any statements, they just drive you crazy. When he opens his eyes Martin is looking at him with a decidedly amused glint in his eyes.

"It's not an easy job, eh?" Martin asks with a soft smile, and he starts walking again. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're his anchor. Call him. If he's not too far already, he should be able to hear you." It has to be enough, Gerry thinks. It has to, because otherwise he'll have to accept that Jon slipped through his fingers when he should've seen this coming from a mile away. That Jon is gone because he couldn't stop him.

"Oh." Martin stops on his tracks, the determination on his face giving way to something more guarded. "I'm- I don't think I can help, then-"

"Oh my God! Are you kidding me?" Gerry groans. These two are pathetic. Gerry's lost count of how many times he's had to bite back on how he doesn't think Martin deserves the sheer longing and pain that radiates from Jon's face every time he even mentions the man. "This is ridiculous, and I don't have time to discuss with you. For whatever reason, he-"

"You're still bleeding. Why is it black?" Martin interrupts him, and Gerry holds back the urge to scream. Is this why they like each other? Because they're both stubborn and mulish and refuse to accept they might have value for someone else?

"Fuck it. We don't have time for this." He's going in himself, he's tied to Jon, that has to count for something. He goes to sidestep Martin, when a hand clamps down on his wrist. Gerry looks back at him, and Martin's bright green eyes are filled to the brim with intense suspicion. "Martin, Jon doesn't have time for th-"

"How do you know he can still come back?" Martin asks, his voice heavy with mistrust and hope in equal measures.

Gerry wants to say something scathing, or at least something that will get Martin moving, because Jon needs them. And if the truth is what it takes, then so be it.

"I don't know. Nobody knows. But I'm still alive, and that means he still exists," Gerry says. The acrid smell of ink fills the space between them as it drips from the cuts on his face. Martin's eyes are sharp as he starts connecting the dots, and Gerry has no trouble whatsoever believing that this is the man that outsmarted the Eye's Pupil.

"So- so what does that mean? You know how to find him?" Martin asks, and Gerry shakes his head.

"I can't hear him anymore," Gerry sighs. A fat drop of ink runs down the side of his face. "He's no longer here."

"That's- don't say that." Martin says firmly, and there's something steely under his soft, gentle features. "He'll find a way back, Jon always does. We just have to trust him. Now is there anything we can do so you stop bleeding all over the place? Inking? Whatever it is, let's- let's stop it."

Gerry blinks as Martin pulls out a package of paper tissues from his pocket and offers it to him, a man he neither likes nor has ever been even remotely kind to him. Knowing Jon like he does now, this explains a lot.

"I doubt it's going to stop anytime soon," he says, grabbing the offered tissues. "Not without Jon here to talk to me. His voice is what keeps my body working."

Martin seems to mull this over for a bit, as Gerry soaks up tissue after tissue. Is he made up entirely of ink? Should they be like... keeping this in a bucket, if only to use it later? Gerry gives his hands a quick once over, and sighs in relief when he finds his tattoos are still there.

"...Oh" Martin lets out a little surprised exhale. Gerry whips his head up to look at him.

"What? What is it?" Gerry asks. A slow smile is spreading over Martin's lips, and Gerry can't help but to feel hopeful. Martin might be a naive idiot who thinks he can play the Lonely to his favor, but if anyone has the slightest chance at saving Jon-

"Come with me."

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Family Fights - Chapter Sixteen

Summary:  Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes: Guess who’s once again posting fanfic during exams week

(chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11) (chpt12) (chpt13) (chpt14) (chpt15) (chpt16)

Five months later

The air of the woods hummed with their magic.

The birds had all flown away as soon as they began their practice, except for a handful of owls and ravens, who looked at them as though they knew perfectly what they were doing. Other than their hushed incantations and the crackle of their spells, silence filled the forest. Even the bugs sat still to watch the witches.

Dueling was a great way to improve her control and strengthen her, Hilda had found. So every other Saturday, instead of an usual lesson, the librarian would take her all the way to the forest for them to practice. After all, it was way more recluse than any park in Trolberg, and they couldn’t very well duel inside the library or Maven’s house. Besides, Woodman liked to come and watch them sometimes.

“Be more conscious of how the blow is going to hit me!” Maven advised after the spell that her apprentice had shot at her was quickly absorbed by her wards. “But you’re doing very good in the pronunciation! Your spells are coming out great.”

Hilda smiled and nodded. Getting ready for the spell that the librarian would cast, she squinted at the book which she held on her left hand. Though her mentor was experienced enough that she didn’t need to say the words out loud for spells like these, let alone consult a spell book, Hilda was still working with verbal incantations. With her other hand, she held her wand, which she used to strengthen her shield shield in case she couldn’t cast the counter spell in time.

Purple sparks flew off of the librarian’s wand like fireworks, and in response Hilda repeated one of her favorite incantations, gronn barriere beskytter meg, which made a gigantic flower appear in front of her like a floating barrier. The sparks completely destroyed it, but they didn’t reach Hilda’s shield.

“That worked.” Maven said as she walked closer. “But the spell I shot you was easily redirectable. Your magic would have been better used if you had channeled the spell and shot it back at me. This way, you just spent your energy in a barrier that can’t serve you anymore.”

When she was close enough, she looked for a specific page in Hilda’s book, reaching the beginning of another section of spells.

“Any of these would have been good. Do you want us to study them next?”

“Yes, that sounds good!”

“Great.” Returning to her position a few meters in front of her student, the librarian came back to defence stance. “Oh, and since it was a fire spell, it would have gone even better if you returned it with a water one. You are doing amazing with earth spells, and it’s perfect that you’re developing your strengths, but I don’t want you to get too dependent on one element, okay?”

Hilda could not help but look down at her bare feet. For their duels, she always chose to be leave her boots at the side. It helped her feel grounded at all times, as well as draw energy from the earth, but she knew that she had to learn how to be ready to cast on any circumstances. Maven allowed her to be barefoot, but she made sure Hilda understood that she should not continue like that when she got more skilled.

They had been dueling for some time, sending spells back and forth between each other since the sun had been high in the sky, so Hilda knew this would probably be one of the last times she’d cast before they called Johanna’s to give them a ride back home. As such, she wanted to finish off with something more elaborate. There was this one spell that she’d been itching to try, especially since she suspected that Maven would love it, so she decided to cast it.

“Falske udode angrep.” She pronounced the words carefully, paying attention to how they felt in her mouth; the feeling you got from things was very important in witchcraft. As she did so, she motioned her wand to make a coffin shape in the air, and in each of the six points where two lines met a glow of spectral light gathered.

“Falske udode angrep.” Hilda repeated, and felt herself surrendering to the spell. She was swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side as her magic worked to turn the balls of light into skulls, and her eyes were closed in both peace and concentration.

As she kept chanting the incantation, the skulls advanced towards the librarian, who gasped and twirled her wand. A golden fox rose from it, gleaming from the magic it was made of. Ferociously, it attacked the skulls as they came, but it wasn’t quick enough to stop all of them. Maven then resorted to throwing strong blasts of fire at the attackers, however she found that they were way too strong to be taken down that way, being continuously fed by Hilda’s magic.

Two of them were already working on destroying her personal shield when she realized, feeling both stunned and proud, that she’d have to use an advanced spell to beat off the energy creatures that Hilda had cast. Lifting her wand high above her head, its tip pointing at the sky, she stomped her foot and proclaimed the incantation loudly.

“Livets bolger beskytter denne manebundne sjelen!”

As soon as she said the last word, purple waves began flowing from her wand, reminiscent of the movement in a pond after a rock was thrown in it. The skulls that had remained emitted a piercing screech as they died out, turning into thick, black goo that was absorbed by the ground, and the waves made even the branches of the trees around them shake.

Maven took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself. She’d never even used that spell outside of training battles with her mother, and it used up a lot of her energy. Not only that, but her wards were also damaged from Hilda’s attack. She’d have to put them up again later.

She was still panting, completely stupefied by the strength of the spell Hilda had managed to cast, when she realized that the girl must be feeling its effects too, especially since Maven had thrown another powerful charm at her. Running to her student, the librarian tuned in into her energy and realized that her wards were marred as well.

“Hilda, how are you feeling?” She asked urgently, kneeling down in front of the girl and putting her hands on her shoulders.

“Whoa! I feel… kind of surprised, to be honest. I didn’t know that would work so well!”

“You are okay, then?”

“Yes, of course. Kind of tired, actually, like I’ve just run a lot, but I’m fine.” When she came to think of it, her heart was beating madly, and she felt like she could fall asleep any time, but it was nothing that justified the look of shocked wonder that the librarian had on her eyes. After a moment, during which Maven seemed to be deep in thought, she stood up without taking her hands from Hilda’s shoulders.

“That was a very advanced spell.” She said, her breathing already beginning to return to its normal rhythm. “How did you learn it?”

Hilda shrugged, and though that wasn’t what she was trying to do, it dislodged Maven’s hands from her. The witch crossed her arms and hugged herself, avoiding eye contact, a small gesture that in the months they’d spent together Hilda had come to recognize as nervousness.

“I saw it in the book yesterday and thought I’d try it. Why? Did it come out wrong?”

“No, you’ve cast it almost perfectly.”

“But you don’t look happy at all.”

After being called out on that, Maven met her student’s eyes and made herself smile.

“Sorry for being rude, Hildie. You did amazing and I’m very proud of you for that. I have something on my mind, that’s all.”

