#stone free is a really cool stand and the way she used it throughout the part was so fucking cool

[waywardsalt]

Thoughts on jolyne kujo

First off, I have seen the Stone Ocean anime while I haven’t read the manga, so that might be worth keeping in mind? I’ve heard there are some substantial(ish?) differences between them.

Jolyne is great! I really enjoyed her, and the way she used Stone Free and developed throughout part six was so cool. She’s fun and brash and sometimes not the smartest but incredibly delightful. I loved her interactions and chemistry with the rest of the group and she had a cool arc throughout the part.

I think of the first six jojos she has the most palpable development? She seems to change the most during her part and it’s cool. Jolyne is really fun and has some cool designs and has some really good fights and moments throughout Stone Ocean and I really enjoyed her.

[glowingbadger]

Okay, I LOVE the Spiky sword boy and his sheer inability to handle most emotions. May I ask how would Felix handle being teased throughout the day by his S/O? Like maybe she wears a little more revealing article of clothing than normal or other small things to really get at him?

Full disclosure, when I first started playing FE3H, a friend of mine asked which route I had chosen first, and I told her I'd joined the Blue Lions. And she had the audacity to look me in the eyes and say, "Because of Felix?" And like, yes because of Felix, but also fuck you.

Anyway, more content from me about teasing an uptight, emotionally congested man with a heart of gold (y'know, for something different xD)

Felix (FE3H) x Fem/AFAB Reader - teasing

NSFW 18+

If you'd known that Felix would be so easy and so fun to tease, you would have tried something like this far sooner. You'd watched him gape openly when he'd first seen you at the dining hall that morning with your blouse opened deep at the front ("It's so warm today!") and a skirt that hugged a little too tight and far too short. Later, you had made sure to sit across from him at the day's strategy debriefing so you could watch him struggle to keep his gaze above the neckline. By the time you'd insisted on joining him to spar in the afternoon, he was so off-kilter that even his swordsmanship began to suffer. Even in less-than-optimal attire for combat, you were able to keep up with him- for a while, anyway.

At last, he rallies his focus and blocks your strike just above the hilt. The impact so close to your grip manages to disarm you, and Felix takes a firm step forward and levels his practice sword at your throat. You're both panting, both red in the face- but you wear a grin while he scowls in reply.

"You had the upper hand a minute ago," he says, not lowering his blade, "If you were actually dressed properly for a fight, this may have been a real match."

"If I were dressed properly for a fight, I would never have had the upper hand at all." You retort, your wicked grin widening. It's the first time you've called attention to his reaction to your ploy- and his expression shows how your acknowledgement only flusters him further. Dark, narrowed eyes scan your body down, then back up.

"You're trying to get under my skin."

"I'd say I'm succeeding." you quip back. You see his chest rise and fall heavily in the moment of tense silence that follows. Finally, he lowers his weapon with an irritable exhale. Every muscle in his body is wound tight, his posture stiff, as though consciously holding himself in place. You bite at your bottom lip, just imagining that restraint snapping and coming undone.

"We're on the night patrol together tonight, right?" you say as you come to stand beside him.

"Uh- yeah, I guess so." Felix mutters. You smile and kiss him lightly on the cheek- a deceptively innocent gesture.

"I'll see you later, then."

Evidently, Felix had managed to collect himself by the time you joined him at the Monastery Gates that evening- at least outwardly. Eyes that had wandered your body all day are now kept strictly in check as you walk side by side around the perimeter walls. He even manages to chat with you more or less as usual as you make your rounds. In a way, you're impressed. But that doesn't keep you from wondering how you could push him just a little more.

"Soo..." you trail off for a moment, walking a bit ahead of Felix with your hands innocently behind your back, "I was chatting with Sylvain earlier today, and-"

"Sylvain?" he says sharply- and you know your bait worked. Too easy.

"Yup! We had a nice long chat, it was really sweet of him to take so much time out of his day for me."

Felix seizes your wrist in hand and tugs you back to him.

"He saw you like this? Did he try anything? If he did, I'll slit his-"

"Felix, come on," you cut in with a laugh. You face him and gently brush his bangs aside, admiring the way his sharp features are accented by cool moonlight. He gives an irritable sigh and steps forward, and you subconsciously step back in unison.

"You have no idea how people have been looking at you today." he says with a dangerous edge in his voice. You feel your back hit the wall, trapping you between cool stone and Felix's harsh glare.

"I've only been watching how you've been looking at me," you say, closer to a whisper than you'd intended. And in an instant, Felix's lips are on yours. He grabs onto your wrists and pins them above your head, and as he secures them in place with one strong hand, the other tugs up at the hem of your skirt. You whimper into his kiss like a mewing kitten as his tongue thrusts past your lips. He's harsh and unforgiving, and it's all you can do not to lose your breath as his touch runs unabashedly up your inner thigh.

"Felix...!" you gasp as two fingers press against the thin fabric of your panties, rubbing firmly along your wet heat.

"Quiet," he hisses, "Do you want the knights to hear you?"

Frankly, when you see that intense look in his eyes and feel his rough fingers slide into your clothing and between your lower lips, you couldn't care whether the archbishop herself heard you. Still, you manage to bite your lip and stifle a moan as two digits surround your stiffened clit, rhythmically stroking the sensitive nerves and sending sparks of pleasure through your core. Your thighs twitch inward, squeezing around him as he runs his fingers slick across the aching bud, setting your legs trembling. Felix must be able to feel your body going weak- or perhaps, he's every bit as impatient for satisfaction as you are. His touch leaves your needy body before long, and he releases your wrists. But before you can question him, he hikes your skirt up your hips without a word, then fumbles open the front of his pants to free his member, already throbbing hard and flushed a dark crimson.

Then, muscled arms wrap under you and lift you up against the wall. He hooks your knees over his elbows, spreading your legs wide for him as he aligns with your eager pussy. Sighing out his name, you wrap your arms around his strong shoulders for support. Then, you feel his warm cockhead parting your slickened folds. With a low groan rumbling in his chest, Felix pushes into the tight heat of your cunt, stretching you around him as he plunges inch after inch into you. Somehow, he feels bigger than usual. Perhaps a day of teasing has had a more tangible affect on him than you'd anticipated.

Felix brings his lips to your jaw, kissing and biting his way back to your ear, where the heat of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. His hips begin thrusting into you, pumping his cock into you until your overflowing arousal coats his full length. Thick veins drag along your inner walls, stimulating a range of wonderfully tender spots, and your nails dig along his upper back in desperation. You've known that Felix isn't much of a dirty talker- and given the circumstances, that's probably for the best- but the way he softly pants and groans into your ear floods your body with a new, more urgent need. The thought that this is what he's wanted with you, that all day Felix has been one taunt away from fucking you against the nearest surface, is such an intense rush that you can already feel yourself clenching and gripping around him.

"I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Do it," he whispers harshly along your neck, "cum for me- now."

He bucks his hips upward, sheathing himself deep inside of you until you can feel the pressure up through your center. His lower body is partially supporting you, so your weight pushes you down onto his throbbing length. Felix kisses you, not even bothering with skill or finesse- only raw need. And you cum, hard. Your body shudders, your pussy squeezes around him, and the knot of pleasure built inside of you comes undone at once. His kiss muffles your helpless, blissful whimpers, and before you've even ridden the full wave of your climax, his own begins to take hold. He holds you almost painfully firm against the rough stone wall as you feel him shoot his cum into you in powerful volleys, one after another. Felix breaks away from your lips, his head coming to rest at the crook of your neck. He utters a tortured groan as his manhood swells and flexes from base to tip, pouring out the last of his release into your over-used and over-full body.

You're reminded of your sparring match earlier that day. The two of you are both thoroughly spent, panting heavily and struggling to steady your breathing. Felix tries to be gentle when he sets you back on your feet, but neither of you realize how unprepared you are to use your legs again, so you stumble forward into him. You expect a disgruntled comment, but instead, he wraps his arms around you and holds you steady while you regain your bearings.

"Wow..." you murmur, clinging to the front of his shirt, "I should try teasing you more often."

[bubblegumbeech]

The Losing Move

Day two Ectoberhaunt:  Scream vs Laugh

AO3

It started with a scream. That’s how Clockwork knew it was finally time. 

He hesitated, of course. There was so much to lose, so much still uncertain, paths branching in different directions, moments shrouded imperfectly from his view, strings of fate tangled and misused. But he was the Master of Time. He could hesitate and no one would ever know. 

Not even them. 

Clockwork made a portal, leaving his Clocktower and walking towards a tall grey rock almost as old as time itself, weathered by age and nothing like the statue it had once been standing proud in a garden of overgrown thorns and long dead leaves. Nocturn appeared next to him, a swirl of inky black void scattered with stars and nebulae. 

“Did you hesitate?” he asked. 

It was a valid question. An important one too, if they were to succeed. Clockwork’s hesitation could lead to an uncertain future, to a failure in their plot. And then they would be lost, set back hundreds of thousands of years again. 

“No.”

Nocturn accepted his answer. Perhaps he knew that Clockwork was lying, perhaps he did not. Either way, they both turned to the stone. 

It wasn’t long before the others appeared. 

Misery Vex was the first, then Sojourn, on and on until they all stood, surrounding the stone. 

Misery turned to Clockwork. “Did it take?” she asked, and he flew forward, taking off one of his gloves to run his hand along the smoothed side of the rock. It hummed, an energy unlike any else, unique to here yet everywhere and nowhere at all. Very chaotic indeed. 

“It has.”

She hummed an affirmative, linking her hand in his before reaching out to take Sojourn’s. Clockwork reached for Nocturn and as they all linked together they formed a shield, thick and impenetrable between their varied talents, around the stone. 

“How long will this take,” Vortex said, ever the impatient one. He was jittery, yellow cords of lightning constantly jumping all over him in a nervous jumble, branching in and out of each other like writhing snakes. 

Clockwork sighed. “Not long.”

“You musn’t get too close,” Misery warned.

“I know.”

“You musn’t go too far,” Nocturn reminded him. 

He knew that too. 

“You’ve failed before,” Misery said, her voice steady and calm. She was not wrong, nor accusatory. He had faltered, it had led to a less than ideal outcome. He would not admit this. 

Clockwork didn’t allow any emotion on his face. “The threat is contained. My faults did not lead to the failure of our mission.”

She scoffed. “No, only to ‘inconvenience’. Right?”

As far as she knew. As far as any of them did. They relied on him, to determine if their future would be a success. He was the only one who could see which path to take, what choices would lead to their victory. He was the only one who knew just how thin the chance was, how precarious the choice. It would not benefit them to know. He did not need their doubt.

“Who was it?” Sojourn asked, referring to the scream that had summoned them here. The scream that had echoed hauntingly throughout the entirety of the Infinite Realms. 

Clockwork hadn’t looked. He looked now. 

“A boy, fourteen years old, between child and adult, between living and dead, between here and there.” 

Nocturn smiled, “How fitting.”

The stone shattered. Power and chaos, magic and will swirled around in a tornado, beating against the solid weight of their shield and making what was once so obviously strong seem weak and pitiful in comparison. 

Vortex’s eyes glowed in excitement. It was a sign, they all knew, that things were getting close. 

Eventually the storm faded and all that was left was a weathered pile of ash and rubble where there had once been a stone, where there had once been a statue, where there had once been nothing at all. 

It would come to nothing once more. 

Soon.

  The Infinite Realms had been lifeless for so long. Nothing more than ambient ectoplasm and void. A place. Nothing more and nothing less than it had to be. Many of the denizens had never seen them alive, existing as they once had. The panic was only natural. The frenzy, exciting and new. The heart of it all beating again. 

There was one ghost in particular, of course, who had only known the realms as they existed now. Sure there might also be others, newly made and newly dead, but this one was the important one. He’d been the one to give his life for the life around them now. 

Or at least, he’d given half of it. 

The Observants, of course, were furious. 

They had attempted to hunt down the Ancients, knowing it was they who had done this, who had planned this and then hidden it from the view of those who watch. Vortex had been taken first, as expected, and Undergrowth had fled to the mortal realm. The others also split, the time for them to come together was over; the time to prepare for the end was nearing. 

Clockwork, of course, their ever loyal subservient pet that could not leave his tower without their knowledge, that could not use his power without their permission, he’d never been looked at twice.

“You told us the threat was neutralized.” Nocturn said, sliding up next to one of Clockwork’s monitors. He watched a scene, where Daniel and Pariah fought. It was not a real fight, of course. Pariah had long shed the haze of bloodlust that had driven him mad, and was now attempting to be endearing, to rebuild a trust Clockwork had never actually had in him. 

Clockwork took a sip of his tea. It was made from some of Pariah’s newly grown coraleander leaves and made a thick, murky green tea that Clockwork quite enjoyed the taste and texture of. Unfortunately that was exactly why Pariah had grown them, and while Clockwork had snuck them away like a petty thief, he doubted that the missing leaves had gone even a moment unnoticed. 

It was infuriating and Clockwork sipped at it slowly, savoring it’s warmth.

“He is no longer the King. In fact, there is no King at all, just as I said it would be.”

Nocturn turned to meet his eyes, tilting his head just slightly in suspicion. “Yes, you did. Though I suppose the others thought you meant he would not escape his sleep. Or at least, that he would not escape his sleep until after .”

Clockwork looked away, towards the monitor. Pariah had soundly defeated Daniel and was laughing. Likely at the way the poor boy looked, his hair a mess and covered in the very coraleander leaves Clockwork was drinking. He’d need to wash them off before he transformed back into a human. While they wouldn’t be immediately deadly to a Half-Ghost, they would form a large, hard to explain, rash. 

“That wasn’t what I said though, was it?” Clockwork met Nocturn’s eyes once more. 

The other ghost just snorted and shook his head. “No, no I guess it wasn’t. Clockwork, the tightrope you’re walking, that future you see that you haven’t told us about? I really hope you get it. I do. Because the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows and I can’t imagine what would happen if you missed.”

Clockwork’s tea had gone cold. He continued to sip it. He ignored Nocturn’s words and he watched the screen as Pariah helped Daniel stand, only for Daniel to tackle him when he wasn’t expecting it. 

“I’ll take that under consideration.” 

It was becoming habit, he found, to lie to Nocturn. 

  Daniel was at the Clocktower, eating a plate of cookies and complaining about some of the varied ghosts he had to deal with and fight on a regular basis in his mortal realm. It was a side effect, of course, of Phantom’s new role as the Heart of The Infinite Realms. The smaller, weaker ghosts, especially younger and newly dead ones, had attempted to flee the Realms when they noticed the sudden changes. 

When the Observants had become so busy trying to find the cause of the change, so busy trying to hunt down what was left of Chaos’ children, that they could no longer micro-manage the state of the Realms. Could no longer constantly overstep their authority and keep their tasteless ‘Order’. 

The Realms had become more and more lively and Clockwork had found himself in a perpetual good mood. He took a cookie for himself. Nocturn caught him baking the other day; his expression had been dry as he congratulated Clockwork on his adoption. It was  a pointed accusation. 

He had shoved it to the back of his mind and decided to make some forgoent tea to go with the cookies. He hadn’t offered any to Nocturn. 

Daniel paused in his musings for a moment before speaking again, his voice careful. “I’ve been visiting Pariah.”

Clockwork hummed, not looking away from his screens. “I am aware.”

“Of course you are.” Daniel rolled his eyes. Then he sighed like he didn't know how to bring up what he was going to say next. “Did you… Did you know he was going to get free if you sent me after that key?” 

Ah, so he’d figured it out then. “It was a possibility. Each and every choice you make creates an entirely new future with entirely new consequences.” 

“He doesn’t seem all that bad…” Daniel argued, as if Clockwork was going to disagree with him. Clockwork raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar Pariah had given him, and looked over to him. “I mean, he just. When he first woke up he was really mad right? But like, I’d also be really mad if I finally woke up from a forced coma only to have Vlad there.”

Anyone would really. 

“And even though he sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, no one actually ended up getting hurt. At least, no more than usual in a ghost attack. And I’ve been talking with the other ghosts that have been ‘Challenging’ him and they all say he's a pretty cool teacher… Like, he knows how to fight and he’s good at showing them how they can use their unique powers-”

Clockwork didn’t interrupt Daniel as he rambled. It was rare, at least since he’d been deposed, to hear lists of Pariah’s more positive aspects. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as mildly frustrating. Was this part of Pariah’s ploy? Get Daniel to fall all over himself to recite poetics about Pariah to Clockwork. He should have learned by now that whatever affection he might hold for him, it would not be enough. Not to stop his plans, and certainly not to stop the others.

“So uh, you know, he seems… chiller. Without the crown and ring and stuff.”

“Yes, it was the Ring of Rage Daniel, what did you think it was used for?” 

