#somehow it all looked even worse in color so a simple flat it is

[wszczebrzyszynie]

i dont remember who but someone asked me if Jellie and owl Grian hunt together and the answer is no. They would however compete for the prey

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

When life disappoints you, lose yourself in an aquarium to remind yourself that the world isn't such a bad place

Aquariums can be nice to look at, especially when you want something simple that still gives you a much needed change of scenery. I haven’t been to one since I was young and probably not able to really appreciate them the same way grown adult me would. I mean, it’s nothing groundbreaking, just really cool to look at, and that’s good enough for me. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating something just because it looks nice and not something you’d see every day - I guess that’s the main appeal of aquariums.

For me, I think the main appeal is just seeing all the different creatures, the colors, and just watching them swim around. It may not look like much, but I find it kinda fun. In a child’s imagination, an aquarium is like another world, and I was that kid who imagined herself living in there. Funny to think that as an adult, I sometimes find myself doing the same and it’s just as fun.

This trip was kinda something we put together last minute, which seems to be the thing when I meet up with the Epiphany. Simply put, we needed something that was chill while somewhat engaging enough to get ourselves out of a rut and take our mind off things. I’d say the aquarium did its job.

I’ve been feeling out of whack after spending a week stuck in bed knocked out by a virus. It started with a cold that made me use my inhaler more than usual, which is not a good sign. After a few days, I went to see a doctor, who told me that I wasn’t having an exacerbation, so that’s a relief. However, because I have asthma, they prescribed me an antiviral to reduce the risk of complications. Had it not for that, then it’s just the usual bed rest and drink lots of fluids.

By the time I saw the doctor, some of my symptoms had resolved itself, aside from the coughing and occasional shortness of breath. The medicine, on the other hand, that’s what really knocked me out. They warned me about the side effects and how that should not keep me from taking it. Yeah, it was bad, but I pulled through. I figured that I was better off feeling terrible now than pay for it later if, worst case scenario, I wind up in the hospital. Sometimes you just have to drag yourself through it.

One side effect I noticed right away was the persistent bitter taste in my mouth that made a lot of things taste bad, like water. Then came the upset stomach, which made matters worse. Tea helped for a bit, but when that became too bitter I put together a drink that was basically honey, hot water, and oat milk and lived off that. I was told to try to stay hydrated, which I think really helped a lot when I was unable to eat, bit it wasn’t easy.

Ugh, that was awful, though nothing compared to the headaches that came on later. That, and the brain fog in general from being sick just killed me. I tried taking something for the headaches, but that didn’t help, so I tried to sleep through it. As someone who is somehow incapable of taking naps, that was kinda tricky even though I was exhausted, though I managed to get a tiny bit of sleep here and there.

So I was basically flat out on my back for a week because of that damn medicine. But so did many other people who took it and made a full recovery. I’m not 100% yet, but I feel a lot better, so there’s that. Yeah, I can see why some people stop taking it after a couple days, but that’s not a good thing. Well, at least the ordeal’s over. Getting sick is not fun at all.

On the bright side, I managed to make some good progress on some of my knits before the brain fog and exhaustion overtook me. First was my basic raglan cardigan, which I’ve been putting on the backburner to focus on finishing my kompeito cardi, which came out amazing. I’ve managed to get one wear out of my kompeito - or confetti, as my family calls it - before getting sick and got a lot of compliments about it. After having mixed feelings about my cabled cardigan that’s a size too small, I’m glad to have another finished project that I feel really proud of.

As for the basic raglan, I finished one sleeve and got started on the other one. I figured that since I had one done already, why not just start the other one? Hopefully that’ll sort of combat second sleeve syndrome, as well as give me a better idea of how long I want the body to be. I think on the picture it looks kinda cropped, and I’m not sure if I want that. At least I know for sure that I have plenty of yarn to add extra length - maybe an inch at the most. At least with the body it’s just mindless stockinette, which I’ll save for days when I want to turn my brain off and just knit.

My main WIP is the long awaited and hyped Blissful Cardigan. It’s a saddle shoulder v-neck cardigan that’s really popular and has been on my to-knit list for a long time. I’ve never done saddle shoulder before, which is one reason why I kept putting it off. Along with trying out a different construction, it’s also my first venture into mohair. So far, I’ve been liking the result, though sometimes I have to be careful to make sure I’m holding both yarns together since it’s easy to accidentally miss the mohair, especially if I’m knitting somewhere that’s kinda dark.

Knitting with two yarns held together isn’t a huge learning curve, my main concern was not knowing how I’d like the mohair. The brand for both the yarns are very popular - for good reason - and I’m glad to say that it is not scratchy at all. I actually have no idea what my sensitivity level to wool is, but since I don’t like high necks like turtlenecks, I’m assuming that I wouldn’t do well with yarn that’s really scratchy.

I’m only on the sleeve increases part of the yoke, which thankfully doesn’t require as much math as the first part of the yoke since you just knit even on the purl side. The first part, the set up, has you doing increases on the purl side, something I don’t do often, and I’m still eeeh on make 1 right purls. They’re just so fiddly to work with, but I’ll deal.

I like that the yoke is engaging and that the pattern has clearly written out the rows for each size in a separate chart so you can keep track of everything. I find that I’m not a fan of at the same time instructions because it’s easy to get lost and mess up your numbers, so that’s a plus for me with this pattern. Also, it’s fun learning a new construction and seeing how it all comes together.

Then comes my third WIP, which will have to take top priority since it’s a gift knit. It’s a the Hibernate v-neck pullover for my mom, something she always wanted in her wardrobe. I had her feel the mohair and merino combination of my Blissful before settling on the same yarns and she liked it too, saying that she wanted something kinda fancy. Mohair really does add a level of luxury to knits and now I’m afraid of falling into a potentially dangerous rabbit hole. Of course, I wanted one of my own, and there happened to be a big sale, so I got the yarns for both of us.

The base color my mom chose was unicorn purple, a soft and pretty light purple, paired with marzipan, a very light grayish beige. It’s cool to see how using a different color mohair adds something to the merino without looking too marled. For my own sweater - which I won’t be working on for a while - I went for marzipan as my merino base and cream for my mohair because I could use more neutrals in my wardrobe.

Since my mom is a size smaller than me, I hope that I’ll get it done a bit faster. I’m at the beginning of the yoke, which is a compound raglan. The first part of the yoke, like the Blissful, involves raglan increases on the purl side. Thankfully, there wasn’t as much of that and it looks like all the purls will be knit even rows from now on. Like with the Blissful, the Hibernate also puts detailed charts for the raglan increases. Stuff like that takes a lot of time and effort to add, so I really appreciate both designers doing that.

And like me, the Epiphany also got sick and were knocked out by the same virus and medicine. Laufey got hit first, followed by Jewel, then Fionna, Jiangyi. Meiying, Landry, and Hongxia. Yang and Della only managed to avoid it because they were out - more on that later.

Since Meiying, Jewel, and Fionna were also in the high risk category of developing serious complications, they were also given the medicine, which they all complained about too. Well, misery loves company, so at least we were able to let off some steam complaining in our group chat about the side effects, especially about that persistent bitter taste. Again, better off to feel like shit now and have that go away than have it bite us back in the ass later. At least we all know now that the medicine did work or else we wouldn’t be up to going out today.

While everyone was sick, Della was summoned back home for what will probably the last time. After the dissolution of the Eagle Stellarons, things have been going downhill over there. The political instability has gone bad to worse with the possibility of war down the line as the former Stellarons are willing to destroy everything just to maintain their status. Yikes, this is why people like Della are willing to put their lives on the line to stop them from abusing their power.

Knocking down a corrupt and powerful faction will always have devastating consequences, sort of a last resort kind of thing when all other possibilities of reform is just impossible. Yang said although the Stellarons act like they rose from a noble cause, the truth is that they have always been self-serving from the very start. In other words, under their rule, if you have money and status, you can get away with anything while the common folk have to pay the price for your whims.

Some individuals, like Della, are in a difficult position because of their families. There’s this inside joke about the members of the Epiphany surviving at least 30 attempts on their lives - 30 being a super low estimate on purpose considering that most people wouldn’t even have 5 murder attempts in their lifetime. Thanks to her father, Della sidestepped at least 15 assassination attempts this year. She said if it wasn’t so fucking serious, it would actually be funny in an incompetent way.

Like, seriously, who do these people think they are? This guy’s daughter rightfully criticizes the government and he brings out the snipers because he won’t accept that he’s complicit in many crimes. Della always had a difficult relationship with him, especially after he made it clear that he would rather have her dead than accept that she was struggling with severe mental health issues. When he found out that she was gonna testify, he flat out said in court that he was gonna get her killed. Still, some people chose to ignore that, even after the murder attempts began. Not surprisingly, they would say that she brought it on herself - anything to excuse the former Stellarons of any wrongdoing even though they’re boldly committing crimes in broad daylight for all to see.

She’s long accepted that her father’s a lost cause, and his failed attempts at assassination makes him more of a joke than a serious threat. Seriously, how desperate can someone get? To think this ultra powerful commander is soooo threatened by his daughter because she’s willing to call him out on his bullshit that he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s trying to put a bullet in her head. Despite the real danger he poses on her life, Della sees him as nothing but a pathetic coward who throws a temper tantrum when things don’t go his way.

Her mother, on the other hand, is her main source of disappointment. Yang was hoping that she’d stay true to her word and commit to the fight the whole way. However, she, like many of her colleagues, ended up backing out once shit really hit the fan. Just as he feared, a lot of them cared more about protecting their standing with the former Stellarons than looking out for the civilians whose lives are now in upheaval due to the growing instability. Damn, that is a letdown, especially after so many of them preached about how important it is to look out for the common folk.

Yang says the most frustrating thing about Clio is how she seems to only care about the issues when it’s convenient for her. The main reason why she finally decided to testify against the Stellarons was because she feared for her daughter’s life. She knew that if Della stuck with the Stellarons, there was no doubt that she was going to be killed, and she did not want that for her daughter, who she felt deserved so much better. But when it came to doing the actual dirty work, meaning putting her former subordinates on the spot and publicly denouncing them while doing everything in her power to undo the damage they did, she suddenly decided that she would rather stay in their good graces than become their next target of ire.

While Yang says there’s no doubt that Clio values Della’s life, once she realized what she will lose by turning against the Stellarons - prestige, influence, respect, all that good stuff that comes from being a commander - she was unable to let go, to accept that the things she fought for are no longer hers. And Della’s not the only one disappointed in her, so are the civilians who thought Clio was by their side, which makes it worse. To fill their hearts with empty promises that will never be followed through, to deceive those close to you into believing that they’ll always be by your side when you need them - nothing is more cruel than dangling hope on a thin thread just out of reach, only to snip it away moments before you can catch it.

And on top of that, Della’s citizenship has finally been revoked, something she knew was gonna happen eventually. She was actually surprised that it took them that long to finally get around to doing so. Like Sara, Della has long severed her ties with her homeland once shit started going down, and she has no desire to return, if ever. While she’s cautiously optimistic that the people will rise up against the former Stellarons, there’s just too many painful memories for her over there. In the few times she’s returned since traveling with the Epiphany, so much has changed because of the ongoing tension that it was no longer the place she remembered.

It sounds like a lot, but Della says she’s kinda over it. She still hopes to help the civilians any way she can, especially with rumors of war looming on the horizon. She hopes it doesn’t go down that route, though situations like these are always unpredictable. Yang reassures her to put her faith in the people, to listen to their voices, and support them when they need it - that’s what it means to be an ally. She’s done her part, now she just needs to keep her word and follow through on what she says, even if it means making her an enemy of her former colleagues. That was a price she was well aware of paying when she stepped up in court and she will never forget that.

I admire her for staying true to her word. I can’t imagine it being easy in her position, risking everything to ensure that other people will have a future to look forward to. Admitting that you were wrong for being a member of a faction that served to oppress and control the general population, playing a major role in spreading their lies and turning a blind eye to the injustice around you. To open your eyes to the world around you and being brave enough to say, “This is unacceptable, I need to do something about it.” She didn’t do all of this to become a hero, she did it because she needed to do the right thing.

After the week we’ve all had, going to the aquarium was the perfect remedy to clear our minds. Sometimes you just need to lose yourself to fish swimming in the water, maybe even imagine yourself as one of them. It won’t solve your problems, but it’s nice to have a bit of an escape to help you break out of a rut before running back into the swing of things.

Read on AO3

[echantedtoon]

Allison Chapter Eleven

(Disclaimer: The Song the Fortune Teller sings is Rabbit hole by AViVA and some words have been replaced to fit the story better. I in no way own the song or anything.)

Just follow the pink mushrooms.

Simple enough. Allison had followed the Twiddle Sisters instructions and started for the south side of the small town of Enchanted Vil. but now she was very much worried. The Queen was after her? How many people knew that? Was there other people searching for her or guards? Was she being watched right now by someone? Was she even safe? Did anyone know the 'human' was her?...Well other than the sisters and Marsh and Hatter, but she had a feeling they wouldn't tell anyone. Hatter and Marsh lived way to far from the castle it seemed, wherever the castle was, and it sounded like the sisters would rather NOT associate with the Queen or anyone who knows her by the sound of them. She tried not to look suspiciously at all as she headed south of the small village and the houses started to become fewer and fewer. And the people and magical beings started to also become fewer, from the large town square to just a few people here and there as she walked by. She kept looking back over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one was following her and as to not seem suspicious, she pretended to be looking back up at the sky that was slowly changing in colors again from that light blue sun-less day to the silent night. With the way she was going there wasn't any cobblestone roads beyond the last few houses who hugged the edge of the tree line where the think woods started up again. She didn't like the thought of trudging through tall grass with her stockings getting wet from dew again, but the thought of someone capturing her was far worse. So with one last look behind her, there wasn't anyone there thankfully, she squeezed between two wooden small homes and popped out the other side heading deeper into the unknown forest again. Now what did they say? Glowing pink mushrooms? She could barely see her own hand let alone the ground. What if she ran into a wild animal like a bear or a snake? Her grip on the umbrella became even tighter at the thought of that and gulped. Looking around even faster searching for any pink glowing things as she stepped along the dark forest-

"WA- OOF!!"

Tripping over a small log, she fell flat onto her stomach, thankfully not letting go of the umbrella. But she groaned before slowly lifting her head up. She really hated not having any light, but luckily this pink nightlight was here to help her see-.....PINK NIGHTLIGHT!! She blew the hair out of her face and shook her head, shooting up to her feet and staring down to where she fell...and smiled. THERE WAS A GLOWING PINK MUSHROOM!! And another one was a few feet away from it followed by another and another, and another until there was a trail of glowing pink fungi going off deeper in the middle of the woods. She didn't hesitate to start following them at a brisk pace with a smile on her face. Deeper and deeper into the woods she went, and darker and darker it got. She wasn't sure how long she had been at this but this world's strange moon was climbing higher and higher into the skin at least showing it had been half the night. She was starting to get tired and yawned every few minutes. Her body started moving slower and she was starting to feel sore again from all the walking she's done for the last few days, but didn't stop even first her vision was starting to become misty....Wait a second. That wasn't her vision she blinked more and found her self suddenly surrounded by fog...Whitish purple fog. ...She blinked and swiveled her head around and around again. No signs of glowing pink mushrooms, or any other light source. It wasn't as dark anymore but now...Somehow she had gotten lost in her sleepy state. Great! Just what she needed. The slight panic set in and- She yelped and whirled behind her and came face to face with a white mushroom that came up to about her shoulders. ...Mushrooms. Didn't the sisters say that the Fortune Teller was rumored to live in the Misty Mushroom valley...or whatever this place was called? Somewhere with fog and mushrooms. Allison blinked yet again and looked around gripping that umbrella of hers. Well..This was the place. Now the big question was, which way to go now? There wasn't anymore glowing things and every direction looked the same....Well she came this far, she turned in the direction she had originally been walking and kept going straight. Even if she didn't find this Fortune Teller she'd at least eventually get out of this misty maze one way or another. So she started walking forward.

Deeper and deeper into this misty valley she traveled without any lights, or sounds, or any sense of direction. Where the world was she heading? And how long had she been at this? More yawns came through as she walked along passing mushrooms and getting more and more tired by the second. Until a deep rumble of a chuckle sounded out- She jumped with a small gasp and whirled behind her brandishing her umbrella like a sword ready to hit someone over the head with it...But no one was there. Still on edge her head swirled around her in all directions keeping her eyes out for anyone...but there was still no one there....Maybe her tired mind was playing tricks on her.

"Rabbit hole!~," that same deep voice sung out and two more verses of 'rabbit hole' echoed around her making her jump more and look around wildly. Where was that voice coming from? "I could say I help you.~ I could say I aid you.~ But underneath all I plan to do, to do is lead you.~ You could make a breakthrough.~ Watching others wait til I lead you and they can initiate you.~ No one understands me.~ Too scared to command me.~ Walking through an empty wonderworld of others dancing.~" She blinked and looked behind her. The main noise of the voice came from that direction. "No one understands me.~ Too scared to command me.~ Walking through an empty wonderworld of others dancing.~"

Like all the other people she's heard sing so far this man, she assumed it was male by the tone of the voice, was pretty smooth but unlike Chesire's this voice was deeper and had a serious underline to it despite that cheerful singing. Could it be-....She blinked. And began to slowly walk towards the source of the loud voice.

"I'll lead you into my home.~ You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~....I'll lead you into my home.~ You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~" The voice suddenly boomed out- "RABBITHOLE!!~" Again two echoes of 'rabbithole' sounded back as she slowly walked catiously to it. "Rabbithole again!~ Rabbithole!!~" More echoes. "Rabbithole again!! RABBITHOLE!!" Again more echoes. "Rabbitholes again.~"

Allison made sure to keep her umbrella in a 'ready to swing at anything' position as she ever so slowly approached the loud voice. She wasn't taking any chances with this new voice, especially after learning their was a queen after her behind.

"I won't wait to help you.~ I will not forsake you.~ I'll wait as long, as long as it takes you.~ You will say you need me.~ Say you don't beleive me.~ You can try but you will never, never, never doubt me.~ No one understands me.~ Too scared to command me.~ Walking through an empty wonderworld of others dancing.~ No one understands me.~ Too scared to command me.~ Walking through an empty wonderworld of others dancing.~.....I'M to late to be left alone.~ To bad to say I don't know.~ Too late to turn back time.~ ....NOW FALL INSIDE THE-"

She yelped at the sudden loud change in the voice and she guessed her startled yelp must've made the voice cool it as she looked around frantically again.....Before sucking in and letting out a deep breath. Before continueing towards it again.

"I'll lead you into my home.~ You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~....I'll lead you into my home.~ You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~" The voice suddenly boomed out- "RABBITHOLE!!~" Again two echoes of 'rabbithole' sounded back as the voice repeated the verses again. "Rabbithole again!~ Rabbithole!!~" More echoes. "Rabbithole again!! RABBITHOLE!!" Again more echoes. "Rabbitholes again.~"

She was starting to wonder what was up with all these strange characters singing so much to random people?...Not that she was in any place to judge. She couldn't sing to save her life.....But OH. How she would have to soon as she would later find out.

"I have been waiting, You.~ I have always been waiting.~ I will always help you out.~ 'Cause you cannot escape here.~" ....She froze....How did that thing know she-...."I have been waiting, You.~ I have always been waiting.~ I will always help you out.~ 'Cause you cannot escape here.~......I'll lead you into my home.~" The voice boomed out even louder and it sounded SO close. "You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~....I'll lead you into my home.~ You'll be deep in your thoughts.~ Fall inside the rabbithole again!~"

She looked around wildly for the source of that noise, how was it able to know she was lost in here?!

"RABBITHOLE!!~" Again two echoes of 'rabbithole' sounded back as the voice repeated the verses again. "Rabbithole again!~ Rabbithole!!~" More echoes. "Rabbithole again!! RABBITHOLE!!" Again more echoes. "Rabbitholes again.~.......I have been waiting, You.~ I have always been waiting.~ I will always help you out.~ 'Cause you cannot escape here.~"

Allison still looked around. Even as the voice echoed out and faded away and she wondered if it left for a moment. ...

"Hello, Human.~'' She jumped and looked around wildly for the source of the voice, but still didn't see anyone there. "I've been expecting you. My sticks fortold your arrival. Though I wasn't expecting you so soon."

...Sticks? What? She shook her head and kept looking around holding that umbrella out. "I-I'm n-not looking for trouble!" Her voice stuttered out and she wished it didn't. "I-I'm just looking for someone called the F-F-Fortune Teller."

"And you found me."

She froze. "....Are YOU the fortune teller guy?"

"Correct. Now if you would please turn around."

.....Confused, Allison did so and stopped. Her eyes widening as her hair blew around from the magical blast. Like magic, the mist parted in a tunnel and on the other side of the tunnel was the entrance to a cave. Allison just stood there stunned and amazed at the entire thing as another deep chuckle picked up. A dull pink light lit up from inside the cave.

"Oh human so small and meak.~ You have permission to come inside and take a peek.~" The light flickered on and off with the deep voice as it chuckled again as she still stood there staring. "That means you can come in. To see me that lies within."

That was permission for her to enter, and she did after a few long moments of standing there suspiciously, as she slowly walked the tunnel began to close behind her as Allison got closer and closer to the cave and the light within it. As soon as she stepped within the entrance the tunnel of mist sealed up back behind her and she looked behind her in surprise,...before continuing to walk into the cave deeper and deeper as the light grew and grew. Oh so now there's light. the light came from mushrooms that shown brightly as she walked along and didn't stop until she was at the very end of the cave entrance. ..And stared wide eyed. The light she saw before came from a crystal ball sat upon a small table, and ontop of the table was a dark pink table cloth. Beside the table on either side of it was matching giant chairs obviously tailored to his much bigger size, matching the colors of the tablecloth perfectly. Hanging from the ceiling was tiny bottles filled with who knows what. Some of the labels red: Tongue of Griffen, Tooth of Wolf, Unicorn Horn Dust, some unlabeled glowing liquids, etc. Father towards the other side of the home was just a somple plain giant bed and a little ways from that was a giant shelf of empty jars waiting to be filled, and a cauldron over an unlit fire pile. Other than all that, the cave was very ordinary and empty. A. GIANT. MOTH!! Was sitting there at the table staring at her with a smile. Two of his hands holding a glowing white ball and A third holding some kind of smoke pipe, as his free hand held his head. The air had a very sickening sweet smell like too much sugar, and dark pink smoke encircled him like the mist outside as he sat there studying her. The giant fluffy antenna on his head twitched again as he chuckled at her, before taking one of his four hands and reaching to take another drab of that sweet smelling smoke, while gesturing to the giant chair in front of him.

"Come in. Sit down please. I've been expecting you, Miss." She still stared at the glory that was the moth man,..but without thinking walked closer as he watched, and she coughed a few times from the pink fog swirling around them, before she slowly sat down across from him. Her sore muscles finally getting some kind of relief from the long tired walking she'd done for the past two days. And he smiled friendlier. "No need to be frightened. My crystal ball has told me you would be needing my help, and it's rare I get visitors."

"....Y-YOU are the fotune teller?," she asked still stunned.

He chuckled. "Yes, I thought I already said that. You may call me Fortune. And what might your name be, Human?"

"....A-Allison?"

"Well, Allison, It very nice to meet you. Now what have you come seeking me for?"

....She finally seemed to snap out of it and blinked up at him. "OH! UH-..R-R-Right.Well-" She rubbed the back of her neck as she stared up at the patient looking moth..and coughed again. "I need to get home!"

"Ah. You're searching for a rabbithole back to the outside world aren't you?"

Her face lit up with a desperate smile. "YES!! Yes, that's exactly what I'm looking for. D-Do you know where I can find one?"