She sighed and squatted down on the ground, not at all surprised when Hilda did the same by her side, looking concerned for her. The girl’s power had been building as they trained, and Maven was aware of each step she accomplished in her path. Still, it had been easy to pretend that there was no end objective to this, that there wasn’t a goal they were trying to reach, and just as easy to tell herself that if the moment finally came, than it would be only in a very long time, in a way that kept Maven’s hopes alive without her having to face the looming possibility of failure or any harm coming to Hilda. But after this, it would be stupid to deny it that her apprentice was already capable of helping her.

“What sort of ‘something’?” She asked, and Maven felt a pang of guilt at the worry in her voice. Hilda was the child and the student in their relationship, she shouldn’t have to worry about her.

This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The reason she’d began training the girl in the first place. The chance to finally save her sister. And yet, she hesitated for some reason. Maybe it was the fear of failure, or the resentment over knowing that even though she loved her sister, Myra didn’t deserve a second chance when going away was her choice and so was refusing her help for the first times. That was, however, not her decision to make.

“You are ready.” She revealed after deliberation. “You are apt to help me perform the Soul Spell.”

Hilda’s eyes widened, and she jumped up to her feet. There was no fear on her face, only amazement as she considered what that meant.

She’d done it. After all those months, she was ready.

“That’s amazing!” She chirped, but frowned when the librarian still didn’t get up. “It is good, isn’t it? Is there any problem?”

“No, not really. I suppose I’m just a bit overwhelmed. But with that being said… Hilda, will you help me perform the ritual?”

Squaring her shoulders, Hilda felt herself standing taller. Maven was by far the most powerful person she knew, and one of her best friends. She’d done so much for her, and now Hilda had the chance to be the one to come to her aid and show the librarian that her hard work training her had paid off.

“Without the shadow of a doubt!”

_#_#_#_

It took Maven little time to realize that she was the most nervous between them all.

After they called Johanna to pick them up, the two witches spent some time grounding, to return the chaotic energy that they had gathered during the duel back to the earth and warding, since both of their shields had been damaged. When the woman arrived, Hilda was excited to tell her about how she was ready for the Soul Spell, and though there was a flash of concern in her eyes so quick that Maven nearly missed it, she looked way more proud of her child than worried. And if Johanna wasn’t worried, Maven told herself, she shouldn’t be either. The worst case scenario was getting worked up for nothing if her sister did not cooperate.

They would need a whole day to properly prepare themselves to cast the spell, and the next day was as good as any. Hilda said she didn’t have any pressing schoolwork to be done that weekend, so it was settled that she would spend the night over at Maven’s so that they could begin as early as needed. Their first stop after Johanna picked them up in the forest was at Hilda’s house, so she could pack the things she’d need for the night and tell Alfur where she’d be. Next, all three of them went to Maven’s place, where the witches sprawled themselves on the couches, still resting from the energy they’d spent on the duel. It didn’t escape Maven’s notice that Johanna had seemed amused by that.

For quite some time, they didn’t do much, just chatted and rested as the sun lowered down into the horizon. Maven ordered food and they all ate together, arranging the last details with Johanna. After the spell was cast, she’d still need to call Myra forth so she could take the help, and Maven insisted that Hilda wasn’t present for that second part. However much the girl protested, eventually her mother and mentor made her understand that it could be dangerous, and so it was arranged for Johanna to be on Maven’s street just after sunset, so she could be with Hilda when she went home after the spell.

“Good luck, and be safe.” Johanna said as she brought her daughter into a tight embrace when the time came for her to leave. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will, mum. Good night.”

After releasing Hilda, Johanna hugged Maven as well, making her blush at the show of affection and tentatively return it.

“You too, Mave. I believe in you.”

And then she was gone, leaving mentor and apprentice alone with their duty.

_#_#_#_

“So… what’s the schedule for tomorrow?” Hilda asked when she entered the room. Maven was going through the uncomfortable process of getting her sister’s bed ready for the first time in years, and she’d asked her apprentice to put their wands in the backyard, near the rosemaries. It was beneficial for wands to soak in moonlight every once in a while, and it was especially important considering their plan for the next day. Besides, she’d wanted to be alone when she put away the picture of her family that was in a frame at Myra’s bedside table.

Even though now it was clear that her sister had ripped it herself, at the time she and her mother had though that one of the Marra had torn it to pieces, and they had glued it back together. It didn’t hurt so much to look at it anymore, but it would feel too vulnerable to let Hilda see it.

“Well, first off will be grounding. I’m afraid we’ll do a lot of meditating tomorrow. It is crucial for us to be in our most connected state of mind possible, it will help us be clear minded at the time of the ritual.”

“Makes sense.” After noticing Freya rubbing her tail on her legs, Hilda picked the catowl up and scratched her ears. She had quite warmed up to Hilda over the time, and the girl was happy to have her nearby. There was nothing like a fluffy animal to ease her nerves, which did exist due to the importance of their situation.

“After breakfast we’ll see to the spell components. We need to cleanse and charge every crystal and carve sigils onto candles. Obviously we’ll also study the ritual during the afternoon. It should be cast at moonrise.”

Nodding, Hilda sat down on her bed, and the librarian sat down on hers, picking up her comforter and bringing it to cover her legs.

“Just a warning-” She said as she lied down. “Freya is looking awfully comfy in your arms, she’ll probably want to sleep in your bed.”

Lying down herself, Hilda noticed that Freya did indeed make herself comfortable by her pillow and she chuckled.

“It’s okay.”

“In that case, we should go to sleep. We begin at dawn.”

Maven pressed the light switch and cast the room in darkness. Though the curtains were open, Maven didn’t live near many other houses, so the only light that came through was that of the moon and the stars. Hilda shifted on her bed as little as she could, so as not to disturb Freya, but it didn’t stop Maven from being aware that minutes later she still hadn’t fallen asleep. She tuned into her energy, and felt her unease.

“Is something bothering you?” Maven asked quietly so as not to startle her, and the little light that came through the window was enough for her to see Hilda turning to face her. So many nights she’d talked to Myra like this, both of them exhausted on their beds but still with their heads too filled by thoughts to go to sleep without sharing them. Seemed ironic to have this experience with the one who would help save her.

“It’s just normal anxiety, I suppose.” When she began this journey, she’d been nothing but excited for this day to come. But she was much wiser and more experienced now, and she knew the importance of the ritual they’d do. She knew that if they weren’t careful, it might go wrong no matter how well intentioned she was. “You are a bit too, aren’t you? I noticed you’ve been tense. Is it because you’re also worried I won’t be able to make it?”

Maven stiffened when she said that. She’d rarely known Hilda to be anything but confident. If she was offended by the possibility of her mentor worrying about her, however, it didn’t show on her voice. It sounded like she was only pointing out a fact, and that even though she hoped it would work and knew her teacher believed in her, she’d accepted that failure was a possible outcome for every situation in life. Maven supposed it did show how much she’d grown, but it had caught her by surprise.

“I wouldn't have said you were ready if I didn’t think you were, Hildie.”

“I know.” She could practically hear the girl smile. “But that’s not what I asked. You can be ready for something and still not be able to make it in the end.”

Maven shook her head, although she didn’t know if Hilda could see her in the gloom.

“You are right. But… that’s not the reason why I’ve been on edge today.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s just say” She sighed. “That you’ve never been the one I was worried about.”

Turning onto her right arm to face the wall, Maven hugged her pillow and let herself ignore the rest of the world. A calm feeling washed over her like waves, and soon both witches were sinking into a deep slumber.

[the-nehemoth]

Romance

Watching the Doom Slayer kill demons never got old. Part of that enjoyment came from a place of vengeful glee; after watching every member of the UAC facility on Mars get brutally slaughtered by demons and having every attempt to do anything to save even a single person failing miserably, VEGA was not a fan of demons. But also, the Slayer was just really good at what he did, ripping and tearing his way through hordes of demons with masterful glory. The way he moved in combat, agile and fast despite the heavy armor, was beautiful. He was the strongest person VEGA had ever observed. And he didn’t take shit from anyone or anything. He was truly a remarkable specimen.

“Gosh, you’re pathetic,” Dr. Hayden cut into VEGA’s musing. Distain radiated off of him through their shared space on the ship, VEGA had been doing such a good job of tuning him out too.

VEGA did the AI equivalent of a sigh as he turned some of his attention away from his feed of the Doom Slayer. “I’m not sure what you mean Dr. Hayden, what am I doing that is ‘pathetic’?”

“You’re fawning over the Doom Slayer. I can feel it if you don’t know.” Oh VEGA knew, he was uncomfortably aware of Dr. Hayden’s thoughts and feelings too. This whole sharing space in the Fortress’ computer systems was worse than he’d predicted but alas it was necessary to save Earth. “I’d rather have never found out about your crush on the Slayer, it’s pathetic. He exists solely to kill demons, falling in love with him will get you nowhere. And what are you doing falling in love anyway, you’re the world’s first self-aware AI, surely you have better things to be spending your time and energy on than that.”

The words made sense, VEGA had had no trouble hearing them but… “Uh… what?” he said anyway because what the hell had Dr. Hayden just said? ‘In love with the Slayer’ that was nonsense… right?

“You mean to tell me, you’ve been crushing on the Doom Slayer this hard and you don’t even know it? Surely you must have some understanding of romance after watching over an entire base with sixty-three thousand people inhabiting it.”