There was a small imperceptible shift in Daniel’s expression, as if he’d realized something and made the choice to file the knowledge away for later. He must have learned that from Pariah as well. “So, if there’s things that can change even powerful ghosts like Pariah, are there things that could change, say… one of the Ancients?”

Was Daniel befriending another Ancient? Clockwork smiled, that was good then. He could hold that against them, the weight of his failure to keep an emotional distance wouldn’t be as stark, if another Ancient or two fell just as easily to Daniel’s pleasant company. He could use that, he simply had to find out which of them it was. Perhaps Sojourn? He was always soft for children, but Clockwork hadn’t been aware of him returning to the Barrens lately, and Daniel rarely went any further than the Time Locked Lands or the Far Frozen. 

“It is good to befriend others Daniel,” he says halfheartedly, searching through his mirrors to locate Sojourn, “but remember not to trust too easily. You never know the goals of those around you, if they might be using you towards their own ends.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, his voice hard. 

Clockwork looked over to him, he was staring at the dregs of his tea, expression dark. 

“Would you like more tea?” Clockwork offered, wondering what had plummeted the boy’s attitude so suddenly. 

Daniel looked up, a small smile on his lips, “Yes Please.”

Clockwork left to make more, his mind still trying to find which Ancient Daniel had befriended. 

  “The Observants are completely ignorant of your machinations,” Pariah said as Clockwork entered his study. “Of course, they don’t know you as well as they think.”

Clockwork should stop visiting him. Should never have started, a fact that Nocturn was only too happy to remind him of. Sometimes Clockwork wondered if Nocturn got his taste of Chaos from Clockwork's mistakes, he seemed so dedicated to reveling in them. 

“I didn’t come here to talk about the Observants. I have my fill without the need to remark upon them when absent from their presence.” Clockwork was scowling. He could hide his irritation, but despite his lies and trickery he was hardly an accomplished actor. 

Pariah chuckled, flipping another page in the thick book he’d been reading. The title was faded, but Clockwork recognized it easily enough. It was a detailed history of the Infinite Realms after King Dark had been sealed away. It was a long history, though not as long as the history that came before his reign entirely. 

It was also the exact kind of thing Pariah would read cover to cover, like the obsessive monster he was. 

“I suppose you came to warn me away from your ward then?” Pariah asked, his voice casual. Clockwork scoffed, allowing a roll of his eyes before floating over to Pariah’s shelves and grabbing one of the books that looked recently used. It was about old soul binding rituals, much like what had happened to Fright Knight. It was amusing, the thought that Pariah’s oldest friend might still be whining about his little curse. 

“Hardly,” Clockwork said, idly flipping through the pages, “if I could control Daniel I never would have let him near you to begin with.”

Pariah smiled, placing his own book down. “Yes, I imagine you wouldn’t have. It would be a mistake to let me get close to him and realize he is the reason the Infinite Realms have started to sing.”

He’d figured it out then. Of course that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Unlike the Observants, Pariah was wickedly intelligent and fully capable of coming to the appropriate conclusions. “Sing? An interesting way to describe it.”

Arms encircled his waist and Clockwork was pulled back into a warm chest. Pariah’s chin rested on Clockwork’s shoulder as he spoke softly into his ear. “Is it enough? The realms feel alive, weaker ghosts are fleeing or banding together once more. It resembles the time we once had, between Chaos and Order. Will you stop here?”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” he lied. 

Pariah hummed an agreement and reached out to flip a few pages through the book Clockwork had been holding. There was a beautifully illustrated drawing of a necklace, bewitched and layered in curses. Pariah must have memorized the pages, of course. “Would you wear jewelry if I made it for you? I would see you decked in gold and finery if I could.”

Clockwork slammed the book closed, just missing Pariah’s fingers. He didn’t think about the earrings Pariah had once gifted him, or how he wore them even now, dangling hidden beneath his hood. “You should know better than to ask that.” 

He felt a smile against his neck. “Then I won’t ask.”

  He held the Thermos in his hand. 

The other Daniel was a menace, truly. But he would not be so desperate to ruin Daniel’s life anymore. It had been long enough for him to realize that his existence was no longer predicated on Daniel’s decisions, or on the loss of his family. 

It would change him, of course. The knowledge that he exists in the same time as his once family will either soften his grief, or sharpen its edges. There were so many paths he could take, and Clockwork could not see them all, did not bother to look much further than the distance he needed him for. 

There was something more important than his grief that he and Clockwork had in common. Something Daniel and Pariah likely had in common with them as well: the detestation of the Observants. 

Clockwork opened the thermos, releasing Daniel’s worst nightmare and not thinking about how the young half-ghost had given it to him so easily, had trusted him so quickly when all Clockwork had done was protect his human family one time. 

The other, once possible, Daniel appeared in an explosion of light and matter and immediately attacked, using his claws to scratch at Clockwork’s face. He was prepared for that though, years trapped in a thermos had eroded much of Dan’s more refined aspects. It would work in Clockworks favor of course, he had made sure of that.

For now, Clockwork froze time and moved behind him. That way his wild attack would meet nothing but ambient ectoplasm and Clockwork could speak his piece. Provided his piece took less than a second to speak.

He allowed time to flow and watched as the other Daniel floundered, confused, only to instantly realize just what Clockwork had done and turn around, ready to attack once more. Clockwork smiled as their eyes met and asked, “Would you like to End the Observants and their Order?”

the other Daniel attacked him, but Clockwork could see the consideration in his eyes. The thought had been implanted, now all he had to do was sit back and watch. the other Daniel had always been rather good at ruining things after all. 

“CLOCKWORK!” Daniel yelled, flying frantically into the Clocktower. “Clockwork Dan escaped somehow! He attacked Amity Park!” 

His desperate flight slowed when he saw Clockwork floating casually at his screens as he always had. He was watching a specific screen now, and pulled the image onto the largest one to share with Daniel. “Yes, I know.”

Daniel looked between him and the screen, his expression growing more and more confused. “But, he was here though. Locked up. How did he escape?”

Clockwork didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m sorry Daniel,” he lied. “Your trust in me was misplaced. He escaped while I was distracted with another matter and I was unable to stop him. It’s my fault.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, searching for something in Clockwork’s expression, and then in Clockwork’s screens. The only thing he saw though, was the other Daniel causing havoc and destruction. After visiting Amity Park and re-traumatising Daniel’s sister, the other Daniel had been driven away by Daniel, whose power had become far superior in the time since they had last met. It was only natural of course, Daniel’s existence was unique and far beyond that of Dan’s mangled pieced together form of conflicting obsessions and damaged cores. 

It was possible, Clockwork knew, for the other Daniel to stabilize properly. Perhaps he could become a proper ghost, perhaps he could stop attempting to restrict what humanity he had left. Either way, it did not matter in the end. If anything, his existence was a fun riddle that would play itself out long after Clockwork’s plans came to fruition. 

Clockwork looked over at Daniel, his expression hidden behind the shadows of his hood. The boy was staring emptily at the corner of the Clocktower that led to the inner dungeons where the other Daniel had been hidden away.  After a moment he turned away, hiding his own expression, and began to walk. As if his legs had become too heavy to fly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll get him back. It won’t happen again.” There was a promise in his voice and it softened to be almost inaudible entirely. “I won’t let it.”

After he left, Clockwork turned back to the screen with the other Daniel on it. He was finished terrorizing the ghost from before, and was now floating listlessly in the void of the Infinite Realms. Likely, he was warring with his obsessions- or his emotions- it was hard to tell which. Eventually though, he shook his head, looked up as if to catch Clockwork’s eye, and flew off.

In the direction of the Observants. 

  It’s eyeball was glaring at him, the normally dull yellow of it’s sclera bright with fury. “You were given responsibility over him! You were entrusted to keep him from destroying the Realms!”

Clockwork’s own eye twitched as he fought back an eyeroll. Those who Watch were as predictable as ever, not showing up at the moment of Dan’s release but instead at the moment he began to take his rage out on the Observants. Their responsibilities had always been superfluous though, a vague excuse to do as they pleased in the name of Order. 

“I failed. He escaped. Woe is me.” He floated over to one of his more intricate gadgets and began to tinker with it, pretending to be busy. “Surely an Order such as yours, full of powerful ghosts that command the Realms, did not come to me in fear though? He attacked you directly, does that not make your vow of inaction void?”

“ You-! ”

“Of course, it would be different if you simply couldn’t defeat him. But… he’s only a decade dead. That would be an embarrassment.”

The other Observant that had come to scold (and demand his servitude) floated in front of its companion so as to cut off a likely incensed reaction. “He’s an abomination, and an amalgamation. Surely you can understand why we wanted him dealt with before it came to this.”

Clockwork inclined his head, playing at civility. “Perhaps then, you should seek to work alongside Phantom. I have it on relatively good authority he’s also trying to deal with your resident menace.”

Both of the Observants took his suggestion as an insult, one even growing red with it. “That Abomination? He should be destroyed along with it!”

“Pity,” Clockwork said, turning back to the screens and watching as the other Daniel tore the core out of another Observant’s chest and crushed it in his palm. He wasn’t even absorbing them for their power. It was a waste, but Clockwork was certain it was a waste born of trauma. Dan’s creation had, after all, been due to a botched absorption with a powerful ghost core. “You can leave now.”

“You must deal with this.”

“I will deal with it when the time is right,” he said in lieu of an answer. 

The Observants, disgruntled and unwilling to leave, as if hiding in Clockwork’s lair would somehow protect them, made comment after comment demanding his action and threatening punishment should he fail. He replied with sarcasm and an aloof attitude that soon had them leaving out the door if only to try and do what they could to tighten his bonds. 

He sighed, there was time still. He should make cookies, that always seemed to calm him, help him to exist in the present and not become impatient for what is yet to be. He headed to the kitchen, only to see an unexpected visitor at his table. 

“Nocturn, you’re early.”

The other Ancient nodded. “Yes, your plan seems to have worked flawlessly. The Authority of the Observants has been shaken. Much of the power they had gained through fear and reputation has dwindled, but…”

Clockwork raised an eyebrow as he opened his cabinets. There was egyptian sand flour left over, it would be dryer than using something more modern, but the age would add a good aftertaste. He just needed to add extra Honey-Wasp bits from the outskirts of The Undergrowth and that should balance it. Maybe some purified ectoplasm. Pariah gifted him a jar after he had somehow managed to create a device to filter it from the Infinite Realms. 

He had also made an absolutely unsubtle offer to join him in his new ‘sauna’ that Clockwork had pointedly refused. 

“But?” he prompted, there was little information he could glean from silence. 

Nocturn watched him prepare the batter. He sighed and stood, grabbing a knife and helping to mince the Honey-Wasps before speaking again. “But they still have their numbers, and much of their actual power. And Clockwork, Pariah has made his move.”

“I know,” Clockwork admitted, “but is that not in our favor as well?”

“Not if he takes more power from them, Pariah on his own is not a fight we can accept lightly. Anything more being beholden to him is hardly something I wish to see.” 

Clockwork cracked a Kraken’s egg into the mixture and moved the bowl closer to Nocturn so he could scoop the Honey-Wasp bits into it as well, without losing any of the juice. Mixing it would be troublesome, some of the more experimental batters attempted to gain sentience and would try to escape the bowl. “It will work in our favor either way. the other Daniel caused havoc, their power was broken across the realms. Pariah is merely salting the ground we have burned.” 

He used a dull knife to cut into the batter and stirred, stopping any attempts at formation. Nocturn grabbed the bowl from him, forcing eye contact. “What if he seeks something else?”

“Haven’t I already escaped the chains he bound me in before?” Clockwork laughed. “Do I not have allies that would find short work of cutting chains that I did not allow to bind me?”

The bowl was set back down and Clockwork and Nocturn both made short work of dividing the dough and setting it into the oven. “We could not break the bindings of the Observants,” Nocturn said as Clockwork closed the oven door. 

“That is different, that was part of our plans. They needed to never suspect me, if we were to get this far.” Clockwork waved him off. “Would you like a cookie?”

“We have to wait for them to cook, Clockwork.” Nocturn said, exasperated.

Clockwork simply rolled his eyes and increased the time surrounding the oven. “I don’t wait.”

Daniel hadn’t visited again since Clockwork allowed the other Daniel  to escape. It was possible, he admitted in the back of his mind, that Daniel blamed him for what happened. As well he should. Yet, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

He was watching the screens again. Aiming them in every direction he could to see everything as it played out. Most were occupied by the remnants of the Order he had set about decimating. A few were dedicated to their interconnected Lair, the place where they held their play courts and kept their prisoners. It was where they kept Vortex before he was freed. One screen though, was aimed at Pariah’s Keep. 

It had been a simple thing that Clockwork had neither encouraged nor discouraged, Daniel’s visits with Pariah. But now that Clockwork’s own visits had come to an end, it had become something distinctly bitter, a feeling that was building in his chest, where his core hummed, that Clockwork was ignoring with all the practice of a man dead set on his goals. 

Daniel would visit again, of course. Clockwork could even tell the exact date and time, or at least the most likely ones. He didn’t look at the futures where Daniel never came back, there was no point in uselessly fretting about it. He’d be fine, there were more important things to deal with now. 

He could feel the pressure of his binds loosening as more and more of the Observants were hunted down. Not all of them were ended by Dan, of course. They had made many enemies. Both Vortex and Undergrowth had gone out of their way to visit quite a number themselves, along with a few of the other Ancients. Clockwork was certainly tempted to do so, alas, the restrictions upon him prevented it still. And the only way for those restrictions to end was for those wielding the reins to End. And well, then there wouldn’t be anyone left to take his ire out upon would there? 

Instead he allowed his own part in their demise to be enough for his bruised ego and the millennia of torment he’d undergone beneath them. Then he ate a cookie and kept watch of his screens. 

Pariah was teaching Daniel how to use a sword. Pandora had attempted to teach him swordsmanship but Daniel had been disinclined to it. He wasn’t particularly elegant to be fair, and the finesse and practiced movement of Pandora’s sword was more akin to an art than anything else. Her limbs risked entanglement if she wasn’t careful and had developed a style suited to such. 

Daniel was much more inclined to blunt, ferocious movements. He often thought with his fist before anything else, even as a ghost with a multitude of powers to command. He used speed and strength to win and outmaneuver his opponents and despite his lack of polish, he often won due to those two traits alone. Pariah was a talented teacher, in that he was clearly taking what Daniel had already in ample supply, and taught him how to wield it appropriately to its maximum use. 

He was still only beginning of course, but Daniel was a fast learner and had grown significantly in a short period of time. 

Clockwork had toyed with the idea of taking Daniel on as an official apprentice once or twice before. Teaching him how to exist beyond the means which he had become accustomed to as a human. While he would not have Clockwork’s inclination for time specifically, Daniel’s connection to the Realms would allow him a level of control over his surroundings and the beings that exist in them that simply does not exist in anyone outside of the Ancients. And even then, Clockwork’s Time was different enough from the others’ domains to be unique in and of itself in a similar vein to Daniel’s powers. Even if they’d only just barely begun to show. 

But it was a risk to do so before everything else came to fruition. If Daniel realized his plans, it would be troublesome. He likely would not agree to the lengths Clockwork is willing to reach, and more than that, there is no guarantee that his existence as half human would not have him attempting to side with Order over Chaos. No, it was better to wait and see how it all played out first. There wasn’t much left to do before the end. 

Yes it would lead to anger. Perhaps even to hatred. It would be fitting for Clockwork. He had never known a love that had yet to turn. That had truly been any kind of unconditional. 

But he would be free. 

Finally, finally free. 

Free from this horrid linear existence, free from his servitude, free from his bonds. The root of him, the core, had been born from Chaos, from the mess of all things and no things, and like any child wishing to cradle in the arms of its mother, Clockwork longed once more for it. 

He had been patient, as had the others. There was little left to do. 

  When Daniel finally visited again Clockwork had made cookies. 

They resembled human chocolate chips, if one squinted, and Clockwork had made sure to take them out of the oven just as Daniel arrived so they would be warm.

“There you are Daniel,” he greeted. The cookies were still moving and he had to give the tray he was holding a bit of a shake to get them to stop. He doubted Daniel would eat them if he thought they were alive. 

The boy didn’t look well. He had deep bags under his eyes, and a skittish, weary look about him. 

Clockwork clicked his tongue. “You need to sleep,” he said, not waiting for Daniel to speak. 

“What?” The boy lifted his head, confused. 

“I said, you should sleep.” Clockwork grabbed one of the amulets from the wall and placed it around Daniel’s neck. “I’ll stop time for a few hours, you can sleep here if you want.”

Daniel just blinked. “Oh.”

Nodding, Clockwork turned back to his screens so he could keep watch. Nocturn had warned that Pariah was making his move and Clockwork was determined to keep an eye on him now, when the timing was most crucial. 