His smile slowly went into a thin line as he hummed. Reaching the smoke pipe over to suck in and slowly breath out another plume of smoke. "The thing you seek, I know where you can find. But getting to it will be harder then you think. For you see, there are a few ways in but only one way out, and that one way is the queen's magic mirror in the castle keep. ...You will be sent from where you last entered, but you'll have to venture INTO the Heart Queen's domain to get to it."

She stared mouth agape at him. She had to....GO INTO THE QUEEN CASTLE?! THE SAME PERSON WHO WAS CURRENTLY TRYING TO IMPRISON HER?! WAS HE CRAZY?! "WHAT?!," she shouted gawking at him, "How-....What am I supposed to do now?!"

He only hummed and gaze back down to the shiny white orb. Seemingly reading something on it and looking back to her. "There's a way in you see, but a friend's help you desperately need."

She blinked. "A friend?"

"Yes, and a helping hand I will give you for these troubling time. But you must leave right now if you wish to meet him in time." Her face dropped as he leaned to the side reaching under the table. MORE walking? Great. Just what she needed, as if she wasn't tired enough from the entire thing. Where was she gonna be sent THIS ti-...Wait, did he say meet him? Him who? He leaned back up with something in his one free hand and uncurled his fist. Inside it moving around was a tiny little glowing white butterfly. "Follow the butterfly and do NOT stop until you reach the circus tent it brings you too." His nudge his hand and the small tiny creature fluttered around and came to stop hovering near the entrance of the cave she came in as it waiting for her. She blinked and looked back to him, and he made a shooing motion with his hand. "Well? Off you go, on your way. If you don't hurry you won't ever get back home. Trust me, you won't have any other chance if you don't take this now."

....There wasn't any room to argue with that logic. So no matter how much her body yelled at her not too, she tiredly forced herself up and turned to the fluttering white glowing insect. As she stepped closer and closer to it, it began to flutter away back down the glowing cave's entrance and she tiredly followed after. Getting back home was going to be harder than she thought.

"Good luck to you, Miss Allison. You'll need that determination to get home."

***************************************************************************************************************

Alomost there.....ALMOSTTHEREALMOSTTHTHEREALMOSTTHERE!! The sun peeked up over the sky but it was still fairly dark with the ongoing storm. Persistant, wasn't it? The crackling of the last of the giant shards of glass crackled and shined as it went back together, the cracks sealed back to normal until the very last peice was sealed back together and floated towards the mirror. Where it looked like one last peice was missing like a piece out of a big puzzle. And he was about to fix it. Thunder and lightning cracked across the sky as the cat's badly shaking paws aimed the scepter at the mirror and strained his magic one last time as it crackled back into place along with it's shiny counterparts. The glass crackled as it sealed back into place, and finally after two days and hours of exhausting his magic and body, the magic mirror was complete. He dropped to his knees in exhaustion but smiling. He did it.....He FINALLY fixed the thing. He chuckled and knew he couldn't stop now. Standing back on shaking legs, he wobble ran towards the mirror, almost tripping a couple times before jumping.

The smiling cat disappeared into the portal with a few ripples going across the reflective surface like water. Leaving the taunting storm behind him.

[spectoris]

against the odds

summary: miscommunications suck, yet it's somehow worse when people over communicate

pairing: adrian chase x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, established relationship

contains: swearing, 70% arguing 30% make up, one purposeful run-on sentence, soft!adrian

word count: 1k

a/n: this is my third time posting this pls don’t let it flop

What started as visiting Adrian at work (not Fennel Fields, but the other job) leads to the two of you at odds at the back of the building. Still in his suit, but maskless, Adrian paces in circles in his spot, never once stepping closer than a yard from you. An invisible barrier stands between you, brought on by the heated words you’ve shared in the past twenty minutes.

This isn’t the best place to be arguing. With how you’re both flailing your arms and screaming at the top of your lungs (and the colorful fabric on Adrian’s suit), you’re a sitting duck. Yet, even that is the least of your and the team’s concerns, who hear every word from the office. Your blazing eyes and raised voice, louder than it ever has been in your life, are enough to scare whichever Butterfly is watching you now—or, at the very least, confuse them.

Both you and Adrian are seeing red. One of the qualities that connects you is your determination, and stubbornness, which works against your favor now. Neither of you can step down, nor do you think you can after digging yourself so far into this hole. At this point, Adrian, who’s still loopy from the mission of the day, is spewing nonsense to keep himself afloat. But the one thing he absolutely cannot handle, the thing that leaves him defenseless, is your sudden silence. Arms crossed over your chest, brows pinched, but emptiness in your eyes. He should know better than to fall into this trap, but Adrian has to fill in the tense void with something, hoping you’ll understand part of what he’s saying.

“Look, this is our super secret—like top secret CIA level shit—headquarters and I can’t have civilians waltzing in here or else the Butterflies will totally figure us out and we cannot have that happening because it ruins everything we worked for here which is bad on all of us especially me since I promised I wouldn’t fuck things up and-”

Adrian sucks in a deep breath. “Idon’twantyouhere!” It comes out fast, but strained. His eyes are squeezed shut, like a child who has just admitted their worst secret. In a way, it is. For weeks Adrian had been throwing excuse after excuse about his whereabouts despite you knowing about his double life. You swore on your life to keep it a secret—even if the police came and threatened to cut your pinky toe off—because you knew how much it meant to Adrian. All he wanted to do was make a difference. And you hoped in turn of hiding this, he’d spare you the worry about what was to come next, but even that was too much. Or, he didn’t trust you enough. He didn’t trust the person he ate, slept, and fucking lived with.

Adrian finally goes quiet. He peers through the large frames of his glasses, trying to assess your flat expression. It gives him no hint as to your thoughts. Even so, he can tell he’s hit a nerve, and concern begins to carve itself into his features.

“You…You don’t want me here,” you say in a softer tone, a heavy contrast to your screaming earlier. It’s a statement. In those drawn out seconds, you’ve processed what Adrian has said and taken it as a truth. There’s no question to it, not that you feel there is. He said it, plain and simple, and his ramble only supports it.

“Does that mean you don’t want me at home, either? In fact, you don’t want me around you too, do you? I bet it compromises your identity to have me around. Isn’t that right, Adrian?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“Were you trying to keep me as another one of your secrets? In the name of ‘justice’ or whatever bullshit you’re gonna throw at me next?”

Adrian utters nothing. How can he when all he’s said has been the wrong thing? Another wrong word, a few misspoken syllables, and it falls apart. Though, the string he’s been holding onto, that slimmer of hope that maybe you’ll read his mind and see what he truly means, is slipping with each step you take away from him. But not everyone is a superhero; not everyone is going to understand what he needs without spoken words.

“You’re the last thing I want to lose.” In a moment of panic, his final secret comes to light. “I don’t want to lose you at all. Do you know how much that’d fucking kill me?”

You turn back around and take slow steps in his direction. “Adrian…”

“I keep secrets because I’m afraid. Isn’t that funny? Vigilante, the—well, vigilante—gets scared. Really scared.” He laughs solemnly. “I really, really like you. Fuck, I’m in love with you. I can’t imagine what I’d do without you.”

Somewhere in the midst of his words, Adrian’s taken your hands in his. You’re close enough to see yourself in his glasses and the tiny teardrops sparkling in the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick. I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark.”

With your anger quelled, you can look at Adrian clearly and see truly how much he means it all. There’s a pang in your chest when the desperation becomes evident on his face, deep yearning he’s forced himself to keep, for good reason. You realize how much he’s tortured himself to keep you safe, to stay quiet in the face of his colleagues about the best thing he’s ever had, which is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

You lean your forehead on his, laughing softly when your nose bumps into his glasses.

“You mean a lot to me, too, Adrian. And, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve been waiting to hear those words, you know?”

His entire being lights up with joy. “Really? You mean that?”

You nod. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was a dick move, too.”

“Then we can be dickheads together.”

You both can’t help the fit of giggles that arise. Adrian’s nudging your nose with his, and you fulfill his silent plea with a sweet, long kiss to his lips. Somewhere in the distance, there’s probably a chorus of awws from the office as they watch the scene unfold. With the broken, graffiti-covered brick walls encasing you, and the ominous woods looming from behind, it’s far from being out of a fairytale (not to forget you’re practically putting on a show). But for now, you can push that aside, and keep falling in love with your hero.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,340 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Hershel's Farm Warnings: Language, domestic violence, fear and anxiety A/N: Here with some Protective!Daryl for ya'll! Summary: When Daryl finds the reader outside in the rain in the middle of the night, he gives her a dry place to sleep, but the next day it causes problems with her asshole of a boyfriend.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl couldn’t sleep. He’d tossed and turned restlessly in his tent and finally decided to get up and do a perimeter check just for some goddamned thing to do to pass the time. A heavy rain was falling and it bothered him not being able to hear anything over the deluge.

He shouldered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, grabbing his flashlight from its place next to his cot. He slipped out of his tent and started through the maze of tents. That’s when he saw you. It looked like you were sincerely hoping he wouldn’t, like you were trying to blend into the tree trunk you were leaning against, sheltering as much as you could beneath the oak, obviously somewhat wet from the rain and shivering slightly.

Daryl’s brow drew down over his eyes and he headed straight for you. “What the hell are ya doin’ out here alone in the dark in the middle of a damn thunderstorm?”

You didn’t answer but you did raise your eyes to his, hugging your arms more tightly around yourself. He watched another shiver wrack through you. The archer frowned. “Why ain’t ya in with your guy?” he asked, jutting a thumb in the direction of the tent you shared with your boyfriend. Daryl didn’t like him at all... Frankly he thought the guy was a controlling piece of shit, and he had a hunch that he might be worse even than that.

You avoided his eyes again. “We, uhh—had a fight,” you murmured. Daryl could easily read the embarrassment and shame on your face.

“That don’t explain why you’re out here in the rain,” Daryl drawled.

You continued to avoid his eyes and didn’t answer. He could think of a couple reasons why you’d be out here instead of inside the dry tent, and neither of them were good. Either he’d kicked you out or you’d left because you were afraid of him, afraid of what would happen if you stayed. Either way, there was no way in hell Daryl was gonna let you spend the night outside in the cold autumn rain.

“Ya ain’t stayin’ out here in the rain. C’mon,” he said, nudging his head back in the direction of his own tent. He turned to lead the way and glanced back over his shoulder to see you hesitating to follow him. “If ya stay out here all night, all soakin’ wet like ya are, yer gonna catch yer death. C’mon.”

This time you followed him, still shivering.

Daryl held the tent flap open for you and you stepped inside, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself. He followed and zipped the flap closed on the rain and night. When he turned you were standing awkwardly in the middle of the tent. Daryl set his crossbow down and clicked on the lantern next to his cot. He replaced the flashlight and pulled off his jacket. He held it out to you.

You gave him a questioning look.

“I can see ya shiverin’. Take it. Can’t have ya gettin’ pneumonia. We’ve already gone through too many of Hershel’s antibiotics.”

You accepted it from him. “Thanks,” you said.

He watched you pull it on, anxiously chewing his bottom lip as the fabric swallowed up your frame. He sat down on the floor across from you and pulled his knife out and his sharpening stone, just for something to do. He needed to busy his hands, because with you in that small space with him he was suddenly feeling nervous. “Make yourself at home,” he said, nodding toward his cot on the opposite wall.

You sat down on the edge a little gingerly and watched as he drew the blade of his knife across the stone.

He kept his eyes fixed on what he was doing but his deep voice broke through the pattering of the rain on the tent. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged deeper into his jacket. It still held the warmth of his body and it smelled like him—musky leather, campfire smoke, and the outside air. “I don’t know,” you admitted.

The sharp noise of his blade punctuated the silence. “He kick ya out or… did ya need to get out?” This time his eyes flickered up to your face.

He watched you gulp, but you held his eyes. The warm lantern light threw the angles of your face into sharp relief. Your eyelashes cast long shadows on your cheeks.

Daryl’s light blue eyes moved back down to his hands. “S’alright. Ya ain’t gotta say.”

You bit at the inside of your cheek and couldn’t help another shiver that ran up your back. The archer looked up at you again immediately, concern furrowing his brow. He set his knife aside and climbed to his feet.

He unzipped the flap of the tent and stepped out. He met your questioning gaze with a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

This left you alone in his tent for a short time, just the hammering of the rain to keep you company. Your eyes wandered around the contents. It was a little unkempt, with clothes piled haphazardly in one corner and the edges of the canvas floor cluttered with tools and random items. There were half-finished crossbow bolts piled on a box that was serving as a side table, but something beneath them caught your eye. You gently brushed aside the wooden shafts and carefully lifted what had drawn your attention. It was delicate and brittle but you recognized it immediately as you carefully laid it out flat on your palm.

One day in the summer you had been collecting firewood for the group, eager to do something useful and needing some space for a while. You’d come upon a vine bursting with crimson flowers and as you’d stood and admired it, such a simple but beautiful thing, you’d watched hummingbirds flitting between the blossoms.

Wanting to know the name of the plant, you’d plucked a bloom and brought it back to the archer to identify. He’d taken hardly a glance at it before telling you its name. “Coral honeysuckle,” he drawled. “Ya can crush the berries and use ‘em on bee stings.”

“Coral honeysuckle,” you repeated. “There were tons of hummingbirds on it.”

He nodded. “Mhm. They like the nectar,” he said, holding the flower back out to you.

“Keep it,” you said with a smile, “as payment for your identification services.”

Daryl’s heart jumped at the smile on your face and he twirled the bloom between his fingers as he watched you retreat back toward the group.

This looked like the very same flower you had picked. He’d obviously pressed it underneath something to preserve it. The vibrant red petals were only slightly muted in color. He’d kept it all these months? You puzzled over this as you replaced it where you’d found it and arranged the crossbow bolts over it again. It was hard to ignore the warm feeling growing right between your lungs, threatening to spill outward.

A few minutes later, Daryl came into the tent again. There were raindrops on his shirt and caught in his hair. He had a small mug clutched in his hands and you could see spirals of steam rising from the surface. He extended it toward you and you accepted it, puzzled as you looked inside.

“Tea?” you asked, looking back up as Daryl settled onto the floor again.

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Mhm. I dunno if it’s any good. I think it’s some ginger-lemon thing Maggie brought to help with Lori’s nausea. But it’s hot. And you’re still cold,” he said. He felt nervous under the bewildered gaze you were giving him.

This man had just gone out into a thunderstorm to heat water for you and bring you tea simply because he’d seen you shiver. Not to mention that you were wrapped in his coat and he was sheltering you from the storm when your own boyfriend had—his voice broke your train of thought.

“I told ya. Can’t have ya gettin’ sick.” Daryl picked up his knife again and went back to sharpening it.

It was silent for some time as you sipped at the tea and watched the archer work on his knives diligently. You didn’t know that he could feel your eyes on him and it was driving him crazy. His body seemed to respond to you like you were a drug and he was an addict. He did his best to keep it under control. After all, you were technically spoken for, even if the guy was a complete douchebag at best.

But finally you spoke, setting the empty mug aside and sitting farther back on his cot, pulling your boots off and folding your legs under you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing the next knife that needed sharpening from its sheath.

“What do you think of—of my boyfriend?” you asked. Your cheeks immediately flushed. You felt stupid even asking the question. You already knew the answer and you knew where this conversation would lead. You knew what you needed to do, but you were afraid to do it. Did you really think someone else saying what you thought out loud was going to somehow give you the courage to go through with what needed to happen?

Daryl’s hands froze and he looked up at you, his eyes narrowed and fixated on your face for a long moment. He averted them back down and resumed his work again just as suddenly as he had stopped. “Don’t matter what I think.”

“It matters to me,” you said quietly.

The silence between you was suddenly thick, like a stagnant room full of humidity, the air heavy. The raindrops on the tent seemed to surround you and insulate you from everything else, from the rest of the world. The atmosphere was almost intoxicating, disorienting.

Eventually, Daryl’s blue eyes lifted again and fell on your face. He sighed heavily. “Ya really want to know what I think?” You nodded. “I think ya deserve better.”

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyebrows lifted in surprise. You’d expected Daryl to call him an asshole. You hadn’t expected that stated so explicitly. And you really didn’t expect him to go on.

“Either he threw ya out of your own damn tent into a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, or ya had to get out because being outside in a thunderstorm in the dark was a better option than bein’ in there with him. What kinda man is that?” He scowled for a moment as he thought about how much he wanted to drag the guy out of your tent, give him a few good punches, and leave his ass in the rain. He turned back to his knives.

You were silent, consumed by your thoughts, but eventually you yawned and Daryl looked up immediately. He systematically put away his tools and then he grabbed some balled up clothes to use as a pillow. He also grabbed his poncho. His eyes lifted and met yours. “Ya take the cot. I’m good down here,” he said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’ll go—”

Daryl let out a scoff. “What are ya gonna do? Go sleep out under that tree?” He shook his head and settled down on the floor, leaning back onto the makeshift pillow and draping his arm over his eyes. “Wasn’t a question anyhow. Just get the lantern when you’re settled in.”

You couldn’t help smiling at him on the floor where he was stretched out under his poncho, a knife right beside him. You watched his ribs rise and fall with his breathing a few times and the butterflies in your stomach made you realize that you were most definitely in trouble… in more ways than one.

You clicked off the lantern and laid down on his cot, still wrapped in his coat. You slept peacefully until morning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You woke early as the orange glow of the sun struck the tent walls and you shot up straight at the sound of Daryl stirring.

He nudged his nose up at you in a greeting and you gave him a small smile. His heart jumped at the sight of you in his jacket, on his cot, that sleepy smile and your tousled hair. He tried to ignore how many times he’d fantasized about this very scene, but with a slightly different context where that was right where you were always supposed to be.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

He stood and shouldered his bow. “I’m gonna go hunt. Ya ain’t gotta get up yet. Sun’s barely up.”

You bent and started pulling your boots on. “It’s alright. I’m already up.” You slipped his jacket off and laid it on his cot. “Thanks,” you murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and trying to smooth the strands a little self-consciously. “For everything last night.”

He shrugged and chewed his bottom lip a little anxiously. “S’nothin’.” For some reason this made you smile and he thought your cheeks grew a little pink.

“You always downplay everything you do. You shouldn’t,” you said kindly, standing up. “It was way more than nothing.”

Daryl gulped and simply opened the tent flap and stepped out. You followed him and gave him another small smile as he nodded at you one more time and then headed for the woods.

You decided to do some of the morning chores since you were already up and set about gathering more and restacking the fire wood and doing some preparation for breakfast. You grabbed the water canisters and headed toward the well to fill them. You were filling the second container when you heard footsteps in the grass behind you. You turned to see your boyfriend striding straight toward you. Your stomach churned.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, coming to lean against the side of the well. His affect was flat and you were immediately on edge.

You avoided his eyes and didn’t say anything, just continued your work.

He reached over suddenly and pressed the pump handle down hard to stop the flow of water and your eyes shot up to his face. His expression was dark.

“You know, it’s weird. I got up while it was still dark and went out to look for you. Even went up to the house, but,” he shrugged, “you were nowhere to be seen.”

You stared back at him, your heart starting to rush a little in your chest.

“And I just wondered to myself, ‘Where could my girl have gone?’” He moved toward you, drawing himself up to his full height.

You stared up at him, gulping at the nervous tightness in your throat. “Seeing as you threw me out, I figured you wouldn’t care or come looking,” you said, reaching over and lifting the well handle again to start the flow of water, a little surprised at your own boldness to talk back to him in the way you did.

He immediately slammed the handle back down. “Well, I did. And imagine my surprise this morning when I saw you coming out of Daryl’s tent.”

You gulped.

“As soon as you found an excuse you just went running straight to that dumb redneck, didn’t you? Huh? How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Did you have a good fuck last night?” He was right in your face now and you recoiled.

“It wasn’t—It wasn’t like that. I didn’t! It was storming. All he did was get me out of the rain. He—he slept on the floor. I just slept on his cot! That’s it,” you said, urgently grabbing the water and trying to rush back toward the tents and the group, sensing sincere danger not far away.

But your progress was stopped when he grabbed your arm and spun you back around. You dropped one of the water containers which spilled its contents onto the ground. “You really think I’m gonna believe that? How stupid do you think I am?” There was rage burning in his eyes. “We have a fight and you think you can go fuck whoever the hell you want? Do I have to remind you who you belong to?!” He was yelling at you now and you tried to pry his hand from your arm. His fingers were digging in painfully.

“I’ve never cheated on you! I wouldn’t—please!”

He sneered. “Why the hell should I believe that?! Huh? You’re mine! I don’t want to see you talking to another man. Hell, if I even catch you looking at that redneck again, you’ll pay for it.”

His grip on your arm felt like it was tightening by the second. “I swear nothing happened! You’re hurting me! Let go!” you pleaded, feeling your eyes going wide with fear.

He growled at you through his teeth. “I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll break your arm if I want to,” he said viciously, starting to twist your arm behind your back painfully. You couldn’t help crying out, but that was the wrong thing to do, and you knew it.

The next moment you felt a blow across your jaw and tasted blood in your mouth. You fell to the ground, splayed in the dust, narrowly missing cracking your head against the cobbled stone of the well. Your vision was black. You could only hear a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The blackness dissolved slowly and you climbed desperately to your feet, but another blow landed across your cheek and you fell hard against the stone well this time, your back colliding painfully with the jagged edges of rock. You had an arm up to shield yourself as you tried to orient yourself again, waiting for your vision to clear.

You were waiting for the next blow to come, steeling yourself as best you could, but it never landed. The next thing you knew Daryl had barreled out of nowhere and he had your boyfriend on the ground beneath him, landing blow after blow into his face and body. “You piece of shit! Ya think hittin’ her makes you a fuckin’ man?! I’ll kill you if you ever lay a goddamn hand on her again!”

You watched in stunned horror. The rest of your group members were tearing across the field toward the commotion. They’d heard the yelling and your surprised scream and raced to get to you. Rick and Lori were in the lead and suddenly they were there. Lori grabbed you and helped you to your feet, her face white as a sheet as she looked at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and supporting you in your daze, leading you slightly back and away from the melee. When you glanced back over at Daryl you saw that he now had his crossbow aimed right at your boyfriend’s head. His chest and shoulders were heaving and every muscle in his arms were tensed. Rick was trying to talk him down.

“Daryl. Daryl, this isn’t the way. Let’s just calm down and we’ll decide together how to deal with him,” Rick was saying softly. “Just put your bow down and we’ll deal with him.”

The muscle in Daryl’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “This bastard deserves to die,” he growled.

“I know. I know… I see what he did. But we’ll talk about this and decide on it together. Alright? Let’s just calm down for a minute.”

It took everything he had, every bit of willpower not to pull that trigger and end the bastard right there. And if you hadn’t been watching, he might have done it. But he didn’t want you to be afraid of him too. Daryl lowered his bow and Rick pulled him off your boyfriend, who was cowering on the ground with blood pouring down his face from an obviously broken nose. His eyes were already swelling shut.

Rick grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “You are comin’ with me,” Rick growled, dragging him away toward the barn.

Daryl ducked his head, his chest still heaving with exertion, and spared a glance in your direction. Your bottom lip was split and you had a hand pressed over the left side of your face, concealing the already blooming bruises from that asshole’s fist landing on your jaw and cheekbone. His heart ached, his stomach twisted, and he turned and stalked off after Rick.

You avoided the looks of pity and shock that the rest of the group was giving you and did your best to hold in your tears of pain and humiliation. You focused on Lori as best you could.

“Oh my God. Come here, honey. Let me look at you,” Lori said, moving in front of you and pulling your hand away from your face. Next, she noticed that your back was bleeding in a few places where you’d hit the stones and you winced as you tried to straighten up completely. Spots of crimson were staining your shirt. “Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Come on. Let’s go clean you up. Come on.” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders again.

You felt like you were going into shock. You were disoriented. Lori led you up to the farmhouse and called out to Maggie and Hershel as you entered. They both rushed into the front room.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Maggie asked urgently, her eyes going round with horror.