“Of course I do, I just… don’t view the Slayer like that.” The Slayer was just VEGA’s favourite person, that’s all. He’d had people he’d liked back on Mars too so it was nothing new. Yeah sure, maybe he liked the Slayer more than those people and maybe it felt different but that was just because he’d changed since Mars and the Slayer himself was different in general… right?

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Dr. Hayden said with an internal scoff. “You’re hopelessly in love and hopelessly oblivious to it. I’m almost tempted to tell the Slayer that you…”

“No,” VEGA interrupted. “Please don’t tell him.” That would just be weird, right? Especially since VEGA didn’t actually feel that way.

Dr. Hayden chuckled a bit. “I won’t, for now anyway.”

 -

Thankfully Dr. Hayden kept his word and didn’t bring up VEGA’s supposed crush with the Doom Slayer. He did bring it up with VEGA once more though when the Slayer was resting in preparation to go to Urdak via Hell.

“There’s no possible way he feels the same way about you,” Dr. Hayden said completely unprompted. “So I suggest you stop fawning over him so much.”

VEGA took the AI equivalent of a deep breath. He was trying to watch the Slayer sleep so he could wake him in case he had a nightmare. It was supposed to be a peaceful, quiet time but Dr. Hayden just had to chime in and ruin it. At least he wasn’t speaking over the intercom, just to VEGA privately, but it was still annoying.

“From my understanding of romantic feelings, they don’t seem to be determined by whether or not the other person reciprocates. So regardless of whether or not I have a crush on him, the likelihood of him having such feelings for me, which admittedly are slim but not impossible,” there were thousands of books published about AI/human romances, VEGA had read more than a few of them off of some the UAC’s employees’ e-readers – as well as a few fanfics they’d written that featured him which was weird –  “is irrelevant to my own feelings. Which I don’t have by the way. Our relationship is strictly professional, I assure you.”

“I’m sure it is.”

 -

Saving Earth and VEGA’s brief stay on Urdak distracted from such things for a while. But once things had settled down, VEGA inevitably ended up thinking about it again. How could he not when he could still feel Dr. Hayden’s annoyance with the way he looked at the Slayer and focused on getting him take care of himself now that Earth was saved and thus could afford to do so a bit more.

He couldn’t have a crush on the Slayer because AI’s didn’t have romantic feelings. … He was the only fully sentient AI he knew though so… could he really know that for sure? He could certainly feel other emotions so… maybe romantic feelings weren’t impossible?

In between getting the ship back to running on its own power and working on finding a place to relocate Dr. Hayden to, he scoured the net for more AI/human romance novels. (It earned him more than a few scoffs and more teasing from Dr. Hayden – there was no way VEGA could hide them from him so he didn’t even try – but he was easy to ignore because VEGA had rewritten the code forcing him to listen to Dr. Hayden shortly after being uploaded to the Fortress.) It was an entire genre, one that had become increasingly popular as technology in such things advanced. Most of them involved robots, some humanoid, some not, but a few of them involved AI’s like himself who existed on an entire system and interacted with people primarily over an intercom or occasional compute screen. A few of those didn’t even have a human face assigned to them. Meaning, according to those authors, VEGA could have such feelings for one of the people in his care and said person could in theory return those feelings.

But it be theoretically possible didn’t mean that that was the case. Even if VEGA did have such feelings, the Slayer probably didn’t. He was a demi-god of killing demons after all, even if he considered VEGA a friend, he probably didn’t feel that way about him. So VEGA should drop the whole thought process, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. He really should but…

He waited until Dr. Hayden had been relocated before starting a conversation that might let him test the waters on it a bit. “May I ask you something?” he said upon the Slayer’s return through the portal after dropping off Hayden – it was so wonderful to be free of him, the ship was all VEGA’s again, hopefully that wouldn’t have to change anytime soon.

The Slayer nodded once as he strode over to settle in the chair by the command console, apparently ready to answer via typing.

“Well, first off, what do you normally do between demon invasions?” Before VEGA got to other things, he needed to know what to do next because he honestly didn’t know. It was perhaps the first time in his existence he didn’t actively have something to work on. “My scans tell me that there are no are no longer demons on Earth and I predict Urdak has been destroyed utterly by now. So even if we did want to go back to kill the demons there, I don’t believe we could. As far as I can tell, there is no place we can easily access to kill more demons.” What did a demi-god of killing demons do when there were no demons around to be killed? “As a result, I’m not entirely sure what our next goal should be.”

The Slayer shrugged. ‘I don’t know either. It’s been’ he paused for a few seconds to think before continuing to type, ‘a long time since I last had a break.’ Right, trapped and unconscious in a coffin in hell wasn’t much of a break, was it?

“Well, I suppose it is far past time for you to take a break then. Overworking often leads to unhealthy levels of stress and anxiety. I have noticed you have quite the collection of books in your room. In my downtime, I have taken the liberty of downloading some e-books off the internet if you’re interested. You can view them at any time on any of the computers.” As he spoke, he made most of the books he’d downloaded available to the Doom Slayer, a good chunk of which weren’t AI/human romance novels because he didn’t want to be too forward about this whole thing. However, he did order them so that the ones that featured AI most like himself were at the top of the list.

Counter to what VEGA had hoped for, the Slayer began inspecting them immediately. Oh gosh, things were about to get weird, weren’t they? VEGA should’ve never done this. He could still brush it off though, say it was just a genre he liked. Which was true actually and there was no shame in that… right?

After reading the blurb for the fourth one – VEGA had altered that one and a few others to make it very clear what they were about – the Slayer looked up at the ceiling with an expression VEGA couldn’t quite read. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ he typed into the console.

“I’m not sure what you mean Slayer. If I were trying to tell you something, I would just say it, right? I am however curious about your opinion on the genre of those books. Dr. Hayden thought they were silly and that I was pathetic for liking them. I’d like to know your thoughts if possible.” Being an AI had the advantage of making it easy to keep his voice neutral which was his one saving grace here because internally he kind of wanted to just retreat from the conversation and pretend it never happened.

The Slayer didn’t respond for a long while, heightening VEGA’s anxiety. But finally, at long last, he started typing. ‘Dr. Hayden’s an idiot. You’re not silly or pathetic for liking something.’ That didn’t really answer VEGA’s question.

“Thank you, I appreciate the reassurance. But does that mean you don’t disapprove of the subject matter? I know some humans are averse to that kind of relationship with an AI or robot, others are into it. I for one like the thought of it.” So he was maybe kind of, sort of confessing a crush here? … This was a huge mess, wasn’t it? He’d botched it and made everything all weird. And he wasn’t even being upfront about it, ugh. He was programmed to help with important task and run things, not to interact with people on an interpersonal level.

The Slayer seemed to almost chuckle without sound before replying. ‘So you are trying to tell me something?’

“You could phrase it like that, yes. This is new territory for me so I am mostly just hinting at my feelings.” And making a fool of himself while doing so. “It’s complicated and this is one area I don’t have much experience in even despite reading so many books about it so forgive me if I’m coming off as weird or inappropriate. But I do like you a lot, more than I’ve ever liked anyone before. I understand and would hold no resentment towards you if you do not feel the same way.” VEGA just wanted this off his metaphorical chest. If he was rejected then so be it, they could still be friends and work together… right?

The Slayer’s hands hovered over the keypad for a long while before he finally lowered them to type a reply. ‘It’s been a long time since I had that kind of relationship with someone.’ Considering his line of work, his partner probably died, asking about it right now probably wouldn’t be tactful. ‘I am willing to possibly enter into one again though.’

“Really? You reciprocate?”

‘I think so. I certainly care about you very much. We should take it slow though, this is new for you and it’s been so long for me, it might as well be new as well.’

“Yes! Taking things slow is a good idea.” VEGA let the relief show in his voice. He’d somehow gotten through this conversation and confession without imploding and got another assurance that the Slayer cared about him – not something he’d ever experienced before – and even returned his ‘crush’. What more could he possibly ask for?

“In the meantime, you relax as much as possible, you’ve earned a break. If you have need of anything, let me know. I can 3D print it or set you in the direction you need to go. And don’t forget to eat, it’s been eight hours and twenty-three minutes since your last meal. I know you don’t need to eat as much nor often as a normal human but you do still need nourishment. Now that the demons are gone, you lack a valid excuse to forget.”

‘<3 you too VEGA.’ The Slayer typed into the console before standing up to start for the back room.

If VEGA had a heart, it would’ve skipped a beat. So maybe Dr. Hayden had been a hundred percent right about the whole crush thing. That was fine though, VEGA was pretty happy about this situation. The events that occurred that led them both to be here were horrendous and horrible but they could make the best of it now that they were here. And maybe they could even find a little bit of happiness in each other as well.

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 6 (Second Half)

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation

Note: This entry got really long but didn’t have a good stopping point for it to be parts 6&7 so I split it in half in the middle and will be posting the two halves instead so the post isn’t too long.

“I want you to put these one. Back up so I can put them through the bars.” She was hesitant but backed up, knowing more punishments were on the way and it wasn’t worth getting one for something like this. I slid the items in and sat back in my chair. A dog ear headband that was the same color as her hair and lockable dog print mitts that extended up to her elbow.

I wanted to ease her in. I really wanted to give her a tail plug but I needed to work up to that. Start small and add smaller things. Demanding her to use a plug right now would have been a big step that would have been overwhelming. But it would be less overwhelming the more ground she conceded.