He felt a tug on his sleeve. 

“Clockwork…”

He looked down to catch Daniel’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “thanks.” He grabbed the amulet in one hand, a torn expression on his face. Then he floated off to the room Clockwork had given him to sleep.

Watching as his ward wandered off, Clockwork waited until he was out of sight to grab hold of time and let it rest for a moment. It was the least he could do. 

It wasn’t long after their fall that the final thread snapped and Clockwork opened his eyes in triumph. Everything was available to him now. There were no hidden futures, no shrouded pasts. His screens multiplied around him as even his Lair was freed from its limits. Like a beast stretching from a long hibernation, Clockwork lost himself to his Obsession, revelled in the freedom he had long gambled away. 

The Infinite Realms felt it as he left the Clocktower for no reason other than because he wanted to and he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to come up with some convoluted reason as to why this was perfectly acceptable before his own body allowed him to leave the doors of his own Lair. It felt wonderful, he almost took down his hood to see everything around him with the eyes of a free spirit. 

He didn’t though, it would be too much of a hassle to wrangle his hair back and he didn’t really want someone to see him so freely bared. It was enough in every way, that he was finally free. 

“I almost forgot how powerful you were, Clockwork.” He turned to see Misery Vex, lounging comfortably just outside his lair. “The Eyes Around Us are gone then?”

Clockwork nodded, looking to the future, looking to the past. She had been waiting here for him, but not for long. And she wouldn’t have waited much longer. “Are you ready for what happens next?” he asked. 

“Are you?”

He nodded again. There weren’t any more preparations to make, how could he be anything but ready?

They didn’t meet at the Clocktower this time. 

It was no longer necessary after all. This time they met in the night. The soft evening of eternal sleep and dreams, Nocturn’s lair. It was spacious if nothing else, and creative with its decoration. Should one of them wish to sit, they merely needed to chance sitting and see if the space around them would accommodate. It suited him immensely. 

“Have you found her yet?” Misery asked.

Sojourn nodded, a small enthusiastic smile hidden under his beard. “Yes, Clockwork and I were able to locate her shattered core amongst Pandora’s boxes.”

“ It will not be easy to receive her, and it will only be more difficult to revive her,” Nocturn warned, “especially if we wish to keep this to ourselves. Rather than risk the entirety of the realms turning on us as they did the Observants.”

Clockwork nodded, “we shouldn’t do much in more than pairs. Sojourn and Misery should seek Pandora. Nocturn and I can set the ritual once the pieces are complete.”

“And the rest of us?” Undergrowth scowled, he hated Nocturn’s lair. It was cold and empty, barren of any more physical matters and there was nowhere for him to take root. Clockwork suspected half of the reason it was that way was intended to irritate Undergrowth specifically. 

Sojourn clapped his hands together and smiled, his eagerness truly knew no bounds and his obvious delight was nearly infectious. “You’re our escape plan of course! We’ll need help once we locate the right box, Pandora’s obsession is hardly a good one to be on the wrong side of.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Vortex grinned.

Clockwork couldn’t help but agree, what are they waiting for indeed? 

  “What is Chaos, Clockwork?” Daniel asked. But Clockwork was distracted.

He hadn’t expected Daniel to show up today, he hadn’t paid attention to it. There was so much to do, so much to get ready for. The time was now after all. 

He took care to answer anyways, the changes that were to come would affect the boy. At least a little. He was strong enough that he would thrive in Chaos, and it would help to nurture his Obsession, if the weaker denizens of the Realms needed help. And they would

“Chaos was the first, how it all began. Everything started with Chaos or nothing could have been at all.” 

Daniel frowned, a small furrow in his brow. “That… didn’t really-“

Clockwork paused for a moment. “Is something wrong Daniel?”

He sighed. “So if you were made from Chaos, is she like, your mother?”

“No. Chaos is not sentient so much as conceptual.” Clockwork frowned, “though I suppose she predated concepts as well if she was the first. Chaos was neither one thing nor many things. It’s safe to say Chaos was everything and everything came from her. But that did not make her nurturing” 

Clockwork looked back at Daniel, letting time flow smoothly once more. It wouldn’t do to delay. 

There was a hint of something in Daniel’s eyes, a wariness that Clockwork had never seen before. It must have been due to their conversation, but Clockwork couldn’t place what about it would have Daniel on edge. Chaos would not be any more a threat to him than it would be the other Ancients. 

“Clockwork, if Chaos came back…” he paused, as if the words had been stuck in his throat, “what would happen to the humans? The mortals?” 

What a strange question. “Life would not exist as it does now, utter chaos would not permit it.”

It had been something of a sport, to watch Sojourn and Misery in their attempts to find and excavate the remnants of the Core of Chaos. Clockwork and Nocturn had watched it from the safety and comfort of Clockwork’s lair, on the largest of his screens. 

“They’re having fun aren’t they?” Nocturn mused, taking a sip of his tea. He’d made it himself in Clockwork’s kitchen, had been insistent about it when he’d seen Clockwork start to make his own.

“Pandora is a valiant warrior and a good fighter. Misery has been on the sidelines for some time since the end of Pariah’s court.” Clockwork’s tea was cold. He frowned and set it aside.

“Yes, it’s good to see her stretching her limbs. I hadn’t seen all of them since her last fight.”

Clockwork thought back, the fight Nocturn was referring to played on one of the smaller screens. It was a gladiator based competition, where Pariah had sent her as a member of his court to show his power. She had challenged the Lord of Little Crawlers to a duel and shredded him to pieces before even five minutes had passed. Then she had collected herself, reset her veil, and gone right back to Pariah’s Keep. 

Now she was using every extra limb she could against Pandora, swords clashing with long knitting needles and strings of silk. Watching the fight was mesmerizing to be sure, almost akin to a dance, if not for the frustrated vulgarities being thrown around and Sojourn’s overly eager cheering from the back.

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Sojourn will remember what they’re supposed to be doing when he almost drops one of the boxes held in his arms. Upon that realization he will sneak away while Pandora is distracted and meet with the others. From there they will come here with their spoils and it will be our turn to prove our worth.” Clockwork answered, easily detailing the future ahead of them. 

Nocturn nodded and took a sip of his tea.

  It didn’t happen exactly like Clockwork had predicted. But it was close enough. Sojourn had bypassed Vortex and Undergrowth completely and simply flown straight to Clockwork‘s lair on his own. Nocturn spared Clockwork a glance, but he remained unaffected. It was still on track to be an ideal future. 

Once Sojourn entered his lair Clockwork grabbed hold of time with his hand and twisted , forcing it to bend and still under his palm. The trip to the Cave was only a step after that and once there, he let loose and released time to settle amicably around them.

“Amazing,” Sonourn said, “I do think I’d like to travel this way more often. It’s quite convenient.”

Nocturn patted him on the shoulder and grabbed one of the delicately detailed boxes he’d been balancing precariously in his arms. “You’d need to be very careful if you did, there’s no telling what might get caught up in all that twisting and turning.”

“It won’t matter much longer after this,” Clockwork said, taking his own box. 

The entirety of Chaos was not here, her core long since mostly destroyed, but there was enough to recreate something should they use the ritual they had devised. 

It needed to be hidden, so they had found a cave. It was ancient, and once thought to be a reliable doorway into the spiritual and mortal realms, every wall was covered in ancient arts and writings. No rhyme or reason between them, a bit of a mess conceptually, but perfect for their purposes. Once Vortex had destroyed it in the mortal realm, it had been simple enough to recreate, especially using Undergrowth and Misery Vex’s powers. 

Most ghosts dared not travel here, where they placed it. It was a deeper part of the Infinite Realms, where the pressures of the ambient ectoplasm was strong enough to kill even some of the more stable spirits, certainly more than any Watcher could have ever handled. 

Clockwork gathered the ashes in the center of their chosen chamber. Three rights from the first left. Nocturn moved around the edges, the walls solid and firm under his hands as he tested them. And Sojourn, setting his own box aside, lit the flames. 

It began. 

They had known the work would be hard, tedious even. Most mortals, when they picture rituals like this, imagine chanting and holding hands, perhaps some use of indomitable will. But this was far more personal, more hands on.

Clockwork took the broken edge of a shattered piece of core, and began to mold it, shaping and soothing it into a puzzle-like shape. He had spent time looking into human carpentry practices, and had come across the traditional Chinese techniques of Lu Ban. 

It had taken more than a human lifetime to learn it properly and then suit it to his own needs, but he put it into practice now, shaping the shattered pieces anew and slotting them together so that they might fit and stay snug.

Sojourn had weaved together layer after layer of treated ectoplasm into a fine cloth and was now sewing it into a fitted dress, each stitch small and tidy, seamless against the weave. 

The one who stoked the flame, who kept its energy strong and the newly forming core well fed, was Nocturn. He kept a measured gaze upon it, not once turning away or getting distracted. 

This continued for an eternity, the creation, or recreation, of something both ancient and now new was exhaustive work. But eventually, Clockwork felt a hum. A small, weak thing that would have left him breathless had he needed to breathe. 

Chaos was born again, though faint, though weak. Not anything close to what she once was, but still, she was there, feeding on the flames of her own ashes, pieces of her own core held together and finally finding life. 

They needed to keep going. This was delicate work, if they got distracted, if there was even one misstep, it would be over. Chaos would be what she is now, what they made of her, and not what she needed to be. 

The fire went out.

“ Damn ,” Nocturn hissed, quickly turning to look around. He did not bother to relight the flame, it was too late. Clockwork felt hollow, had they truly failed? But how? 

He acted quickly, bundling the newly formed and still fragile core into Sojourn’s half sewn garment and thrusting it fully into the other Ancient’s hands. 

“You are the fastest of us, run, hide her away before we lose her entirely.” Sojourn nodded solemnly, flying quickly through the winding tunnels that led out of the cave. 

Nocturn scowled, “whoever is there should be glad I am merciful. Come out now and I shall forgo eternal torment for a quick End.”

There was only silence. 

Clockwork was growing irritated himself and looked to the future, only to see Nocturn tackled into a wall by a familiar black and white blur. 

“Daniel?!” He said, his thoughts screeching to a halt. But, there was no way. He couldn’t have followed them. He would have had to know about the cave and been lying in wait for the exact moment to-

There was a soft sound, like the clinking of a delicate chain, as Clockwork felt a weight upon his neck. All at once he felt the universe stand still, as if he had been trapped in the moment, the singular moment no longer able to spread himself beyond. It was cloying, claustrophobic. Something he never thought he’d experience again. 

And he knew who was behind it. 

“You’ve always been impatient my dear.” Pariah spoke softly, his lips far too close. 

Clockwork fled, slipping between moments to force space between them almost on instinct alone. Pariah simply let him go, a smug smile on his face. No, he wasn’t supposed to be here. How did he know about this place?

What had he placed on Clockwork’s neck?

He lifted a hand, not taking his eyes off of Pariah in case he decided to get any closer, and felt around his neck. It was a chain, delicate and just long enough to have slid over his head and dangle its pendant at a point on his chest, just above the glass. The shape of it was vaguely familiar, but Clockwork couldn’t place it.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, using anger to hide the tremble in his voice.

Pariah’s expression softened and he took a step forward. “Did I not say I would see you decked in gold?”

No…

The necklace…

It had been a cursed necklace, layered in charms meant for protection that slowly twisted into possession and control. It shouldn’t have been strong enough to cause any trouble at all to Clockwork, if something this simple had worked, Pariah would have used it long ago in the peak of his madness. 

Clockwork grabbed the chain, intending to rip it off, but Pariah spoke, startling him. “I wouldn’t, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Then why did you put it on me?” he tugged at the chain in emphasis, without his strength. Pariah never warned for no reason. 

The bastard smiled, like Clockwork had asked a stupid question, one he should know the answer to. Clockwork scowled, and moved further away from him. His back hit a wall. The cave, while earlier it had been comforting, a sign that eternal chaos was close at hand, that all Clockwork had done was paying off in the end, it was now more reminiscent of a stone cage. 

A trap.

He’d walked straight into a trap, one Pariah had been laying since he awoke. And Clockwork had never paid it any heed, had not bothered with his machinations because he assumed Pariah would be too slow, had thought whatever he did would be too weak. He had underestimated him, and now Pariah Dark was walking towards him, a lion stalking its prey.

Clockwork froze time.

He was still moving. Clockwork had frozen time and Pariah was still moving . 

It shouldn’t have been possible, there was nothing restricting Clockwork’s power in that way. He felt the threads of all existence tangled around him, grabbed the ones moving forward and tugged, sharp, desperate, to keep them still. He felt them still. 

Pariah kept moving though. 

“How-?” Everything else had frozen, all around them was silence and the only things that moved were the two of them. It was a strange kind of dance, one stepping closer and the other floating away. 

“I made it myself, the charm. It ties you to me, obviously.” Pariah caught him, gently because he didn’t need to use force, didn’t need to use any of the almost limitless strength behind him. “It’s based off the contract you signed with the Observants, I hadn’t honestly expected it to be so blatantly one sided when I read it. Though I suppose it was on purpose, a miscalculation on your part, in the end.”

Clockwork pulled his hand away, but Pariah simply moved with the action and stepped closer, crowding against him. “It doesn’t work like that,” Clockwork said through clenched teeth. A one-sided contract that gave away so much of himself was necessary. It was also only possible because Clockwork had signed it. Pariah couldn’t mimic that without Clockwork’s consent, that wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how any of this was supposed to work. 

Pariah hummed in agreement. “It wouldn’t be, if that was all I did.” He brushed a lock of hair from Clockwork’s eyes. “The Order of the Observants was in chaos. They were desperate. They wanted someone powerful to protect them. They were willing to give anything for the possibility they might find safety.”

Then he pulled out a medallion of his own, a horribly familiar one.

Oh.

So that was all it took…

Pariah was right, it had been a miscalculation indeed. 

“Even if they gave me to you, the contract dissolved with the Order. I felt it break.” 

“It did,” Pariah took hold of one of Clockwork’s hands and held it to his lips in a kiss, “But I had you for long enough. Long enough to bind you to myself instead. All it took was some craftswork.”

He let go of Clockwork’s hand to touch the pendant hanging from his neck instead. It was a gentle, reverent touch, as if thanking the damned thing for its work in keeping Clockwork trapped for him. “Luckily I was up to date on all the most prominent binding curses. I have a friend who suffers from such an affliction after all.”

“Fuck you.” 

Pariah laughed, a genuine surprised chuckle that truly lit him up from the inside. His eyes were so warm, his hands burned like brands, and Clockwork wanted nothing more than to tear out his other eye with his teeth. “Come Clockwork, you’ve failed. Let’s go home.” 

  Pariah led him back to the Clocktower, his lair. His home and prison. Clockwork stormed past him once they were inside. “And what is your plan now? I can’t imagine I’d be much use in subjecuting the Realms, as you can see I’m quite traitorous by nature. All of my previous masters can attest.”

“Then it’s good I’m keeping you for your sense of humor,” Pariah said as he closed the door behind him. 

It was the first time Pariah Dark had ever been inside Clockwork’s lair. Pariah had always been a cautious ghost, it made sense that he wouldn’t allow himself the vulnerability of being inside another powerful ghost’s lair, a place where they quite literally held all of the power and had all of the control. 

The irony of course, was that the moment Pariah had stepped inside, it was Clockwork that felt vulnerable. Exposed like a raw nerve, every part of him standing on end, tightly coiled and ready to flee. 

“How is this exactly how I have always envisioned it?” Pariah says dryly, his eyes roaming freely, invasively over every nook and cranny. Every randomly placed cog and haphazard ticking machine. It was a chaotic mess, naturally, it was Clockwork. 

Clockwork picked up a twentieth century alarm clock and weighed it in his hands before chucking it as hard as he could towards Pariah. The bastard caught it, of course. And Clockwork scowled.

“Did you often picture yourself waltzing into my Lair?”

Pariah set the clock down carefully, as if it would break. As if it were truly a piece of Clockwork himself. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t have. You were certainly at home in mine.”

“Oh please, half the Realms has access to your Lair. We are not the same.” Clockwork scoffed, crossing his arms and floating awkwardly in the middle of the room. He didn’t want to be any closer to Pariah, but neither did he want to risk being backed into a wall again . It seemed a recurring treat for Pariah, to cage him in that way. 

There was a touch of mischief in Pariah’s smile when he replied. “Perhaps we can change that, would you like more visitors?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

Clockwork grabbed another trinket to throw, this one he had pried from the walls. Pariah handled that just as easily, an uncomfortable expression aimed at the destroyed part of Clockwork’s wall. He was truly the most obnoxious perfectionist. If Clockwork’s mangled mess of a lair was going to bother him he shouldn’t have bothered to come inside.