Lori gave her a look and Maggie seemed to understand. There had been suspicions going around the group that perhaps your boyfriend was laying his hands on you occasionally, and they all seemed to now be confirmed.

Lori led you to sit down on a chair in the dining room. The vet-turned-doctor examined your face and determined that, luckily, no bones were out of place, but that you likely had a fractured cheekbone and a concussion, not the mention the injuries to your back and your split lip.

Lori guided you to the bathroom and started the bath tub filling with warm water. “Alright. Climb in there and I’ll be back in to help clean up your back, alright?” she said gently. She left and shut the door softly behind her.

You obediently stripped your clothes off, in a daze still, and stepped into the tub, wrapping your arms around your knees, holding them tightly to your chest. Lori knocked a moment later and you murmured a “come in.” She had a washcloth in one hand and sank down on the edge of the tub, immediately dipping it into the hot water and dabbing at the wounds on your back. The abrasions weren’t too deep, but it looked like most of your back would be badly bruised.

You were grateful she didn’t say anything. You’d seen the expression on her face and that was enough. She sighed heavily and climbed to her feet. “Come on out when you’re ready. Hershel says you can stay in the guest room tonight. We want to keep an eye on you because of that concussion, okay?”

You nodded and rested your chin on your knees. It was right then when the tears finally started pouring down your cheeks and you gasped in a shuddering breath. “Y/N. I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Lori said, rushing right back over and kneeling beside the tub, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“I don’t even recognize who I am anymore,” you said, rushing to wipe the tears that broke free from your eyes. “I think after everything fell apart, I just thought if I didn’t have something to cling onto from before that I—I don’t know—that I wouldn’t make it. But then he just… changed. And it didn’t happen all at once and I think that’s why I didn’t just—it was gradual. I almost didn’t notice it and then all of a sudden he just wasn’t himself anymore.” You hastily wiped at your tears again. “I feel so stupid and embarrassed and ashamed,” you admitted, unable to look at her.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. And you have nothin’ to feel ashamed about. And it’s all over now, alright? It’s over.”

You gasped in a shaky breath. “If Daryl hadn’t—”

“I know,” she shushed you. “I know. But he did. It’s all gonna be okay now, alright? Get cleaned up and I’ll be right outside in case you need anything.”

You gave her a grateful look and nodded. You sat in the hot water until it started to cool, your mind mostly blank. The adrenaline had worn off now and you were feeling every bit of pain. Your head felt like it was going to split open and you winced at the sight of your swollen and bruised face in the mirror. You pulled your clothes back on and ventured into the hallway. Lori was standing there with some clean clothes for you and she led you to the guest room and set them on the bed.

“Get changed into those clean clothes and then you need to rest. Hershel’s orders. He wants you in bed. We need to be careful because of that concussion.”

You thanked her again and nodded. You discarded your bloodstained shirt and dirty jeans on a chair in the corner and pulled on the new outfit before climbing under the covers. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing out again and you squeezed your eyes shut against the pounding in your face and head.

Outside, the group was gathered to discuss what to do with your boyfriend. Daryl couldn’t stand still and was pacing angrily in front of the house. He looked up as Lori came out and the screen door slammed with a snap.

“How is she?” Rick asked, his face dark with concern.

“Alright, considering,” Lori said, slipping her hands in her back pockets. “Concussion. Bruised and swollen. Abrasions over half her back. Hershel thinks her cheekbone is fractured.” She caught Daryl’s eyes and gave him a knowing look.

“Oh my God,” Andrea said, exchanging a look with Carol, whose eyes turned down toward the grass.

Daryl swore under his breath and resumed his pacing.

“Well, what do we do?” T-dog asked. “We can’t just keep going on like everything is normal with him in camp. He’s got to go.”

“The question is how,” Dale said.

“That bastard ain’t even deserve to still be drawin’ breath,” Daryl drawled. He looked at Rick.

Rick sighed heavily. “Yeah…”

“I mean, I agree with Daryl, man. I don’t want that guy around any of us,” Shane said.

“What if we just take him out and leave him? Drive him way out and drop him off somewhere,” Rick mused.

Shane scoffed. “We might as well shoot him in the head right now. He’d never make it out there alone. That’s as good as killing him.”

Rick nodded. “I know, but it feels a little less like the blood is on our hands then... He has a chance.”

“He don’t even deserve a chance. I’m fine with his blood on our hands,” Daryl spat. “If I hadn’t been over there huntin’ he coulda killed her.”

Rick sighed again, the weight of the decision obviously weighing on him, and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah… Let’s just take the day to think it over. We can decide tonight. And Y/N can have a say.”

The group nodded in agreement and dispersed. Lori went back in to check on you.

She knocked lightly on the door and you murmured for her to come in. “How are you feeling?” she asked you.

“I’m fine,” you said, lying about how much pain you were in.

She nodded. “We’re all going to figure out what to do about him,” she said. “You should think about what you want to happen. He can’t stay here, but as far as what that means—”

“Okay,” you interrupted her. You rolled over and looked at her in the doorway. “Is Daryl—?”

She smiled a little and nodded. “You want me to get him? He’s probably still pacing on the front porch.

You nodded. “If you could.”

“Of course.” Lori left and in a moment the archer appeared in the doorway.

You were in bed, your back to the door, but you turned and looked over your shoulder at the sound of his footsteps. Daryl’s stomach twisted at the swelling and red welts on your face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” You pulled yourself up in a seated position and Daryl came around and sank down on the chair pulled up at the side of the bed. “I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, unable to meet his eyes and instead running the edge of the sheet through your fingers, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen. “And I’m sorry that you got pulled into this mess…” you trailed off.

“I ain’t,” he said forcefully. “I’m glad I got to beat the shit out that guy. I just wish I’d done it sooner.”

You looked up at him and the glistening tears in your eyes made the colors in your irises stand out. His stomach flipped again at the sight of your injuries. “I feel so stupid. I never should have stayed with him.”

Daryl shook his head. “Ain’t that simple.”

You were grateful for his understanding. Daryl watched you struggling with some thought until you finally spoke it. “What if he gets out?” you asked, fear obvious in your eyes.

“He ain’t getting’ out. I tied his ass up myself,” Daryl reassured you. “But I’ll sit watch outside all night. Nothin’ is gonna happen to ya. It’s over.” The archer stood but your hand shot out and gently landed on his arm. He froze at the feeling of electricity that crackled from your fingers.

“Will you sit with me for a little while?” you asked. “Just—until I can fall asleep.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod and sank back down, feeling nervous and chewing on his bottom lip. Daryl watched as you settled back down in bed, pulling the covers up over yourself and shutting your eyes, your long eyelashes fanning out against your cheeks. The feelings welling up in him were getting more and more difficult to deny, and he knew now wasn’t the time—not yet. You needed to get through this first. But Daryl wanted to show you how you did deserve to be treated, even as he dared not hope that he’d have the chance, that you’d feel the same thing for him that he felt for you. He wanted to protect you, take care of you. He wanted to show you how strong you actually were, even as he thought of how much you reminded him of that flower you’d brought him; vibrant, sweet, soft, delicate, but always climbing toward the light. And he was determined to help you see it.

[kyberphilosopher]

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead. 

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired. 

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits. 

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you  liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights. 

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest. 

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.  

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face. 

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair. 

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic? 

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly. 

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why. 

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber. 

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God. 

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?” 

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place. 

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening. 

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you. 

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look. 

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around. 

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too. 

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing. 

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls. 

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

[delimeful]

taking the fall (3)

warnings: imprisonment, interrogation, injury, mild blood, panic and sensory overload, dehumanizing language, ambiguous motives, morally neutral/antagonistic janus, snakes mention

-

His guest wasn’t eating.

Janus cast an irritated glance over to the terrarium, where the only “life” that could be seen was a clump of thick foliage in one corner.

He’d left the old fake plants in there as a taunt, but as soon as the tiny creature had ascertained that there were no snakes in the grass, they’d immediately bundled every bit of shiny plastic greenery into a makeshift nest and hid within it. He supposed he should have expected it, from one as industrious as these tiny folk all seemed to be.

Regardless of his guest’s reticence, he’d been setting small dishes of food in there whenever he himself took his meals, giving them some time to adjust to the reality of their situation. It had been a couple of days, however, and every miniature entree looked entirely untouched.

His prisoner seemed to be on a hunger strike.

It added more evidence to his theory that he was being misled in regards to his guest’s identity. If they were actually a victim in all this, why bother keeping quiet and refusing to give the answers Janus needed? Why go so far as to not even eat, for people who allegedly wouldn’t care if he lived or died?

No, things made much more sense if this was a gambit on the tiny people’s part, one of them volunteering to stay and play sacrificial lamb, distracting him for as long as the others needed. Their terror, their injury, their tiny bitter laugh, it could all be part of a ploy for pity on his end. Get him too invested in a puzzling prisoner while the others escaped.

The thought made his stomach drop unpleasantly. His opponents were exceedingly small, and he was one of the few who knew they existed. If they got away, he’d never see them again.

He couldn’t afford that.

Pushing his chair back, he approached the terrarium, casting an assessing eye over the food set out in it. Some of it could sit out, and had been there overnight, the best time for his guest to eat without risking even seeing Janus. But no. Not a single crumb out of place to indicate that anything had been eaten.

“Still alive?” he asked dryly, rapping a knuckle on the glass once.

There was a long pause, and then one of the leafy stems sticking out from the nest twitched twice. This daily question and response was the only communication he’d had with his guest since that first afternoon, and even this small, silent answer had originally been prompted by a threat of Janus reaching in there and checking himself.

“I notice that you’ve been refusing any sustenance,” he continued idly, and got nothing for his efforts. “Planning to die before you can give up any secrets?”

No response. Janus sighed as though put upon, and slid the terrarium lid halfway off. There were still no meaningful movements from the nest, though it seemed to be subtly trembling. It was impressive that despite the dark clothing that his guest wore, he still couldn’t make out exactly where they were even this close.

With narrowed eyes, he reached in and grabbed a few of the plastic leaves, tugging to pull the construction apart bit by bit.

He only caught the faintest flicker of movement before there was a sudden sharp pain in his index finger, and he yanked his hand back on reflex.

A weight came up with it, putting even more pressure on his wound, and it dropped as soon as his hand was just above the terrarium lid.

Seeing the dark shape attempting to scramble away, his other hand smacked down on top of it automatically, pressing it into the mesh with a small, muffled cry.

He glanced at his hand. There was a plastic thorn hooked in his thumb, the broad end chewed off and the point of it sharpened. His guest had attacked and used him as a makeshift lift in their escape attempt.

“Oh,” he intoned, voice dark. “Seems like you have plenty of energy after all, hm?”

---

Virgil took in short, gasping breaths, barely able to hear whatever threatening thing the human was muttering as pain radiated through his leg.

It let up just slightly as the pressure of the hand on top of him eased, his face no longer pressed into the cold wire netting of the cage’s top. Before he could try and string two thoughts together, the fingers were curling around him like a hawk’s talons, lifting him up and sending another jolt of mind-numbing pain through him. He might have whimpered.

So much for that escape attempt. He’d known it was a long shot, but his options had been limited after realizing that he literally couldn’t stand on the injured leg any more. They’d dwindled further with every day he couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to any food or water. Living outside, he’d survived on very little before, but it was a gamble every time.

He was flipped to face the light, the human’s head in silhouette above him. He couldn't make out it’s words. Everything felt overwhelming, made incomprehensible by the pain and the dark spots in his vision. His face felt hot. Was he bleeding?

Things went blissfully quiet above him, and then he was being moved. He wondered if the human was about to kill him, and the thought sent a much weaker pulse of panic down his spine than usual. He hoped it killed borrowers before feeding them to it’s snakes.

Something soft and dark dropped over him, and he thrashed for a moment before his leg reminded him how awful an idea that was. So he laid still instead, letting his terror shake through him in waves, until he wasn’t completely lost to it anymore.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, feeling at what was draped over him. Cloth, soft in texture and tightly-knit enough that not much light got through. Below him… a warm, living surface.

“Awake?” the human said, voice both closer and quieter than he’d ever heard it.

Another shudder worked through him, and he reached up to press his hands over his face, wishing none of this was real. His eye pigment had run, drying in tracks down his cheeks.

He wouldn’t be able to reapply it. The locket he stored it in was left behind with the rest of his stuff, tucked away into his oversized pack and left at the opening into the human’s home. It had probably already been torn through and picked apart by Mari and the other insiders.

The thought stung, somehow more personal than the nightmare of the situation he was already in.

“I believe I see now why you haven’t eaten,” the human continued with a surprising lack of snark. It must have seen his leg. He felt a little sick just thinking about it.

What had felt like a low-grade fracture through the adrenaline had ended up growing worse and worse without treatment, until the injury was a solid lump of swollen flesh and ugly bruising that twanged with agony at even the slightest shifts. He wondered if the human was going to use it against him. It would make torture exceedingly easy on its part.

“Continue with the silent treatment, and you won’t get any actual treatment,” it said, now sounding exasperated.

After another stretch of silence, the hand beneath him moved and tilted, sliding him off onto a flat surface. Suddenly desperate to know what was going on, Virgil yanked at the cloth, dragging handfuls of it down until he reached an edge and could pull it clear of his eyes.

The light in this room was dimmer, but it still took him a moment to adjust. He wasn’t in a snake tank, but on top of a low table in what looked like a sitting room, if he remembered the human terms right. The human was seated on the couch nearby, looking down at him.

“There you are.”

---

The tiny person shot him a furious glare, rendered mostly ineffective by the dark tear streaks that were still smudged along their face.

Janus wished his earlier reflexes had been a little gentler. He’d had a quite embarrassing moment of panic where he’d thought the grotesque worsening of their leg injury had been caused by his grasp, rather than simple neglect and lack of treatment.

Despite his patience, they didn’t reply, continuing to just stare at him. He stood, ignoring the way it instantly made them begin trembling again.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Feel free to move around and make your injury worse,” he instructed dryly, before turning and going to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

His thumb was still sensitive, the injury messily scabbed over with dried blood. He’d pried the thorn out with his teeth easily enough, but with his other hand occupied by a prone tiny person and their hyperventilation fit, he couldn’t properly treat it.

Upon his return, he saw his guest had abandoned his handkerchief and was halfway to the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes, and set the kit down before grabbing them by the shoulders and sliding them back over to the handkerchief.

“I was being sarcastic, you know,” he told them, and opened the kit to start cleaning his undersized injury. “I’ll be very unhappy if my only source of information dies a completely avoidable death for no reason.”

“Yeah, because I sure wouldn’t want to make you unhappy,” his guest bit out, and then looked as though they were deeply and immediately regretting opening their mouth. Janus didn’t know why; he personally took much better to sass than being stabbed.

“So you do know how sarcasm works. Color me impressed.”

The tiny person actually hissed at him, like the world’s most emo kitten.

“Yes, yes, I feel very threatened,” Janus retaliated by prodding them with the edge of an open tube of arnica gel. “Here. For the bruising.”

After another long glare, his guest spoke. “What do you want for it?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it be argued that I owe it to you, for allowing the injury to fester while you’re in my care?”

“Your care--!” his guest cut themself off, taking in a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Terrible hosting etiquette aside, you weren’t the one who gave me the injury. Not your concern. So, what do you want?”

Janus wondered absently how tiny people qualified their hosts’ manners. He had certainly already failed by human standards, immediately imprisoning his guest and all, so perhaps it didn’t really matter either way. He wasn’t above taking advantage of a tiny person’s bartering honor system. “Answer three questions.”

“I get to pass on questions I don’t want to answer,” his guest countered quickly, apparently having expected this.

“You get five passes,” Janus allowed. Seeing what they refused to answer would be informative in itself.

“... Fine.” With another glance at their injury, they grabbed the tube sharply enough that they almost overbalanced. “Ask.”

“Where are the others living?” Janus asked, just to set the stakes high.

“Pass,” his guest answered, not even looking up from their task. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you defending them?” he tried.

“I’m not defending them,” they shot back, vitriol thick in their voice. “I just don’t want you to get what you want. That’s one question.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt, really.” Janus tapped his nails along the table idly. “What’s your name and pronouns?”

This did prompt them to look up, face pinching up in confusion. After a moment, they returned to their baseline expression of scowl and retorted, “That’s two questions.”

“It’s one sentence, it counts as one question,” Janus lied smugly. They still looked close to passing, so he gave them a nudge. “Unless you want me to make something up? I’m very creative, I assure you.”

“I use he,” he finally grit out, “and you can call me V.”

“For Vendetta?” Janus mused, and received an utterly baffled look for his wit. “I suppose your movie repertoire isn’t that expansive.”

“Two questions,” V said flatly. “One left.”

“Yes, I can count.” Janus glanced at V’s gel-covered leg. “You have to rub that in for it to work.”

V’s expression flickered to one of despair, but he bit his lip and started to slowly massage the gel in. Janus wondered at how easily he’d believed him.

“What do you call yourselves?”

“Pass.”

“Where did you live?”

“Pass.”

“How do I bait the others out?”

“Pass.”

“Why do you hate me more than the ones who allegedly put you here?”

V’s hand slipped, and he winced and paused for a moment. “... Pass.”

There was certainly a grudge there. Too bad Janus had no idea what it could be about. Oh well.

He set a hand on the table, leaning over V. “When do the others plan to leave? As specific as you can get, please.”

“Pa--,” V cut himself off, and Janus could see the moment he realized he had used up all his get-out-of-questioning-free cards. He patiently waited out the tiny person’s fit of frustration.

“... I don’t know.” Janus’s smug grin dropped, but V continued after a speculative pause. “I don’t think they’ll leave before the season's turning. The spring thaw has been slow this year, and they’re-- not suited for it.”

Janus felt some of the tension drop from his shoulders. The start of summer. He had time, and the advantage of a weather forecast app. That was good news, even if he’d had to wrangle it out of his guest. He had time.

“How interesting,” he said lightly, and capped the gel to put it back in the box. V’s hands were clutching the edge of his coat tightly, as though guilty or angry. Or perhaps just stressed. “Let’s get some food in actual range of you, then, shall we?”

[plush-rabbit]

Social Anxious S/O

A/N: I hope you like it!! A little bit different than the first one but yeah,, enjoy!

Dabi:

He can somehow always tell when you’re on the verge of an anxiety attack. Cold, blue eyes will watch, let his eyes linger on the way you constantly fidget your hands, and he’s silent for a minute. You’re always anxious in crowds- it took you a good minute to warm up to the League- so he’s sure that you’ll come out of it. He’ll watch and wait, check on you more frequently and spread his legs a bit wider until the side of his boot is touching your shoe. Dabi will let you come to him.

Maybe it isn’t the wisest decision, maybe it’s a bit cruel to make you- someone who can’t breathe, who can’t stop the yelling and spiraling thoughts in their head- but what else is supposed to do? He’ never learned how to deal with these. Whenever he would have them, he would wait until he was exhausted to snap out of it or fall asleep and once he awoke, the problem was technically gone. It takes him multiple times to realize that what you want is comfort. It’s times where you cling to his hand, where you bury yourself against his side, where you whisper his name in a such a broken whisper that it’s then that his body moves on it’s own accord and he’s pressing you close to his body, a slight rub of his palm on you until he can’t feel the shaking.

He doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t get why you can’t be in crowds, why most meetings leave you on the other end of a water bottle or curled up on the shower floor until your skin is wrinkled, how you sleep for hours and are hesitant to touch him. He won’t pry either. He waits for you to come to him, it’s cruel and selfish and he knows from the stern lectures given to him by Mr. Compress that he should at least try to find your triggers or ways to comfort you but then he sees how you reject his touch, how you look at him with almost sad eyes and he pulls away.

It takes a real bad attack for him to actually react. He can tell that it’s going to be worse than the usual anxiety that you get in meetings when your leg doesn’t stop bouncing and how you keep looking to the exit. He presses the side of his boot to you and where you might have given him a smile, it’s replaced by a look of panic, a deer-in-headlights type of look and you’re gone. You run and when he finds you, slumped against a wall, shaking and gasping for breath, he holds his hand out and he offers to help. He’ll talk you through it. His already warm hands will rise, he’ll have you describe it, tell you an old story he once heard, and it’s sloppy, but he’s trying.

He gets better. It doesn’t matter who’s talking- he knows he can get away with it, he’s important to whatever plan there is and a simple lecture doesn’t do much other than wound a bit of his pride- but when he senses that you’re close to having that wheezing breath, all you have to do is cling to him and he’s already telling the person bye with the back of his hand as he takes you away. Dabi tries and that’s important, he’ll talk you through it, tell you some outrageous story from his youth that you don’t know if it’s fiction or fact and at the end, he’ll promise a hug through the night, hands that rub up and down your sides, leaving you warm until you’re fast asleep.

Takami Keigo:

A hero first, Keigo knows how to read the warning signs and how to pull someone back. But, he’s technical about it. It’s rationalizing with you, making you tell him what’s the worst that will happen and if that’s even true, it’s him making you match his breath- hand flat against the air as it comes in a small wave to mimic a sucking breath. It’s all standard material, things that one would read online or be told by their therapist. It doesn’t scream Keigo, it politely speaks and introduces themself as Hawks, complete with a smile, kind eyes who hold you and try to make you relax and snap out of it.

While he might not be stopped at every corner, might be requested to take a few pictures, or even have to stop some petty criminal, he doesn’t get that many stops in public. So, when out in public, he hardly knows the signs, he can only tell when he’s too busy talking to someone, and he can feel a feather between your fingers. A small smile will stretch his lips and there’s a flash of concern in his eyes that lasts until he blinks when he feels the sharp twist and pull of his feather. He’s quick to speed things along, pleasantly so, smiling and waving goodbye, grabbing you by the arm and making sure you both are out of people’s eyes when he pulls you to the side. His voice is low and he’ll ask what that was about, make a joke about jealousy, until he sees how pained you look.

Sun-kissed eyes will darken and there’s fear in them, making them foul for just a moment. He speaks and it’s controlled but there’s another sharp twist of his feather that makes him wince and he realizes that that won’t work. He can try, and he will, but you’re shaking your head and you call his name, soft and broken, letting the feather fall to the floor under your feet and he’s telling you to name the color of his feathers. They aren’t red, they’re deeper than that, they’re like that old candy you liked as a kid, and he’s making you talk, bouncing off thoughts and holding you, pulling you closer and closer until you slump against him and thank him.

There are still times where he reverts to Hawks, where he isn’t Keigo but it still helps you, so he doesn’t stop. He remembers your anxiety, he knows that you have it so whenever he has a meeting or conference or even just an interview, he doesn’t make you attend. Any conversations that steer towards you are immediately steered away. He doesn’t want to talk about you. You struggle enough with fearing people that you don’t know will have opinions on you and adding to that during an interview won’t be good for you. So he’ll smile, tell the people how he cares for you, he’ll close his eyes and smile and then he’ll talk about a restaurant you both visited and how good it was, he’ll do anything to take the spotlight away from you.

He understands you. Keigo is good to you, holding your hand and shielding you with his wing when the crowd starts to thicken, offers to go home when he can see you suffocating under the eyes of everyone, and he says nothing when it was his idea to spend time together, to have a date cut short. He’ll learn, take you out earlier when the crowds are less, take you out on cloudy days, let his wing hover when the sky begins to flash and rumble. He cares for you, threading his fingers with yours, letting you hold a feather, have feather flutter over to you and tickle at your skin, leading you somewhere more remote than what the sidewalk has to offer, a feather sneaking down your shirt to feel the pulse of your heart and steady breath. He’ll come back to you, asking if you’re okay, kissing your knuckles and resuming your day.

[dragonsareourfuture]

I Don’t Belong Here — L Lawliet/GN! Reader

Summary: What kind of a story begins with the main character dying? Well, this one. L Lawliet has lived out his days on earth and finds himself in the afterlife. The Good Place, he is told by a neighborhood architect named (Name). One who shows him around his own neighborhood and introduces him to new people. But something doesn’t add up, L notices. Does he really belong in the Good Place?