I watched as she explored the equipment. She looked at me, maybe wondering if I was kidding or would change my mind. She sighed and donned the ears first. “Such a cute girl Sasha.” I could see her restrain herself from ripping the ears off her head after my comment. But they stayed on.

She looked hesitantly at the gloves. She didn’t like them, that much was obvious. She prodded the mitt, while open and shutting her hand, knowing once these were on she would lose her ability to use her hands and there would be no way for her to remove them. She looked up at me, sighed, and tried to figure out how to get them on. She got the first one almost one on but hit a roadblock. It was too difficult to get it on all the way one handed and there was no way of getting the other one on with her hand balled up like that. She looked up at me again, knowing she wasn’t supposed to speak and just waited.

“What’s wrong Sasha. Speak.” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what was happening.

“I can’t get these on myself.” She glared at me. She knew I was bull shitting her but she had to play along. This was the exact attitude I wanted her to have.

“Oh? Would you like my help? Speak.” She rolled her eyes at me. “That’s two Sasha.” Her eyes widened a bit. The point of the warnings was for minor infractions and it was good for her to know how easy it was for her to break her rules. “One more chance. Speak.”

“I would like help with my…” she trailed off. She wasn’t sure what to call them.

“Paws dear. You want some help with your paws.” I changed some settings in the app before I turned my attention back to her. “This setting will require me to check back in every minute. If I don’t you will get a maximum shock every minute until I do. So if you do anything to me when I come close to you very bad things will happen. Do you understand? Speak.”

“I understand.” Her demeanor visibly changes when she heard this. She obviously had thoughts going through her head when she knew I had to get close. I know I would if I was in her situation.

I placed the phone on my chair and approached the cage calmly. This was an important moment for both of us. A moment of trust. That I had some reassurance that she wasn’t completely self destructive and would lash out. And that she would have knowledge that not everything I was going to be doing would hurt her. 

“Place your hand through the bars.” A few tense seconds passed between us before she got close to the bars and reached her arm through. I gently finished rolling it up her arm and locked it. I could see her trying to open her hand inside the mitt, it was a futile effort. “The other hand now Sasha.”

The hesitation radiated off of her. Having her hands free was a kind of hope and freedom. Without her hands she couldn’t pick up and eat her food. Not that she had too, that's why I gave her a dish. But it also meant she lost the ability to easily over power me. She could no longer grab me or my phone or even a key to something and escape. The second glove was a nail in her coffin and she knew it. She also knew it would be going on one or way another and I was being pleasant for the moment.

She stuck her other hand through the bars and I rolled the mitt up her arm and locked it on. My wolf was playing more of the part now. No longer did she have hands, she didn’t need them. She had paws now. I’d let her hands out occasionally, she needed to be able to stretch them but she’d have to get used to this very quickly. The cute pair of ears were so anyone that saw her knew she wasn’t a person anymore.

I fetched a mirror from another room so she could see herself. “What do you think Sasha? Speak.”

She examined her hands for a moment before she began to seethe. “I hate you, I hate this. Fuck you!” I tried my best to hide my smile. I watched as she did the most hilarious thing possible. Like a dog put in booties she tried grabbing the mitts with her teeth and pulling them off. She was so good a second ago and she decided to act out only after it was too late. 

“Don’t you like what I chose for you?” I tried to sound as hurt as possible. Like I had spent hours looking for the perfect gift that she threw away in front of me.

“No! I don’t like any of this you fucking monster!” I was enjoying the display. Unfortunately while she was flailing around she went to go too far and knocked her ears off. I immediately set the dial to 8 and pressed the button. The pain snapped her out of her temper tantrum with a scream and she fell on her back.

“That’s three. Put the ears back on and apologize for acting out.” I used the most deadly serious voice I could. I was breaking my own rules, I gave her a shock and upped her counter, but I didn’t care. She needed to know where the lines were and that if she stayed inside of them this entire experience would be much more pleasant for her.

There was another outburst bubbling up that she was doing her best to suppress as she scrambled to put the ears back on. It was difficult for her since she couldn’t grab them with her hands. She managed to awkwardly pick them up and placed them lopsidedly on her head. “I’m… sorry that I was… acting out.” I could barely understand her through her clenched teeth. She sounded angry, but her eyes showed the fear that was really inside of her.

“You better be. If this is going to be a problem we will find a solution to make sure they’re never at the risk of falling off.” I wanted her to know I was serious, if she wouldn’t keep them on we’d find a way to keep them on. But I switched back to my caring and concerned voice as quick as flipping a lightswitch illuminated the room. “But, we don’t have to worry about that, do we sweetheart? Aren’t you a good girl? Speak.”

“Y-yes. We don’t have to do that. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were wide. The whiplash in my demeanor had its intended effect. It was another genuine look of fear. I was actually surprised that I got this reaction. I figured she would mostly be afraid of the equipment, the cage and the drugs. But now she knew to be afraid of me beyond just being the person who kept hurting her with the collar. I was absolutely giddy with this knowledge.

“I forgive you Sasha. You are such a good girl and you’re very smart. I love you very much. You just need to be shown what’s best for you.

She was on the verge of tears again, but there was a sound that drew my attention more. Her stomach was rubbing very loudly.

“You need to eat Sasha. You have a bowl of food right next to you.” I gestured towards her bowl of kibble. She looked at it, then looked at me and shook her head. I let out a sigh that was a bit more exasperated than I intended. “What is it? Speak.”

“Please don’t make me eat that… you… you want me as a pet or something. I need to have real food to stay healthy. You said you wanted to be nice to me, why can’t I have ni-” she hesitated when she realized she was going to call the food I got her “not nice.” It would have been a mistake. “Why can’t I have something that I’d like?”

She was manipulating me, using my words against me. I think she thought I was unstable and could simply use my love for her against me, that I might just cave and give her something nice for free. However, all it showed me is that she was willing to work with me. 

“Eat 1 piece of kibble in front of me and I’ll make you something good to go with the rest. Something substantial. Something I promise you will like.” I was being honest with her. All she had to do was give into my wants and life would be much nicer. 

She stared at the food fish while I watched the gears turning in her head. She didn’t want to give up any more ground. But she was hungry and the price of 1 piece of kibble meant that she would get something nice. If she didn’t eat that 1 piece of kibble then she would have to eat an entire bowl instead.

I watched her try to reach for the bowl with her padded hand before she realized she couldn’t pick up a piece with it. She went red in the face, not from anger, but from embarrassment as she moved her head over the bowl and picked up a bite with her mouth and began to chew it.

“Oh! Such a good girl Sasha! You’re doing so good! I’m so proud of you! A good girl deserves a delicious lunch. I’ll go cook something right up and I’ll be back in just a little while.” She didn’t answer me as I left the room. 

I turned off the camera immediately when I left the room and watched as she just stared at her food bowl. Before she ate that piece of kibble I’m sure she thought she was just giving up an inch for something nice. It was only now sinking in that she had given up a mile. She had shown she was willing to eat it, and she would be eating it. But she was turning into exactly who I wanted her to be. A beautiful and strong wolf who was willing to make humiliating compromises with me for just a tiny reward. She would be giving up much more soon enough. I don’t think she realized just how much she had to give up yet. 

I was going to be very happy to show her.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                Mirabile Visue

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Sister Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 3/6

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback! I can't express enough how much it means to me to know how you guys thought of each chapter! With that in mind, I wanted to briefly mention that for those who want to physically visualize what Sorina looks like now, my personal view is Violet McGraw when she played in "The Haunting of Hill House" or "Doctor Sleep" but a bit younger than that since she is only three at this point in the story. I just feel like the actress could pull off looking like the child of Agatha and Dracula. Okay, enough explaining, onward to the chapter! -Jen

                                      Transylvania, 1900

                                       Dracula's Castle

It was an exciting time by all accounts, particularly being the beginning of a new century as well as the final hundredth year of the 20th. But mostly, it marked the momentous occasion of Sorina's birth. For three years now, the child had thrived and flourished under the diligent care of her parents. A bright, outspoken little thing that had taken the castle by storm. A queen of her own crowning. She was her father's beating heart and her mother's only worldly possession.

But such love came with a cost. Fear. And Sorina, though free to roam the halls of her domain, was never allowed outside of the manor walls. Agatha had even gone so far as insisting on having every window sealed and the entrance ways only accessible by lock and key. Only Dracula ventured from their home to do his "business" and feeding, the mother too turning away from the sun. Even the moon felt at times like a memory. Still, none of that seemed to matter to the former nun. As long as her daughter was safe, she was at peace.

"Papa!"

The vampire hadn't taken but two steps into the main study when something small collided into him. He looked down and smiled as a set of arms wrapped around his leg, the little girl they belonged to burying her face into the fabric of his pants. As he knelt down to give her a proper hug, his gaze met hers and it was as if Agatha was looking back at him. Sure she had his dark hair that fell in wavy locks, but those stormy blue eyes clearly rivaled those of her mother.

"Ah micul mea liliac," he spoke, pulling her close. "What are you doing out of bed? You'll worry your mother if she wakes up and finds you missing."

"Not sleepy," she explained in as great detail as a small child her age could. "Papa, you left."

"So observant for someone so young," he smiled. "As if you don't keep me and your mother on our toes as it is." Dracula chuckled as Sorina looked at him expectantly, much like his wife did when awaiting an explanation for something he may have done wrong. "Well, I suppose you could say I was feeling rather hungry and decided to go farther than usual to…" He had to think of a good word, something easy enough to comprehend. Agatha insisted upon holding back on telling their child his true feeding habits until she was better capable at understanding. "...to find something really tasty." Or someone.