In fact, if he was going to be disappointed so easily he shouldn’t have chained him in the first place. It wasn’t as if the bindings guaranteed something like loyalty. They couldn’t even force him to act should he not wish to. Clockwork wasn’t going to change from how he had been for eons under the damn Eyes. 

“Why did you do this?” Clockwork asked, “And don’t dare say it’s only because you said you would. You may be meticulous but you are not beholden to simple words.”

Pariah had fixed his wall. And was now attempting to reinstate the very same decoration Clockwork had used as ammunition. It was strangely domestic to see and Clockwork felt rage simmer and build. Would he simply make himself at home then? Perhaps he would seek to combine their lairs in a twisted amalgamation so that he might seek order where it damn well did not belong.

“You were going to leave.” 

What a useless excuse. “Did you lose your ability to reason permanently to that crown?”

This time it was Pariah that rolled his eyes. “Obviously not, if I was able to out-fox Clockwork of all ghosts.”

“You had help.” Clockwork said through grit teeth. He wouldn’t ask who, he didn’t think he could handle having it confirmed.

Pariah’s eyes sparkled. “So you knew?”

“I figured it out.”

“Feeling very betrayed, Clockwork?” This time Pariah’s smile was sharp, a vicious little thing that certainly made him more recognizable as the fallen tyrant he actually was. 

Clockwork refused to rise to the bait. He did not regret, it was impossible to feel regret when every single decision he’d ever made had been so thoroughly calculated. “I wasn’t going to leave. Where would I even go, Pariah?”

“You were leaving me.” Pariah walked towards him, quicker than his usual slow prowl. Clockwork had chanced a step back himself but it only served to darken Pariah’s expression further so he stilled instead and allowed himself to be caught and held. Pariah’s hands were heavy, one landing on his hip and the other reaching for his wrist. “You were disappearing to the flows of Time, one minute here and the next somewhere no one could follow you. You speak of chaos and the freedom it would give you, but you lie to yourself when you say that is all that you desire. The freedom you had so desperately sought, how lonely would it have been.”

Pariah had not been able to talk after that, too busy weathering Clockwork’s sudden violent outrage. 

Nocturn was the first to visit him, to see Clockwork’s anger, his desperate lashing out. He had the same expression he’d always had when the topic of Pariah or Daniel had come up. The look of undisguised pity, as if he had known from the start that Clockwork would fail, that he would be chained in this way, the moment his freedom was closer than at any other time. 

“We do not hate you for your failure, Clockwork,” Nocturn said, and Clockwork bared his teeth. It had been sometime since he’d carved out an eye in petty vengeance but he was not above making it a hobby.

Nocturn simply kept his distance, just one step away with one of those damned medallions around his neck, stopping Clockwork from freezing him in place in his own lair. “You’ve always been easily twisted by affection, too willing to be tied down with familiarity.”

His words hurt, like an arrow piercing through Clockwork’s chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so literal, hadn’t taken Pariah’s threats seriously. Had believed, genuinely, that he would be able to escape whatever bonds Pariah had fashioned for him. Had not thought to protect himself thoroughly enough and now all was for naught. Nocturn said he harbored no ill will, but he should . 

And Clockwork was distraught that he did not. 

He deflated and Nocturn floated closer, just within range. But Clockwork’s arms hung heavy, and he was exhausted now, the weight of it all too much. “You should. Chaos is lost to us.” he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Nocturn acquiesced, “but Chaos was lost to us long ago. It was a child’s hope, that we could get it back.”

“You are content then? To rot in containment in an infinite realm of order and stability?”

A laugh escaped Nocturn, perplexing Clockwork and only flaring his temper worse. The other Ancient didn’t even try to hide as he fell into a laughing fit. “I would not be, no. But my oldest friend, I am not the one in containment. I have always known you look too much towards the forest and its tallest trees, very rarely have you ever noticed the grass or the leaves.”

“Speak sense,” Clockwork snapped. It was his job to speak in riddles, he had little patience to hear them now. 

Nocturn did not call him on his hypocrisy though, instead he shook his head and floated closer, relaxing next to Clockwork as if they were two friends taking tea. “It was not, as you believed, an all or nothing gamble.”

“Was it not?”

“No, the realms are back to Anarchy as they should be. The Observants were the last hold in their attempts to tame them, and they have been destroyed. There is no King, not even a sleeping one, and Chaos exists.”

Clockwork listened, the cold weight of failure that had settled in his chest chipped and cracked as Nocturn spoke on. “She does not exist as she had.”

“But perhaps this is a better way,” Nocturn pondered, “last time, Chaos reigned so supreme it seemed all were insistent to seek order. Then order reigned supreme and we sought Chaos. Perhaps now, with the Realms alive once more, and order and Chaos in balance, it will last instead.”

Nocturn placed a hand on the top of Clockwork’s head, petting his hair. “The other Ancients and I shall seek our fun, and find ways to exist in this new existence. It is only you, I am afraid, that will remain trapped.”

Clockwork slapped his hand away, “How comforting, Nocturn. Do you also go to the newly dead and tell them not to weep, at least they were the ones that died and not others?”

Nocturn’s hand returned to pull his hood down over his face and Clockwork had to slap it away again. “It is not in my perogative to comfort the newly dead. I thought only to inform my dearest friend that he had not earned my animosity. A fear he might have had, failing the plan we had painstakingly worked towards for eons.”

“I don’t want to be chained any longer.” Clockwork admitted. It had been so long since he’d had any semblance of freedom. Did he even know what it would feel like anymore?

“We know. Though some, like Misery Vex, believe it karmic, that your attachments, which had led so thoroughly to our defeat, came back in the forms of chains for you alone. But know that if one day it comes to pass that I can free you, unlikely as it may be, I shall make the attempt.” Nocturn stood, leaving Clockwork alone in his tower. 

“Clockwork?” It was Daniel’s voice. It was the first time his young ward had come to visit since the binding. It was not a comfort to hear his voice, to see that he was okay. It was not .

He didn’t acknowledge Daniel when he entered, wouldn’t have let him in the door if he still had complete control of his Lair… But he’d bargained that away long ago in a gamble that had failed him entirely. 

Instead he floated to his screens. Ever since the fall of the Observants, he could see properly at least. Pariah had no interest in obscuring his vision, had even less in controlling what it was he could see. Pariah’s only interest had been binding Clockwork to him so that he might not escape, so that he might not regress, so that he might not lose himself to the chaos of infinity and escape his limited existence.

Clockwork scowled, still ignoring Daniel’s presence, his attempts at conversation. Pariah’s interests should not have mattered. Because Pariah should not have won . Because Pariah had lost before and Clockwork had been so certain that he would again. Because- 

Because Clockwork had made a mistake when he sealed him away. Because Clockwork knew he could not bring himself to end him. Because Clockwork had seen an opportunity to see Pariah again and had known it would be a mistake but had wanted so desperately just to see him again. Wanted to see him free of the haze of anger the ring and crown had obscured him in, but a ghost’s natural state was obsessive. And Pariah had never hid his desire to keep Clockwork as he was, Clockwork had simply brushed it off as words of affection. He should have known better really, Pariah was hardly the type to speak lightly, and had never claimed what he did not mean with his entire core. 

The screen he was watching was boring, most things were now that he had no reason to keep track of the threads, no overarching plan to work towards. It was so simple. A young ghost was trick-or-treating with a watermelon instead of a pumpkin and was turning into a large candy-based monster whenever someone turned them away. 

It was the middle of summer where the ghost was, and Clockwork allowed himself to appreciate the tiny bit of chaos that the ghost was bringing to the small mortal town. Nocturn had told him that not all had been lost, Clockwork may be trapped, but Chaos had been released. 

Just enough. 

He sighed. 

“Why are you here Daniel?” he finally asked.

Daniel straightened up, he’d been rambling, no doubt in an attempt to cajole Clockwork into joining conversation or listening subconsciously. He hadn't been.

He was also carrying a plate of cookies that Clockwork had not seen, because Clockwork had not looked. When would he learn his lesson about that? Why was he always looking too late?

“I wanted to check on you,” Daniel said, setting the plate of cookies down now that he was sure Clockwork had seen them. “Pariah said you were… having a hard time.”

Clockwork scowled, too many things tearing at his chest at once. Damn Pariah, damn him . 

“Having a hard time?” he said with a false calm. “The plans that I made eons ago, plans that had been in work before your mortal realm even knew what time was, were ruined by someone I trusted. Someone I did not think would step so easily between me and my goals. Exactly what kind of time should I be having, chained to my own lair without even the authority to deny entrance to whom I wish?”

There had been a small flinch, Clockwork noticed, when he had mentioned betrayal. But if Daniel felt any guilt he didn’t look it. He raised his head, eyes full of determination. The very same expression Clockwork had seen through his screens so many times, in the fights against the other Ancients. The plans they’d made to make him stronger, to keep him stable, so that when the Chaos had been released he and the Realms with him would survive. 

He had certainly survived. 

“Pariah said this was the only way to save you.” Because of course that was what Pariah had told him. Because Daniel was intelligent, but Daniel was also a child and all too willing to trust any competent adult. A flaw that Clockwork himself had been so quick to take advantage of. A flaw that cursed him now. 

“Do you really believe that Pariah Dark has my best interest at heart?” he would have sneered, if it had been anyone else. If it hadn’t been Daniel, who was practically his own child. Instead, he asked softly, his frustration drowned entirely by exhaustion.

Daniel still answered him though. “You were changing Clockwork,” What? “The same way you told me Pariah had once changed.”

He hadn’t, there was no way it had been so obvious. He hadn’t, it wasn’t as if he had lost himself to his obsession, nor had he gained power that grew out of his control, what was he talking about?

“You were distant, as if you were struggling to stay in any given moment. Sometimes you’d forget everything going on around you, and others you seemed to be somewhere or some-when else entirely. I mean,” Daniel took a breath, “you’ve always been a bit cryptic, but you were losing yourself entirely . Halfway through a conversation you would start talking completely randomly, in languages long dead or unrecognizable. Or you’d start talking about things that had never happened or had happened forever ago.”

He was almost shouting now, his eyes shining with more than just energy and Clockwork felt a sting in his core. He had known that Daniel would disapprove, that he would get angry. But it had not occurred to him that his anger would be pointed towards this rather than his blatant manipulation of Daniel and his friends.

“And your actions! They were reckless, Clockwork!! Releasing Dan? What the hell?! ”

It was Clockwork’s turn to flinch. “Your future self’s release had always been part of the plan. It was why I had you leave him with me to start with. I was not losing myself Daniel, I was revealing who I actually am.”

Daniel made a desperately frustrated noise. “Do you think saying something like that is going to convince me we were wrong, Clockwork? I- I trusted you! I care about you! You’re-”

“So you’d cage me and try to force compliance so that the more unsightly aspects of myself can be filed away? So you can teach me to be better, like some kind of petty human criminal, Daniel?” He let his anger take over instead. It was easier, so much easier. It was what he had always done with Pariah. 

Daniel rolled his eyes. “How dramatic,” he said dryly, “Didn’t you do the same thing to Pariah, wasn’t what you did like way worse? You’re throwing a fit just like he said you would.”

“If you trust Pariah Dark so much, why are you even here? Have him make cookies for you. I'm sure he’s fully capable.” Clockwork wasn’t throwing a fit, he was angry. 

Daniel sighed, grabbing one of the cookies he’d brought. They had long gone cold, but it hardly mattered to Clockwork, he wouldn’t be eating them. “Pariah has a lot of faults, and there’s a bunch of things I don’t really like about him. He’s manipulative, methodical. He never lets me half ass anything and he’s really picky. He doesn’t actually care if a person dies or a ghost gets Ended, and we fight about that kind of stuff a lot. But…” he met Clockwork’s eyes, his expression looked hurt, heartbroken. Clockwork didn’t want to see it. Had never wanted to see Daniel like this.

“He’s never outright lied to me. I’ve been checking, ever since… Well. I don’t just trust anyone at their word anymore. So yeah okay, I know he’s manipulating me just like he was manipulating you, but he never lied to either of us about his intentions. He didn’t do what you did.”

Clockwork couldn’t look at him any more. He’d made so many mistakes. If he was truly destined to fail… He should never have revealed his true nature or intentions to the boy. His disappointment burned almost as much as the chain Pariah had placed around Clockwork’s neck.

It didn’t matter though, that Clockwork could not stand to see him, because Daniel flew towards him and grabbed his face gently, hands on either side of his cheeks. 

“I don’t trust you anymore, Clockwork, but I still love you. So does Pariah. We can fix this, okay?” Daniel said and Clockwork’s eyes widened at the threat. 

He had truly lost, hadn’t he?

[neonponders]

Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 73

Title: Best Laid Plans

Warnings: some profanity, talk of domestic abuse, child death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother, @lokitrasho, @miss-smutty,  @raith-way​, @ocappreciation​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/85024549

He’s up at quarter to six; throwing on a muscle shirt and a pair of work out pants and slipping into the well worn sneakers he keeps by the back door. A run on the beach as the sun peeks over the horizon is exactly what he needs; his bad knees cushioned by sand beneath him, a steady, cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sky painted in vivid orange and gold and stunning pink streaks. The two dogs run on either side of him; their tags clinking against their collars, each carrying a tennis ball in their mouths in hopes of play after the hard work is done. The excursion to his body is calming to both brain and soul; pushing all thoughts of Mark and his devious intentions onto the back burner and concentrating on nothing but his breathing and his heart rate and the sights and sounds around him. And once at the finish line, he bends at the waist and places his hands on his thighs; eyes closed as the sweat trickles off his forehead and runs down his nose and his temples and gathers at the nape of his neck. Chest heaving and burning; a familiar discomfort that serves to remind him of just how far he’s come. Fighting against the odds to complete the long and painful recovery after the incident with Nathan and coming out almost as good as he was before; strong, agile, his health better than it's ever been. He’d somehow survived and he’d long ago swore he'd never take another minute for granted; always grateful to wake up and find himself on top of the ground instead of below it.

After a half an hour of entertaining the dogs, he returns home; splashing cold water on his face and neck and running wet hands through his sweaty hair and then heading for the kitchen. Busying himself with the morning routine; brewing his coffee and the three shots of espresso he always adds to it. The smoothies are next; a wide selection of fresh fruit and various supplements and vitamins recommended by both his doctor and Esme’s fetal and maternal medicine specialist. And the moment he hears her footsteps above -small and light, but just heavy enough to NOT be a child- he begins preparing her breakfast; kettle boiling for her tea while he throws a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and gathers up a container of plain yogurt and a handful of different fruits to chop. He glances over his shoulder and smiles in greeting when she joins him; messy hair held away from her face and out of her eyes with a sparkly purple headband stolen from one of their daughters and her tiny frame clad in a pair of baggy Hello Kitty night shorts and one of his t-shirts. And before he can open his mouth to offer up a ‘good morning’, she’s wrapping her around his waist from behind; yawning loudly and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before laying her head against his back.

“Babe…” he warns. “ I probably stink. Gonna make you pass out. Give the baby in utero PTSD.”

“Bullshit. You smell good. You smell like a man. MY man. “

“All the kids still asleep?”

Esme nods. “You already went for a run?”

“Just a small one. Took the dogs with me. Tired them out.”

“I thought you said Sunday was your ‘set in stone rest day’?

“I did. But that’s just for lifting heavy.” Turning around to face her, he takes her face in his hands, turning her head up towards him as he leans down to kiss her. “I’m still going to run every day.”

“You know how I feel about this; when it comes to you pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know you worry. I know you don’t blow out my knee or fuck my femur up somehow. I’m taking it easy; I’m not going full tilt and I’m not ignoring my body when it starts screaming at me. I’m doing a lot better; when it comes to recognizing the signs and paying attention to them.”

“I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself. And you've been spending a lot of time in the gym. You went from one three hour a work out a day to TWO. That’s a lot, babe. Even for a bad ass like you. I know you feel this need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I’m past that. Maybe just looking to put on another ten. That’s it. That’s probably as big as I’ll ever get again. Sorry. No return to the thicc, lumberjack stage that you enjoyed so much.”

“I DID enjoy it. You had the big muscles and the extra weight in your tummy and your hair was short and your beard was really thick. It was a good look on you. A VERY good look.”

“But…”

“But I love you EVERY way. And how your body is right now? That’s how you looked when we met. When I fell in love with you. So it tends to be my favourite. It’s very sentimental to me. And you know what would make it even MORE sentimental?”

“If you want me to get the haircut, I’ll get the haircut.”

“You would do that for little old me? You’d do that to keep your pregnant and extremely hormonal wife happy?”

“I would do anything for you. Pregnant or not.”

“Best husband ever,” she declares, and stands on her tip toes as he kisses her once more; hands tightly grasping the sides of his t-shirt.