(I'd advise having knowledge on the TV show "The Good Place" if you wish to understand the majority of this clusterfuck. Although, if you wish to proceed regardless, go right ahead!)

Chapter One: L Lawliet, You Are Dead.

<>

Weclome! Everything Is Fine.

Everything is fine? Is that so?

The last thing L remembers is the ceiling. Just…the ceiling. The fans twirling on the ceiling of the headquarter building and the cross hatching of the tiles. It was peaceful. Was he sleeping? If he had been sleeping, then how did he end up here?

Now, instead of the ceiling, he stares at a wall. Big, green letters stare back at him. “Welcome! Everything Is Fine,” they say. Something inside L is prickling, like something he is forgetting struggling to find its way to his brain. He wants to ponder it, but something about the words splayed out on the wall in front of him is telling him that he doesn’t have to. Everything is fine, after all.

He only manages to tear his eyes away from the bold, sans serif font when the sound of a doorknob turning catches his attention. Huh. Has there always been a door there? If so he hadn’t noticed it, which L thinks is completely absurd as he usually takes mental notes of everything in a room before getting himself seated. But there it is, a door he missed while transfixed on the somehow calming message on the wall, now opening to reveal...a person.

You stand in the doorway, simply smiling.

Now that L’s attention has been drawn away from the mystifying message he can properly analyze his surroundings, and his new visitor. He’s in a rather simple room, nothing but a few plants dotting the perimeter and a couch in the middle, which he is currently sitting on. And he’s sitting normally. Hm. That feels…itchy. L inches a foot onto the couch in his discomfort of sitting with his bottom planted firmly on the cushions with both feet on the ground. Though he hesitates to bring both feet up and hug his knees to his chin as he normally would, because he senses that your sudden presence means he is about to be standing and following you into that mysterious room behind you. Like a doctor calling a patient into an appointment. Except in this case L has no idea what you are, and judging by your suit and comical, colorful bowtie, you are certainly not a doctor.

“L?” you ask, showing your teeth in a kind smile. “Come on in.”

And against his better judgement, he does. L was never the person to simply keep quiet and obey orders in a situation he does not understand. And there certainly is not a whole lot of understanding happening in his brain right now. He should be asking questions. He should be refusing you. He doesn’t know you, you could be leading him to his doom. All this is possible but something about the way you smile at him…like those big, green words, all he reads from you is “Everything Is Fine.”

The room that you lead him into doesn’t look all that much like a death trap, but you can never be sure. It’s a simple office, plants similar to the ones in the waiting room sit in pots in the corners and on the windowsill. The sun shines outside, seeping through the glass and illuminating the desk on the left as you walk in. On it are a few little trinkets, paperweights, and, right in the middle, a manila file folder.

You circle around the desk and settle yourself into the rollaway chair, gesturing to the sleek armchair across from you. “Why don’t you have a seat, hm?”

What is wrong with him right now? You ask him to do something and he just…does? What happened to his spine, other than it bending exponentially thanks to the way he sits?

No matter, there are more important things to think about right now. Like the fact that he might finally be getting some answers.

You open the file in front of you and skim whatever’s written, opening your mouth to say something when your eyes meet his. And then they drift down to his legs. You stare at him curiously with your mouth still agape for a few moments at how his knees are pulled up to his chin, eventually shaking your head and getting back on track.

“My name is (Name), and of course I already know yours.” you say, folding your hands in front of you. “So, how are you, L?”

How should L even answer that?

“I’m…confused, mostly. How are you?”

Your eyes light up, as if you haven’t been asked that in a while. “Oh, well I’m fine. Y’know, busy, but fine! And, yes, I’d assume you’d be confused, everyone in your situation usually is.”

“My situation? What exactly do you mean by that?” Now that L has finally asked one question he can’t seem to stop the ball from rolling “Speaking of you, who are you exactly? Actually, never mind who, but where—“

You hold up a hand. “All of your questions will be answered, I promise. There’s just one thing that you need to know before we tackle any of that.”

“And what is that?”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, elbows digging into the surface of your desk as you lean forward. You look like you’re about to tell him that he’s fired. That his dog died. That some kid took the last of the strawberry shortcake and he’s going to have to settle for carrot cake. What comes out of your mouth is much worse.

“L Lawliet, you are dead.”

…

He’s…?

Yes. Yes, he is. That’s why he doesn’t remember how he got here.

He’s dead. Huh.

L is perfectly content in not saying anything about this new little factoid, but you’re looking at him expectantly, and a little cautiously. Like you either expect him to punch you or burst into tears. L wonders if that fear is based on experience. How many other people have to told this to?

“…Am I, now? That’s a shame.”

You breathe out a sigh, which could be from relief. “Yes, it is. But, not to worry! Because you’ve ended up in the Good Place, L. You’re going to be okay.”

“So it’s called the Good Place?” L brings his thumb to his lips. “A rather simple thing to call it.”

You nod. “Pretty self-explanatory, right? We didn’t want anyone to get confused. There are just so many names for it on earth. Heaven, Valhalla, Nirvana…But it all translates to one place. Here. And you get to be a part of it.”

“That sounds…” Before he can articulate his thoughts, a dilemma from earlier brings itself to the forefront of L’s mind. “Wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My memories are all wrong. Before this, all I can remember is the ceiling and nothing else. If I were to have died, surely I would remember it, yes?”

You take a gulp of air and pull the manila file closer to you. “We take it upon ourselves to erase the memories of death if they are particularly traumatizing or embarrassing. Helps the residents adapt into a peaceful afterlife better, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, that is perfectly sensible. Although I may ask, what is an example of a death that is not at all traumatizing?”

“Pfft, there hardly is one. You’d be surprised how many memories we have to erase.”

“On the contrary, I am hardly surprised. I’m sure there are plenty of people who cannot accept the nature of their death, let alone the fact that they have died in the first place.”

You sigh, “You’re tellin’ me. Most people come around once I tell them that they’re basically in paradise, but some won’t even listen to me once I break the news. One person tried to convince me I was the dead one! It’s just—oh, um, but that’s hardly the point.”

“Do you ever tell someone how they died if they ask?”

Your expression hardens. “I do, but I like to know that they’re certain before I tell them.”

“I am.”

Exhaling through your nose, you prop the manila folder up like a book, scanning the files inside. “Alright then. Let’s see here…ah, okay. So, unfortunately this one’s pretty traumatizing, it’s not really one of those embarrassing deaths that some people get a kick out of, so brace yourself.” You look over the top of the folder as if checking to see if he’s braced himself. His expression and stance is unwavering, large eyes merely staring back at you patiently. “You were betrayed by your colleague Yagami Light – also known as your adversary Kira – and killed by the Shinigami Rem at his request.”

Oh yeah. That.

The ceiling was not clear in view, no, there was something obstructing L’s view of it. A face, staring down at him as his heart gave out right on the floor. Brown eyes filled with such cocky maliciousness, the upward tilt of lips L only knew to spout lies. It all equated to a side of Yagami Light that L knew existed but had never seen up until his final moments. It all added up to one final conclusion -- Yagami Light was Kira all along. L had been right. But the price of knowing that for certain is that, now, there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I never know what to do when I have to tell people…” you try, reaching across the table and planting a hand down in front of him. Not asking to hold his hand, not even expecting a reaction. Just showing that you’re there, and that you’re trying.

“It’s up to them now. I’ve done all that I could. I trust my successors.”

“In catching the murderer Kira, right?” you ask, to which L confirms with a polite utterance of ‘yes’. Obviously you know the answer. “I understand that is one of the many, many cases you’ve worked on during your lifetime.” you scan your eyes quickly down what appears to be a long list in your folder. Do you have every detail of his life in those files? Every case he ever took? Hell, every day in his life? You set the file down flat in front of you and look at him with something L determines is admiration. “You’ve done so much good in your lifetime, L. You’ve worked so hard over the entirety of your life to make sure you left the world a little better than you found it. Now…well, now you can rest.”

You can relax, you tell him. And it seems to simple coming out of your mouth yet somehow it still feels out of reach.

“I can…” Is all L manages to say, his preoccupation coming across as dreamy and wistful. His mind is busy running a mile a minute and his mouth just can’t keep up. L decides to test the words out on his own tongue to see if they still sound foreign, “I can rest now.”

Yeah, no, it still sounds like bullshit.

“Yes! Well, after the tour, of course.”

“Tour?”

You start to stand, straightening your colorful bowtie and circling around your desk to the door which you pull open. You don’t exit right away, though. You stand next to the exit, waiting for L to follow you. While he works on untangling himself from his current position you clarify, “A tour of the neighborhood! Where you’ll spend your afterlife.”

[demonsigh]

the hunt

rating: lime/mature pairing: male vampire x gender-neutral reader features: touch starvation, safewords, biting, aftercare, cuddling warnings: blood, fear, being chased, dizziness length: 4240 words

Feeling isolated and craving physical intimacy, a college student agrees to be hunted and bitten by a vampire in exchange for a post-meal snuggling session. Based on this prompt submitted to @monsterkinkmeme​​ by @the-color-of-sound-is-space

You were supposed to meet him at 11 PM, in the middle of Bartleby Park. Vampires were nocturnal and uncomfortable in the sun, so the hunt had to take place at night. But did it have to be this late?

It wasn’t as if you were getting tired. You were something of a nocturnal animal yourself nowadays; college tended to do that to people. But the park was pretty creepy this late at night, eerily empty and unnaturally quiet.

You checked your phone again. 11:10 already. He was late. Had he been held up? Or could he have overslept? That thought wrung a quiet chuckle from you — a sound not at all reassuring to hear in the dark silence of the park.

The “he” in question was a vampire named Roland that you’d met on the internet. You were meeting up so he could suck your blood.

For whatever reason, college towns tended to attract vampires. It probably had something to do with the vibrant nightlife, and the bars that never closed, and parties that only ended when the sun rose. Or perhaps it was the rich history of such places, in the old stone buildings and the musty library books. Or maybe it was just the students themselves: curious and open-minded, over-educated and sheltered and a little bit reckless.

In the modern age, most vampires obtained their food in the modern way: in bags, from blood banks or speciality clinics. But there were those who still swore by more natural methods. Many believed that feeding from the source provided physical and mental health benefits. For others, the desire to stalk, and chase, and bite, was simply too strong to resist indulging. Luckily for all, it was not as difficult to find a willing human victim as one might expect.

You discovered a message board that was dedicated to this macabre economy. Vampires would make posts looking for “prey” — humans willing or eager to be bitten. An arrangement would be made for a night of thrilling and dangerous roleplay, where the vampire played the part of the seductive predator, and the human, the helpless victim.

For most of the humans who posted on this forum, being prey was a kink. They enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the pain of the bite. It was foreplay to them, and the evening inevitably led to sex after their partner’s more pressing appetites were sated.

You became a little obsessed with this message board. You didn’t think you’d mind being bitten; there was something kind of sexy about it. But you weren’t really trying to get laid. What you really wanted was some quality aftercare, a perk that was frequently offered, requested, and discussed on this forum.

College had become something of a lonely experience for you. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, and you weren’t sure where you’d gone wrong. In your freshman year you’d made an effort to be social, starting a number of casual friendships, but none of them really stuck. You were still close to your high school friends, and you talked to them online all the time, but somehow the number of people with whom you had any physical interaction had dwindled down to zero.

It made you lonely in a deep, nagging way. You wanted a hug. You wanted to hold someone’s hand. You daydreamed constantly about these things, setting up elaborate scenarios in your mind that led to someone safe and warm holding you for hours at a time. You felt like these fantasies were reaching a boiling point in your mind. And one night, after drinking several beers by yourself, you made your own post on that message board. You would let someone bite you (hunt optional), in exchange for an evening of snuggling (sex optional).

And that was how you met Roland. He wasn’t the only vampire who replied to your post, but he was the only one who lived within easy walking distance. You agreed to meet at one of the campus cafes and discuss possibilities over coffee.

You recognized him immediately, although you were pretty sure he didn’t recognize you. He was in one of your classes. You frequently spied him from across the lecture hall, tall and good-looking and unapproachable. You’d always thought there was something a little otherworldly about him, but he mostly just looked like another student. You’d had no idea that he wasn’t even human.

And it turned out he wasn’t as intimidating as he looked. He actually seemed pretty nice, even a little bit shy. He’d never fed straight from the skin before — drinking nothing but bagged blood since he was turned — and he wanted to try it at least once. He wasn’t trying to get laid either. Like you, he was much more interested in the aftercare, hoping for something like a cooldown hug once the deed was done. That suited you just fine.

The plan was this: You would meet in Bartleby Park at 11 PM. The exact location didn’t matter, he said; he would come find you. This statement gave you an unexpected thrill. Perhaps the hunting part would be more fun than you’d thought. You would run, and he would chase you. If you screamed, all the better — although this did make a safeword necessary. You chose “cardboard,” the first word that came to your mind, which made him laugh. When he finally caught you, he would bite you on the neck and drink your blood. Then he would take you up to his apartment for first aid and spooning. Simple as that.

Only he wasn’t here yet. It was 11:20 now, and you were still alone. Maybe he was having trouble finding you. Or… was he backing out? That thought stung. You suddenly realized just how much you’d been looking forward to this, and the idea of going home tired and alone made you feel more depressed than ever.

A branch snapped in the trees nearby, and your head whipped toward the sound. Your eyes scanned back and forth across the screen of dark leaves, trying and failing to uncover the culprit.

“Roland?” you whispered. You hadn’t meant to whisper, but suddenly you were having trouble finding your voice. Your phone buzzed in your hand, making you jump. It was a text message from your friend:

“How did it go?”

“He’s late, I’m still waiting,” you typed in response.

“Ok… Text me again in an hour or I’m calling the cops.”

Your friends had basically all agreed that this seemed like a bad idea. You were starting to wonder if they were right. You didn’t know Roland at all… even if you knew where he lived and where he went to school. Even if he was cute and he seemed nice.

And even if Roland was fine, Roland wasn’t here. It was late, and the park was deserted. Who knew what other weirdos were prowling around out here.

You were starting to feel genuinely anxious. Beneath the trees, the park was dark, the shadows unaffected by the dim light of the street lamps. What was the safeword again? Cardboard? That was it, right?

There was a rapid noise in the grass behind you — tff tff tff — like something rushing towards you in long leaps. That was the last straw. You launched into a flat-out run, heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.

A pair of cold, hard arms wrapped around you from behind, jerking you to a stop. You screamed at the top of your lungs, and then, almost in the same breath, shouted, “Cardboard cardboard cardboard,” all in a rush; sure that the word would mean nothing to this person; that you were about to be hurt or worse.

But cardboard was the magic word. The arms disappeared from around your chest, and in a flash he was standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

And of course it was only Roland, the very person you had agreed to do this with. He was staring into your face, expression distressed, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. “It was just… scarier than I expected.”

He was slowly shaking his head back and forth. He looked appalled. “Fuck, I am so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing like that, until you suddenly became aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and the ragged sound of your breathing. Were you crying? God, how fucking embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing tears from your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Jesus.”

“No no,” said Roland, “don’t apologize. I think I overdid it. ...And I was pretty late, that definitely didn’t help.”

He was looking around now, frowning into the dark woods, and rubbing your shoulders absently. You were hyper-aware of his hands. They were like ice but every pass of them over your shoulders sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt extremely relieved that he was here, even though he was the reason you’d been so scared in the first place. You wished he would hug you — the desire for this was almost overwhelming — but you felt too dazed and embarrassed to ask.

His eyes met yours once again, and his hands slipped from your shoulders, finding their way into his pockets instead — the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“Uh…” he said. “Do you wanna just skip this part and go straight back to my place?”

A wobbly laugh escaped you, and you nodded weakly. “Are you still gonna suck my blood?” you asked.

“Do you still want me to?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled at that. It was a small, almost shy smile, but enough to give you a good look at his fangs. They looked shockingly white and sharp in the dark.

He started to walk in the direction of his apartment, then paused; and looking back, expression uncertain, he held his hand out towards you. You hesitated for just one second. Then you placed your hand in his, and his cold fingers closed tightly around yours.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Your heart was racing again. When was the last time you’d held someone’s hand? You never wanted him to let go.

Neither of you spoke. You wondered if he was feeling as nervous as you were. You’d thought that the scary part was over, but what about what came next? How badly would it hurt when he bit you? He’d never bitten anyone before, he said. How would he react to his first taste?

When you tried to picture it, all you could imagine were his lips pressed against your skin; and his hand cupping the back of your neck, holding you still. They were not unpleasant images. You felt your face heat up, and you were suddenly grateful for the darkness and the cold night air.

It was a fairly short walk. His apartment was a big single-room studio: TV and sofa in one corner, bed and bookcase in another. Rounded doorways branched off into a kitchen and a bathroom. There was a large white-curtained window in the west wall, and moonlight poured in through the glass, illuminating the plush carpet. It was cozy and uncluttered. Roland watched you look around, then looked around himself.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” he asked. He caught your eye, then glanced quickly away. “So we don’t get blood on the carpet.”

How practical. You followed him into the kitchen, forcing yourself to take even breaths as you went. Vampires were supposed to have excellent hearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating?

“Want some water?” he asked, opening a cupboard as he spoke. You peered over his shoulder, tickled to see that the only dishes he seemed to own were drinking glasses; no bowls or plates in sight. What would he need a plate for, after all?

He moved around you to fill the glass with water from the sink. He seemed to be avoiding eye-contact, and you wondered again if he was nervous. Somehow the thought made you feel more at ease. Boldly, you opened his refrigerator to examine the contents. Blood bags, and nothing else. Lots of them. Stacks upon stacks, in neat little rows. You couldn’t quite believe it, even though it was exactly what you’d expected to find.

You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but you were afraid it wasn’t good. You turned toward Roland and found him watching you, expression careful; glass of water forgotten in one hand.

“Yeah…” he said.

“Nothing for me?” you asked, grinning, attempting to break the sudden tension.

He grinned back sheepishly. Then he pulled a little juice box out of the pocket of his jacket. It was the kind of thing they gave you after donating blood. You both began to laugh, and a warm, giddy feeling spread through you.

Roland moved closer and patted one of the countertops. “Hop up here?” he asked. You obliged, although it was more of a scramble than a hop. Roland began pulling more small items from the pockets of his jacket, and setting them on the counter next to you: single-use alcohol wipes; a few band-aids; a little roll of gauze, and a roll of medical tape. It became clear to you that he really had intended to bite you in the park, and he had come prepared.

He was standing very close now, almost pressed against your bent knees. You longed to close the distance. You didn’t move. Roland’s movements also grew slower, more hesitant. Stalling.

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He looked you right in the eye, finally. His expression was serious.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” you replied, although you weren’t sure whether you actually believed that.

He frowned, and his eyes travelled down to your neck. He was biting his lip, and his fangs stood out starkly against his skin.

He handed you the glass of water. You drank it. Then you took his hand and gently pulled him closer, spreading your knees wider so he could stand between them. He swallowed visibly.

“I’m nervous too,” you told him.

“I know,” he said, in a hoarse almost-whisper. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Safeword?”

“You can just tell me.”

You were both almost-whispering now, leaning in closer and closer. It felt an awful lot like you were about to share your first kiss.

With one hand, he pulled the collar of your shirt away from your neck, while his other hand slid up to cup the back of your neck. Your heart was hammering with excitement and fear, and his cold fingers felt good against your flushed skin. He lowered his face against your neck, and almost before you knew it his fangs were piercing the skin, creating thin twin wounds that ached immediately. You gasped and grasped handfuls of the fabric of his jacket. Honestly his teeth didn’t hurt much more than a needle, but somehow the reality of it stunned you. He was really going to drink your blood. In that moment, for the first time, you really believed that Roland was something other than human.

His lips closed over the wound. His mouth was wet and unexpectedly hot, and his tongue moved rhythmically against your aching skin as he sucked and swallowed your blood. He made a low sound deep in his throat — the type of contented groan that a good bite of food might inspire. You had to hold your breath to keep from responding in kind.

This was erotic. You couldn’t help thinking of it that way. Your grip on his jacket tightened, and you forced yourself not to squeeze your knees more tightly around his waist. You wondered if he felt it too. Was this exciting him at all? Or was this just a meal to him?

You couldn’t have said how long this went on — it was probably minutes, though it felt longer — but eventually he stopped drinking and pulled away. Somehow a piece of gauze was already in his hand; he pressed it to your neck, holding it firmly against the bite. You stared at each other, both breathing unevenly. His cheeks, so colorless before, were now flushed.

He cleared his throat and licked blood off his lips.

“Are you okay,” he asked, voice rough.

“I’m ok,” you said, although you actually felt a little dizzy. You felt around for the juice box. “Was that enough?”

He nodded his head and grabbed the juice box, pressing it into your reaching hand. He seemed a little dazed. He tore open one of the alcohol wipes, and while you drank your juice he disinfected the bite marks. You hissed at the stinging pain, and he grimaced in sympathy. Then he taped a fresh strip of gauze over the bite.

“It didn’t hurt that bad,” you reported between sips.

“Good,” he said. But he was starting to look unhappy again, frowning as he watched you sip your juice. Your heart sank a little in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed this as much as you had.

“Are you ok?” you asked him.

He didn’t respond at first. And then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him. You bit back a huff of surprise. He was no longer cold — drinking your blood had warmed his whole body.

“What is it?” you whispered.

He heaved an enormous sigh next to your ear. “You just looked so scared in the park,” he said. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your chest. “I feel really bad.”

You didn’t feel bad. One of his large hands was pressed against your back, warm and reassuring, and the other was cupped around the back of your head. Your chest was pressed flush against his, and he was warm and solid and worried about you. You gave up trying to resist the urge to touch him. You put your arms around him, and squeezed your knees tighter against his waist, pulling him even closer to you. You let your head fall forward to rest against his neck, but as soon as you closed your eyes, the room began to whirl around you.

“Um,” you gasped. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh,” he said, a little catch of surprise in his voice. He pulled away. “Um. Let me, uh...”

Carefully, he slipped his hand under your knees, and gathered you up into his arms. You threw your own arms around his neck, shamelessly clinging to him as he carried you out of the kitchen with no apparent effort. He paused in the doorway and looked down at you.

“The bed or the couch?” he asked.

“The bed,” you said against his chest, hoping that this was not too bold. He didn’t seem to think so. He carried you across the room, careful not to jostle you, and gently laid you down on top of the comforter.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You were quite cold, actually; another effect of the blood loss.

Roland stood and went over to a small closet, where he retrieved a stack of thick, warm-colored blankets. He shook them out and draped them over you in layers, and their warm weight made you feel better almost immediately.

“Thank you,” you said.

“No problem,” he replied. He stood by the side of the bed, unmoving. He seemed to be struggling for words. “Um… Do you still want to…”

“Yes,” you said emphatically, and you peeled back the blankets to make space for him.

He looked self-conscious, but he didn’t hesitate. He crawled under the blankets, and carefully pulled you into his arms, settling your head against his shoulder. His body was still warm with your blood, and you pressed into him eagerly.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you said. You placed your hand flat on his chest, then sighed happily, which made him laugh. He laid his hand over yours, curling his fingers around it.

That was almost too much. Your chest felt fit to burst with it. You kept waiting to wake up, sure that you must have dreamt this whole thing. You still couldn’t believe he’d drunk your blood. His teeth had been inside of you. And as much as that weirded you out, it kind of turned you on too.

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to text your friends back. You shifted around, and Roland loosed his hold on you to let you pull your phone out of your pocket.

“I’m letting my friends know you didn’t murder me,” you explained as you typed. You’d meant it as a joke, but you regretted the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, turning in his arms to face him, and wincing at the pain in your neck. “I didn’t really think you would…”

He shook his head before you could say anything else. “It’s ok. Biting someone…” He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Well, it’s an inherently violent act. Some people get carried away. Your friends weren’t wrong to be worried.”

“I feel safe with you though,” you said.