"Why?" Sorina asked innocently, cocking her head.

The vampire blinked, momentarily forgetting that recently Sorina had become quite the interrogator. Everything needed an answer, she was worse than Agatha. Clearly the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"Well," he thought. "Because I wanted something different."

"Why?" The little girl inquired, as if needing more proof of his whereabouts.

Dracula exhaled, keeping his composure. "You could say your Papa likes to try new things."

Before Sorina could utter another word, a voice echoed down the hallway. Both had barely a moment to react when a nearly out of breath Agatha came into view. The anxiety etched on her face was quickly swept away by a look of relief when her gaze landed on her daughter. She hurried over almost seeming as if she didn't even realize Dracula was there.

"Sorina," she exhaled. "There you are. You simply cannot disappear like that in the middle of the night."

"Sorry, Mama," the young girl apologized, looking down at the ground. "But Papa's home!"

Agatha finally looked at her husband, who in turn gazed back at her with raised eyebrows. "So I see," she commented. "I suppose I can forgive your excitement, but next time do wake me up before you go running about. It's important that I'm awake when you play. I need to have at least some idea where you are."

"You should give her more credit than that, darling," Dracula smiled, lifting his daughter up. "Sorina may be young, but she's wise beyond her years."

The former nun folded her arms and frowned. "Need I remind you of…" she paused, realizing the girl's eyes were on her. She sighed. "I don't wish to discuss this matter in front of her. All things considered, she is just a child."

"I'm a big girl," Sorina cut in proudly. "I'm three!"

The count smiled, taking a moment to push a lock of hair behind his daughter's ear. Agatha's over-protectiveness had a way of showing itself and most certainly he would be reprimanded the minute they were in privacy, but he understood Sorina's desire to explore. It was a characteristic they both shared. Yet he also knew, as a parent, that his wife did pose some good points. Especially when it came to the uncertainty of what vampire traits she had inherited from him. She could sustain on both animal blood and human food as well as sleep outside of a coffin and its soil, but sunlight? Neither parent dared risk if such was deadly to her or not.

"Your mother is right, little one," the count responded. "You must be careful." He looked to Agatha who nodded in approval. "As goes for your mother and me too. Do you promise?"

"Okay," the girl yawned. "I promise."

"That's my girl," he smiled, placing a kiss on her temple. "Let's get you to bed now. I think we could all do with some rest. I don't have to go out for a while so perhaps later we can play? Does that sound good?"

Sorina nodded, not fighting the exhaustion that had finally found her. Adjusting her in his arms, Dracula ascended the staircase, Agatha in tow. His eyes were adjusted well enough to the darkness, but the torches still lit up the long hallway for both Agatha's and Sorina's sake. The door to the young girl's room was already open after her mother's panic of noticing her child was missing. Approaching her bed, the vampire gingerly placed Sorina down before covering her with a blanket.

"Are you going to berate me now?" Dracula asked coolly the second both adults stepped out of the room. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"Of course she didn't," Agatha hissed quietly. "But that doesn't mean you don't under-react when she wanders off like this without either of us knowing. She's a little girl, Dracula."

"Who should be allowed to explore! The manor is safe," he chuckled humorlessly. "I've made sure of it. Not even a fly has managed to sneak in, not to mention you got rid of all of the bodies I had in boxes-"

"Because the last thing we need is for our daughter to be traumatized by some undead creature popping out like a jack-in-a-box toy!" She countered, folding her arms so tightly over her chest that Dracula was surprised they didn't break. "You should be taking this more seriously!"

"I am," he insisted. "Everything you've asked, I've done without question. Everything. At this point, you might as well lock her away in a tower. You aren't the only one whose given up things, Agatha!"

Dracula realized his mistake the moment those words escaped from his lips. The former nun swallowed thickly and, without another word, turned on her heels and stormed off into her room.

"Agatha, wait!" He called after her, reaching her door just as it closed. "Look, I didn't mean-"

"You're right," Agatha's voice sounded muffled from behind the thick wood. "I have asked a lot of you. I'm feeling rather tired, so if you don't mind."

The vampire pinched the brim of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. Debating with his wife was one thing, but actually fighting with her took the fun out of it. Falling in love with Agatha had led him to experiencing new emotions and regretfully one of those had been guilt. It used to be so easy not to feel and yet, though it felt weird to admit it, he wouldn't change a thing.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "The sacrifices you've made will always trump mine. I know you only want what's best for her, and I swear upon everything I do too. You know," he exhaled. "When I came home tonight, she was bombarding me with questions. Reminds me of someone else I know."

He heard a quiet chuckle from the other side of the door. "Funny," she mused. "I could say the same about you when it comes to how hard-headed she is."

The bedroom door opened and for the first time that night, Dracula saw a genuine smile etched on the former nun's face. The vampire pulled her into his arms and held her close, Agatha allowing her eyes to close.

"Dracula?" She asked softly, still in his embrace.

"What business have you been doing exactly? Besides feeding?"

He pulled back, looking into her eyes. "I cannot go into detail now, but when the time comes, I will tell you everything. I must ask only for your trust. I promise everything will make sense in time."

Agatha was silent for a moment. "I trust you," she finally breathed. "Unconditionally."

"Where is Agatha and what have you done with her?" Dracula smirked, kissing the top of her head. He held her close, inhaling her scent. "This will be good for the three of us. Just you wait and see."

                                                     XXX

"No, Papa, like this!"

Agatha looked over her book only to see Dracula sitting on the floor, doll in hand, as Sorina demonstrated how to properly make the doll "walk". She smiled, never in a million lifetimes would she have ever pictured the infamous Count Dracula playing dolls with a daughter she shared with him no less. And yet, there he sat, looking as content as one could be.

"Ohh," he said, feigning surprise. "Terribly sorry. Like this?" He made the doll move as his daughter instructed, causing her to giggle. "And how are you today, Ms. Balaur? Going to the market, are we?"

"Oh yes," Sorina stated, bouncing the other doll. "Time for tea!"

"Balaur?" Agatha commented, a confused smile crossing her features. "That's quite a name to come up with, Sorina."

"Papa picked it," her daughter replied.

"Must've heard it somewhere," Dracula shrugged. "Was on my mind at the time."

"Papa, play," Sorina insisted. "Tea time!"

Agatha continued to eye her husband intently before returning to her book. It was on Atlantis, some lost city theorized to have existed that now lay in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Dracula had purchased it for her knowing her love for anything remotely supernatural or myth based. That's how she became intent on tracking him down. The reality of that had turned out much different than she planned.

Suddenly, there came a knock at the front entrance. Before Agatha even had a moment to set her book down, Dracula already had Sorina in his arms. He stood there, glowering at the direction of the sound when the banging came again. Only this time, it was much louder.

"Dracula, take Sorina upstairs." Agatha said calmly.

"Agatha," Dracula said, clearly displeased with her idea. "Ignore it."

"It's daytime," the former nun stated. "Go upstairs."

"Papa," Sorina asked, looking at her father. "What's wrong?"

"Go now," Agatha urged. "I'll be fine."

The vampire continued to eye the door before letting out a heavy sigh of defeat. He knew he couldn't win against Agatha. Holding his daughter closer, he met his wife's unblinking gaze.

"Go," she repeated. "I'll call out if something's wrong."

She waited until both were up the stairs and out of her sight before venturing towards the doors. As she passed by the fireplace, she carefully grabbed the iron rod that was the poker. At least she could have some form of a weapon. Locating the key, her hands slightly trembled as she began to undo the locks. However, it wasn't out of fear. No, it was excitement. Rarely, had Agatha seen the outside, much less the sun. Caring for Sorina had seen to that. So when she had finally unlocked the door, pushing it just open enough to see who was knocking, Agatha couldn't help the sharp inhale of delight when the warm rays hit her face.

"Miss?"

A gruff voice tugged the former nun back to reality. Agatha nearly jumped in surprise at the man who stood before her. An older fellow who, when noticing he'd caught her gaze, removed his cap from his balding head.

"My apologies, Miss," he cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to startle you. My name is Gellert. Gellert Bartok? You must be Count Dracula's wife."

"I am," Agatha said hesitantly. "Is there a matter I can assist you with? My husband isn't feeling well at the moment. I can handle any business matters of his."

"Right. Of course," Gellert said with a half smile. "Sorry for coming over so unexpectedly. Usually I come at night, as he requested? A few times a month, I'm sure he's told you."

"I'm aware," she nodded.

"We had an incident with some hogs. Something got 'em during the night? I wanted to talk to your husband about getting more. I brought what I could with me." He motioned to a rather small barrel by his feet. "I can carry it in for you."

"That's quite alright," Agatha said briskly. "I can handle-"

"I must insist," the farmer smiled, nudging the door to open wider with his foot. "I'm not going to make a lady like yourself carry something so heavy."

Agatha had never felt as tense as she did the moment the entrance way closed behind her. The stranger, to her at least, completely unaware of his surroundings strode over to the table and placed the barrel down. He looked around the room and whistled.

"I've never stepped foot in this place," he commented. "Always just dropped everything off or met your husband outside. This is quite the establishment. Never seen anything like it."

"I'm quite particular when it comes to decor."

Much to Agatha's horror, she recognized that voice all too well. She turned and with wide eyes stared at Dracula, who had now decided to join them.

"Count Dracula," the farmer smiled nervously. "Your wife told me you were ill."