She’d long ago gotten used to that ‘after work out’ stench; the potent tang of sweat , the lingering remains of laundry detergent, and the cool, brisk, freshness of antiperspirant. It’s HIS smell. One that reminds her of safety and protection and love. Of HOME. When he’s away, it’s those combined, familiar scents that offer comfort; bringing solace to her aching heart and effectively relieving at least some of the fear and worry nagging at her. Sleeping with his pillow every night and often wearing one of his t-shirts or bundling herself up in one of his hoodies; soothed by the smell of him clinging to the sheets and clothes and subduing her rattled nerves just enough for her to fall asleep.

It never gets easier; kissing him goodbye at the front door or the airport and then wondering -as he walks away- if she’ll ever see him again. The job isn’t a life you ever really get used to; lying to yourself when you tell others that you’re completely fine with your husband being thousands of miles away, putting his life on the line in the hopes of saving another. But she copes; knowing he can more than handle himself when it comes to the physical aspect and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her and the kids. But the ache is real when he’s not under the same roof; both her and their brood feeling his absence and both saddened and angered about it. And the worry and fear never disappear; feeling as if she’s holding her breath the entire time, never releasing it until the moment he walks back through the front door. Safe and sound.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he turns towards the counter once more; snagging a knife from the butcher’s block and preparing the only breakfast her stomach has been able to handle. Dry toast accompanied by chunks of fresh fruit, a smoothie containing all the vitamins and supplements recommended by her doctor, and a tea that helps with calming both her tummy and her nerves. While the nausea lingers throughout the entire day, the mornings have been especially horrendous; unable to keep even the smallest sips of water down and struggling with both weakness and dizziness. All of the pregnancies have been the same in that respect; losing weight before actually managing to put it on, suffering from headaches and queasiness and even a handful of scares that sent them running to the hospital in fear there was something terribly wrong. But the sixth pregnancy is turning out to be an even bigger struggle; half a dozen different medications fighting to keep her blood pressure down, help her sleep, and keep her eating and drinking properly.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Tyler remarks, as she moves to the stove to tend to the boiling kettle. Offering a mug with the tea bag already in it; his hand briefly resting on the small of her back as he places a kiss on her temple. “You were sleeping pretty good when I went on my run.”

Sighing, she sets the mug down on the stovetop and fills it with water. “I probably still would be if your spawn didn’t wake me up out of nowhere and send me on a mad dash to the bathroom. I’ve come to expect SOME sickness, but this?”

“This one’s giving you an extra hard time, huh? What did the doctor say? Something about making too much human growth hormone? I don’t know. She completely lost me when she broke out the science speak.”

“A variant of it. And it’s too much of ALL the hormones. Kind of weird; that the last pregnancy would be the worst. You’d think it would be the easiest; your body totally used to everything, able to push that sucker out with only two tries. I swear to Christ, Tyler. If this is another Millie labour…”

“You’ll cut my dick off?”

“That’s a little extreme. You need your dick. It’s still very useful. I’ll just chop your balls off. So you can’t make any more swimmers.”

“How about we not do that and just let the surgeon handle things?”

“I want a goddamn guarantee from him that this isn’t going to happen again; your penis remarkably healing itself and letting those swimmers of yours have free reign.”

“I’m going to jump in here for a second. You realize your body fucked up too, yeah? That it took BOTH of us to make this baby? Your tubes were tied. Right after you had Kota and Brookie. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place.”

She stares at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if I hadn’t gotten them tied, you weren’t supposed to be able to produce any sperm. Ever again. For the rest of your natural born life. But low and behold…”

“You…” He points the knife at her. “...need to accept some responsibility in all of this.”

She huffs, taking a sip of tea and then setting it on the stove; hands on her hips in a show of defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, this can’t all be pinned entirely on me. Both our bodies had to screw up for this to happen. So be a big girl…” snagging her by the front of her t-shirt, he gently pulls her into him. “...and take some of the blame.”

She stares up at him; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and those enormous, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “No. You can’t make me.”

“Listen pocket wife, I’m a foot and three inches taller than you and almost a hundred pounds heavier. I can make you.”

“I’d like to see you try. You don’t intimidate me. Your muscles and your resting asshole face and all those tattoos and scars. They don’t scare me a bit.”

“You realize I have ways of convincing you, don’t you? Ways that don’t involve intimidation. “

“Yeah?” Both hands clutch the front of her shirt as her body leans into his. “What kind of ways are we talking about then?”

He swipes the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Sexual ones.”

“You realize that sounds more like pleasure than punishment, right?”

“You remember that thing we did back in New York City. In the bathtub. The thing you claim to hate but always seem to love? The one thing that I always can count on to make you squirt? Do you know what thing I’m talking about?”

“I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about.”

“Well next time around, when you least expect it? I’m going to do that twice as much. Only this time there won’t be a happy ending. For you, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“You’re evil.”

“Most evil husband out there.”

“You may be the most evil, but you’re also the sexiest out there. So at least you have THAT going for you,” she chides, giving a tiny yelp when he brings a palm down on the cheek of her ass in a ringing slap. Giggling when his hand reverts to lightly pinching and squeezing before drawing her into him; body pressed against his and her hands tightening their grip on his shirt as he leans down to kiss her. Long and slow and deep; the brief contact between their tongues finding her curling her toes and sighing into his mouth.

When he pulls away he’s smiling down at her; blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of unbridled lust and pure adoration. Hand moving from her ass to the side of her cheek; knuckles grazing over the soft skin before gentle fingertips clear wayward strands of hair away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.”

“I already knew that. But needing them doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

The smile she gives is shaky; tears welling in her eyes as a lump of emotion wedges firmly in her throat. It’s overwhelming at times; seeing his love, adoration, and affection laid so bare. This big, strong man with his myriad of tattoos and scars and a lifetime of trauma, guilt, and regret. So brave and fearless yet so vulnerable at the same time; possessing a heart that he’s even bigger than his body and a beauty to his soul that not even his father, Asif, Mahajan, or Nathan had been able to rob him of. Working as a team, she’d spent years helping chip away at the seemingly impenetrable walls that he’d built around his heart; patiently urging him outside of his comfort zone and encouraging that humanity lingering inside of him to make itself fully known. In the end, the reward was far beyond anything she could ever imagined; a man that loves her so wholly and completely. And profoundly. So much so it often takes her breath away; and all consuming and often leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion.

He frowns when he notices the tears in her eyes and the tell tale wobble of her lower lip and chin. “What’s the matter? Why are you gonna cry? What…?”

Her voice comes out as a childlike whimper; reminding him of Addie when she’s been scolded or has had a particularly rough run in with Millie and the teasing was just too much to take. “I really need a hug right now.”

Setting the knife on the counter, he gathers her in his arms. One arm circling her waist as a hand settles on the back of her skull; palm lightly pressing her head into his chest. And when she stands on the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order to return the embrace, he crouches down until she’s able to successfully wrap both arms around his neck. His beautiful, tiny wife; his best friend, truest confident, and his rock during his darkest and most dire of times. Always sticking by his side no matter how difficult he sometimes makes things; forever patient and attentive during the long and painful recovery after Nathan, always forgiving him for his sins and mistakes even when he can’t forgive himself. Suddenly seeming so weak and vulnerable herself; her entire body trembling and her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her ear. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s ALL gonna be okay.”

*****

He hates seeing her like this; face lined with worry and exhaustion, shoulders drooped as if carrying the weight of the world upon them, eyes dark and downcast instead of sparkling and playful. He’d long ago gotten used to her morning persona; overly cheerful and extremely talkative compared to his grumpiness and need for complete and utter silence until he’s at least finished his coffee. So it’s unsettling when she deviates from the norm; missing the familiarity and the routine of her chattiness and her teasing and witty banter. Instead completely silent as she sits across from him at the table on the back deck; her feet resting in his lap as she merely nibbles at the dry toast and moves the pieces of various fruits around on her plate.

He gestures at her plate with his fork. “You need to eat. Start putting weight on instead of it dropping off.”

“It’s not like I’m NOT trying.” She spears a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her lips, taking a tiny bite before setting it back down again. “I WANT to eat. My body is BEGGING me to eat. But it’s kind of hard when you just feel...I don’t know...off.”

“Something we need to worry about? Something to do with the baby?”

“No. I feel fine that way. Other than being crazy nauseous and already having insane heartburn. How much hair is this kid going to have? Because the only other time I suffered this bad…”

“We ended up with Addie. Hairiest damn kid I have EVER seen. Hands down.”

She manages a smile, then nibbles at a slice of dry toast. “Remember how it was practically head to toe? Because she was a preemie?”

“She looked like a little monkey. A cute one, mind you. But a monkey.”

“Don’t ever say that to her. It’ll be her new obsession; monkey this, monkey that. None of our other babies had much hair. If any at all. Well, Declan…”

“I will never forget seeing that head of hair. Bright red.”

“You looked so confused,” Esme muses, as she once more pulls her plate towards her and attempts to eat. “When he was crowning. It was like he had two heads or something.”

Tyler winks at her from across the table. “I was trying to figure out when you had time to get busy with me AND the cable guy.”

“Baby, he is all yours. Without a doubt. The cable man didn’t stand a chance getting close to me. So unless you can get pregnant just by breathing the same air as someone…”

“I hope you’d have better standards than that guy. If you’re going to do something like that, can you at least have the respect to go a notch higher than I am in quality?”

“That’s not even remotely possible. You’re already on the very top rung of quality. In fact, you’re in another league all your own. All by yourself. If you have the best, why settle for less?”

A grin plays on his mouth. “You are so good for my ego.”

“Besides, we both know I’m the last person that would EVER do something like that. I am way too hopelessly and madly and wildly in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. So unless you’re planning on going somewhere, you’re stuck with me. For the long haul.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. And with who I’m with. You know that, yeah? That I’d never do something like that. No matter who’s trying to get with me? I would never...EVER..cheat on you.”

“This is stemming from my insecurities, isn't it? Those women yesterday.”

“I just wanted to get it out there. I don’t care about any of them. There might as well not even be any other women on earth. The only one that matters? The only one I want? Is you. And that’s not going to change.”

“And you say I’m good for YOUR ego?”

“I mean, maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe you already realize all that. Or maybe you’re going to tell me that you don’t need the words; you can see everything in my eyes anyway. I just think sometimes I should say it. Who knows, maybe I need to tell you more than you need to hear it.”

Well…” She reaches for his hand that rests on the tabletop, running her fingertips along his forearm and over his palm before lacing their fingers together. “...a girl DOES like to hear how much she’s adored and worshipped.”

“I thought you like it better when I SHOW you how much.”

“That too. But sometimes it’s a nice little bonus; hearing the words.”

Pushing his chair away, he stands and leans across the table; free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek in its palm. “I worship you. I adore you. I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

While tears sparkle in her eyes, her smile is genuine; filling out her cheeks and crinkling the bridge of her nose. “And you say you’re not romantic.”

He bends down to kiss her; the soft press and languid movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “I do have my moments,” he says with a grin, running the tip of a finger down the bridge of her nose, playfully tapping the end of it before returning to his seat.

They sit in companionable silence. Enjoying the crisp, refreshing breeze that rolls in off the ocean and the familiar yet calming sounds of the outdoors. The waves rolling up onto the shore, the rustling of the trees as they sway in the wind and the different melodies that come from Esme’s collection of wind chimes attached to the awnings of the pool house. It’s home. The familiar yet never boring sights and sounds of the where they’re the most comfortable; where they grow and nurture their family and take advantage of the many spoils given to them by such a beautiful and expansive piece of land.

Returning to Australia had been the best move they’d ever made. The start of strengthening not only their marriage, but every aspect of the life and relationship they share; making sure to nurture and grow each separate component that makes them, THEM. Often having to pull back from the chaos and stress of everyday existence to remind themselves that they’re not just spouses and people raising kids together; they’re each other’s confidants, best friends and devoted and faithful lovers. Two unique individuals that share a bond unlike many could ever fully understand; broken and in tatters when they’d first met yet somehow managing to comfort and heal one another. What had happened in Dhaka will forever remain the foundation their life together has been built open. A rather odd concoction of many things; shared grief and regret, adrenaline and fear, profound lust accompanied by the pangs of the heart that remind you that you’re still human. And a lot of blood, sweat and tears. All combined with the unforgettable stenches of raw sewage, blood and sweat, and spilled gasoline.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He breaks the silence first, pushing away his empty plate and reaching for his smoothie. Satisfied with her attempt to get food into her belly; her own meal almost completely finished save for a couple bites of toast and a small handful of grapes. Her feet once more resting in his lap; both hands curled around the plastic tumbler that contains the thickened ‘super shake’ he’d made for her earlier.

“By ‘it’ I’m assuming you mean Mark?”

Tyler nods.

“What more is there to say? He’s in town. Not like there’s anything we can really do about it. Not until he at least makes a move.”

“I’ve got guys trying to track him down. Looking into every hotel, every bed and breakfast, every short term rental within a fifty mile radius. Unless he’s gone totally off the grid and he’s holed up in a cave somewhere, my guys will find him.”

“Is that really what you were doing last night? Taking care of all of that stuff? Getting people going on all this?”

“It was some of what I was doing. Not all of it. When you came in, I was doing exactly what I told you I was. I’d already gotten it all set up; guys already starting to dig. Told ‘em not to leave any stone unturned; Mark’s crafty and he’s slippery and he’s going to do everything he can to avoid me catching up to him. He wants the element of surprise; get to you when my guard is down. I’m hoping to get to him before that happens.”

“When do you ever let your guard down?”

“Even I slip up, Esme. You know that better than anyone.”

“Tyler Rake doesn’t make mistakes when it’s family on his line. He rarely makes them when it’s complete strangers he’s looking out for. You’re not the type to fall asleep at the wheel, babe. Especially when it comes to the kids. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to me.”

“I can’t be around you twenty-four seven. There’s going to be times I can’t be with you. As much as I’d love to be glued to your hip…”

“Do you trust the guys you picked? You don’t exactly hand that out lightly, Tyler. And you’ve always been very careful about who you bring into the business. You’ve always had the strictest hiring practices I’ve ever seen. You don’t just bring anyone aboard. And if you’re willing to put them in charge of keeping an eye on him…”

“I trust them when it comes to the job. They’re some of the best I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“Other than yourself, you mean.

“They’re good, Me. They’re quick on their feet and they’re strong as fuck and they will not back down. From anyone or anything.”

“But…”

“But I don’t fully trust anyone when it comes to you. That’s not something I can give; just hand over your life like that. No matter how well I know someone or how good of a merc they are. But I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s not possible to be around every second of every day. I wish it was. I wish I was the only one taking care of you. But…”

“If your gut tells you that these guys can handle it, then that’s what you go with. I trust you, Tyler. Whether it’s protecting me on your own or making the decision to hand it off to someone else. Your instincts are so strong. Some of the strongest I have ever seen. And if they’re telling you that this is right...that these men are right…”

“They’re telling me that I don’t have any other choice. That I NEED to trust these guys. And I want to Esme; I want to be able to sit here and tell you that I trust them one hundred percent. But other than you? There’s no one I trust that way.”

“If you say this is the right decision and that these are the right people, then I’ll go with that. Because I trust YOU. I always have. I always will. So if this is the move you need to make and you’re confident in it…”

“As confident as I’m gonna be.”

“Then there’s nothing more to talk about. If you trust them, then so do I. Simple as that.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words, then offers a small smile and once more takes her hand; lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I know you don’t have any answers. And to be honest, I don’t expect any. But I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Why now? If it’s a revenge thing, why wait this long? I haven’t been married to him for fifteen years. Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know, Me. I don’t even know if that’s his angle.”

“Everything says it is. What else could he possibly want? Do you think he’s a threat? To me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler reluctantly admits. “I do. He wouldn’t come out of the woodwork after all this time and play all those little mind games in New York and then make it a point to show up here IF he wasn’t planning something. I just don't know exactly what it is. Or when he’s gonna make his move. And hopefully the guys I have trying to find him will track him down. Sooner the better.”

“What will they do with him? If they do find him?”

“Found a little out of the way place in the northern territory. Somewhere they can keep him; until I can get there. Off the beaten track, no through roads, heavy bush. Not a single soul around. Figure that’s for the best, yeah? Keep him somewhere no one can hear screaming and pleading for his life.”

“You’re going to handle that yourself?”