“Oh. Good.” He ducked his head, and his cheeks turned the pinkest they’d been all night. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest. He was really adorable… You hadn’t expect that, watching him from afar. You pulled closer to him, putting your arms around him and laying your head against his chest. He tucked the blankets more snugly around your shoulders.

“This is really nice,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“How did you like biting me?” You forced the words out before you could lose your nerve. You hoped you weren’t making it awkward, but you had to know.

Roland didn’t answer at first. Then he let out a breath, and slid one of his hands over his face. “Not gonna lie,” he said. “It was way better than drinking bagged blood.”

“Oh, good!” you said, laughing. “I’m glad. I was worried you didn’t like it.”

“I definitely liked it…” he said, still covering his face. “You taste amazing.”

You felt your face turn bright red. There was a double-entendre in there somewhere, although you guessed it was unintentional. I’d like to taste you next, you thought wildly, and once again, you found yourself wondering if you were the only one whose mind had wandered into the gutter tonight.

He seemed to sense your sudden discomfort, if not its source, because he uncovered his face and said, “I’m sorry, that was a super weird thing to say.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I liked it too,” you admitted. “When you bit me.” Then, still more softly: “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again sometime.”

You heard him swallow. “I’d like that.”

You lapsed into a warm silence, untroubled and comfortable, and you basked in his presence like a cat in sunlight. You were aware of every part of him that was pressed against you: his chest rising and falling beneath you, and his hands pressed against your back, and his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, chaste but intimate, and ripe with potential.

You definitely wanted to kiss him. You opened your mouth to float the idea, but you were overcome by an enormous yawn. You suddenly realized you had no idea what time it was. It felt really late, but maybe you were just tired out from all the excitement.

“Was I falling asleep?” you asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“I should probably get home,” you said, but then made no move to get up. You heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t wanna go yet though,” you complained, “I’m so cozy.”

“Do you wanna stay here?”

You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “Stay the night?”

“We don’t have to do anything weird,” he said, turning pink again. You stared at each other for a moment. Then he gently pushed your head back down to his chest, so that you weren’t looking at him when he said, “I don’t wanna let you go yet.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. As if you weren’t already convinced. “I won’t throw off your day? I mean your night?”

You felt him shrug. “I was just gonna do homework.”

That drew a surprised laugh out of you. You’d almost forgotten that Roland wasn’t just your weird vampire hookup. He was your classmate too.

“Do you know that we’re in the same class?” you asked, playfully accusing.

“Yeah,” he admitted, with a bit of a laugh in his voice. “I recognized you when we got coffee.”

That surprised you. “I thought I was the only one,” you said.

“I noticed you sitting in back sometimes.” His hand was still resting against the side of your head, and his fingers moved absently through strands of your hair. “I thought you looked cool.”

“Good,” you said, which made him laugh. You grinned against his chest. “I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around you.

[nat-20s]

#10?

prompt 10- recognizing the other's voice in a crowded room

so uhh u didn't specify this being a pairing, and it ended up jonmartin lol

this is like? an au where one of the domains of the lonely (and also maybe stranger) plays off the specific loneliness that comes with parties. u kno the one, where you have fun for about an hour and then realize that you're fundamentally isolated and you need a breather?

anyway

~*~

Upon opening his eyes, he is not where he last remembers being. He is not sure how long his disorientation will last, but considering he's standing up right, at the edge of a crowded ballroom, he suspects it may be the entire time that he's here.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV blaring away on a program he didn't know any of the details of. It hadn't mattered what was playing, as long as it had some of the natural rise and fall of other people speaking. He had been severely mising that lately, those gentle rhythms of conversation, and trying to listen to an audiobook while staring at his bedroom's popcorn ceiling just wasn't cutting it. So, TV dreaming it was.

Oh, that could be what was going on. An elaborate dream, constructed from the sound of a scenario he hadn't paid any attention to. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep watching anything to spark this kind of dreamscape, but that didn't mean much. It'd be oddly lucid, for a dream. And oddly sharp. His dreams, much like his memories, were always somewhat clouded over, and never as colorful as reality. Even his grayest waking days, of which there were many, had colors more distinct than what appeared in his mind's eye.

Simple test: he could never read or write in dreams. The words always swirled and distorted, and he somehow lost all manual dexterity. He needed a book, or a pencil, or both. He began to wander the ballroom, and abruptly realized that this was a masquerade, everyone wearing elaborate costumes with animal shaped masks. Did he fit in? Did he belong? He hoped he wasn't in what he fell asleep in, the worn hoodie and sweatpants barely worth making a grocery run in. The outside world wasn't supposed to see him looking comfortable, but presentable. He liked to think that if he left the apartment appearing at least somewhat put together, maybe people would believe that extended to other areas of his life. That it would be easier to ignore the increasingly dark circles under his eyes, that his nice sweater had been getting gradually looser as the tool of everything literally wore him down.

Small mercy, he wasn't like that now. A glance down showed that he was, like the rest of the guests? Captors? dressed to the nines. He has a suspicion that his own elaborate outfit, dark blues with gold and pearl embroidery, was a part of it. It was not a mercy to blend in here, it was a design element. Standing out would result in being noticed, being noticed meant being seen as an individual, and they can't have that.

It is with that line of thinking that he suddenly becomes aware of the weight of the mask on his face, the restriction of his sight through eyeholes. Looking into a teapot that's been polished to a mirrored shine, he see that he bears the incredibly crafted face of a field mouse. It would almost be plain, if it didn't have matching embroidery to his coat.

Fitting, he thought. It made him look smaller than he was, and he had so often wished to go unnoticed. A fly would've also worked, but he imagines it would be rather hard to make that into a suitably beautiful mask. Either way, he was level with the rest of the crowd. Even believing it to be part of the trick, even knowing that the masquerade was meant to make you false, there was some level of comfort to it. He was not going to be seen here. Instead someone more handsome, more charming, more even with his peers was allowed to take his place, as false as they were. Best of all, that's what all of them would be doing here, the whole appeal of a masquerade in leaving behind the person you loathe most and can never be free from.

Seems lonesome, for a party. So structured around the theater of it all. You can connect with countless people, and you don't get to actually connect with any of them at all.

Oh.

Oh, now this made all made sense. Crave interaction, and get a warped version of it.

He could see the napkins, emblazoned with a name that he didn't recognize, presumably the host, and, in much smaller font, the company name. Every one of them was consistent.

Easy enough to receive the message. This wasn't a dream. This was a punishment.

Hmm. Well, no, punishment might be the wrong term. Punishment implied that it was a consequence, a direct cause and effect of doing something wrong, by someone's definitions of "wrong". No this was. Torture is too strong of a word, and again, has the problem of making this seem willful. Deliberate. And maybe it was, but more likely, whatever this was had just sort of happened. A cruelty that comes with being in the universe they all happen to occupy.

This wasn't a dream. This was a consequence.

He doesn't know how to get out of here. He can't see any doors, and exits. The only approximation of one is some giant frosted glass that seem like they might lead to a balcony. They're only on the other end of the ballroom, but that lengths feels impenetrable, like it spans for miles and miles of harsh terrain.

There's a few options available to him.

One: Try to fall asleep, and see if he can get back to where he started. Lowest effort option, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been this fully awake in months. Maybe years. Something about the environment makes it feel as though electricity sparks throughout his entire body. It's an interesting sensation, certainly, akin to anxiety taken to an extreme degree, yet it's not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Two: Make a break for it. He doesn't know if there's anywhere to make a break for, but he also isn't sure how high up this place is. Maybe the balcony is a viable option for escape. Or maybe he'll find a door that had previously been hidden from him. Hell, maybe he won't fully escape, but he'll find somewhere quieter at the very least. Somewhere that he doesn't leave him so thoroughly dazed. This is probably the best option, even account for the wall of people surrounding him. But.

Option Three: Join the Dance.

Inadvisable. Foolish, really. The best outcome is..what? Is there a best outcome? Worst outcome is he's dancing forever, until his feet wear down to stubs of bone, until he dies, until he cant remember anything but the dance. Never a connection with any dancer, all of them, eventually, a blur of activity and nothing more.

Yet, it's what he's going to do. He's not the most curious person he knows, that honor goes to a man that he's been in love with for years, but can't grasp any of the details of while he's here. That can't be good. What was his name?

Anyway. He's not the most curious, but he's hardly immune to a detrimental sense of interest. He wants to know what the dance is like. He wants to see the intricate costumes of the others stuck here, and see if there's anything behind the masks. He knows it will, inevitably, leave him lonelier. He knows, inevitably, that he does not care. At least this version of loneliness is more interesting than sitting in his flat, wondering whether having thin enough walls to hear the echo of his neighbors' voices would make things better or worse. So, when someone approaches, adorned in a shrew mask, hand outstretched to pull him into the fervor, he accepts.

The dancer is competent. Neither of them steps on the others foot, and he lets himself be led. Even better, the dancer is willing to talk. A man named Tom, his voice cheerful even as he confirms that he doesn't know how he came here either. Tom shrugs when he asks if this bothers him, saying if you're going to end up somewhere mysteriously, gliding across a ballroom with a handsome stranger is hardly the worst place to be.

It takes a second for him to register the fact that Tom's flirting. It makes him laugh, and it feels wrong in his throat. The sound is unfamiliar, almost belonging to someone else, but it's brief enough not to hurt. He'll grieve all the time he's lost later, for now, he says, "How would you know if I'm handsome with this mask? Or are you just making a flattering guess?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer, a grin on his features that suggest something playful and wry is about to come out, but then the song ends. They both know, somehow, that the brief rapport they've gotten to enjoy has come to an end. They swap partners, and as much has he would like a second dance, when Tom gets swept into the throng, he knows he won't be seeing him again.

The next dancer is at a higher skill level at him, which results in nerves encroaching on what limited ability he has. Perhaps the peacock mask should've been a tip off. He doesn't speak to them, more focused on trying to keep up. He doesn't regret that they'll only have one dance, but he is slightly remiss that his own costume doesn't have feathers after watching the way they move.

The dancer after that catches him for a slow dance. Her name is Shelia, and he's never seen such a dazzling smile. He tells her as such, and she tells him that she would tell him the same, but she hasn't actually seen his own, yet. He makes an attempt, and she tells him, "Oh honey, you're waiting for someone here, aren't you?"

When he states his confusion, that nobody comes to mind, or at least, that nobody is going to come, she shakes her head. Apparently, she can always tell when her dance partners have somewhere else to be, and she doesn't resent it, but it does mean she's not going to give him her number for after the night ends. He's amazed she believes this night will end, but it's a sentiment that seems far too rude to voice out loud.

He also knows that he doesn't have somewhere else to be. If he did, he would've never joined in.

The music continues, and so does he. He tries to get names, tries to get connections. He flirts with Mark, and Nadia, and Jamie. Those people are his favorite during the dances, but losing the also feels the most acute. Robert is his least favorite, even more so than the peacock, for how incredibly small the fox makes him feel. Nothing is even said, it's just the entirety of body language screams that Robert doesn't think he belongs here, that he's not worthy of the clothes he's wearing or the hall he's haunting. Ironically, he's right. He doesn't belong here. These clothes, these people, are not his. Only Robert is quite so skilled at making that seem like a bad thing.

About ten dances in, long past the point he should be winded, he realizes two things. One, there's no pain in his feet, no heaviness to his breathing, confirming once again that no aspect of this environment is natural. Two, is that he's actually had a path. Sometime in the spins and leads and follows, he had been making his way towards the center of the floor. He denies the next partner, likely the worst of a faux paus in this environment, but he needs a moment to stop. Taking in the scene, he has yet to find the source of the music, but he has found the host of this party.

There's nothing to physically show that he's the host. His costume isn't particularly ostentatious, at least not compared to the rest of them. He's not surrounded by a horde of people clamoring for his attention. He doesn't glow or sparkle or have a spotlight on him. The only reveal of his status is the fact that the second he looks at the man in the owl mask, fear floods through him.

Now he needs to run. He needs to leave, he needs to get out, he can't let the man in the owl mask see him, let alone approach him. Pushing his way through the crowd is a bad idea, will bring too much attention to himself. However, he's not in a state to think about that sort of thing, panic gripping his actions. As he shoves his way past one person, he swears ten more people tke their place, and he, oh so close to despair, is unable to tell if there's any actual distance being put between him and the owl masked man.

As he's about to start biting, clawing, screaming his way out any way he can, he hears something that makes him stop.

"Let him go, or I will make you let him go."

The statement is cold, filled with vitrol and determination. It should only make him more afraid. But as he turns around, he sees someone he never expected to be here, someone who has come here anyway. In an all black outfit, the man's face is covered with that of a cat's, but he has not a single ounce of doubt as to who it is. And he's facing off against the owl man, the absolute fool. He's facing off against the owl man, and Martin knows that it's on his own account. What the hell? He can't...he doesn't know what's going to happen to him, what exactly the owl man is going to do, but he can't let Jon get hurt. Begging his voice to pierce through the pandemonium of people and noise, he calls out, "JON!"

Jon finds him in an instant, eyes locking. They only have a second before the crowd pushes in, before the owl man reaches out, wing-like cape ready to wrap Jon up and snatch him away. Jon simply calls out, "Balcony!" before he's once again out of sight. Martin wants to go towards him, wants to follow the instinct to try and protect the one he loves, but going forward is impossible.

The tempo and volume of the music has swollen, and he's surrounded by hands reaching out, trying to pull him in. One of those hands, much to his surprise, belongs to Tom. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and Tom shoves his hand out even further in an act of urgency. He has to participate to make progress.

He holds on tight, all the basic skill of their first dance lost. It doesn't matter, as long as Martin participates, he is rewarded. When the next song begins to play, Tom strengthens his grip, and they manage to prevent the switch. In a manner of minutes, or perhaps hours, they make their way to the edge of the crowd. Martin can see those beautiful frosted doors only about 10 meters away, mostly unobstructed, and releases Tom from their dance. "Thank you. I seriously didn't think..just, thank you."

Tom gives him a nod, his expression much more solemn than it had been during their initial meeting. "After our first dance, I remembered my kids. A daughter and son. If they're out there, wherever out there is, I need to get back to them. If you can get yourself out, maybe there's hope for the rest of us, yeah? I think you might be a tipping point."

Martin had no idea if that was true. Sounded a bit too..center of the story for him. The hero, the chosen one, he was never going to fufill those roles. But. But he doesn't know what a denial would serve, and if he can go through those doors, who knows? "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I'll certainly try."

Tom clasps one of Martin's hands between both of his own, and with a quick shake, tells him, "That's all I ask."

In a blink, Tom has once again been swallowed by the fray, and Martin strides to his goal. He catches glimpses of the owl man out of the corner of his eye. Despite the sight making his heart race, the owl man never makes it to him, almost as if the dancers had forcibly blocked his path. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can turn against someone in a matter of moments. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can decide to help someone in the same span of time.

As Martin stands in front of the exit to the balcony, he has to take a breath. This could be a trick. A trap. A cruelty. If it is, he'll deal with it. If not, well.

Well.

The doors are heavy, but he's still able to push them aside. The sight outside is incredible. The stars are dazzling, brilliant, and numerous, resembling themilky way that Martin has only ever seen in pictures.

It's wrong. It's obviously wrong. Martin's never been anywhere remote enough to escape the effects of light pollution, and he's pretty sure a brightly lit manor isn't the exception to that rule. Yet, that's not what's bothering him about it. He can't quite articulate why, but the sky in general should be..different. Worse, maybe. Greener?

Jon is staring up into the night sky with a fascination that confirms Martin's suspicion. After he takes a step towards him, Jon turns towards him, and a smile appears that knocks the breath right out of Martin. When has Jon ever smiled at him like that? It doesn't make sense, feels like another trick of the party, but Martin decides he doesn't care, he'll enjoy it while it lasts. "I have to say, this is definitely one of the nicer looking domains we've wandered through. Always a plus when we end up somewhere without any bloodstains."

That's not... "Huh?"

With an aftertaste of a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Jon tells him, "Just that, for as much as I despise the loneliness, it does at least have cleanliness going for it."

He knows of the fears, at least, but the way that Jon is talking about them doesn't make sense. He's going to ask about it, try to get some clarification, but then Jon takes off his mask. There's more grey at the temples than he remembers, more eyes than the average person, and he's stunningly beautiful. Martin's always found Jon rather good looking, even when he didn't particularly like Jon himself (god, what a fool he was. Maybe what a fool they both were). Combined with the softness in the line of his mouth, the adoration in his eyes, it leaves Martin breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Feet moving of their own accord, he drifts closer to Jon. Once he's standing in front of him, Jon reaches up, then pauses, as if asking for permission. Half in a daze, Martin nods, then leans down. Ever so gently, Jon lifts Martin's mask off. The pinpoints of contact between his face and Jon's fingers almost burn, and he realizes that despite the electrified sensation under his skin, he's been cold this entire time. Mask fully off, Jon beams at him, and lets out a quiet, "There you are."

It's too much. It's the tipping point for him to go from enamoured back to properly baffled. "Jon, I don't..what are you doing here?"

Jon smile drops, and Martin almost wants to take it back. Almost, because he needs answers, because if this is a dream, if this is a nightmare, it's more wicked than he could've ever expected. Being stuck forever in a dance with only partners whose greatest talents were being alone in a crowd is one thing, but having a..a false Jon, one that regarded him with...that acted like...that felt anything close to the same as Martin was so..exacting. When it got taken away, when the illusion shattered, it would hurt. It's already hurting, anticipation of the wound causing a phantom pain. Jon's brows are furrowed, and at least that is familiar, expected. "I..thought you would want to leave. I came to get you out."

"I do," did he?, "but that still..that's not the why? Why would you come for me?"

"Because I love you? I know I'm not much for the swashbuckling hero role, bit I figured that would make me rather uniquely qualified."

Martin sucks in a breath through his nose and his eyes go wide. Ability to read be damned, this is a dream, and mean one at that. He's going to wake up, and he's going to remember, and he's going to be as alone as he's always been. "Since when? You're not..I think we've just started being friends, and it's not even, fuck, we're not even that close! And even if..if things were in development, which they aren't, you're supposed to be in America right now. Or, no, wait you're in a coma, or maybe..no, that's not-"

Martin's spiralling is abruptly cut off by Jon taking his hands. Looking at his face, he finds Jon staring back, his eyes, his two eyes, are searching him, and Martin realizes he might not be the only one that's lost right now. "Martin...what's the last thing you remember?"

A mostly empty flat, the delightful mix of insomnia and exhaustion, and the TV with the volume turned down low enough to not bother anyone but himself. The context around that scene is a bit fuzzier. "I..was at my place. It was..I dunno, it was boring."

"Anything else. Do you remember Jane Prentiss?"

"Of course I remember Jane Prentiss. Not likely to ever forget the worst two weeks of my life."

"What about Scotland?"

Scotland? "I'm mean, I've never been, but I, uh, am aware of the concept."

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? He had been to Scotland, and Jon had been there, but when? Why? What had they..

Jon's frown deepens. "Martin, do you trust me?"

He did. Despite everything, or maybe because of an everything he couldn't quite access, he really, really did. His response of "Yes" is more of a breath than a word, but Jon understands nonetheless. Jon reaches up, places his hands on the sides of Martin's face, and tells him, "Close your eyes."

Martin does as told, and Jon brings their foreheads together, an approximation of a kiss. There's a buzzing at the base of his skull, not painful, but not particularly pleasant, either. As Jon leans back and he opens his eyes, the sky is wrong, but it is the wrong that he has become increasingly accustomed to.

He remembers.

Jon hasn't fully released him yet, asking still ever so gently, "Back with me?"

Martin nods, and Jon drops his hands. Immediately, Martin grabs one of them with his own, because while it may be the apocalypse, at least he can do that as freely as he likes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, " he looks down, and sighs, "Eugh. Do miss the clean clothes though."

Jon gives a hint of a smile, and as he begins to move forward. "Now you understand my point about the lonely having a tidiness to it."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take grime over memory loss any day."

"Next domain is a corruption one, so we'll see how much that holds true."

"Of course it is."

They walk in silence for a few moments until Martin gives Jon's hand a quick squeeze. "Hey Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for getting me out."

Jon replies, "Of course," as an easy statement of fact, and Martin believes it. He has to add, "And I love you too."

The responding smile he gets from Jon makes him think he might be one of the few people in existence to feel lucky after the end of the world.

[narrators-journal]

A small alteration

So! This part is the...second or third to last part, so we’re getting to the end bois. After this, I’ll likely die, or at least not post daily like I have been, so if you guys want more content after this, remember to send in an ask for me to answer! Request stuff, ask me questions, joke around with me, whatever yall want. It’ll hold this blog over until I finish this second fic and can start posting/editting it here!

cw: lightly goes into detail on torture, hisoka, that’s about it I think!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Thankfully, Hisoka didn't stop by after his phone call, but Illumi still took no chances when he went onto jobs. Along with Milluki using the spy cameras Illumi had placed earlier, the long haired assassin made sure at least three butlers were keeping an eye on you whenever he couldn't.

That precaution kept you far away from the blood hungry magician for a week, much to Illumi's relief. Hisoka was a pest, a thorn in Illumi's side through and through, so the last thing the assassin wanted was for him to meet his future wife. Especially now, when you were just too desperate for human contact, and he couldn't risk you getting attacked or manipulated by Hisoka and forcing the assassin to kill such a useful nen user. Or worse, risk you meeting him and growing to love the magician instead of him, so he was dead set on never letting you two meet.

So, instead of risking it, he made sure to keep you as secret as possible, at most giving vague answers to keep the violent hunter at bay when he found him on jobs or something and asked, but confirming or denying little to nothing. Aside from that, Illumi also let the man help him on missions a bit more, both because the assassin could hide things better than his butlers when questioned, and because, though annoying, the vibrantly colored man offered some sort of entertainment on otherwise painfully boring jobs like assassinating businessmen, ex-lovers, or runaway spouses. Though, Hisoka simply popped up sometimes too, either being in the right place at the right time to join on kills, or somehow seeking Illumi out, like a risky, aggravating jack-in-the-box. That habit had gotten him a trip to the Zoldyck basement and torture rooms recently, though it was also a reason Illumi humored the magician when he got bored and asked for help more.

        "Please make this simple and tell me where you put the money taken from Mr. Mori." Illumi told his target, a rather pretty young woman he'd been tasked to interrogate, torture, and kill by her ex-sugar daddy.         "Is she under-aged, is that why you won't tell me about her?" Hisoka asked, sitting on the table of menacing torture tools in a dungeon of the Zoldyck estate, having talked the assassin into letting him out to help in this little chat. Illumi was beginning to regret his decision to humor the magician though. The tall assassin glared at the other man for his interruption, only getting an innocent smile in return,         "No, she is not under-aged." He said curtly, and his companion snickered,         "Well, when can I meet her? I'm dying to know what type of woman a Zoldyck lusts after~"         "Never." Hisoka pouted at his flat refusal, but the assassin simply returned to questioning his captive, only turning back to the pink-haired man to grab some pliers from the table,  "Now, I will ask this once more, if I don't get an answer I'll tear out your finger nails until I do. Where is your ex's money?" he warned the woman, who was sobbing and pleading to be freed from the cold, dark room. When she didn't answer his question though, he kept true to his word, gripping one of her nails with the pliers and pulling until it came away from the nail bed. The monotone assassin continued pulling out his target's crimson-painted fingernails while she tried to lie and say she had no idea where his client's money was. No matter, when he ran out of fingernails, he could always move to toenails or teeth.