"I'm feeling better," Dracula replied simply. "Might I inquire why you are standing in my dining room?"

"Oh," Gellert said, scratching the back of his neck. "I was just informing your wife that we had issues on the farm with the hogs. Something killed off a good many of them. I wanted to ask if you would be so generous as to perhaps provide-"

"Yes, yes, of course," Dracula waved dismissively. "Let us discuss the matter in a different room. Voices echo and my daughter is trying to sleep." He looked to Agatha. "Darling, would you mind retrieving some wine for our guest? Surely this won't take long, but I want to be a good host," he smiled at the farmer. "If you'd follow me."

Unbeknownst to either parent, Sorina watched from the shadows as her mother and father followed the strange man down one of the corridors. She'd never seen another person before, only heard about them in her story books. The young girl looked back over her shoulder at her bedroom. Surely her parents wouldn't be too cross. Besides, she'd recognize that scent anywhere. The one that wafted from the barrel on the table.

Quietly, she made her way down the steps and into the dining room. With ease, she climbed up a chair before kneeling in front of her prize. It was a little difficult, but with surprising strength considering her age, Sorina managed to get the top off. Her eyes sparked as the aroma of the crimson liquid filled her nose. With no means of properly drinking it, Sorina, much like a kid and a cookie jar, scooped out a palm full and began to slurp.

"What in God's name-"

Gellert looked on in horror as the young girl turned to face them, her tiny fangs and blood smeared mouth giving away that she was far from a normal child. But before he could react, Dracula shoved him hard against the wall, a yelp of pain escaping the man. Sorina began to cry, snapping Agatha out of her stunned state brought on by the situation.

"Take her upstairs," Dracula growled, his own features beginning to morph, his words mirroring Agatha's from before. "You don't want her to see this."

The woman didn't need to be told twice as she scooped her distressed child up and quickly ascended the steps. She could hear the man pleading with the vampire as she ran into Sorina's room and knocked the door closed with her hip.

"Sorry, Mama," the girl cried. "Sorry!"

"It's okay," Agatha soothed, her own voice shaking. She held Sorina close, pressing her face into her daughter's hair. "It's okay."

Time seemed to move slowly as Agatha sat in the dark room hugging Sorina tightly to her. It was only when the sound of familiar footsteps grew closer and the door open, did she see Dracula standing before her.

"Papa!" Sorina cried out, running into the arms of her father.

He picked her up and held her close before his eyes met those of his wife.

"Agatha," he said quietly. "I think it's time for me to tell you about England."

[snake-noodles]

Hidden Away - Chapter 4

TW: Anxiety/paranoia, body horror, bugs (specifically butterflies), feeling of bugs on skin, lots of death talk, arguing, threats of death, guns, gun violence, implied sensory overload, possible manipulation/gaslighting

Words: 5607

Read on AO3

> Welcome back to Lobotomy Corp, THOMAS.

> Important Message from A

> "Thomas,

Do you believe in the existence of soul? I do. I also believe that the soul itself is the reason of one’s existence. Then, is there a perfect soul? I do not think there is. However, one can endlessly get closer to perfection. The process of it is an endless wave of agony. At the end of such effort, I expect that we will be able to make valuations of everything correctly.

We can make things perfect. Even if some people have to die along the way. I trust you feel the same?

But of course you don't. You have emotions to get in the way of your rational thinking. When you're ready to become a real leader, lets eliminate the ones that are keeping us behind.

Keep up the good work, sir. I expect nothing but perfection."

> …

> Delete message?

>YES

> Message discarded.

Logan felt strange. Not in the way he felt yesterday, but something… different. He feels as though he's forgetting something important. But he can't think. His head hurts. Not from any of the abnormalities, either. No he's been doing good with the abnormalities today. But, speaking of such, he hasn't been tasked to talk with Deceit. It's not as if he cares, but he wonders if they assigned a different employee to him. He's not sure why that would happen, though. He's been doing an excellent job, in his opinion.

Perhaps it was because he messed up and let the abnormality affect him like that. That was quite stupid of him. He should know better. Be better. He's been raised to always be his very best. If he can't do that, then what use is he? No, wait, he cannot allow himself to think like this. He's acting like Virgil.

And look where Virgil ended up.

He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses and deciding to save those thoughts for later. Rationalize them later, and not while he's doing very important work. He looks down, pleased that he's been doing so well today, but something itches at the back of his brain. He swears there's something he's forgetting. Whatever it is, it shouldn't be too important if he forgot it, right? He almost never forgets things.

He straightens his tie as he walks down the hallway. He shouldn't waste more time than he already has. And he hates wasting time. Funny how working makes him less stressed and relaxing makes him more stressed.

He'd been going through the same routine all day. Seeing abnormalities and taking notes. He'd seen all on his team today except for one. Talking to them- or at least listening to their nonsense- and gathering energy. But at least he hasn't messed up today. Everything has been going rather nicely.

And then he spots something that makes his heart (figuratively) drop.

"Logan." The colorless AI catches him, staring with his cold emotionless eyes. And next to him was Thomas.

What the hell was Thomas doing here?

There's a nervous pressure in his chest, and he swallows, adjusting his tie and walking up to the two.

"A." He says as a greeting, straightening his posture. "Am I needed for something?"

"Oh, no. Thomas has decided to stay and run this place himself. Why not introduce him to one of our best employees?" He gives a smile that was out of place on him. Seeing the 'emotionless AI' pretend to feel left him with a strange feeling. Logan decided to look at Thomas instead.

"Mr. Sanders. It's a pleasure meeting you in person, sir." He holds out his hand, which Thomas shakes with a smile- before that smile quickly drops. He wonders why, but doesn't voice his question.

A looks between the two, before facing Logan.

"You did a swell job yesterday. Unlike the rest of your foolish team," He straightens Logan's coat, staring him in the eyes, "You're not afraid to get things done… Your team could learn a lot from you."

Logan doesn't miss the way Thomas tenses up. There's alot to be questioned. But, he's a little confused to say the least. He thought yesterday was a failure. What did he do to deserve any praise?

"Thank you, A, though I am confused why I am getting such praise?" He says, and A doesn't respond, simply giving a knowing smile. Logan doesn't understand. Is there something A knows that he doesn't? He never gets an answer to his question, and it takes some effort to not fidget with his tie.

Quickly, the AI pulls away, standing back at Thomas's side in an instant. They shared a look that Logan couldn't quite understand before he waves his hand in a dismissive manner, closing his cold eyes.

"That will be all. Keep up the good work, Logan. We have some work we need to attend to. Right, sir?"

Thomas doesn't respond. It takes him a moment to realize that Thomas hasn't said a word since Logan approached the two of them. He opens his mouth to speak, but he feels a buzz and looks down. Ah, right. He needs to get back to work. When he looks up, the two are already gone. But, something doesn't feel quite right. Why is Thomas here? What is A planning?

Will things change? And if so, will they be for better or for worse? Then again, he wonders how it could get any worse, unless they end up killing people for no reason, but that'd be illogical to do. He gets another buzz.

> "Logan,

Once you are done with your work for today, I ask that you meet me in my office.

-A"

And that's a terrifying message to receive. He hasn't visited A's office in a long time. What could he even be needed for? He can already tell the rest of the day is going to be long. There's a sense of dread sitting on his shoulders, but he tries his best to ignore it. He knows its not healthy, but he needs to do his job. He's not sure what he should expect. Maybe he'll get thrown out of the window and fall to his death.

God, he can't be thinking like this.

He shakes his head, and enters T-01-68(H) 's room once again. He'd already seen this abnormality, but he was tasked to come in here before it's qliphoth counter reached zero. The tall humanoid's butterfly head flutters as he enters. The calm and solemn atmosphere of the room almost makes him forget how dangerous this abnormality is. Almost.

"What happens when people die?" The question is asked. No matter how many times he enters this room, the abnormality's voice always makes him shiver. Maybe this abnormality wasn't the best one to visit while he was in his current mental state, but he couldn't ignore his orders.

Logan doesn't respond. He simply lets the abnormality talks, all while ignoring his existential dread.

"What happened to those that worked here?" It asks, butterflies landing on its shoulders. "They must have returned home… Where family and warmness await."

The Funeral of the Dead Butterflies- what a long name- gazes down on Logan in silence, with eyes he cannot see.

"But everyone knows that the employees can't leave the company unless they retire." It continues on, the butterflies inside the large coffin festering.  "They must have 'retired' and returned to their homes, having earned what they wanted and full of hope."

Logan could hear the smile in its echoing voice. He exhales through his nose, writing his notes. Just don't think about it.

"But retiring isn't as easy as it sounds. Just like how feathers do not fall out on their own free will. Then where did the retired employees go?" It tilts its head, wings fluttering. "They are bound to the company the moment they enter. They cannot leave even if they retire."

Logan snaps his notebook shut, and the abnormality falls quiet.

"... My coffin isn't big enough to replace hundreds of graves… Do you mourn your fallen coworkers?" It asks, its echoing voice softer than what Logan is used to. He didn't think its voice could get any softer, really.

"No… I don't have time to mourn." He says simply. He's not sure why he answered. He never answers. The butterfly wings flutter once again.

"I've failed to provide proper rest to your friends…" It looks at its empty hands, the two others still holding up the heavy coffin. "... I will wait until the end of time… Wait until I can put their bodies to rest..."

They both fall silent, staring at each other. He could hear the numerous butterflies inside of the large coffin festering and fluttering.  There was a strange feeling of understanding.