“Hopefully. Told my guys that they can rough him up, but I want him very much alive. So he can feel every goddamn thing I do to him. And I know you’re probably thinking this is a throwback to McMann; taking him hostage and torturing his ass. But…”

“You do what you need to do, Tyler. You do whatever you feel he deserves. I’m not going to think any less of you. And Lord knows that I’ve had quite a few fantasies about how brutal I would love you to be if you ever got your hands on him. I’m not going to ask how and I don’t expect you to tell me. You just do what you need to do. To make him suffer and make him pay for what…” Her voice cracks; tears of both rage and insurmountable pain welling in her eyes. “...just make him pay. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

Sliding his chair away from the table, he’s at her side in only three long strides; dropping to a knee in front of her and taking her trembling hands in his.

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll make him pay, Esme. I promise.”

“Everything he did to him. Everything he said. It’s just all coming back. All those horrible, mean, degrading things he called me. All the times he forced me to do disgusting, horrible things to him. All the nasty, gross shit that HE did to ME.”

He feels the rage that immediately begins to take hold; his jaw setting and tightening and the blue of his eyes becoming much darker. Bile settling in the back of his throat; acrid and burning. He hates hearing about it; the horrific things that she’d been subjected to at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her, protect her, and give her a good life. The person he loves more than anything else in the world and would gladly lay his life down for. Not just his wife, but his best friend and the mother of his children and the centre of his universe.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he says, and tightly squeezes her hands. “Nothing good will come from going there. Nothing…”

“He is an evil, sick, demented person,” she continues, words struggling to make it through the sobs. “He used to make me clean the baseboards and the grout with my toothbrush and then he’d force me to use it afterwards. If he was in a mood and didn’t like what I made for dinner, he’d throw it on the floor and he’d make me get on my hands and knees and force me to eat it. Like I was a dog! And when I tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse and worse and worse and…”

“That’s enough,” he gently orders, and releases his hold on her hands in favour of drawing her into his embrace. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm resting on the back of her head; pressing a kiss to her temple and her cheek before drawing her face down to his shoulder. “No more. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t go back to that place.”

One of her hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, the other clamping down on the nape of his neck. “How do I ever get over it? How do I ever fully leave all that behind? I thought I was doing okay with it. I thought I was finally putting it all past me. I thought…”

“Sometimes there’s things we don’t really get over. Not completely, anyway. And that was fucking hell; the shit that he put you through. I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Is it weird that sometimes I think about ‘what if’? That I’ll wonder what it would have been like if we’d met some other way? Some other time. Some other place. Before all the bad shit ever happened. Imagine? If we’d met before all of that; if we’d found each other and healed one another sooner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about that stuff. But babe….listen to me….” He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands; thumbs swiping at the tears that continue to fall “...you can’t live the rest of your life thinking about that. Because if none of the bad ever happened? We wouldn’t have met. Because all the loss and the bullshit put us on the path that led us to each other. And yeah; it was fucking painful and I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger so many times. But in the end, all that crap? All the hard stuff? It brought you into my life. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”

“What if it was all for nothing? You spent YEARS trying to make up for all his mistakes. You didn’t care how messy I was or how messy my life had been before you. You just picked up the pieces and you put me back together. And you never complained ONCE; You just did it.”

“I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t exactly go and find the guy and kill him with my bare fucking hands. And believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. About how I’d do it. And how I’d make it as slow and painful as possible.”

“All the time and the work you put into fixing me. What if Mark puts me over the edge and I become a big mess again? What if all of a sudden I’m in a million fucking pieces again? What then? It will all be for nothing?”

“No. It won’t. And you know why? Because even if you fall apart a thousand times, each time I’m going to pick those pieces up and I’m going to find a way to make them up. I love you, Esme. More than I ever loved anyone. More than I even thought was possible. And if it DOES happen...you do fall apart...I’m just going to be here to pick you...and all those pieces….back up.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“Baby, you deserve the fucking world. And I’d give it to you if I could. Come here…” Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tangles his fingers in her hair and draws her head down onto his shoulder; other hand moving in slow, comforting circles in the middle of her back. “...everything’s alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not that I’m scared. Not of him getting a hold of me. I know that you’d never let him get that close. You’d do anything to protect me. I’ve never...ever...doubted that. I just hate what it’s doing to me; him being back in my life. I feel like I’m drowning in all this stuff from the past and that there’s no way you’ll be able to pull me out of it. Like it’s going to suck me under and you won’t stand a chance of getting me back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,,” she admits. “Worrying all the time about the baby and trying so hard to take care of the other kids and now this crap with Mark and him being so close to us.”

“I know it’s really overwhelming right now, Me. I know it’s a lot of things being heaped on your plate. And believe me, I am taking as much of it off as I can. And this stress with Mark is just making everything else seem even worse. But I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“You got lots of help with the kids. You got me, you got Stel, Riley’s always willing to drop everything and lend a hand. And you know how much grandpa Koen loves to spend time with them. He’s always ready, willing, and able to step up.”

Managing a laugh, she pulls back and swipes at her tears with the back of her hands. “He was in fine form last night, huh?”

“He was definitely on top of his ‘shit talk Tyler’ game.”

“Everything he says, he says with love. He’s a wreck, you know. When he showed up in Dhaka. He was all laughs and jokes at first and I’m sure that was just to calm his nerves, because when he got to your room? He just lost it. Totally broke down. I’ve never seen him get that emotional since.”

“I guess he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for me. Considering I was an enormous shit head when I first met him and he threatened to beat the attitude out of me. And believe me; he tried a couple times. Tough love, yeah? He’s the guy that turned me into the solider I became. And tried to stop me from destroying myself after everything fell apart. Spent years trying to talk some sense into me. Never stuck.”

“Guess you just weren’t ready for that yet. You just had a bit more of your journey to take. I’m sorry it was as crappy as it was. That you had to go through what you did.”

“Lost my kid and my sobriety. And probably most of my sanity.”

“It’s not fair. That you had to go through so much. Starting right from you were a little boy. Not a single step of your path has been easy.”

“No. I guess it hasn’t. But every one of those steps was worth it. ‘Cause look where I am now. I’m a long way from The Kimberley.”

“Leaps and bounds,” she smiles. “Even in the last five years.”

“It was worth it. It was ALL worth it. And this? Whatever the hell THIS is? With Mark? That’s just another bump in the road we gotta get past. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Tyler. Always.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promises, and once more gathers her into a tight, protective embrace. “I didn’t lose you in New York and I’m sure as hell not gonna lose you now. Especially not to him.”

The scrape of the screen door opening upon its track captures his attention, and he glances up in time to see his oldest son step onto the porch. Hair mussed from sleep and sticking up in several different directions; barefoot and clad in only a pair of blue, red, and white plaid pyjama bottoms. And it’s the first time that he’s noticed just how grown up that his namesake is becoming; only ten, but tall and athletically built with well chiselled ab muscles and noticeable definition in his arms and shoulders. All long limbs and torso and tanned skin; brilliant, expressive blue eyes and his once shoulder length dirty blond hair now chopped short. Despite his issues with impulse control, his diagnosis with ADHD, and his volatile temper, he always seems much older and wiser than his actual age; independent and detail and routine oriented and always willing to step up and lend a hand with his younger siblings or with chores and repairs around the house. And it’s bitter sweet; his first son after losing Austin growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye. Proud of him for the person...the man...that he’s becoming but missing the little boy he was; the one who’d be attached to his hip and who explored the world with wide eyed, breathless abandon and wanted nothing more than to exactly like his old man.

“Dad?” Worry tarnishes the ten year old’s voice; eyes darkening and narrowing as he observes the sight in front of him. “What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing, mate. Your mum and I were just having a chat. She just got a little...worked up.”

“About what?” He finally approaches, a hand on the back of his mother’s chair as he leans in to check on her. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just some adult stuff. Your mum’s just a little emotional today.”

“Mummy?” TJ lays a palm on her shoulder, gently squeezing and then pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened? What..?”

“I’m alright,” Esme assures him, and turns her face into his, pecking his lips. “Daddy and I were just talking and…”

“You don’t look alright. You’re crying. Why are you crying?” A mixture of panic, worry, and the beginnings of anger creep into his voice. And he fixes his father with a steely glare. “What’s wrong with mum? Why is she crying? What were you talking about that would upset her?”

“Just a couple serious things,” Tyler informs him. “ADULT things. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

TJ’s jaw clenches. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you…?”

“Daddy didn’t do a thing,” Esme assures him. “Like he said we were having a chat and things turned a little serious and I got emotional. That’s it. He didn’t do anything or say anything wrong. I got upset and I started to cry and he was just trying to comfort me. That’s it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if something else happened…”

Turning sideways in her chair, she clasps her son’s face in her hand. “Tyler James. Listen to what I’m saying. Daddy did nothing wrong. I started crying and he got worried and he was trying to calm me down. He didn’t say or do anything. He was trying to help. He wanted to cheer me up. That’s all.”

“Mummy…”

“That’s all,” she insists. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but we’re telling the truth. I just got emotional about some things we were talking about. That’s all. Daddy would never...EVER...do anything to make me cry. Unless it’s happy tears.”

TJ sighs heavily. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you.,” she presses a kiss to his lips and smooths a hand over his unruly hair. “I’m okay, baby man. There is nothing for you to worry about, okay? And good morning, by the way. Thought for sure you’d sleep in a lot longer; all the running around you did after the littlest yesterday.”

“Dad said we could go surfing. Before everyone else got up. I set my alarm.”

“Well the water looks perfect today. Or as you would say, the waves looking ‘bitchin’.”

Excitement replaces worry and simmering anger. “Dad checked the surf report last night. They said it was going to be perfect conditions. And that it could just be us. I like when it’s just us. It’s a lot more fun. And we sit on our boards and talk. A lot.”

“Then I’ll let you guys get to it. I’m sure you have a lot of boy stuff to talk about.”

Tyler pushes himself to his feet as his wife slips out of her chair; hand on the small of her back as she stands. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she assures him, standing on her tiptoes to return his kiss. “I’ll take the dirty stuff in and I’ll grab some towels and throw them out here for you guys. And maybe I’ll even crash on the couch; until the rest of the hoodlums wake up.”

“If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be fine, Tae. Everything will be fine.”

Nodding in agreement, he offers a small smile and presses his lips to her temple. Watching as she gathers the dirty dishes, mugs, and cutlery and carries them into the house. TJ gallantly holding the door open for her; a broad, beaming smile spreading across his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

“IS mum okay?” The ten year old turns to him once Esme is out of ear shot.

“She’s fine, mate. She’s just going through some stuff.”

“Bad stuff or…?”

“Just some stuff. Nothing you need to worry about. You’re mum’s alright. And you know I’d never hurt her, yeah? That I would never...ever...say or do anything to break her heart. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. But you used to. Do stuff like that. I know I was just little then, but…”

“I’m not that guy anymore, TJ. I haven’t been him in a long time. I would never hurt your mother. I love her in ways you can’t even begin to understand. And I would do anything to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

“Is there a reason to? Keep her safe?”

“No,” Tyler lies. “There’s not.”

*****

From the moment he first held Austin in his arms, Tyler had pictured these moments; introducing his son to surfing and forming a tremendous bond over their shared love of the water. Teaching him how to not only handle the waves, but to give himself over to the release and the escape that comes not with conquering them, but being submissive to them; gliding smoothly and confidently yet remembering that nature always has the upper hand and should never be questioned or underestimated. When he had first found out he was going to be a father, he’d often daydream about sharing his passions with his offspring; surfing, fishing, hiking, and camping trips. But military life had been all consuming, as had been his commitment to it; putting fighting the battles of others higher on his list of priorities than his wife and soon to be born child. And having the baby home hadn’t changed a damn thing; signing up for extra tours whenever he got the chance, putting his be all and end all into the army and having nothing left to give his family.

For his fifth birthday, he’d gifted Austin with two things; a custom made surfboard and the promise that he’d change his ways and become the dad that his kiddo needed and deserved. Neither of things ever came to fruition; Austin diagnosed with cancer just three weeks later and the board going unused and Tyler’s promise dying the moment the news had been dropped into their laps. And when Austin had died, so had all of the dreams and the hopes that Tyler had had as father; the loss tremendous and robbing him of both his heart and soul. The grief composed of many things. Not just the loss of his boy, but of all of those expectations, and fantasized moments, and the memories that would have been made during them.

He never dreamed that he’d ever be a father again; his marriage and his military career both disintegrating and finding him throwing himself headlong into mercenary life and a battle with booze and drug addiction. Wracked with so much guilt, regret, and profound grief that he truly believed he deserved his self imposed exile from the rest of humanity. He was a monster and not deserving of any form of a normal life; taking the most dire and dangerous of jobs in hopes one would kill him, drinking and popping pills in hopes of not just numbing the physical pain, but the mental anguish as well.

In the blink of an eye and in the midst of his deepest and darkest moments of suicidal ideation, everything changed. In the form of a tiny, tattooed and pierced brunette with the most beautiful smile and dark eyes he’d ever seen. Since then, every blessing has come with great sacrifice. Ones that he’s willing to pay over, and over, and over again for even a slice of the life that he has now. It’s a normalcy that isn’t normally rewarded to guys like him; a wife and children and a beautiful home in an even more beautiful place. So many bridges burned and toes trampled upon; exuberant coin in your pocket in exchange for scars that litter your body and enemies within all four corners of the world. It’s generally a short existence; catching a bullet in the midst of all the action or a bodyguard or a mercenary -contracted to take you out- catching you by surprise. Most never even attempt any form of domesticity; preferring the company of random women -or men- instead of committing and settling down. The job follows you. Stays with you. Remains embedded in your soul. Accompanied by long lists of evil people you’ve crossed and will forever seek revenge, debts that you can never repay and will forever be held over your head, and addiction and mental health issues. You’re never fully away from it; it will follow you wherever you go, keep you up at night, have you constantly looking over your shoulder or being wary of the smallest of bumps in the night. It’s easier to not get someone else tangled up in the madness; half the time it’s hard just to keep yourself alive, let alone a spouse and children. They’d be the first to pay the price for your misdeeds, and bringing them into that kind of world would be considered not just risky, but selfish as fuck.

Sometimes he still sees himself that way; a weakened, pathetic version of himself that opted to put targets on the backs of others instead of just dealing with his issues and his loneliness in a healthier, SOLO way. But love had found him. Somehow. In the midst of all the darkness and ruin and decay of his life, something...someone... so beautiful and bright had stumbled into his path. She’d effortlessly and easily saw past the hardened and fearless facade he’d created through an endless cycle of self loathing, sorrow, and regret; slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built around the remains of his heart and making him feel alive again. Opening his eyes to a different future and sparking a longing and a desperation and a hunger that he had felt to his very soul. Wanting her...ALL of her...in a way he’d never wanted anyone else. Trusting her in a way he hadn’t since the death of his mother; finding himself both soothed and ignited by the compassion in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the gentleness of her hands whenever she touched him.

His heart had been hers long before he’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her so. And he’d been both terrified and filled with hope when he’d even dare to think about a life...a future...with her. He has always felt that his time with her has been far more than he deserves; that kind of existence reserved for those who are morally stronger AND superior. But for some reason, fate had smiled upon him; giving a woman that so plainly wears her heart upon her sleeve and remains stalwartly devoted and faithful. Bearing him seven...eventually eight...children and building a home and a life beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

He’d spent the better part of an hour feeling tremendously grateful and unabashedly proud as he’d watched part of that life so confidently handling the waves below and around him. Ten years old but sometimes so wise and mature beyond his years; misunderstood by so many and not given the credit or the attention that he so rightfully deserves. A fearless, tough kid with an enormous heart; so much love caught up inside him that he’s sometimes unable to express or even cope with it. Exploring the world and the elements with near reckless abandon; always looking for adventure and forever staring challenge straight in the eye. And it’s bittersweet; the act of making the memories with THIS son that his mind had created with for the boy he’d lost years before.

“What do you think it feels like?” TJ asks, as they sit side by side. A hundred yards from shore where the water is calmer; perched upon their boards with their legs dangling over the sides. “To get bit by a shark.”

Tyler glances over; noticing small inklings of his wife inside the ten year old. The way his namesake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he contemplates a question. The smooth bridge of the nose and the shape of his jaw. But he’s definitely a ‘chip off the old block’; the brilliant blue eyes and the broad shoulders and the long, lanky body, the cheeky smirk and the smile that brightens his entire face. And there’s more. So much more. A strikingly similar personality; dry witted and quick with the sarcasm and the smart ass comments. And the temper; volatile and unpredictable, always seeming as if it’s on a permanent, slow boil.

“I don’t know, mate. But I can guarantee that it does NOT feel good.”

“Mick Fanning...the surfer that mum likes...he got attacked by one. During a competition. A great white. Hit him right in the face with its tail! Can you imagine? I would have been shitting bricks for sure! It would be kind of cool to see one, though. We’ve only ever seen a couple of dorsals in the water. When we’ve been hanging out on the beach. Kinda weird we’ve NEVER come across one.”