Hisoka held a metal bowl that Illumi put the dislocated fingernails in, adding a soft clattering noise to the soundtrack of the woman's sobs, screams, and the lazy buzz of the one lantern that hung from the stone wall until he stood up in the partially lit cell to get another tool from the table.          "mmm, she seems quite fun to torture~" Hisoka observed, getting a twisted grin across his face as he looked down at the restrained woman,          "She's unbearably loud," Illumi sighed, looking around on the table of tools until he found a rather simple salt shaker, ignoring when Hisoka leaned a bit too close,          "Y'know, I bet I could get your girlfriend to be just as loud~" he hummed, and something inside of Illumi seemed to snap for a moment. His aloof air instantly changed to palpable malice and he whirled around on the magician, punching him in the face hard enough to send him sprawling across the cold stone floor. The assassin didn't even give him a chance to react once he landed though, in a flash he was on top of him, holding him down by his throat while his knee pressed down on his ribs,           "if you so much as look at my wife, Hisoka, I will fucking kill you before your heart gives another beat." he snarled, tightening his grip on the man's neck until he was gasping and wheezing for air. The pink-haired man gave a nod, a  smirk tugging at his lips still, but the feral murderer didn't let him breath until that coy look finally left and he saw panic replace Hisoka's usual mischievous glint in his gold eyes. When Illumi did finally let him up, the magician was gulping down air and glaring at him instead of his usual knowing, coy glance,           "Jesus Christ Illumi, learn to take a joke. You know my humor can be perverted, there was no need to nearly kill me!" he snapped, the magician's flirty act falling away, but Illumi didn't respond, he simply checked on the woman he'd been tasked to torture. Sadly though, she was now dead from the amount of malevolence  in his nen,          "Great, because of your 'joke' my job just got harder." Illumi said, his voice back to being cold,          "That wasn't my fault, you were the one who didn't just use one of your needles on her to begin with." he pointed out testily, getting glared at by the man,         "The client wanted me to specifically torture her, my needles would have been redundant and not what the client asked for. Of course, I didn't know you were going to be this annoying, or else I would've gotten the information from her at the start." he hummed, and while his voice stayed flat and his face stayed rather aloof, Illumi was boiling with wrath on the inside. Being a pest was one thing, but now Hisoka had actually crossed an important line. So, Illumi simply found the woman's phone in her purse and than called in some butlers. He gave one the cellphone, sending it to Milluki to make use of himself and scour through, than he turned to Hisoka, who was standing in a dark corner across the small cell glaring at them, mostly Illumi.  "Now, I will say this nicely only once," the man said, though his words held no kindness, "please return to your cell with the butlers without a fight, or else I will be forced to call my family and drag you back." The two men stood there for a moment in a heavy silence that seemed to bring down the temperature of the already cold cell further. Illumi wasn't very expressive, he purposely added inflections and overt body language to himself when speaking to you, but Hisoka didn't get that sort of kindness, he simply got stared down by bottomless eyes and a deadpan assassin he knew very well was competent enough to stand up to him. So, he simply grinned a predatory grin at the long haired murderer,        "Fine, I'll go back to my cell peacefully," he relented, putting his hands up with a mischievous smirk. One of these days Morrow, I'm going to finally kill you. Illumi thought as at least three butlers escorted the magician back to where he'd been held, but he didn't say or show the annoyance as they passed.       "Oh, and Illumi, dear? Do tell (y/n) hello for me~" Illumi's aura became malevolent again at that, but the butlers and flamboyant pain in the ass were able to avoid dying from it thanks to their training. Instead, all it did was let slip just how fart Hisoka was under Illumi's skin, making the hunter laugh as he was herded away down the dark hallway, leaving the assassin to simmer in his temper before stalking out of the basement. His first stop once upstairs was Milluki's bedroom.        "How did Hisoka find out anything about (y/n)?" he asked, his voice's flat, monotonous tone coming off as more menacing when paired with how he slammed his brother's face into his trash-littered desk,        "I don't know! Why are you asking me?" the pudgy man hissed out, barring his teeth at his older sibling when he tightened his grip on his hair,       "You are the only person on this mountain aside from Mother who knows about (y/n), and unlike mother, you are the type to tell that bastard about her for a cookie." he pointed out, and Milluki couldn't argue, he did have pretty flippant loyalties when it came to secrets like this.        "Alright, fine, but I promise I didn't. I haven't been in the basement since Hisoka got here." he explained, and after a moment of harsh scrutiny, Illumi let him go and left his nasty, anime-littered room. The tall man then went to his wing of the home, thinking of what to do now. Hisoka knowing (y/n)'s name is bad. If he can figure it out, more people could. He mused, a wave of possessive anxiety washing away his rage for the time being. I can't leave her alone anymore. He finally decided as he reached his rooms and turned around to instead find his mother.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Halfling from the Mountains Cont’d

Hey all! So I wanted to write something for Fanfic Writers’ Day, and even though it’s coming in a bit late, I decided to write a small continuation of the Mulan AU. It is almost a year exactly since I posted this little drabble, and it’s by FAR the most popular drabble I have on tumblr. Also, I really needed Kili to ask Bilbo if he “would like to stay forever.”  😆 Please enjoy.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely hobbled their way to the base of the hill before they were swarmed by allies. Healers ushered them to one of the many tents being erected on the cleanest part of the battlefield. While Bilbo only had a few bumps and bruises of little concern, Thorin was all but thrown into a cot as they tended to his foot. Bilbo was able to get one more glance at the protesting king before he was shoved down on a makeshift bench with a bowl of stew in his hands.

“Eat up, laddie. I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet.” Oin instructed before leaving to tend to others.

Bilbo allowed himself the moment of peace as all the adrenaline seeped out with each bite of the bland, but very welcome food. Perhaps, truly this time, the worst was behind them.

“WHAT A MESS! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE ARKENSTONE THIEF?”

Then again, perhaps not. Bilbo’s head whipped up to see a furious Dain stroll into the camp. He jumped to his feet, the stew regrettably spilling to the ground only to invite the irate dwarf’s attention. Dain immediately stalked into his direction, and for every step forward, Bilbo took one back until he bumped into someone behind him. He startled and turned to apologize only for the person to put a hand on his shoulder and gently push him behind them. Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Dwalin. Dain, on the other hand, was flummoxed.

“Stand aside.” Dain ordered. “That creature isn’t worth protecting.”

Bilbo flinched at the sheer acid in his tone. Before Dwalin could respond, his brother appeared on his other side completely blocking Bilbo from view now.

“He’s a hero.” Balin argued.

“He’s a Halfling and a thief.” Dain scoffed.

Bilbo’s jaw nearly dropped as he was suddenly surrounded by his entire company minus the Durins. Each of them with a hard glint in their eyes.

“Listen here you pompous windbag.” Bofur growled. It was the only time Bilbo ever recalled him truly angry. “I think we know our Burglar better than any here. You owe the life of your King to him.”

Dain looked about ready to spit fire as his face changed to match the color of his hair.

“HE BETRAYED MY KING AND ANY THAT DEFEND HIM ARE JUST AS BAD!”

Well that seemed to set everyone off as the Company started to yell loudly in defense of their honor, and Dain and his men continued to besmirch the hobbit’s name. Bilbo, having quite enough of such nonsense, was about ready to find some way to shut them all up when a strong voice broke through the clearing.

“SHARZA!”

Silence rang through the camp as all eyes be they man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit, turned to regard Thorin. The king’s foot was wrapped tightly yet blood still managed to seep through the bandages. Because of this, he was being supported by his two nephews, but all three managed to look regal and proud in their grimy states. Thorin’s cold eyes bore into Dain until the other dwarf dropped his head. At that point, Thorin regarded the Company and silently demanded they stand aside. Bilbo was once more exposed to the glares and curious stares of the surrounding crowd. He could kill Thorin.

“This is Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin announced in a clear voice that somehow seemed to ring for miles without being too loud.

“He was contracted by my Company of thirteen dwarves to leave his home in the Shire and burgle from a dragon. He thinks of nothing but creature comforts of good homes and good food. He was inexperienced with a blade prior to joining us, and knew nothing of how to survive in the wild and yet…”

Bilbo blinked in shock at the warm smile that split Thorin’s face.

“He has saved us all. As King, I pardon any and all crimes against his person. Master Baggins shall only ever be treated with respect on behalf of all Durin’s folk.”

If Bilbo was caught off-guard before, the sight of Thorin bowing to him nearly had him flat on his back. What made it worse was it started a domino effect as next the Company was bowing, then the rest of the dwarves, and finally the remainder of the entire Free People’s army. Even Dain, who looked like he tasted something foul, bowed in deference to his king. Bilbo wanted to scream that he wasn’t a hero! He was just a simple hobbit from the Shire, but faced with the truly humbling sight, he couldn’t find the words. Almost as if realizing his newfound conundrum, Thorin rose with a hidden twinkle in his eye before he turned to return to his tent using his sister sons as his crutch, satisfied that Bilbo would have no more difficulties. The Company patted his back or ruffled his hair. Dori even offered to stay with him if he felt unsafe, but Dain’s hasty retreat spoke volumes about any remaining troubles Bilbo would had. In a matter of seconds, he was alone once again.

“There’s seems to be an awful lot of excitement this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Almost alone. Bilbo looked up at Gandalf whose smirk somehow managed to reflect amusement and pride all at the same time.

“He didn’t have to do that.” Bilbo finally found his voice, regardless of how awe-filled it was.

“I would think Thorin has a differing opinion on the subject. You’ve done well, Bilbo. You can go home now knowing you have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo mused, not registering Gandalf’s words.

“Why back to the Shire! You do still plan to return to Bag End, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Bilbo snapped reflexively only to flinch at the harshness of his own words. “I mean, yes, I do...I just...”

“Well,” Gandalf offered. “We have a few days. Think about it, and let me know, whatever you decide.”

***

Bilbo thought about it, but he was no closer to an answer. He had to go back to Bag End. He was a Baggins after all, but the idea of leaving his dwarves. Leaving Thorin...it left a hole in his chest that refused to be closed. He finally decided it was just the freshness of leaving his friends. A few months back in the Shire, and the pain would leave him once he was back where he belonged. Therefore, despite how much it hurt, he told Gandalf he did still intend to go home.

His dwarves did not take the news well.

Bilbo ignored the pleading eyes of the Durin princes as he finished putting away his new clothes from Dori into his pack along with trinkets from the whole Company. Well, all but Thorin. Even Dain had come by to apologize for the way he had reacted after he got the full story and left Bilbo with a rather large and impractical shield. Remarkably, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of the new King Under the Mountain since his declaration to return home. 

“You could build a new home here! You don’t have to go, Mister Boggins.” Kili pleaded.

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking as he patted the dwarf on the shoulder.

“As I have said before Kili, the Shire is where I belong."

“You also belong here.” Fili added, looking oddly serious and melancholy.

Bilbo’s smile fell as he turned his back to hide how effected he was by the prince’s words.

“Me? I’m just a silly hobbit. I no more belong in a mountain than an acorn in a window garden. Now, are you going to walk me to the gate or expect me to carry all of this myself?”

Fili and Kili had many more protests for him, but in the end gathered the ornate shield and the chest bearing his company’s treasures to be loaded on Bilbo’s pony. The rest of the Company, minus their king, was gathered just as somber as Bilbo’s companions. The wizard was ready to go, and waited for Bilbo to make his goodbyes.

“Well...” He started. “T-Thank you. Thank you all for...the most amazing adventure. If you’re ever in the Shire, tea is at four...don’t bother to knock.”

That earned a weak chuckle from his friends.

“And I suppose tell Thorin that...”

His throat closed, and Bilbo had to look down at his toes to gather his courage.

“Tell Thorin...”

“Yes?”

Bilbo’s head shot up as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Thorin!” He breathed in delight.

The king was looking much healthier if but for the dark circles under his eyes and the saddened expression.

“You’re here.” Bilbo remarked in awe.

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile. 

“I was getting your going-away gifts together.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo should have been delighted much like he was with the other Company members’ gifts. However, he had been hoping for...well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Without further ado, Thorin pulled out Bilbo’s small sword he had been rather fond of but sacrificed in desperation to rid them of the monster orc. Sting.

“I asked Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel to try and find it. They were more than happy to assist. I hope that it reminds you of all that you’ve done for Erebor.”

He presented it to Bilbo with a small bow, and Bilbo repeated the motion happy to place the blade back in the scabbard on his hip. Even with his limited experience, it certainly made him feel better having it on his person.

“Also,” Thorin added almost eagerly. “I want you to have this.”

Letting his braid flutter lose, Thorin tugged one of the hair beads from his own raven locks and presented it to Bilbo.

“So all of Arda will know what you have done for me, a grateful and indebted king.”

Bilbo was practically trembling.

“Thorin.” He croaked. “I-I can’t...”

“Please.” The king whispered as he carefully closed Bilbo’s fingers over the bead sitting innocently on his palm. “For me.”

It was too much. Thorin looking at him like that. His too large hands still softly cradling his hand. There was only so much a respectable hobbit like Bilbo could take. Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and surged up onto his tiptoes as he planted a kiss on the handsome king. It was quick and chaste and breath-taking all at once. Thorin seemed equally befuddled but hopeful. Bilbo tried his hardest to ignore the cheers of the Company and the heat in his own cheeks as he gave Thorin a single nod.

“Well then...good evening.”

He turned to saddle the pony when his actions seemed to catch up to him. What exactly was he doing?! He loved Thorin. How could he leave him now? His mind struggled to process the influx of emotional information while he remained halfway on his pony, staring into the setting sun.

“Perhaps...” Gandalf finally offered, far too amused. “We got too late a start.”

Thorin picking up on the cues rushed to Bilbo’s side.

“Would you...? Would you like to stay for dinner?” He blurted much to the annoyance of their friends.

“WHAT HE MEANS IS WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” Kili corrected.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh including Bilbo and Thorin. The hobbit finally returned to the present turning to Thorin with a large grin.

“I think dinner would be a lovely start.”

And Bilbo enjoyed dinner in Erebor for many years to come.

[valhallanrose]

The Moon Will Sing

When facing the reality of a bargain made, sixteen year old Catriona realizes that hard choices must be made before she loses herself completely.

Avery (they/them), Edrine (she/they/he), and Astoria (she/they) are all nonbinary. Bolded pronouns are the ones used in this fic for each of them.

This fic acts as the end of the first ‘act’ of Astoria’s pre-canon, and also ends the frequency of Senga appearances. Hell yeah. I also blame the length on this being pretty lore heavy, because this covers a lot of bases.

7.4k. No CWs apply.

Title: The Moon Will Sing, The Crane Wives

Noise was no strange occurrence in the halls of Castle Kintyre - between the three generations living within its walls full time, the youngest generation currently ranging in ages from sixteen to twelve, it was an inevitability. It was easy enough to ignore after a time, and most of the residents had become accustomed to adapting if they could not completely block it out.

The kind of noise that had come to Kintyre on this day, however, was the kind that made your ears ring and your head pound just trying to make sense of it all. There were so many more bodies slipping between the walls, across the grounds, too many unfamiliar faces for Catriona to feel particularly keen on leaving their bedroom until they absolutely had to. 

Blessedly, September had brought the beginning of the storm season - the rain pounding against the glass drowning out the gathering crowds until it faded to a murmur they could stand. Though, her sanctuary would have to end. Soon enough, she’d have to face the crowd, and brace herself for the hundreds of pairs of eyes from all corners of Rosinmoor. 

Thunder crackled in the distance as she stood before the mirror, idly tracing the gilded flowers and birds that framed the glass with their fingertips even as their mind wandered elsewhere. 

Three years ago, Catriona had left with Myrna to visit Lulia, and though she had a wonderful time, the shadow of the promise made with her mother still hung heavy on her shoulders. And it would follow her to Vesuvia, to Firent, to Prakra, from the Sea of Persephia to the Bay of Jewels and everywhere in between.

The letter came in the summer before her sixteenth birthday, calling her home to prepare her for her coronation as Luxe of Kintyre.

True to her word, she’d returned home no matter how desperately she wanted to run, and threw herself into the lessons her mother packed her schedule with in hopes she might just feel nothing at all. 

A tactic that had worked a little too well, perhaps, as she felt empty all the way down to her bones.

Her mother hadn’t seemed to care. She’d gotten her way. A fact she emphasized when the Baroness herself flounced into Catriona’s room moments after the sun broke over the horizon with the coronation gown and two handmaids in tow, chattering happily about getting her ready and how perfect she’d look before the morning began to blur into an odd tornado of hair curling and poking and prodding to make everything look just so.

The dress Senga had chosen was white, with a simple neckline and puffy sleeves. The silk base was laid over with delicate gossamer, and the whole thing was embroidered with metallic silver floral motifs as well as tiny vines. The whole thing was finished with a golden sash and a rather full petticoat that made Catriona feel like the porcelain doll that sat untouched on their dresser for most of their childhood. 

Senga had kissed her on the brow once she was ready, fluffed the carefully styled curls that hung against her shoulders, and promised she’d be back shortly to come get her once it was time for the ceremony to begin.

Rosinmoor was a nation steeped in tradition as much as it was superstition. The first heir to be named after the establishment of the seven seats was Aoife, the sixteen year old daughter of Balmoral the Breaker and Muiri Leamhnach. As their only child, she stood to inherit Braemuir in its entirety, and Balmoral had thrown a celebration, inviting not only clan leaders but all those who chose to live in the nation once it had been established. Seven clan leaders had borne witness to a public proclamation, and since then, every heir had been acknowledged in the same exact way. 

So now that her time had come, seven clan leaders had come to bear witness and acknowledge her as the next to hold the title of Luxe Kintyre, and eventually, Baronet. 

A knock at the door drew her out of her reverie, and she quickly slipped her shoes on - flats, her mother had insisted, because it would be ‘disastrous’ if she fell on such an important day - before taking the few steps necessary to open the door and meet her mother’s inspection.

Catriona recognized the suit her mother wore. It was the same from her own coronation as Baroness, though it had been tailored once again, and golden embroidery added to the cuffs and lapels of the deep green fabric. Never did Senga fail to look polished, either, with her auburn hair perfectly straightened and smooth beneath the intricate crown that adorned her head. 

The leaders of Rosinmoor did not wear their crowns outside of official ceremonies, for the sake of practicality, but the proclamation of heirs was an occasion that called for them. Senga was no exception, the gold and emerald glimmering even in the low light of the hall. 

“There you are, dear.” Senga smiled, reaching forward and gently smoothing a few pieces of hair away from her face. “You look lovely. Are you ready to go down?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Catriona stepped into the hall beside her mother, letting her lead her down the hall with a hand laid lightly against her lower back. Senga only chuckled softly in amusement, heels clicking on the stone floors and cutting through the chatter as it slowly became more noticeable. 

“You’ll be fine, Catriona.” Senga took a single step down the stairs, then turned, offering her hand to Catriona with a smile. “It’ll be over before you know it. Cherish it.”

She lingered at the top of the stairs, looking up to the great window of stained glass that was dark with the storm beyond it, and let out a deep breath before she lowered her gaze to her mother’s palm. 

Funny to think that once the worst thing in the world had been being eleven years old and having to hold someone’s hand to traverse these same steps. And now, being sixteen, knowing what awaited them at the bottom…

The dam that surrounded their heart began to crack.

*     *     *     *     *

When Catriona had been led into the great hall, it was absolutely packed with people - and the storm had kept away the bulk of the crowd, which meant they knew many of those spectating that day were the families and close peers of the families of Rosinmoor. Others still were notable figures of Rosafearn: merchants, artisans, performers, anyone from any walk of life who bore an invitation to the ceremony and the ball hosted immediately afterward. 

For the rest of Kintyre, the tour would begin on the morrow. Senga, Catriona, and Senga’s personal guard would begin the rounds to major cities in the region, introducing the Luxe Canonach to the people that one day she would be charged with defending. 

Catriona, ever the introvert, was stiff with nerves as Senga led her through the crowd that parted around them to let them pass - so much so that she was pretty sure she had blacked out for a second. One moment, they were just inside the doorway, facing down swirls of color in every shade worn by the guests, and the next...the next she stood before the throne at the complete opposite side of the hall. 

Nor could they take comfort in the presence of familiar faces, not when every member of the Canonach family was here today, none the wiser to what terms held her here and how quickly she’d run if she saw a way out. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of Sachairi, who gave her an encouraging smile she couldn’t match as Senga gestured for her to sit. 

Her mother, as Baroness, could not take the oath directly - it had been the same since Balmoral, who had not taken Aoife’s oath upon her own proclamation. Rather, the oath had been taken by Cliamon themself, in an attempt to display that Aoife took the oath of her own free will by not having to face her predecessor and her father in the same fell swoop. 

Catriona was grateful that she would not face Senga, at least, but somehow seeing Avery Maollosa step forward when Senga asked who would name her was worse. 

Avery looked every part the Baronet they were - wild curls braided back, the sleek black doublet and vest paired with the crimson tartan of the Maollosas, the carefully polished silver buttons and sword-shaped kilt pin...and the crown, forged by Avery themself from iron and the raw quartz mined from Ardaleith out of the crown of their father. 

A table with a long, hinge-top cedar box had been set up off to the side, watched over by Myrna until Avery approached and gave her grandmother a polite nod and a smile. Myrna returned the expression before she turned, gently lifting the lid of the box and reaching in with both hands to neatly lift the sword inside from where it rested in silken

For a moment, Catriona forgot the situation she was in, tilting her head back and craning to get a good look before Myrna turned and laid the sword delicately in Avery’s outstretched hands - grip snug in their left and blade laid flat against their right palm. 

Catriona had only seen Òran na H-ealachan, the Swan Song, once before in their lifetime, but it was as if they knew it like the back of their hand.

The two-handed Highland claymore that had once belonged to Cliamon the Great had been carefully maintained over the centuries, now falling under the stewardship of one Myrna Canonach to be safeguarded and maintained when it was not being used for ceremony. It had been this way since each of the Seven had sworn an oath upon their own weapons to defend not only the land, but the people who lived within it, until their dying days - and Aoife Leamhnach had done just the same on her sixteenth year when she became the Lady of Braemuir. 

Senga had made her own oath to the Barony of Kintyre the last time Catriona had seen the sword, and now, they would make their own. 

With the sword laid across their hands, Avery turned and took the few steps to approach the dais, each step louder as the crowd watched with bated breath. 

Eyes fixed on hers, they lowered themself to one knee, hands uplifted and open for Catriona to take the blade for themself. 

“Catriona Canonach.” Avery began, and any lingering chatter in the room swept into silence, the only other sound the rain against the glass. “You come before the people of Kintyre to make an oath, swearing fealty to the Seven Seats and all within the boundaries of Rosinmoor. Do you make this oath of your own free will, with true understanding of the title it will bring you?”

Even though their expression was carefully schooled, Catriona could see in Avery’s eyes the unspoken question. 

Do you really want this? 

Her eyes flickered toward her mother, whose brows lowered ever so slightly as the pause became slightly more pronounced. Catriona swallowed down their nerves and straightened their shoulders, looking only at Avery, and hoped that they could mask their true thoughts well enough.

No. 

“I do.” She said, voice lifting to be heard over the winds that blew the rain in sheets.

Avery nodded and raised the blade, offering it to Catriona from their place before her with both hands open. Catriona would take a breath, then lean forward, carefully wrapping one hand around the leather grip and slipping the other under the flat of the blade so as to not cut herself or Avery when she lifted it into her lap. As she settled with the weight of the blade, she caught a reflection of her own eyes, blue against the carefully polished steel. 

“In your hands you bear Òran na H-ealachan, a symbol of the legacy established by Cliamon, first Baronet of Kintyre. I ask of you, as heir to this legacy, will you solemnly promise and swear to lead the people of Kintyre according to its laws and customs? Will you aid the remaining six seats, whoever they may be upon your ascension to the throne, in guiding the nation forward for those who will follow you?

Catriona, whose palms had begun to sweat, could not wipe them on her dress for fear of dropping the sword on the floor in front of hundreds of intently staring eyes. Rather she tightened her grip on the hilt and tried cupping her fingers along the edge, all without cutting her fingers in the process. 

Perhaps it was all in her head, but the steel felt like ice - like dipping your hands into the Frozen Sea in the dead of winter. 

“I solemnly promise.”