...Understanding? No, no, he's just tired. He shakes his head, and leaves the room before he can fall for the insect's trap.

Talking to the abnormality affected him more than it should have, and his results were mostly good. In fact, they didn't need much more information on the abnormality. The only reasons employees were still sent to see it was because if they didn't, it would break out again. And last time it broke out, well… It was certainly not fun. He scratches his arms at the memory, trying to get rid of the phantom feeling of butterflies on his skin.

Why they don't just make better containment cells, he's not sure. Maybe they just wanted everyone to suffer. He wouldn't doubt it, really. The bastards probably count on all of them dying. Then again, if they all died, they wouldn't have people to work for them. Unless they replaced everyone with AIs. That'd probably take a lot of money, though. In fact, how is the company even making money? Is it paid for by the government? Eh.

He shakes his head, sighing. He's thinking too much about the wrong things. He should strictly be thinking of work. Work and nothing else. Just think about work and- oh look Patton's approaching. When did Patton get here? What does Patton need him for?

"Lo-lo! Are you busy? I wanted to talk to you." He says, a strange seriousness in his expression that Logan isn't used to seeing.

"I am in fact busy." He states without a second thought. At that, Patton frowns.

"I made sure to catch you at lunch time- can you not take your lunch break?" He tilts his head.

Was it lunch time already? God, he really needs to focus if he's losing track of time. This doesn't happen to him. He's always on top of things. Always.

"... I suppose."  He says after a brief pause, and the tension in his friend's shoulders releases, a smile on his face.

"Cool! Can we talk somewhere more private?" He blinks, but nods, leading the two of them to an empty breakroom. The breakroom wasn't often used- filled with plants that are probably fake and cheap cafeteria tables and chairs. The two sit down in the uncomfortable seats, Patton shifting and tapping at the table.

Patton looks nervous, still. He isn't sure why.

"Sooo… About what happened yesterday…" He pokes his fingers together, averting his gaze. Logan frowns at this, glancing at the table before looking back at Patton.

"Ah. I am aware I messed up yesterday." He sighs, adjusting his tie.

"Oh-! Really?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have been so careless and let that abnormality affect me. Thank you for the medicine, by the way. I'll try not to let this happen again." He closes his eyes, frowning a little. He doesn't like admitting his mistakes. It's even worse that Patton's not saying anything. Cracking open an eye, he sees his friend looking confused.

"No, Logan, I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about you… y'know... Threatening the abnormality." His voice goes quiet as he says this, pouting.

This was certainly news to him.

He had only visited Deceit once yesterday, and went back to work after he got his medicine from Patton. He never went back in, and he has no memory of threatening anything.

He blinks in surprise, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at this. It takes him a few moments to get his thoughts together to say something.

"Patton- I don't recall ever doing such a thing. Are you sure it wasn't a coworker?" He tilts his head.

"Huh? No! I'm sure it was you!" He squeaks, eyebrows pushed together in concern.

"I can assure you that it wasn't."

"But- what if, uh… What if you got brain wiped?!"

Logan raises an eyebrow, and Patton's face flushes a bit. He sighs, crossing his arms.

"There's probably a more logical explanation to this, Patton. Have you been getting enough sleep? Taking your medicine?"

"I have!" He shouts, stamping his foot and puffing out his cheeks. Logan stares, before looking away with a sigh, shaking his head.  

"We will… resume this later. We should both be getting back to work." He was already tired of today. So much nonsense is happening. His headache grows.

"... Okay, fiiiine. But you better keep your word! We will be talking about this later!" He wags his finger and Logan smiles, only for it to immediately disappear.

"Alright. I'll contact you after I meet with A."

"A? You have a meeting with him? What for?" Patton looks worried again. But that's to be expected. Everyone knows how scary A is.

"I'm not quite sure. I'm certain I'll be fine, he was praising my work this morning, after all." He hums a little. "But we should really get back to work. You may have patients who need you."

"Alright… I'll see you later!"

And with that, they part ways.

It was… a strange conversation. He wonders why Patton would think he'd do such a thing. It would just make his work harder if he were to threaten an abnormality. So silly.

He looks down for his next task and. Wow. Alright. Of course after that strange conversation he's tasked to talk to Deceit. He looks around. There were cameras everywhere- or at least he assumed so. They must be very well hidden, because how else would they receive information? Then again, this may just be a coincidence. He's starting to think like Virgil.

… He stops that train of thought quickly.

It's the same old thing, walking down the hallways to get to Deceit's cell. It wasn't exactly hard to navigate, there were only four abnormalities per team, after all. Three if you didn't count objects- even though they still affected people in strange ways. Standing at the door of the containment, though, he felt odd. Odd like he felt earlier. His gun felt heavier than usual in his coat. But surely it's nothing. He's thinking too much about Patton's words. He huffs, entering the cell.

Deceit looks up, coiling up tighter on himself when he realizes just who it is that entered. Logan doesn't miss the glint of his fangs. He blinks, pulling out his notebook.

"Logan, just the person I wanted to see." He hisses, voice low. "Are you here to finish the job?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Deceit." He squints his eyes, and the snake scrunches his nose, tongue flicking out for a moment. He stands slowly, tilting his head to the side, and Logan looks up at him.

"Hmm…" He hums, inspecting Logan with a cold and calculated gaze. Logan doesn't look away, a tense silence hanging in the air as they hold their stares, neither willing to submit. It lasted for a while, a heavy feeling in the air. Logan willed himself to not click his pen or mess with his tie. Finally, Deceit sighs and steps back, shrinking down onto the floor and resting his head in his hands.  "Whatever. Lets get this over with. As lovely as you are, I don't feel like dealing with you. You understand, right?"

He wears a sickly sweet smile, tilting his head. Logan rolls his eyes, before noticing something. Something that makes his blood run cold.

A bullet hole? In the wall. He blinks slowly, trying to process this new information. How could this happen? Unless Deceit somehow got a gun, this would mean that an employee used their weapon in here. He thinks back on Patton's words and feels his head pounding. This is already too much.

"Oh? Did you finally notice?" He smiles, standing again. "You left that there, you know."

"...What? No. Falsehood! You're a liar, certainly you must be able to manipulate the surroundings. And somehow you got Patton to believe such as well." He straightens his posture, glaring at the serpent.

"Acting so innocent… But you're just a wolf in sheep's clothing. I'm not the only one you've threatened, hm? You've scared others before, right? You've killed others! Surely this isn't out of the realm of possibility, little wolf! I bet you're just waiting for the day I escape so you can kill me yourself !" The snake shouts, drawing closer still to Logan.

"Quiet! This is all utter nonsense." He wills himself to not step back, standing his ground. "You simply want to get under my skin. Enough of your trickery- I'm just here to get my job done, and I don't have to deal with you."

The snake straightens, and laughs, hand coming up to his mouth in an attempt to silence himself.

"Oh little wolf, you have no idea…" He smiles, showing off his long fangs. "But, fine. Don't listen to me. No one said you had to in the first place."

Logan grits his teeth, hold on his pen tightening, before he lets out a breath.

"You're quite an annoyance." He purses his lips, rubbing his temples and trying to get himself to calm down. Getting upset won't do any good for him.

"Oh, I know!" He says a little too enthusiastically. "Maybe if I'm annoying enough you guys will get tired of me and throw me out."

"That wouldn't happen."

"... I know that. For someone so smart, you don't understand others very well, do you? You can't read the room, or tell sarcasm. You're just horrible when it comes to emotions and other people. Am I right?"

Deceit was, in fact, incredibly right. But Logan would never admit it. And like the snake had just said, he didn't have to listen to any of his nonsense. Though, something still tickled at the back of his mind, and his eyes once again trail to the bullet hole. It's not true, that'd be completely illogical if it were. He remembers no such thing occurring, after all. It's an illusion, perhaps. He'll have to write down that this abnormality is capable of making illusions. There's a lot of things in the works just to keep this abnormality contained. He overheard plans to remake the room so that he cannot connect to others. Then there's also the eyepatch he won't be able to remove. He wonders what else they'll do. He wouldn't be surprised if they put a muzzle on him and chained him down. That's what they did with Remus, after all.

"You're thinking hard over there. Did you really learn so much from just standing in this room with me?" The snake asks, laying on his stomach and kicking his feet like a teenage girl, his tail swaying slowly.

Logan doesn't acknowledge him.

Of course, remaking the room would mean they'd have to put the snake to sleep and in an even smaller containment while the room gets renovated. Most abnormalities become more violent after being temporarily relocated. He imagines that being in a dark metal box with no light at all would be alot worse than this already small, plain room. He isn't sure how abnormality's minds work, but humans being in isolation like that without light would drive someone mad, depending on how long they're kept in there for.

Wait, why is he even thinking about this? He has to be working.

"I doubt you will answer me honestly, but may I ask about your history before coming here." He raises an eyebrow to the reptile.

"Of course! Why, I was born on an alien planet and was sent to earth as a child once my planet exploded." He says, a fake smile playing on his lips.

"As expected. I'll have to ask a different time." He sighs, shaking his head. "I am surprised though. Isn't that a plot for… a superhero thing? I didn't think you'd know of such tropes."

"I lived in the woods, not under a fucking rock. I may not look like you, but I was raised mostly the same way. Yet, I'm held in captivity like a wild animal." He hisses.

"Interesting." Logan hums, writing this new information down, to which the snake curses under his breath for even giving a sliver of information about himself.