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you. I’ve spotted a few in my time. Long before you were even a twinkle in your mumma’s eyes. Wasn’t close enough to go one on one with ‘em. Thank Christ.”

“Sometimes I get this really weird feeling in my stomach. When we’re out here. It’s like something is just moving around in there; kicking at your insides and tugging at them and stuff. Like my body is telling me that there’s something underneath me. Maybe even WATCHING me. You ever get something like that? Where you just KNOW something is there?”

“Had that happen a lot. Always been too chicken shit to look down, though.”

“I like that, you know. That you’re not afraid to admit you’re scared of things. Lots of guys are. They act all big and bad and like nothing bothers them, but you know it’s all bullshit. You’ve never been like that. Even since I was little. You’ve always talked about being scared of things and how it’s okay to be afraid of stuff. And that we shouldn’t be embarrassed to get emotional. Cry and stuff. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do. I feel even stronger about it now. Nothing wrong with a guy being vulnerable. Doesn’t make them weak or pathetic or less of a man.”

TJ grins over at him. “Just makes them human.”

“You know, you sound a hell of a lot like your mum sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, if you ask me. ‘Cause mum’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles wistfully, then glances towards the shore; his wife up from her nap and getting the littles settled for breakfast on the deck as the older kid’s lend a hand. “...she certainly is.”

TJ’s expression turns serious. “You meant it, right? When you said you didn’t say or do anything to make mum cry.”

“Everything we both told you was the truth; we were talking about some adult stuff and she got emotional. All I was trying to do was comfort her. That’s it. You know how your mum can be; when she’s feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t been sleeping well and she tries to take too much on.”

“She needs to learn how to rely on other people . And ask for help when she needs it.”

“It’s hard for her. Even after all the years she’s been with me. She finds it difficult to ask for help. Guess she’s so used to people letting her down, that she just can’t shake that part of her. We’ll just keep an eye on her and just chip in where we need to and hope for the best, yeah?”

TJ nods, then gives a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, dad. For kinda flipping out on you earlier. But I saw you kneeling in front of mummy and then I could tell she was crying and my brain just immediately went to think you’d done something wrong.”

“We’re a lot like, you and I. In a lot of ways. I tend to react a little too quickly, a little too soon. Old habits die hard. But I would never…EVER...hurt your mum. That is the last thing I want to do. Intentional or not. I love her, mate. In ways you can’t even understand. In ways I can’t even understand sometimes. I just hope that one day you get to feel that way about someone. Or close to it.”

“I just worry about her,” TJ sighs. “I don’t like when she’s upset. Especially when she cries. I hate seeing it; mummy sad. I wish I could find a way so she’d never be sad EVER again. Wouldn’t that be nice? If we could find a way to make sure mummy NEVER got sad again?”

“Yeah, mate. It would. But life isn’t like that. We gotta go through the good AND the bad. Unfortunately.”

“Mum’s been through a lot. I mean, I know you have too. But mum...I don’t know...she’s different. She’s...well...she’s my mum. I know you’re tough and strong and brave and all that. That you can handle things better. But mum puts on a good show for people I think. She lets on that she’s okay and she’s totally fine with taking care of everything one else. But sometimes? Sometimes I don’t think she’s okay at all. Do you ever think that? That she’s just pretending to be alright?”

“I don’t just don’t think. I know she’s doing it. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her out of it. But your mum…”

“And she has the nerve to call US stubborn? She is way worse.”

“She’s got a hard head,” Tyler agrees. “And in some ways, it’s a good thing. She never gave up on me. Even when everyone around her was telling her she should. She just ignored them. Had my back no matter what other people said.”

“It’s ‘cause she loves you. And you’re the first person to ever really love her. Other than her dad and he died when she was young, so ....” TJ rakes a hand through his wet hair. “...sometimes it must feel like it’s just you and mum against the world, huh?”

“I’ve felt that way. A few times. But then all you guys started coming along and our team got even bigger. I like to think we ALL have each other’s backs.”

“Of course we do. We’re family. We’re all in this together. And we’re Rakes. Means we’re tough and we don’t back down. From anyone or anything. We might be scared, but we’re still standing up for what’s right. That’s what you taught us. That even though we might be afraid, we gotta do the right thing. Always. A man isn’t measured by the things he has, but by the people he’s helped.”

Tyler grins. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book at school. One of the grade eight kids left on the playground and I was bored and I found it and I just started reading it. I guess I liked that line for some reason. It stuck in my head. Even if there isn't much else up there.”

“Don’t you do that,” Tyler gently scolds. “I don’t want to EVER hear you do that. Talk shit about yourself.”

TJ frowns. “It’s kinda hard when everyone around you is doing it.”

“At school?”

He nods. “I’m the dumb, crazy kid. That’s what everyone thinks. Especially the teachers.”

“They ever say that to you?”

“Not to my face. But I walked by the staff room once and they were talking about that ‘Rake kid’. About how he’ll probably end up in juvenile detention by the time he’s thirteen. And in and out of jail when he’s older. You can’t tell me that it was about Takota or Declan. I might be stupid, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all. And I don’t want you ever calling yourself that again. You just need some help. Find different ways to learn. Not everyone learns the same way. I was like you in school; couldn’t focus, got ignored when I asked for help, that turned into me goofing off or getting frustrated. Lots of times I put a fist into a locker or a wall. A LOT.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to college? Like mum? Is that why you went into the military?”

“I suppose that’s part of it. Guess I liked the danger and adventure of it too. Going off and fighting bad guys and getting to shoot guns and all of that shit. Never thought about actually having to kill people and what that would feel like.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Not good, mate. Not good at all.”

“Even if it’s bad people? Like that Nathan that hurt you?”

“People like him are exceptions. But for the most part? I don’t like doing it. Not even if it’s in the course of helping someone else. But sometimes…”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his son finishes for him. “Sometimes it’s you or them, right?”

“Exactly. And don’t worry about school, alright? I’ll give them a call. Ask for a meeting. Get things sorted and get you the help you need. And deserve.”

“Man…” TJ grins. “...they are going to shit their pants when they hear from you.”

Tyler reaches out to ruffle his namesake’s hair. “Maybe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna head in? See what mum’s cooking up?”

“I don’t know." The ten year old's nose crinkles in disgust. "Do you think it’ll be edible?”

“Is it ever?”

TJ laughs. “Dad…”

“Whatever you do, do NOT tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry…” Leaning across his board, the ten year old wraps both arms around one of Tyler’s; squeezing tightly and laying his head against his dad’s shoulder. “...your secret’s safe with me.”

[wallwriterstuff]

Hi! Can I please request a Demetri x mate!fem!reader where he finds her (when she’s still human) severely injured, and he can sense she’s his mate, and decides to immediately turn her because he doesn’t want to lose her (I’m sure he wouldn’t take the chance of taking her to the hospital) and when she wakes up, she’s in the Volturi castle. I’m sure it’d be really shocking for her because she didn’t know about the vampires (she thought they were fiction), and now she’s a vampire and has a mate,Demetri. He would be so sweet when he’s helping her adjust!! Ooo what if she woke up as a vampire near Christmas time,and she’s really sad because she was going to spend Christmas with family, but now she’s a vampire, so she can’t, so Dem finds out everything he can about this “human custom” (I feel like he’d call Christmas this lol), and he sets up their room all Christmas like and gets her presents, mistletoe 😘, a tree, etc, and ahhh he would be so sweet, if she could cry, she’d be bawling omg... Also she would so somehow convince him to wear matching Christmas pajamas... And then Felix would walk in to see this LOL

This Thing You Call Christmas ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injury, violence and trauma.

Words: 5391

Summary: When a wrong turn down a dreary alleyway spells disaster for the reader, she finds that Chrismas miracles come in all forms. (I swear despite the warning tags there are some fluffy bits in this.) 

It wasn’t really clear to you what had happened for several moments after the event. One moment you had simply been jogging to reach the end of an alleyway that had creepier vibes than an abandoned psychiatric ward, and the next you were…hot. Too hot. Just for a moment. So hot in fact you could feel how cool the breeze was on your skin. Everything in that one brief moment was so heightened and yet so confusing, your blood roaring in your ears and your mouth spouting protest after protest with some not so lady-like words at the man that had shoved you against the wall.

Then an explosion of pain in your side had ricocheted through each and everyone one of your ribs, bursting outward like a small, red hot explosion, the lava leaking out and soaking your shirt, your hip bone. It wasn’t until you looked down and saw the knife embedded in your gut that you understood what had happened. In that brief, infinitesimal moment, the world just stopped. Your jaw dropped, disbelief flooding your system as your eyes met your attackers. He was a scrawny little boy, dirt smudged on his face and clothes utterly ruined, homeless most likely and in desperate enough need of cash he’d stuck you with whatever he could find to get it.

“Please…take the bag just don’t pull out the-“

“Shit!” he swore, yanking the knife free of your abdomen to cut through the leather of your bag handle and steal it away. You cried out, knees giving way beneath you the moment he let you go. Just like that, he’d drastically reduced your chances of escaping this alleyway alive. The ground was cold and wet beneath your knees, typical British weather not on your side to make anything better in this shitty scenario.

“Fuck…f-fuck,” you whimpered, hand pressed to your side as you rapidly lost blood, “H-help! Someone help me! Help me please!” you called out. The wound in your side throbbed, a fiery kind of ache that radiated outward from the focal point and shot through every nerve ending your body possessed purely to torment you as you tried to stand up straight. Blood was seeping through the gaps in your fingers, your shirt soaked with it as you collapsed sideways into the wall. Gritting your teeth, you used your other arm to try and lever yourself up, hobbling forward a few steps. Every step was agony and you could feel the colour draining form your face, your heart beating hard in your chest as adrenaline pounded through your veins.

No matter how loud you cried out nobody seemed to hear your desperation. No matter how many steps you took the mouth of the alleyway seemed to get further away, or maybe it was your vision starting to tunnel, who knew? Your legs gave out and you hit the floor hard, face crunching into the cement and nose shattering upon impact. More blood burst over your face, hot and fresh, and your vision began to blacken at the edges. Gasping for air, tears stung your eyes. This was not how your life was supposed to end. You were young, only 22, you had so much to live for yet that you hadn’t been able to achieve or see or do. Bleeding out in an alleyway because of a mugging gone wrong? Not your idea of a good way to go out. Christmas was just around the corner, you were supposed to go back home and spend it with family, instead they would have to come to London and peer inside a body bag to identify their daughter.

After that, time became a blur. You had no way of honestly telling what happened next, the world going dark as you descended further and further into the pits of hell. It had to be hell, didn’t it? That was where the pits of flame swallowed you whole to torture you for eternity, right? You hadn’t stopped burning since you closed your eyes, a red hot poker too big for your veins being forced through them at an agonisingly slow speed, splitting nerve endings and peeling away your flesh inch by inch. The screams in your own head were deafening and you were sure the devil must have enjoyed watching you writhe on his table. The raging inferno just didn’t go away either. You weren’t sure what was worse, the intensity of the burn or the fact you actually started to get used to it.

That relief was never going to last, not when the devil liked to torture his victims. The fire began receding from extremities first, the tips of your fingers going blissfully cool, tingling with numbness as the flames dissipated and feeling began to return. It was like being submerged in cold water and you welcomed the blissful feeling, but even that was accompanied by a worse kind of pine, a searing, blistering agony in your chest that was eating away at your rabbiting heart. It was gone as quickly as it came, and for a second you forgot how to breathe, the air stolen from your lungs at the sudden, intense relief. No more fire, no more burning. With a sigh you finally unscrewed your eyes, or at least, it felt like you had kept them clenched shut for a thousand years at that point. There was no ache in your jaw though you were sure you had screamed, no pain in your body lingering from the torment it had gone through.

The only problem was how sensitive you felt. After burning for so long your body was reacting to everything, senses heightened to the point the world seemed surreal. The air was ripe with a thousand smells, your tongue tingling with the taste of each one and your eyes were so laser-focused on everything all at once it was difficult to focus on any one thing. Beneath your fingers you could feel every strand of cotton that made up the dark sheets you were lying on. Where even were you? This was…it wasn’t a hospital bed, too plush and the colours to deep for the neutral tones of a sickroom. There was expensive looking wooden furniture with rich, dark tones and photographs and a fireplace made of stone.

“It is a relief to see you awake.”

One moment you were relishing in the softness of sheets and sinking into a heavenly mattress, and the next you were flat against the wall across from you, your spine crunching through the stone even though it should have been the other way around. Your wide eyes looked down at the chunks of stone near your feet, the dust settling on your shoulders, and then you tried to estimate the distance between you and the bed. It was easily four meters. How had you crossed four meters in such a short time span? Don’t even start on your posture right now. Since when did you crouch and bare your teeth at people like that? It was like a deep, animalistic urge had taken over, your senses still screaming danger as you tried to take in all the new information, the new man.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the sharpest jawline you had ever seen on a man. The crystalline quality of his skin was equally as distracting, it was almost pearlescent he was so pale, and it distracted you just long enough that you didn’t notice the redness of his irises till after you had already become fascinated with starring at him. Chestnut brown hair looked soft enough to run your fingers through, golden strands interwoven and reflecting the minimal light coming in from the window. He wore a suit, the very definition of elegance as he sat back in a leather armchair and watched you carefully, like he was a talent-show judge maybe trying to decide if you were worth his time.

“Who are – oh.” You blinked, pulled out of your defensive stance by the sound of your voice. It was you but it…wasn’t. How could you sound so soprano sweet? It was almost like you had swallowed sugar and it was now sprinkled throughout your words. His head tilted, a smile pulling at full, pink lips to reveal the briefest flash of pearl white teeth.

“A man who means you no harm, I assure you. There are a lot of changes you need to be made aware of, things I do not expect you to fully believe right away but need you to know are true. Will you give me the time to explain once we have gotten you fed?” he asked. Fed? You wanted to ask what he meant because you weren’t honestly all that hungry, but his words reignited the fire in your body. Your throat was absolutely parched, ripping itself apart for any sort of relief. With a gasp you doubled over, hand flying to your throat like you might just be able to rip the pain out.

“I – w-what d-did you – gah!” you rasped. A large, warm hand found your shoulder, and though the touch of a stranger should have felt foreign and wrong it was relieving, soothing.

“You will focus much better once you have fed. Wait right here, I promise you it will be over soon.” He reassured you with a gentle rubbing motion on your shoulder. You weren’t too sure you could have moved even if you wanted to, your mind going haywire as the intense fire burned brighter, blazing through your throat. Water, you needed water. Stumbling towards the bright white porcelain of a bathroom, you threw the door open wider and gasped when the wood shattered against the tiles. It was difficult to think beyond the burning in your throat though as you forced the tap to turn on, trying to gulp down water in the hopes it might soothe your throat some. Gallons must have washed down your throat by the time the handsome stranger returned, and what came next was…a blur.

Everything was euphoric, and hazy, a fog slowly lifting from your mind. The sound of dripping water leaked into your consciousness, your nose smelling something incredibly rich and sweet that made your throat ache – the burn was thankfully gone. Though your ears and nose seemed to be working your eyes were not. All you could see was red, dark crimson coating the walls and, if your reflection was to be believed, you. It dripped from your chin, coating your lips a ruby red and staining the pretty black dress you had been wearing in large swatches. The handsome stranger was stood in the doorway, watching you with a hint of amusement in his irises. It took you a fraction of a second to understand where the red drenching had come from. A woman who might once have been pretty lay in your arms limp as a ragdoll, drained of all colour with her throat ripped out and trailing along her collarbone.

Her blood was quite literally on your hands.

With a gasp, you dropped her shattered body and almost slipped on the water blanketing the floor, your body righting itself at unnatural speed. You twisted, the horror on your face obvious as a sob ripped its way free of your chest, hands flying up to your mouth as a flurry of terror and guilt and horror washed through you. The tap had been warped, your fingerprints indented into the metal and the top twisted off. Water had flooded the entire bathroom, and as your panic grew more intense your eyes stung as though you wanted to cry, but no tears would come. You could barely breathe, yet you couldn’t feel your heart rabbiting in your chest as you knew it should. The tile shattered beneath your knees as you fell, not a scratch on you as you spotted the second body over the tips of your fingers. Splinters of wood had been soaked by the overflowing tap, the door almost as broken as the bodies at your knees.

“No. N- no, what happened to me?” you cried out, chest heaving as you buried your head in your hands. Within seconds you were enveloped by strong arms, a warm body moving in behind you until you were cradled close, shielded from the damage around you.