“Will you hold yourself to the same principles of law, justice, and mercy that are upheld by the people of Rosinmoor, in all course of action this oath may bring you?”

Avery held her gaze intently as she nodded slowly, as if searching for something more the longer they looked. 

“I will.”

“To the utmost extent of your power and ability, do you swear to act in collaboration and diplomacy to defend the liberties of your people? Do you swear to act in defense of the people’s faith, traditions, and livelihoods wherever you are capable? To act in the best interests of Kintyre and those within, and to spend your life in her service?”

In the crowd beyond Avery’s shoulder, Catriona could see her mother’s approving look - could see Avery’s wife, Rima, with Edrine’s arms looped around her shoulders as he stood behind her. She could pick out other semi-familiar faces from other clans, like the smiling face of Ewan Griogal, who had been crowned heir to Glenarden mere months before. They could see Myrna in their peripherals, forever in black, waiting to receive the sword again and still unaware of the bargain Catriona has struck to keep her safe.

But she had to wonder - was it really in the best interest of Kintyre to name someone heir who didn’t want it at all?

Though they supposed it didn’t matter. Perhaps in time she’d come to enjoy it, though her relationship with her mother would certainly never be the same no matter how much time had passed. 

“To my last day.” She answered, and Avery nodded, their face neutral as they lifted themself from their position and extended a hand for her to take. Catriona would accept, shifting to balance the tip of the blade on their soft shoe rather than the hard stone as Avery pulled her to her feet.

“Then rise, and face Kintyre as Luxe Catriona Canonach, descendant of Cliamon and heir to the Seven Seats of Rosinmoor.” Avery gave them a small smile then, all other words nearly drowned out by the roar that greeted her once she was fully upright. “May your life be long and full of love and joy, Catriona.”

Myrna would step forward to gently take the blade from Catriona’s hands again - not before she placed the customary kiss to its smooth pommel before a chanting crowd, a gesture meant to invoke good luck to the one who took the oath. Avery stepped back to give Senga room to step forward, glancing back only briefly before rejoining their family as the Baroness gave the word for the festivities to begin.

Only five minutes, and in that short time, it felt like she’d signed her life away. Sixteen years of wishing and hoping for something to change, for their life to be different, and in moments it all had become meaningless. 

In a perfect world, they could abdicate anytime they wanted. A new heir could be chosen and titled, and the cycle would begin anew. But there would be no heir to follow, not while Catriona felt she had to protect Myrna, and certainly not while Senga Canonach held the title of Baroness. 

And in this room, full of hundreds all there to celebrate her newfound position, the cracks in Catriona’s heart widened into chasms that threatened swallow her whole. 

*     *     *     *     *

Contrary to their introverted nature, Catriona actually enjoyed parties on most occasions. They were thrilled to take part in the Hogmanay festivities and birthdays and the like, but they quickly found they did not like being the focus of the party itself on this particular day. 

Their sheltered upbringing had meant that while they had met several of the major players in the political sphere of Rosinmoor, it had been only briefly - and it made them a point of intrigue for most of them in return. 

Over the sounds of the small band hired to play for the day, Catriona had been constantly at her mother’s side, rubbing elbows and forcing smiles without reprieve. On the occasion she tried to slip away to visit with Edrine or Sachairi or any of her other relatives, Senga would set a hand on her shoulder, a silent demand to stay right where she was, and Catriona would oblige even as she fought the urge to smack her hand away. 

It would only be when Senga found herself entrenched in conversation with the Baron of Melinlaesh - Callum Urchardan - about a possible trade agreement for several Melinlaeshi horses that Catriona could finally politely excuse themself, making a beeline straight for one of the tables of confections rather than continue the charade. 

After a moment, she picked up a crystal stemmed glass, eagerly eyeing the raspberry cranachan layered within and contentedly making her way to the edge of the room to eat it in relative peace. 

The refuge was necessary. She couldn’t leave the hall, not without royally pissing off her mother, but every interaction brought her closer to wanting to scream. 

Every single one of the people she’d met had been eager to ask her about her studies, what areas of the Rosen political sphere intrigued her, asked how she felt about this or that relating to the title until she thought she was going to go mad. Her entire education as an heir had just been a regurgitation of Senga’s own plans and beliefs, as she wasn't oblivious to the expectation that she uphold her mother’s legacy even when she was no longer Baroness. 

There was a point where Catriona had actually enjoyed the conversation - in meeting the Lady Consort of Glasinshiel, Maisie Ainsworth, she had mentioned raising a litter of pups as herders for the region’s abundance of livestock - but Senga had steered the conversation back once again to politics, leaving Catriona to nod blankly in agreement whenever Senga looked to her expectantly. 

Pity Senga was only thirty-five. At least as Baronet, Catriona might have had a chance at some form of freedom, but that wouldn’t be for a long time yet. Her future was so indefinite, so unclear...and yet she’d placed it in someone else’s hands so easily. 

Well, that made her cranachan taste rather sour. 

As discreetly as she could, she spit her mouthful of trifle back into her glass, setting it carefully on the windowsill and wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb as she hoped nobody had seen.

“Not a fan?”

Catriona jumped, head snapping toward Avery, who merely raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I come in peace.” They teased gently, and Catriona smiled a little before they relaxed. “Thought I’d join you as a wallflower, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. People are...quite overwhelming, honestly. I didn’t expect so many to be here.”

Avery chuckled at that, reaching up to pull off their crown and holding it loosely in hand as they folded their arms across their chest.

“There might have been more, if the rain hadn’t kept the crowds away. You missed Ewan’s proclamation, but people were crowding at the windows just to try and catch a glimpse once the hall was packed to capacity.”

“That sounds nightmarish.” Catriona sighed, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. 

“It only gets worse from here. Thousands of people will meet you when your tour begins, all eager to put a face to the name that’s been drifting around the social circles of Kintyre for years. You’ll be at most social events, special occasions, ceremonies…”

“Are you trying to make me more anxious than I am, Avery?”

“I’m trying to be realistic, but that brings me to one of the main reasons I wanted to speak with you in what little privacy we could get.” Avery turned then, one shoulder pressed to the wood paneling on the wall as their expression turned serious. “What changed, Catty?”

Catriona’s breath caught in her throat for a moment before she managed to swallow it down, forcing that same, pretty smile she’d been forcing all night back onto her face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Avery sighed and gave her a knowing look. “Once upon a time, this was the worst thing you could have imagined. I know five years is five years, but...not when you were so adamantly against it.”

“Perhaps I just came to realize how fortunate I am to have such a life and such opportunities. It’s a privilege I shouldn’t neglect.”

A regurgitated answer, one schooled into them by their mother, for fear that deviation from the script would reveal to Senga’s peers the farce Catriona found herself in. And, well, one that Avery saw through as if the lie were made of the same gossamer overlay to her dress. 

“That’s a load of shit and you know it.” Avery’s face didn’t change, save for the slight creasing of their brows as Catriona gave them an incredulous look. “I can see it in your eyes, the same way I have since your mother’s coronation - that sad, heavy weight of understanding what weight fell on your shoulders and wanting none of it.”

Catriona couldn’t help the wry smile that spread across her face, and she kicked loosely at the floor, scuffing the white toe of her shoe. 

“It’s not about me anymore.” She whispered, quiet enough to force Avery to lean in to hear her. “I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.”

Avery stared at them for a long moment, eyes searching for something Catriona couldn’t name - but feeling still that they were looking straight into her heart.

“Your mother is young and healthy, meaning she has the potential to be Baroness easily into her sixties or seventies, if she follows the same patterns as her predecessors. Sorcha, who didn’t step down until she was seventy-five, and Malvina, who stepped down at sixty-four, and she considered herself frail. That’s at least another twenty-nine years, possibly up to forty, or even longer than that.”

Catriona swallowed lightly, squeezing the sides of her arms as she looked up at them. 

“What are you getting at, Avery?”

“Is whatever changed your mind worth the possibility of living your whole life like this? This life can be exhausting on the mind, body, and spirit, and you are starting leagues behind us all who took their oaths willingly. The dam on your misery will break one day, and it will drown you before you figure out a way to piece yourself back together.”

Her eyes burned, and Catriona quickly looked away, drawing in a sharp breath to try and pull herself together. 

“Thank you for your concern, Baronet Maollosa.” She said, a little more forcefully than she meant, and dropped into a quick curtsy. “I’m going to step out for some air, would you be so kind as to let anyone who’s looking for me know? I’m feeling a bit hot.”

She didn’t wait for Avery to answer before she turned on her heel, heading for the veranda and forcing the same pretty smile whenever she got stopped - paired with a “excuse me, I’ll be back in just a moment” as she kept moving as fast as she could for the doors before she crumbled completely.

Avery had been right.

For months, she had pushed the feelings down, drowning out her rational mind screaming as she allowed herself to be pulled further into this life she didn’t want. She knew that in the deal she made with her mother she had condemned her lifetime to that of one dictated eternally by Senga, every move watched, every word controlled, to exist as little more than a porcelain doll on display.

She shoved past the heavy oak door, the thunder a thousand times louder and the wind ripping at that pretty white gown and her perfectly curled hair. Had she not been so numb in that moment, she might have realized that the rain was blowing nearly parallel to the ground, and the temperature was so icy it felt like needles pricking her skin with every gale. 

She was selfish. She was weak, and she knew she ran the risk of losing everything, of disappointing her entire family - now her country, to have made the oath and now wish they could turn back the clock and run from the room the second Avery had stepped forward. 

But...she would lose herself, too, if she stayed. 

A few short steps beyond the safety of the veranda’s roof would have Catriona soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her cheeks and shoulders and her delicate shoes sinking enough in the mud for her to abandon them completely before she even realized that she was running. Anywhere, even in this, would have been better 

Faintly, she heard the door’s hinges behind her, groaning under the weight of the oak as someone stepped out onto the veranda. She nearly shit herself thinking it might be Senga, and she pulled at the stupidly heavy skirts, trying to lift them out of her way so she might cover more ground.

“Catty?” She heard Edrine call out, voice nearly drowned out by the wind. “Catriona, what the hell are you doing?”

For a moment, they considered turning to face them, but...if Avery could see into her heart, Edrine would be able to peer right through her soul, and there would be no stopping what came pouring out then. And if Edrine knew, then Avery would know, and when mother inevitably found out that she’d broken her end of the deal to keep this to herself…

She wasn’t prepared for that fury to come down on her. 

Catriona bolted out into the gardens, weaving through the carefully manicured hedges and colorful flower beds in an attempt to get as far from view of the castle as possible before she figured out how to go forward. Going back wouldn’t be an option - not with her looking like a drowned rat, even if she wanted to be there - but part of her hoped that if she got away, her mother couldn’t use her as leverage against Myrna ever again.

As she ran past the gazebo, the very same in which Senga had taken her coronation oath, she realized she could hear a second set of footsteps behind them, just barely audible over all the other sounds her ears were contending with. 

Edrine had followed them into the storm. And, given the staggering difference in both height and athleticism between them, they were gaining on her quickly. 

Catriona at least knew the gardens well after all this time stuck at the estate. 

She took a sharp turn suddenly - planning to lose them in the hedge maze near the back of the gardens - but instead she slipped barefoot on the stone path, yelping as she tumbled down and crashed onto her hands and knees. She tried to scramble upright again, but that had been all Edrine needed to catch up, kneeling beside her and asking if she was alright when she shoved them away as best she could.

Edrine, however, barely moved, the brick wall that they were becoming, and reached to grab Catriona’s wrists to keep them from running again as they tried to get a good look at her bleeding palms. 

“Stop it, damn it, you’re going to get yourself more hurt than you already are! What were you thinking, running out into this?”

The sob that wrenched out of Catriona’s chest in answer was unbidden, and it made Edrine freeze where they were, hands wrapped around her wrists and eyes wide in surprise as they looked her in the eye.

“Don’t make me go back!” Catriona wailed, body sagging like the strings on a marionette had been cut. “I can’t...I can’t go back, Edie, please, please don’t make me. I can’t do this anymore…”

It was a miracle they understood anything through the strangled hiccuping sounds she was making, but Edrine nodded slowly, releasing her wrists to let her wipe some of her tears away.

“...okay. Okay, we won’t go back to the hall. But I need to take you back to the gazebo so I can at least clean up your hands and take a look at your knees without getting pissed on by the sky.” Edrine cracked a small smile at that, but Catriona did not return it, only nodding slowly as she unstuck some of her hair from her face. “I’m going to pick you up, is that alright?”

When Catriona nodded again, Edrine slipped an arm under her knees and around her back, quickly lifting her up to carry her as quickly as they could to the gazebo without sending them both to the ground again. As soon as they were under cover, Edrine would carefully set her down, wordlessly extending their hands to take her own again and take a better look at them.

For a long while, they were silent, Edrine focused intensely on dabbing at her wounds with the semi-dry handkerchief that had been tucked into their blazer - her knees had, thankfully, been saved by the cushion of stupidly puffy petticoats - while Catriona looked anywhere but their face, her cheeks hot with both tears and embarrassment at the stupidity of the situation.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to play a guessing game?” Edrine said eventually, breaking the silence as they set the kerchief aside. “Last I saw, you were talking to Ava, and everything seemed alright.”

“We’re good at pretending, apparently.” Catriona sighed, closing her eyes as they felt Edrine shift to sit beside her. “If I...if I tell you Edrine, I’ll get in so much trouble…”

“You know, you’re whip smart, so considering I just witnessed you do the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, you’re not getting off the hook that easily.” She felt them nudge her with their elbow, and she turned to look at them, watery blue meeting the soulful dark of Edrine’s. “Let the rain wash it away, Catriona. There’s not a chance in all the world anyone else will hear you out here. Whatever you tell me, it stays between us, I swear that to you.”

Slowly, Catriona nodded, turning her head up to look at the wood paneling shielding their heads from the storm beyond. 

“Do you remember a few years ago, how we had Hogmanay with Myrna down in her little cottage?”

It all came pouring out - once the first words left her, there was no stopping her, beginning all the way back at that first departure from Rosinmoor right after the holiday had ended. The reason why she left home, her mother’s threats against Myrna, the promise she’d made to keep her grandmother safe, the agreement to come back and take the oath to keep Senga happy in return, even what Avery had said that had made them finally break under it all

To Edrine’s credit, they kept their composure until the very end, 

“Fucking hell.” Edrine muttered, and Catriona couldn’t help but laugh even as Edrine apologized, simply laying her head against their shoulder and letting out a long breath.

“That feels like an ample way to describe all of it.” Edrine huffed a small laugh as she continued, temple pressed to the crown of her head. “But...my stupid plan was to just run away. I figure if I’m gone, Mother can’t use me to hurt Granny anymore. I didn’t think about the rain, I just thought if maybe I could get away from everything else here…”

“Where would you go?”

“I said it was a stupid plan, Edie, not a full blown strategy. My running away attire unfortunately does not include a ballgown.” She said, tone dry. “I didn’t really get that far.”

“Would have been in character with all those fantasy novels you read.” Edrine teased, ruffling her hair playfully even as she groaned and tried to squeeze some of the water out of it. “But...I don’t actually think running is a terrible idea.”

“Sorry, what? I think my eardrums are full of water.” She made a dramatic tapping gesture against her temple with the heel of her hand, as if to knock water loose. “Say that again?”

Edrine only shook their head, wrapping their arms around their knees and lacing their fingers together. “No, I mean it. You’ve been talking about Myrna through all of this, and how you can’t be the reason she gets hurt, but...you’re not, Catty. If anyone hurts her, it’ll be your mother. But have you even spoken to Myrna about this, seen what she has to say?”

“No, I...I didn’t want to put her in the middle of this.”

“Well, sucks to suck, but she’s in it whether you like it or not. Senga used her because she knew it would hurt you, and it worked. And granted I’m not around your grandmother as much as you are, but the woman I know would kill for you before she let anyone else hurt you. So I think you should run, but I think you should go with her like you did before, because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“And what about the rest of her family?” Catriona whispered. “That’s her blood...everyone is here.”

“Blood doesn’t mean anything, in my opinion. Your family is made up of the people you choose, and who choose you in return. They love you without terms or conditions, without expectations - completely and utterly unconditionally. And if the rest of them don’t understand why she’d take you and go, then they weren’t family at all.”

“What if you’re wrong, Edie? What if she won’t go and I’m left alone?”

There were a few beats of pause between them both, punctuated by a clap of thunder, before Edrine broke the silence once again. 

“Do you know what a threefold death is?”

Catriona nodded, swiping away the new tears that had formed before they could fall. “Yeah, they’re a type of oath. The idea is that if you break your oath, whatever it may be, you die in three ways simultaneously - which I am very glad my proclamation was not one.”

With a snort of laughter, Edrine shifted, kneeling in front of her and taking both their

“Smartass. Thought I maybe knew something you didn’t for once.”

“Keep trying, blockhead.”

They shared a small smile before Edrine squeezed her hands, drawing her gaze down to look at their joined hands before she met their eyes again.

“I ask because I intend to make you one, Catriona. Should it all go to shit and you find yourself alone, I swear to you that you will always have a place in Ardaleith. I vow to defend you in all ways, to be your sword and your shield to call on, even if you have no name or title to call your own. If I break my oath, then may the land open to swallow me, the sea rise up to drown me, and the sky fall upon me to right the wrong I have done you.”

Catriona watched with wide eyes as they lifted her hands, pressing a kiss to the back of each 

“Why would you…?” She began, and Edrine scoffed, setting her hands back in her lap and sitting cross-legged on the wooden platform. 

“Because, stupid, you’re my family. And while I can’t go with you, I want you to know you will never not have a home in Rosinmoor - no matter what happens in the future. I also think the idea of nature itself trying to kill me is pretty terrifying, so you know I’m good for it.”

She stared with wide eyes before she let out a small laugh and shook her head, swatting lightly at Edrine’s knee.

“You really want me to go, huh?”

“If I’m honest, no, because I’ll miss you. But I want you to be happy, and that matters to me more than anything else. Sachairi, too, if he were out here to say it himself.” 

Edrine stood up then, offering a hand to help her to her feet as they looked around the gardens beyond the railings of the gazebo.

“Come on, Catty. The rain is slowing down a little bit. Let’s go find Myrna.”

Catriona looked at that hand for a long, long moment, briefly thinking back to earlier that afternoon on the stairs - when she stood at the top of the stairs and looked at Senga’s hand and thought back to the time where the worst thing in the world had been to take someone’s hand for help forced upon you.

There were no expectations now. Only a genuine love, of someone more like a sibling than a friend, who offered help in her time of need. 

After another moment’s pause, she allowed herself to take that outstretched hand, feeling a little lighter as she and Edrine raced through the rain to find another entrance back inside without running through the great hall itself.

*     *     *     *     *

Thankfully, Edrine’s oath had not needed testing so quickly. When they made their way inside, Myrna had found them both easily - fussing over their sopping wet clothes and how they were ‘going to catch their deaths’ if they didn’t come up and dry off. She pulled them both into her own quarters, finding the fluffiest of towels and setting them up by the fire so they could fight the tremors that racked both of them. 

It would be then that Catriona swallowed her fear and asked Myrna, ever so softly, if she could tell her something important.

Edrine had stayed the whole time, a comforting presence to Catriona as she recounted it all again - their hand gently rubbing her back when the tears started anew and she found it harder to get the words out.

To say Myrna wept with her would have been an understatement. Her tears, much like Catriona’s own, had become a blend of rage and despair that rivaled the monsoon as she began packing her things right then and there. She’d asked Edrine to help Catriona do the same, asserting that they’d get as far from Kintyre as they could tonight before taking a ship further north.

The storms would be too rough for them to depart tonight, but Catriona only heard ‘leaving Kintyre’ to crumble all over again, realizing that Myrna didn’t hate her after all.

Edrine had helped her pack the important things before leaving her alone in her room with a parting kiss to her cheek, promising they’d cover for her long enough to keep Senga from searching for them right away once she pulled herself out of the attention she’d been basking in. Catriona swore up and down she’d write to both Edrine and Sachairi as soon as she and Myrna stopped somewhere, though Edrine told her not to worry - that they’d take care of Sachairi, and to be safe above everything else. 

Their departure was swift and silent once she’d packed and changed, taking two horses rather than the Canonach carriage to avoid attention, continuing that way even after Catriona glanced back over her shoulder and could no longer see the lights of Castle Kintyre in the distance. 

She wasn’t sure either of them spoke again until they’d settled onto a ship at the crack of dawn the next morning, the skies clear and painted gold with the early morning light. But she knew it wasn’t because Myrna did not want to talk, nor was she angry with her - she was simply waiting for her grandchild to let her know she was ready.

Myrna’s cane heralded her presence as always, tapping against the deck as she came to join Catriona at the railing to watch the sunrise. 

“Granny?” She asked, smiling a little as Myrna jumped in surprise, but seemed to recover quickly as she rested her elbows against the wood.

“Yes, a bhobain?”

“How long will we be gone?”

Myrna hummed in thought, then shrugged, watching Catriona out of the corner of her eye. “I should think however long you want to be gone. My place is with you, after all, and I don’t plan to stray from it.”

When she fell silent again, Myrna took advantage of the opportunity, knowing that she would still be listening.

“Catriona, I want to tell you something, I want you to listen to me well.” Myrna waited for Catriona to nod in acknowledgement, the latter turning to look her in the eye. “I could never be angry with you for wanting to choose what life you have for yourself. I have had my time, and you should never feel like you need to sacrifice for me.”

“But Astor and Balfour -” She started, but Myrna raised a hand, gently and effectively cutting her off.

“I don’t need to visit their graves to remember them, sweetheart, though I appreciate you knowing how much they mean to me. But I carry them with me, always, and I remember them every day - it’s just nice to have a place to visit when I feel up for it. The fact of the matter is that I don’t need the place so much as I want for you to be happy, and there is nothing I would not give to make sure that you have every opportunity to achieve that for yourself.” Myrna sniffed a little, but stubbornly swiped a hand across her cheek, setting it on her hip once she flicked the tears away. “Do I make myself clear? No more secrets. You tell me everything from now on, or I’ll…”

Myrna floundered, waving her cane a little, and Catriona couldn’t help but smile - Myrna didn’t have a threatening bone in her.

Rather than answer, she stepped forward, wrapping Myrna up in the tightest hug she could manage and burying her face in her shoulder as she felt Myrna squeeze her right back. 

“I promise.” Catriona murmured, and Myrna hummed her acknowledgment, but neither of them let go of the other. Nor would they until the ship began to move out of the harbor of Briar Glen, when Catriona broke the long silence to draw Myrna’s attention again.

“Granny, can I ask you for an odd favor?”

Myrna nodded, leaning back to look her in the eye and gesturing for her to continue. 

“I...don’t want to be called Catriona anymore. It makes me think of Mother. And maybe it’s stupid, but Catriona is who she wanted me to be, not who I wanted to be. So I want to pick a new name, and I want to be just myself for myself, and nobody else. I hope that doesn’t offend you, though.”

Her grandmother snorted, giving her a playful look and nudging her lightly. “What, because my full name is Myrna Catriona? Please, darling, I don’t even use that part of my name for myself. Never have. But do you have a name in mind that you’d rather I use, or do you want to try a few and see what sticks?”

She hummed a moment, lacing and unlacing her fingers as she listened to the sounds of the wind catching in the sails. 

“My full name is Catriona Astoria Elspeth Canonach-Fenharrow, though it’s always been shortened.” She mused. “I like parts of it still, so I don’t want to just get rid of it, either. Can’t I be just Astoria Fenharrow, like I was Catriona Canonach?”

Myrna smiled warmly, giving her a squeeze as the wind began to pull at their hair and the harbor began to grow smaller behind them.

“There’s nothing stopping you from giving it a go, Astoria.” She said, making the teen in question smile broadly at the sound of the name from someone other than themself. “But I do think it suits you well.”