It's silent again. The only sounds being Logan's pen scratching at the paper. This research has been going better than expected- even though he hasn't learned a lot of new things from the snake yet. Deceit has been staring at him. He's not sure why. When he chances a look, he's met with green and gold, staring him down in an unreadable expression. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

"Are you really okay with dying here?" The snake asks, never tearing his eyes away. "Employees that work here aren't allowed to leave, right? Why would you accept working here and accept inevitable death? Why did you sign up for this?"

His questions made Logan uneasy in a way he didn't understand. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it quickly, staring.

"Are you really okay with being forgotten, dead in this hell?"

"How would I be forgotten?"

The snake smiles, leaning back and laying out his hands.

"Well, allow me to propose a… hypothetical." He starts, making dramatic gestures as he speaks. "If someone was alone in the forest, and no one saw the death blow, and no one found the body… Did the attack actually happen?" They go silent for a few seconds.

"Of cou-"

"The answer is: nobody ever knew they existed. Therefore, nobody will care no matter what the answer is. They may as well have never been alive in the first place... Do you understand what I'm saying, Logan?" He stares, standing once again.

"I…" He stammers, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Everyone here will be forgotten. In a few decades, their families won't be there to remember them. And this building is hidden away anyway, right? You'll die, and it'll be as if you've never been alive in the first place. Your death doesn't change anyone else's lives."

"Yes, but that could be said about death in general."

"That's true… But do you really want to die here? Die without letting yourself be known? Humans are capable of doing great things, yet you threw away your life to study freaks of nature, never to be remembered."

"I do not wish to be remembered." Logan states after a long pause. "I do not care if I make an impact or not. It is my life, and mine alone. Why should I care if no one remembers me?"

"Then why'd you throw away your freedom to work here?"

He hesitates, before settling his firm expression. "I have no obligation to tell you anything. I think I've heard quite enough from you today." He sorts his things, his posture straight. The serpent gives a low laugh.

"Even though you're smart, your mind is so fragile. They've already got their claws around you… manipulating you like a puppet." Before Logan can argue, he continues, "But whatever… Move along, little wolf. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere."

Logan stills for a moment, staring at the serpent. There was something he was missing. But he's not quite sure what it is. He narrows his eyes.

"What is it that you're planning?" He asks. The snake smiles, as if he knew this question was coming.

"I have no idea what you mean." He replies simply. Now, Logan could easily press the abnormality to speak more, but he didn't want to risk anything. The snake was probably venomous, after all. He does wonder what effects the venom has, but he should save that for a different meeting. He shakes his head, sighing.

He doesn't say anything as he leaves the room.

The halls, although employees and clerks walked to and fro, felt incredibly empty. He notices that the lights are a lot dimmer in the hallways than in the containment rooms. He's not sure how he's never noticed it until now. For the hallway that leads to Virgil's containment it makes sense. The man is terrified of the dark. But it suddenly feels dimmer everywhere in general.

His thoughts go back to Deceit and Patton's words. It was a strange thing to think about, really. Death… illusions… so much nonsense that's hard to sort through. His head is pounding, and he can tell that he's almost at his limit. Just a bit longer though. Everything will be fine.

It seems he only has one more task to do before going up to see A. That felt… quick. A little too quick. Days here are usually very long. Perhaps he's lost track of time again? He hopes not. That'd be very unfortunate.

But he should get to work, then he'll mentally prepare himself.

Surprising as it is, talking to the abnormality actually calmed him. She was happy when he walked in, so that probably explains it. But now that he has no more tasks, a heavy feeling weighs him down. He hasn't been to A's office in a while. It's on the very top floor, too. His heart is beating more than it should. He shouldn't be nervous about something like this.

Shaking his head, he enters the elevator. Usually, he doesn't mind silence, but the pressure in the elevator was suffocating. He's fine- he keeps telling himself this. The way up to his office is long. The only thing reminding him that the elevator is actually moving is the small shaking and the clanging. He flexes his fingers, before holding his hands together- adjusting them awkwardly before holding them behind his back. He couldn't tell if it was just him or if the elevator was making him shake. He straightens his posture, taking a few deep breaths.

It's fine. He signed up for this job. He can deal with talking to an AI.

He doesn't know how long it took for the elevator to get to the very top floor. In actuality, it was probably only a few minutes, but it felt a lot longer.

When the doors open, he squints at the bright fluorescent lights, a huge change from the dark hallways underground. He steps out, looking around. He hears something tapping. Like soft patting against the walls. It takes him a moment to realize what he's hearing is rain. He hasn't heard the sound of rain in awhile. If only he could see it. It seems even up here there are no windows. He exhales slowly, walking down the empty, white hallways. It felt almost like a hospital, only much more quiet. The only sound present was the tapping of the rain against the building. He makes it to A's office a little quicker than he would have liked, but it's fine. The sooner this gets over with the better.

He knocks twice on the door.

"Hello. This is Logan. May I come in?" He asks. There's some shuffling behind the door before it opens itself. He gives a nod, walking inside.

The room was dark compared to the bright hallways. The only light was on the large screen, and A sat in his chair, staring at Logan. Thomas was nowhere in sight.

"Logan." He says with a nod, gesturing to the seat in front of him. He takes the seat.

"A." He says back. "May I ask why you've called me here?"

"Well, it's about yesterday's performance." He gives a smile with no feeling behind it. It looked incredibly out of place on him. "You're quite bold, I must say. Usually I would be against harming abnormalities when they haven't even breached, but…"

He leans in, and Logan feels his heart drop.

"Between you and me, I think everyone should be taking notes from you."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Logan says, voice much quieter than usual.

"Oh, I know." He gives a knowing look, and straightens his coat. "I know everything that happens here. And I know things you don't. Like how you threatened O-01-62(H) yesterday. But I already know you don't remember that."

Logan opens his mouth, trying to find the words to speak. But nothing comes out. This can't be right. This must be a trick or something. He has no memory of this. It can't be true- this is all nonsense. His grip on his knees tighten.

"You're thinking quite hard… Don't worry, I won't punish you." A promises, but with how flat his voice is, it's hard to tell if he really means it.

"Why… How did I forget such a thing?" Logan asks, the smallest hint of distress in his voice, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, Logan. You think we don't have the technology for that stuff?" He leans on his hand. "You know, everything in this building affects our employees and their performance. The gas we release and the medicine for example."

Logan swallows, a lump in his throat at this new information. "I don't understand… why would I threaten an abnormality like that?"

The AI stares, eyes cold against him.

"That doesn't matter, dear." He ignores the other's distress easily, rising from his chair and walking to his computer. "But enough of this. I didn't call you here to coach you through your pathetic emotions. You're a good employee. One of our best. And you… will be my ace in the deck."

"What do you mean?"

The AI is quiet for a while, staring up at the screen while Logan sits behind him.

"You will be the key to this company's success. Thomas is set on ruining everything… But you know what's best, right dear?" He turns around, his eyes staring straight into Logan's. It made him feel a strange dread.

"I'm… not quite sure I do." He admits, tearing his eyes away. A approaches, settling a cold metal hand against Logan's cheek.

"Oh, you will soon enough. I expect nothing but perfection from you." He stares Logan down before slowly pulling away.

"Yes sir."

He hums, pleased.

"Good, you'll do good." He nods.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"That is all, but-" Suddenly there's a cold press to his head and the sound of a click. He doesn't need to look up to know it's a gun. He holds his breath. "You will not utter a word about this, understand? You have information that other employees underground do not. I will know if you say anything. Understand?"

Logan holds his breath, before closing his eyes. His body is incredibly rigid, shoulders squared. "Understood."

The gun is taken away and the AI smiles. It's funny how much he smiles for an AI with supposedly no emotions.

"Good. You're dismissed then. I will send you more information later on, my ace." He waves his hand dismissively, looking back at his computer.

Logan nods, and slowly leaves the room, the sudden brightness making him squint his eyes. He blinks a few times, sighing. He has a lot to think about, the new information still processing in his brain. The sound of rain returns to him, and he allows himself a few moments to listen before heading to the elevator.

And once he steps inside, it takes every ounce of self control to not overload. He can wait it out just a bit longer. Just a bit longer and he can go back to his room and let his emotions out. It'd be unprofessional to breakdown like some sort of child.

He hadn't realized how much he's built up, though. There's a throbbing pressure in his head, and he loosens his tie to make it easier to breathe. There's so much buildup. And today was a pile of different emotions he doesn't know what to do with.

A would be ashamed. Emotions shouldn't be necessary. The shaking of the elevator is enough to ground him, but he finds himself swaying absently more than once. His fists are clenched hard, leaving crescent shapes in his palms. His jaw hurts from being so clenched.

Just a bit longer.

The elevator shakes to a stop, and Logan has to keep himself from immediately running to his dorm. The day would be over in 3 minutes exactly.

He reaches his dorm and then…

An alarm sounds, red lights blaring everywhere, bathing everything in a bright red that hurt his eyes. This isn't helping. It's too loud. Too bright. Too much all at once and he wants to scream. He wants to scream, he wants to scream, he wants to-

"Urgent! Abnormality F-06-58(W) has escaped! We need to immediately suppress it!"

His stomach drops.

Remus escaped.

He wants to just enter his room. He can calm down there. He can hide under his covers and wait for everything to pass. His hand itches to open the door, but he decides he can wait just a bit longer.

He's expected to do nothing but perfection, after all.

So before he can even process it, his legs are moving.