[parrisher]

ooh ronan pov of the bllb scene?? fuck yess!!

anon i love u endlessly

on ao3

As Ronan fluttered back to reality, he realized two things very quickly. One, he was frozen in place, lying in a pew. Two, his clothes were drenched —he looked as far as he could without moving his head—his own blood.

Well, technically his own blood. And technically, those were his own whimpers echoing agonizingly through the pews of St. Agnes. But Ronan’s mouth was stuck shut.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam start awake.

Fuck.

Adam jerked back from the twitching dream-Ronan before he even seemed to fully realize what he was seeing. Ronan watched, still helplessly stuck, as Adam’s eyes raked over dream-Ronan’s arched spine, his shaking fingers, his desperate eyes. Adam sucked in a sharp breath. His lip began to curl, quivering, and Ronan tore his eyes away.

Watching Adam grieve felt too private to watch, even for the grieved himself.

He heard the shuffle of denim against carpet and finally, as Adam scrambled over to the body that pleaded with Ronan’s own voice, Ronan’s body sagged against the hard wood of the pew. The manila envelope, stuffed with a hundred different horrors, almost fell out of his hand before he tightened his grip, refusing to let go of everything he’d just sacrificed for.

He had to get up, he had to get them out of there. But as he lay there, Ronan couldn’t think of anything besides the panic in Adam’s eyes. The heat of a thousand different emotions mounted in his chest.

The simple, wringing sadness from seeing death. The heart-stopping fear of his nightmares. The pain in Adam’s gasp that had lodged like an arrow in his chest and, above all, the frustration that Adam had insisted on staying. That he’d been sappy enough to let Adam stay, that he’d had to see this-

“Ronan-” Adam’s voice came out strangled. Ronan sat up in a rush, but Adam wasn’t talking to him. Bent over dream-Ronan, bleeding out on the church carpet, his voice was barely a whisper, no life behind it. “Oh, God.”

A prayer fit for a church. Ronan didn’t miss the irony.

The pain, the guilt, the tears straining to be held back all exploded in his chest with those two damn words. Watching Adam move helplessly over Ronan’s own body, beautiful hands fluttering from blood-soaked stomach to ruined throat to chest, Ronan had the sudden impulse to run before Adam could see him. Another impulse immediately followed, barely stronger than the first.

You can't run from this, idiot. He thinks he’s watching you die.

How many more burdens would he throw carelessly onto Adam’s shoulders? How much more could he take? He’d watched the bags under the other boy’s eyes grow deeper and deeper as the hunt for Glendower had stolen more time from Adam, and now—Adam didn’t deserve this, he didn’t need the nightmares. He was running on empty already.

Frustration spiraled up again, faster than he could push it down. Anger picked a target before he could stop himself.

“Are you happy now?” Ronan regretted the words as soon as he’d spit them out. “Is this what you wanted?” He gritted his teeth as Adam jumped, looking around wildly. When his eyes finally landed on Ronan, he looked-

Emotion swelled again in Ronan’s chest. Adam looked lost, gaze faint. Unreachable. His voice came from miles away. “What’s-” he blinked several times to no avail. “What’s happening.” It wasn’t a question.

Dream-Ronan let out a shivering cry. Real-Ronan knew how he felt.

He couldn’t stop the fear-sorrow-anger from flashing across his face as he saw the version of himself bleeding out on the ancient St. Agnes carpet. Somewhere deep in the fog of his brain, something told him he should scream. Something else told him that it could have been worse.

At least Adam hadn’t had to put the pieces of him together.

Ronan looked back over at Adam, and found that he was watching Ronan intently. He still looked about ready to faint, but the fog in his eyes had cleared. What was underneath, though—an unguarded sadness, pain, pity written all across his perfect cheekbones--was somehow even worse.

It was the fact that he’d seen this part of Ronan, all the shit inside his head. Adam was crouched over a hard copy of all the bad decisions he’d made, all the times he’d gone to bed wondering if he would be around to bring anything back. All the terrible, too-real things he’d brought back. Wasps in Monmouth. Adam’s t-shirt. Slit wrists.

Maybe Ronan should scream.

Maybe he should break down, throw his arms around Adam, beg him not to let him die.

But if there was one thing he and Adam had in common, it was that they couldn’t stand to be pitied. So Ronan dragged the ice back into his tone.

“You wanted to stay?” he snarled. He thought of Kavinsky. Leash your dog, Gansey. “Well, here we are. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Adam pushed himself up from where he’d been kneeling by the body. There was a tiny red bloodstain—Ronan’s blood—on the worn-out neck of Adam’s shirt that Ronan couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Dream-Ronan was still gasping for air. “Why would you- why?” Surprise met with his Henrietta twang as they laced their way through his voice. “What did you do? What happened?”

What had happened?

Nightmares. They should’ve known. Even if Ronan had tried to dream a godddamn lollipop, he would’ve had nightmares, but dreaming this kind of shit? To get photos, he had to stage them. To get a hand, he had to cut it off. Adam’s plan was the kind of grisly detail that nightmares eat for breakfast. And he’d been in there so long…

The dream-Ronan gave a last shuddering cry and went still. Ronan knew Adam was watching, could feel Adam’s eyes on his face, and he tried to keep his face neutral.

But God- he’d just died, for fuck’s sake.

“I tried for too much at once,” he said. His voice betrayed him- it was too flat, too emotionless even for him. Adam’s eyes flashed with guilt growing more watery by the minute, and the resulting stab of self-hatred shocked even Ronan with its force. He stared resolutely past the other boy. “I was in there too long. The night horrors came, and then-” he realized in horror that his voice was shaking. He took a breath in and refused to meet Adam’s eyes. “Then I heard the wasps, and I knew I would bring them back, and then-” he gestured with practiced thoughtlessness towards dead-Ronan. “That would be me. But, like, for real.” He could see Adam’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. He refused to let himself think about what that meant, and this frustration only added to the mix of emotions coloring his words. “Easy solution. Dreamt a new me, fresh and ready-to-die. Woke up. Here I am. Here I am, again.” He was spitting the words out now. “What a cool trick. What a damn cool trick.”

He finally glanced over, but Adam’s face was unreadable. He had a look in his eye like he was putting together a puzzle that was, as he went, gaining more pieces. Ronan felt far too known.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to get out. Some corner of his mind reminded him why they’d gone through all this in the first place, and he only remembered the envelope in his hand as he was shoving it towards Adam. “Here’s your shit.” The words came out embarrassingly wounded. Ronan could feel his window of escape slipping.

It seemed to take a second for Adam to recognize what the envelope was, and a second longer for him to reach out his hand and grasp it. The blood-stained manila looked wildly out of place in his long fingers.

There was a moment of silence as the two faced each other. It was obvious from in the pain in Adam’s eyes, in the way he seemed to wilt in on himself, in how his breath hitched that he had lost something precious in this church. That Ronan had ripped something from him.

Dream-Ronan’s eyes stared up at the chapel ceiling, seeing nothing.

A sigh broke the silence. “What now?” Adam sounded almost embarrassed. “What do we-”

“Nothing,” Ronan interrupted. His eyes had just caught the bloodstains on Adam’s knuckles from the dreamt envelope. He thought about crossing over to him and wiping them away. He thought about pausing, hand in hand, looking into the cornflower eyes that had shed tears over his dead body, lifting a tan knuckle to rough lips. He thought about running away and leaving Sister Whoever to find his dead body. “We do nothing. You go.”

Adam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, then crinkled in confusion. “What?”

Heat was rising in Ronan’s chest again, that same fiery mix of grief and anger and fear and this time love, maybe. He couldn’t breathe. He realized he was shaking. “I said I didn’t want you here in case this happened. It happened. Look at you.”

Any trace of grief or even embarrassment was suddenly gone from Adam’s eyes. He was the magician again, making bargains with Ronan’s dreams without ever feeling a thing. “Asshole.” His mouth twitched. “This wasn’t my fault.” Ronan knew it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Of course it wasn’t Adam’s fault. Adam wasn’t the one who had made Ronan watch him die, slowly and painfully.

But he still couldn’t breathe right as long as Adam was standing there staring at him, and by now, the bloodstains were sinking into the carpet. The chapel was starting to feel less like a house of worship and more like a place where demons were made. “Just go,” he said in a voice too low, too rough, not to mean the opposite. “Get the hell away from me.” He stared up at Adam, and Adam stared back, and he knew they both could feel the echoes of a thousand past fights, a thousand times where neither had backed down.

“I’ll ask one more time.” There was steel in Adam’s voice. Ronan knew, instinctively, that they would never mention this again. There was a part of him that wished they could. “What now?”

But another, stronger part needed to watch it all burn, if only for a moment. Ronan wished desperately that he could shove it down, but it set his jaw and drew his face into a scowl before he could stop himself. “Bye. That’s what.”

He was an idiot who deserved whatever came to him.

“Whatever.” Adam stepped around dream-Ronan on his way out. Ronan couldn’t tell if he imagined the way Adam’s expression faltered when he looked down or not. “Next time you can die alone.” His footsteps faded up the stairs to his apartment. Much later, so late it would almost be early, Ronan knew those same stairs would echo with Adam’s panicked shout as he woke from seeing Ronan’s glassy eyes over and over again. He knew he would do the same.

He knew he’d hide a worn-out gray t-shirt underneath his bed.

He finally screamed. It echoed off the chapel ceiling, past the altar, back to the stairs where Adam and his cheekbones had just left, until Ronan couldn’t tell if the sound had come from himself or the pale dream-Ronan still lying in a pool of his own blood.

“What’s happening?” Adam’s shaky voice, scared because of him. “Ronan, oh god.”

Ronan fell into the pew and buried his head in his hands.

[beauregard-s]

Cherry Vodka [Part I] | Richie T. + Eddie K.

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader x Eddie Kaspbrak (21+)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: language, nsfw material but no explicit sex (yet), alcohol, polyamory mention, kind of a modern au too

Anon said:  “ okay so based off that art you reblogged of the richie x bev x eddie, what about like a reader x richie x eddie fluffy smut based off that (i hope that makes sense bahahha)”

A/n: Yeah, I had to split it in two parts because 7k words... I’m sorry it took me so long to post it, dear anon, if you’re still outta there. I rewrote and changed the plot of this one three times and it’s inspired by this post and by the song Sleep Apnea by Beach Fossils, by the way.

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“Richie…” “What, doll?” You felt his hand trailing down the small of your back, slowly and treacherously. 

You rolled your eyes from your book to meet Richie’s little smirk. He had his black wayfarers on, even though the sun was down in the horizon now, and behind those you knew his eyes have been glazing all over you. He was all careless laying on his side right next to you on the towel, unruly wind-dried curly hair, head up resting on a hand, the other free one teasing you because he just couldn’t help it when you’d put on that black high-cut swimsuit of yours. Eddie shared the curly-haired boy thoughts but, on the other hand, he laid peacefully flat on his back by your right side. Arms resting under his head, eyes closed, but here and there he’d peek at your and Richie’s constant bickering. You, laying on your stomach in between them, were still in your swimsuit from earlier. After lunch, it was Richie’s idea to go to this lake nearby by his parents' vacation house. It was also Richie’s idea to spend spring break there. Usually, your break trips would include their other friends, who ended up being your friends too over time, but that was being a harsh semester for quite everyone. With Bill and Stan stuck with their academic duties, the best idea was to drive to the Tozier’s vacation house in a small town in Pennsylvania. It was a simple, untouched, two-floor house. Richie told in the car his parents bought it when he was a teenager so they could travel and spend some time there, but ended up not doing that as much as they intended on once it was too far from his city. “For fuck’s sake, Richie!” Laughing was not what you intended, but you did it and you heard Eddie giggling behind you. Richie’s hand had finally made its way to your hips now, while he leaned closer. “Come on, toots. Just one kiss…” He whispered in his best charming tone, but you pushed him away, playing cool although you felt your cheeks burning, the known hots already hitting you like a truck. “No! Fuck off… I already told you we should stop doing this,” you muttered. “You always say that,” it was Eddie who reasoned, and you turned for him, eyes threatening him with no words while he shrugged. “Yeah, and I’m sticking to it,” you retorted. Indeed. It had been over a month since you last… Did what you did. “Plus I think Stan has been suspicious…” Richie snorted, “yeah, like lil old he would give a single fuck about it, y/n.” You breathed out, closing the book because now your concentration was ruined. Richie, Eddie, and you met at the creative writing class, 8 am on Tuesdays, your first semester of college. You remembered as it was today how you found them “lost” less than 10 feet away from the lecture hall but arguing like an old couple without realizing that. You helped them find the right way, and Richie flirted with you as you walked into the class, while Eddie scoffed at him for making them get lost and almost late. You knew those boys had been friends their entire life, but from that moment on the three of you became inseparable. If someone needed to find one of you on the campus, the other two would probably be found at the same place. The pureness of your friendship didn’t last long. It only lasted until the first party you went to together, when you lost to Richie at a snooker game and he claimed a kiss as his prize, the smooth motherfucker he was. You kissed him and only that, but ten minutes later you were making out in the bathroom. You made him swear he wouldn’t make things complicated between you two and he had been keeping his promise ever since. Eddie was a whole out of the curve story though. After what happened at said party, you noticed how fidgety he got about the matter of you and Richie been together once, although he did a great job hiding it. Took a while for him to leave it alone, but you didn’t. Something pestering inside wouldn’t let you. You were at his dorm, studying for a complicated final exam while the sky fell apart in rain outside when you asked him why he got upset. He denied to his death he had jealousy of you and Richie running through his veins, but you knew he was lying when his eyes started to avoid yours, saying ‘Richie’s a better ladies' man, anyway’. You shoot your shot without really thinking about it, told him ‘he was just as desirable as Richie’ and it seemed to light a spark between you two. You were the one who leaned closer but he closed the gap, nervously, pulling you into his lap as soon as you kissed him back, building up his confidence. Just like when Richie and you had your thing, you felt no need to hide from him what happened between you and Eddie. It was an embarrassing talk, but it worked. The three of you quickly and naturally warmed up to the facts: you were friends with benefits with both of them and there was nothing complicated about that for you. But you wanted to keep it low because casually making out with your best friends regularly here and there over time whenever you all desired to was none of people business. Eddie rolled over to lay on his stomach, just like you were, shoulder to shoulder. After a couple days constantly under the sun, you noticed he had more freckles than usual over his nose and cheeks, a few on his shoulders. “You’re being more uptight about it all than me, and everyone knows that being more uptight than me is a big deal...” His self depreciative statement made you flash a half-smile, but didn't stop you from leering at his soft lips because you remembered how he tasted like mint whenever you’d kiss. And it had been a long time since you did for the last time. “I’m just being cautious, Spagheddie.” He smiled at the silly nickname, just when you freed yourself from Richie’s grip, grabbed your book and got up, leaving them on the grass while you walked towards the backdoor. “Where ya’ goin’?” Richie called, but you didn’t look back. “Taking a shower!” You shouted. ‘I fucking need to cool down,’ you thought to yourself. In your silly head, about a year ago, this whole situation was a great idea. Now you found yourself utterly screwed. There was pining going on since the very first beginning in between you and them. You always knew it was there, you just didn’t expect it to escalate like it did. You thought once you had tasted from Richie and Eddie, you’d be done. Checked them out of your possibilities, life goes on, but now you were bonded to them in a way you never intended on. You fell for them. For both of them. And that was making you act up. Since your high school years you understood you were an afraid-of-commitment kind of person. No big deal, no attachments, no pain, so you weren’t ready to fall for a single person alone. Falling for two at the same time made your brain short circuit. You had debated the matter with yourself multiple times before. Since you became aware of it happening, you weren’t able to choose between them, you didn’t even know someone was capable of splitting their feelings like that. Your only solution was to stop it somehow. You couldn’t just leave them completely, so you decided to break the colorful side of that mess of a friendship. It wasn’t easy because it was not just about physical bonds. They were everywhere around you. Eddie would buy you coffee on the test mornings he knew you were tired after studying the whole night and hand it to you kissing your forehead. Richie would always hold your hand, keep you close and protect you somehow, doing that thing where he’d distractedly run his thumb over your knuckles. You knew that maybe you were not just an arousal let-out for them too and that made things even worse. You ruminated the facts the whole time you were under the cold water upstairs, and when you came down later, all damp hair and sleep clothes, you found them both in the kitchen, struggling with dinner although it was just frozen lasagna for three. Beach Fossils played from Richie’s phone, open vodka bottle on the wood table in the middle of the small kitchen. Richie was the one who first noticed you there, smiling over his shoulder. “Gonna leave you watching Eds so he doesn’t implode the house while I take a shower, doll. Help the poor man.” he said, walking past by you and running upstairs. “You’re talking like you weren’t the one struggling to turn on the oven!” Eddie shouted at him. You laughed just like Richie did at distance, joining Eddie by the stove. “Do you want a hand there?” “Never mind,” he said, closing the oven door with a proud grin, “it will be ready in twenty, I guess.” “Talented boys you two are!” you scoffed. “Oh shut up!” He faked a disgusted face at you. Your eyes laid over the cherries you bought the day you arrived, placed in a fruit basket on the counter and, while Eddie sat down at the table you grabbed a glass, the vodka, and a handful of cherries. He didn’t ask you what you were doing, but your peripheral sight allowed you to know he was keeping full attention on you while you fumbled around. You mashed the fruits in the glass until they were a reddish pasta, collecting the seeds and pouring alcohol over what lasted in there. As you swayed everything together, you remembered drinking it once, but not quite where was it. You gulped it turning around to finally face Eddie, and he was splayed in a chair, a ghost of a smile on. “The hell you doin’?” he asked lowly and you shrugged. “I don’t know… But it worked.” He raised his brows, getting up and walking towards you. “Yeah? Is it good?” You hummed in response, feeling it burn down your throat. In the deep of your mind, watching Eddie coming closer and closer, you knew what was about to happen, but you didn’t act fast enough against it. “Let me taste it” And he did. Not from the cup but straight from your lips. Eddie leaned in and kissed you softly, an arm around your waist while his free hand went for the back of your neck. And you ease in melting into him was embarrassing, leaving the cup onto the sink as soon as he pressed you against it before the glass ended up shattered on the floor. His tongue slid over yours, hands going to grab your hips, lifting your shirt a bit in the process. You instantly wished he took it off, already built up after spending that time alone in the middle of nowhere and with that aching tension all over the place. You had sex with Richie twice already over time, one of them a bit drunkenly, the other completely sober and thirsty for it, but you had never done it with Eddie. And you wanted it bad. Been wanting for a long time now, since that fucking rainy day in his dorm. But you knew you couldn’t, not when you shouldn’t even be kissing him like that after managing to stick up to your chastity for over a month now. So your hands palmed his chest and gently pulled him away. “Holy fuck…” Richie’s whispered voice made both you and Eddie startle. He was right there, at the kitchen entrance with a towel around his waist, mouth agape looking at both of you and you had no idea of how much time was standing there now. But he for sure saw shit happening. “That was the fucking fastest shower ever,” Eddie said, so casually it disturbed you. “N-no… I just came back to grab my phone.” Richie muttered. You froze, having no idea of how to move or what to say now. Yes, they were pretty aware you messed around with both of them, but one never saw the other in the act. Never, nor even a peck, and now Richie just witnessed a goddamn show. You were ready to tell him how you were sorry because you had just denied him a kiss when you were sunbathing outside and you have been constantly denying him for weeks now, but he didn’t give you the chance. Richie grabbed his phone over the table and stopped the music. You had the hint that maybe he wasn’t upset once he had that little mischievous smirk of his while he made his way out of there and upstairs again. Of course you didn’t talk about the matter over dinner, but Richie acted like nothing happened and Eddie just followed the lead completely unbothered. You tried to go on as naturally as they did, but something about Richie’s furtive looks over you made you think he was definitely not cool about catching you and Eddie together in the kitchen. You just couldn’t tell if either he was jealous or whatever was that and it pinched you from the inside the rest of the night while you watched old TV shows reprising until it was past one in the morning. That was when Eddie started yawning and decided to go upstairs, to the room that’d be Richie’s formerly, kissing your forehead and smiling nonchalantly before shoving Richie’s shoulder. So it was Richie, you and silence in the living room lighten up by TV flashes here and there. He was already sleepy, laying on the couch he had been sleeping since he insisted on leaving his parents’ bedroom for you, claiming he'd be a terrible host if he had you or Eddie without a bed. You, curled in the armchair, hated unsolved matters and worse than that, you hated when said unsolved matters had to do with Richie because you knew how he internalized everything he felt if it was slightly messed up. So you went straight to the point to avoid any evasions from him. “Did you get jealous of me and Eddie?” You asked right away, eyeing at him from your safe place. He looked at you, dead in the eye, no single sign of emotion perpassing his face. “Not at all, sweet thing,” he said, shrugging. “Why would I be?” You didn’t explain it, because you knew he knew where you were trying to get at, so your raised eyebrow was enough. But Richie raised his back and you had to get up because the lack of words from him, the one who’d never shut up, was bothering you beyond belief. You walked over the couch, passing a leg over his, straddling the Tozier boy for his slight astonishment, his reddish lips curving in a half-smile. Richie also had freckles, darker and more numerous ones than Eddie’s, all over his nose and cheeks, some across the rest of his face and none on the rest of his body. When he sat up with you still in his lap, you could smell that cologne you didn’t know exactly which was, but that you loved. Loved how its scent would stay ghostly on your clothes after you made out in his truck like a mark of his, just like the hickeys he’d give you sometimes, on hidden places so only you could see them. “Don’t fucking play dumb with me,” you whispered now, “I’m sorry, okay?” Richie snorted. “I’m not lying to you, y/n/n. I’m definitely not mad at you nor at Eddie. You’re making up things in your pretty head, doll” His hands drifted up your thighs. “I miss you, that's true. But it doesn’t make me jealous of that hell of a scene I saw earlier.” You noticed how he swallowed dry. “So you trying to convince me you’re not utterly disgusted and hurt?” Richie snorted once more at your tease and the light air of his relieving a lot of pressure from your chest. “Far from that, y/n/n...” The way his voice slowed down and his eyes drifted away from yours to his restless fingers on your skin...You finally understood where the problem laid on. And you wouldn’t even need the light pink shade of his cheeks to assure that. “Oh God, you liked it…” You whispered in disbelief and Richie laughed, hands on your hips now, pulling you closer. “What if I did, doll?” He didn’t let you answer, lips on yours before you recovered from your shock. He kissed slowly and passionately, it was always like that, kisses that after a few seconds already got you wanting to rip his clothes off. He was warm against you, bare chest pressed against still clothed yours. As earlier with the Kaspbrak boy, you had the urge of pulling away from him for your own sake, but you couldn’t this time. Richie peppered kisses all the way from your mouth to your jawline, kissing the spot that got your underwear ruined every time, earning himself a low whimper from your lips. You felt dizzy. “Eds is my best friend, toots,” he whispered against your skin, “there’s no one I’d be more glad to let spend time with you, touch you...” His hands ran up your sides underneath your shirt and your nails dig into his shoulders. “Kiss you.” He sucked a hickey on the crook of your neck that finally had you moaning out loud. “Richie-” His name. You could feel him smiling at that. “Or have you.” “For fuck’s sake, Richie…” You knew how to read in between his lines and in his darkened eyes when he pulled away to look into yours, glasses off. You knew he couldn’t see you quite well, but you could see him. If Richie was implying what you thought he was… “I told you I’d never lie to you, and I’m sticking to it.” Richie didn’t smile this time. “And believe me when I say I wish Eddie had taken you right on that counter.” You were the one dry swallowing now, thoughts running a mile a second. “For you to watch?” You scoffed, trying to hide how flustered you were. Richie remained serious when he laid down again. His moves underneath you let you feel him hardened under you. “No. I’d for sure join.” You read him again, tried to find whatever proved you he was just teasing. But he wasn’t. And that left you speechless, made him smile, tapping your hips gently. “But go to bed, toots. We can talk about it any other day. When you're ready and the cat doesn’t get your tongue.”