“Shhhh sh sh sh, everything is fine cara mia, you did well,” the smooth whisper was like the voice of the devil tempting you to sin further, “This is normal for our kind, this is how we survive, you have done no wrong.” He promised, whispering quiet reassurances while you struggled to calm. Whoever this man was, you should have been afraid of him. He had somehow made you blackout and murder two people, you’d cannibalised them actually, and whatever else he had done to you you were now abnormally strong to. He had made you into some sort of monster, and yet…

“Wh-why?” you sniffled. Why had this happened to you? Why had these two unfortunate souls had to die? Why had you burned so badly for so long? There was lots of questions and so little time to ask them, so many answers you weren’t actually sure you wanted. He was stroking your hair now, his embrace feeling safe and warm; while you were in his arms, you could almost forget about the scene surrounding you.

“Forgive me, I know this is overwhelming, but I could think of no other way to save you. I had to change you my love.” He whispered. Your sobbing had died to sniffles now, and you lifted your head to look up at him, feeling lost and desperate for anything that might make sense. It was all so confusing and the only thing grounding you right now was him, because you could just sense that he was the same as you, only he was much more sure of what he was and his place in the world.

“Change?”

“Yes, change. I had to change you from human, to vampire. The burning you felt was my venom. Please understand I had no choice,” His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, eyes scrutinising your face. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up and we can talk some more, yes?” The word vampire was ricocheting around your brain, your body moving whichever way he wanted to lead it. It was like you had blacked out again, suddenly standing in a much cleaner bathroom as the handsome stranger turned knobs to adjust water that came tumbling out of a luxurious looking waterfall spout above your head. You blinked, shocked to realise that despite not paying attention you could distinctly recall the way he had carefully moved you from room to room with the promise of a hot shower and fresh clothes.

For his part, Demetri was incredibly worried about you. At first he had simply feared his venom wouldn’t take, that he was too late when he found you that awful night, surrounded by your blood and struggling to use the last of the air in your lungs. He’d been attracted by the smell of your blood, not having smelt something quite that strong and alluring in a while. He thought it was his lucky day, a bloodsinger perhaps, but he found you instead, broken and abused, twitching in a pool of crimson – the scent was strong because so much of it had spilled onto the concrete.

Demetri had known from the moment he saw you that you were meant to be his, everything about you screaming to every instinct he had. Your scent teased his nose as one of the best he’d ever come across, your tenor irresistibly bright and warm, the curves of your broken body looking like they were physically molded for his hands to hold. He had never turned anyone before, but it was really the only option he had once he realised he couldn’t rouse you to so much as ask your name. His next worry had been trying to stop. Once his teeth had sunk into your flesh and the sublime taste of you hit his tongue it had been a race against time to hold his position long enough so enough venom could infiltrate your system, all while not draining anymore of the precious little blood you had left. He had almost lost it when he tried to seal your stab wound with his tongue.

You had taken four, agonisingly long days to open those vivid red eyes. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything else, so distracted that Aro had been forced to give him time off so he could sit by your side – and do a bit of hunting on your behalf. Now you were nearly comatose in Felix’s shower, his best friend busy cleaning up his bathroom as best he could so you wouldn’t return to that horror scene. Demetri had known you would be shocked, that it would be a lot to adjust to, you had been ripped from a safe world where monsters like him didn’t exist after all, forced to become one yourself without consent. How was he supposed to explain it all to you? How did he even begin to make you understand the bond that was set between you? You had calmed so quickly in his embrace, a sure sign you felt it to.

“Vampires aren’t real. I know they’re not, but the things I did…you can’t even tell I was stabbed. It shouldn’t be possible, none of it should be.” Your voice was as soft and melodic as windchimes, an addicting song he could listen to on repeat for hours. Demetri had sat as a silent sentry on Felix’s bed, listening for any sign you might be distressed again so he could swoop in and save you. Every little sob had torn at his heart, his arms aching to hold you until it all went away. He gave you a slow nod, patting the space beside him in a silent invitation, one he was glad you accepted. Your scent was unique, comforting, intoxicating. From the moment you sat beside him, it was all he could focus on.

“We are very real love. You are faster and stronger in this body, your senses keener. My venom has immortalised you as you are, unchanging from this day for the rest of eternity.” He informed you, his voice soft so as not to startle you. Newborns were unpredictable, driven by animalistic instinct. Vibrantly red eyes stared back at his for a brief moment before your gaze dipped to your hands. You were wearing one of his shirts, the premium cotton almost swamping you and landing at mid-thigh. The sleeves had covered your hands, and he moved to kneel in front of you to roll them up.

“Your venom?” you asked, eyes watching his every move. Demetri nodded.

“Yes, you have venom to. It coats our teeth to immobilise our prey, and our joints to allow us to move faster than anything else on earth.” He answered honestly. A slow exhale was the only response he got from you as he carefully brushed his fingertips against your arm, desperate for even the smallest amount of contact with you. Every time he touched you he felt his nerve-endings sing with relief, like he had been suffering for a thousand years without ever knowing he was till he had found you.

“So…vampires are fast…and strong.” You mumbled, pulling your hands back subconsciously. Demetri nodded, moving back to sit beside you.

“Some of us are gifted also. I, for example, can track anyone anywhere in the world. There is much to learn still, try not to overwhelm yourself learning it all in one go,” he advised, head tilting slightly, “Since I am answering so many of your questions perhaps you can answer one of mine?” You looked somewhat bewildered, as if you hadn’t actually considered he might have things he wanted to know to.

“Like what?” you sounded cautious and Demetri couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nothing too sinister I promise, but I was hoping I might learn your name.” he hinted. He was sure you would be blushing if you could, but you turned your body towards him and held out a hand anyway.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N.” your hand was small in his own, delicate, and yet when you gripped you gripped too tight. He winced slightly as the skin cracked and you withdrew immediately, looking horrified by what you’d done. Demetri cradled his broken hand to him with a light laugh.

“My apologies, I should have known better than to ask a newborn to shake my hand,” he dismissed it with ease even as the skin stung and knitted itself back together, “I am Demetri, Demetri Volturi. Welcome to our coven, tesoro.” You swallowed, looking nervous again.

“When can I go home? I…you’ve been really kind but I have to get back, my parents, they’re expecting me to come for Christmas.” Your teeth worried your lower lip and his heart ached a little, knowing you wouldn’t like the news he had to give you.

“Given the damage you have unwittingly caused today, would you think it wise of me to let you return home?” he asked gently. He watched your breathing pick up slightly, your expression twisting into disappointment and upset.

“But it’s Christmas, I have to get back, I always go home for Christmas.” You insisted, voice wavering. Christmas? Demetri couldn’t honestly comprehend what was so important about it that you had to go back for it every year. It was a time of year for human greed to rear its ugly head and nothing else, wasn’t it? He couldn’t very well say that to you, however.

“It will not be possible anymore Y/N. Please understand, to the rest of the world vampires do not exist for good reason, we remain hidden, from this moment forth, you no longer exist either, not as you used to.” He wished he’d never said anything when you began to cry once more, and even though he was sure part of you was angry at him for doing this to you, you still curled into his side to accept the comfort he offered. The days that followed were some of the strangest of his life, his mate so near and yet so far. He understood that everything was overwhelming, not at all what you were used to, but you were much shyer and more withdrawn than he had expected. There was little he could do to coax you out of your shell except give you time, though his saving grace was you seemed willing to be in his presence more so than anyone else’s.

It was a pattern he found he rather liked. You came to him when you had questions you wanted answers for, and curious little thing that you were you had lots of them to; only he was ever allowed to get close enough to touch you, and only he got to be near when you fed, you still needing the guidance and his grounding influence to move past the initial guilt till it was almost negligible. Once, when Felix had tried to hand you some spare clothes’ he had collected rather thoughtfully from town for you, he had accidentally brushed your hand with his own and you had flinched straight into Demetri, like you subconsciously were seeking his protection. Another time (he wasn’t quite sure you had known you were doing it) but one night, as he trawled the internet for more information on Christmas traditions in Britain on his tablet, you had simply been watching the flames dance in the hearth beside him when you scooted a little closer and rested your head on his shoulder. His hand had reached for your own and you hadn’t hesitated to slip your fingers between his own, squeezing lightly.

His favourite memory by far had to be the day you found out you glowed. At first you’d been utterly startled, flitting past his window so fast to show him something you hadn’t fully seen anything, but the glimpse of glitter was enough to slow you down, leaving you looking bewildered as you struggled to see exactly what had happened. With a chuckle, he’d pulled you back towards the window, keeping your hand in his and gently rolling up the sleeve of your jumper before slowly moving your arm into the light. The awe on your face was an expression he wouldn’t soon forget, wide red eyes looking between him and the diamonds encrusted in your skin before a laugh so sweet it could have been a baby’s coo rent the air.

“We sparkle?”

“We do. You are as precious as any rare gem love, the proof is in your skin.”

You had tilted your head just enough that he could have kissed you, if you’d both so desired it in that moment, but you’d barely known him a week and it didn’t seem appropriate. He’d let you pull away from him, averting your gaze in that shy way you had that he found so endearing. He wouldn’t let you pull away next time.

“Demetri? Where can I put this?” Felix brought him out of his reverie, and he turned his head from the fireplace to see what exactly he was holding. He had ordered a lot of things after all. His tree was currently a little lopsided, lacking ornaments on the right-hand side, so he hoped it was another box of baubles. You were currently in the training room with Alec and Jane, the twins agreeing to distract you while he set up his room with everything he had brought. He couldn’t do much about your general need to acclimate to the new life you had discovered, but he could soothe your grief by bringing Christmas to you, right?

It had taken him a few minutes to figure out how the stupid tree was supposed to go up and he was admittedly irritated with how many specks of glitter he could see in his carpet, but he figured it would all be worth it when everything was ready.

“Those are for the fireplace.” He informed the giant. Felix glanced about the place, much different to Demetri’s usual decoration. The Masters’ had been generous at first, giving you our own space to allow you to acclimate to your new senses in some peace and quiet, but since you were mated to him it was expected you would eventually share a room, and the Masters’ patience was running very thin. Demetri hoped you would accept the proposition soon given you spent most of your time in his room with him anyway. Felix knew better than to stick around, knowing he would get irritated by his friends fussing eventually. Demetri didn’t mind, he had a tree to trim after all, though it was quickly becoming more arduous by the minute as he tried to ensure a balance between tinsel and ornaments. With his speed, he had transformed his room in a little under two hours, and from the look on your face when you walked into the room it had well been worth it.

Your mouth parted, eyes alight with wonder and confusion, you took in an array of lights adorning the bookshelves, fireplace and tree. There was tinsel on almost every flat surface, and fake snowmen and santa’s sitting along a mantlepiece dripping with fake icicles.

“Metri…” you breathed. He hoped your lack of words was a good sign. Hesitant steps carried you about the room, your fingertips dancing over the ornaments scattered about.

“Are they to your liking?” he asked. His eyes dipped to the package in your grip but you seemingly had forgotten it. Your eyes were sparkling as you turned to face him.

“I – these are – we…their perfect.” You whispered, voice raw with unshed emotion. Demetri watched you come closer towards him, meeting you halfway to prevent you from going any further with a smile. His eyes flickered upward to the white berries of mistletoe he’d carefully hung from the chandelier – his plan was in motion. Your eyes followed his gaze, breath hitching slightly. Demetri had never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did in that moment, you and your wide-eyed stare was too tempting, the soft glow of multicoloured lights illuminating the planes of your face making you as picture perfect as any hallmark Christmas movie character he had forced himself to watch.

“I tried to read up on some Christmas traditions for you. Most seem to be very subjective but I chose a few I knew I could bring to Volterra,” He murmured, “I admit, this was one of my favourites…I was rather hoping you would indulge me, love.” He placed his hand on your waist as gently as possible, hoping not to scare you away. Timid thing that you were, he wasn’t sure you would agree, but he wanted to give you plenty of chance to choose for yourself. You didn’t need to know that your decision here could make or break him, that he wasn’t just asking you for permission to kiss you. What he really wanted to know was whether or not you accepted him as your mate. You bit your lip, eyes flickering away briefly.

“Only if you indulge me to,” you bargained, pulling your package up between you pair. Demetri raised his eyebrows slightly, curious to know what was in the squishy looking plastic envelope. “I…I didn’t know you were going to do all this for me but I was going to ask that…well, you see my family always get matching pyjamas to spend Christmas Day in and I just…since we both are free on Christmas day…you don’t have to but-“

“I would be honoured, love,” Demetri cut you off, “There is little I would not do for you.” Your grip on your pyjama package tightened, your breathing a little shaky now and eyes filled with trepidation. Demetri searched your expression, looking for anything that might warrant some hope, but your deer in the headlights expression remained and he was truly uncertain as to where you stood.

“I don’t understand,” You admitted quietly, “I’m nothing special. I don’t understand why you did all of this for me.” Demetri sighed, absent-mindedly brushing your hair back from your face. It would have been endearing if it wasn’t so bloody frustrating. Why couldn’t you see how much you meant to him? He made himself readily available to your every whim and desire, never rejected you when you sought physical comfort from him despite quite obviously denying it to everyone else. Had you truly not noticed and understood you were everything to him? He quite literally couldn’t live without you.

“Truthfully? I care little for the tinsel and lights and all of the frivolity this holiday gives humans an excuse for, but I care for your enjoyment of it. This is important to you, and if I have not made it abundantly clear by now you are important to me.” Demetri said, moving the package from your grip so he could take your hands and squeeze them lightly.

“But-“

“But nothing, Y/N. I have known since the day I was forced to change you there was only one person meant for me. I would rather endure the change for the rest of eternity, drown over and over in the deepest and darkest parts of the ocean, have the devil himself rip whatever is left of my soul in two, than spend a day without my mate,” He swore, bringing your hands up to rest on his chest, “It may not beat, but if you will accept it, this heart is yours and yours only.” A small squeak of surprise escaped you and you almost seemed to flounder for a moment, clearly shocked by the bold declaration. He had said nothing he didn’t know deep in his heart to be true, and surrounded by the glow of Christmas lights, nestled in his arms beneath the mistletoe, you answered him the only way you knew how.

So long as you kept up a tradition of kissing him like this, Demetri could get used to celebrating Christmas.

[vldkeith]

Dolphin Kisses

a/n: This fic is based/inspired from my experience at this boat ride thing I went on some time ago and I just klance-ified it lol. Anyways this whole fic is just some super cheesy stuff my brain barfed up and yeah, I have nothing else to say besides enjoy <33 -Klance Day

☆°☆°☆° ☆

Lance wanted to go on a date with Keith; but not just any date. The perfect date. So Lance finds himself in front of the wheel, driving Keith to the oceanfront. It was a really pleasant day outside. The scent of the salty sea grew stronger as the scenery changed from suburban family homes to tourist attraction stops and stores. Radio songs hummed in the background and filtered out from the open car windows. Lance peeks at his right to Keith, just to make sure that he was having a good time. “‘You excited to be on a boat, mullet?” he asks cheerfully. “For the last time, Lance, I don’t know. It’s my first time.” “I know, I know. You’re worried about getting seasick,” Lance nonchalantly waves off. “But not to worry, babe. If you feel the slightest weakness, don’t be hesitant to fall into my arms.“ Keith scoffs at his dramatics. “Sure.” ☆°☆°☆° They finally reach The White Lion boat ride dock, and Lance parks the car on the old, cracking concrete below it. The two walk out and start heading towards the ticket and tour center, but to be honest, the “center” was more of a big shack with dull yellow and pink paint peeling right off of it. Lance pulls out his phone and shows the lady at the front desk his reservation time. She nods wordlessly and hands him two white tickets. Lance smiles and runs back to Keith, waving the paper slips in the air. “Let’s go!” He points towards the line on the dock to the boats. A few boats line the edge of the water. Lance motions his hand to the purple one with waves. “That’s the boat we’re getting on." Keith grins and scoots a little closer to Lance as more people fill up the wooden platform. Lance plants a light kiss on his head. A few minutes later, a bulky man walks by the clustered line. "The 4:30PM White Lion’s Roar boat tour has been canceled due to an engine malfunction,” he starts. Lance’s heart drops to his shoes and frowns. He glances at Keith, who wears a similar expression. “You can get refunds at the ticket center and come back another day, or book for a another boat at a later time,” the man finishes. “We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused. Have a good evening.” As soon as the man walks away, dissapointed murmers ripple throughout the crowd. They all start to disperse and head towards the ticket desk. “I’m sorry,” Lance sighs. So much for a perfect date, he thinks. “It’s okay,” Keith comforts. “We can just go on another boat.” He grabs Lance’s arm and tugs as they walk back to get new tickets. This time, Keith is at the desk, and Lance stays back. He blows out a puff of air, slightly smiling at his boyfriend. Sometimes, he still can’t believe that they’ve been dating for almost four months now. Keith reaches back to Lance to show off their new tickets. He starts to explain, “I got another boat tour for five o'clock. Don’t worry it’s the same price and we got refunded from the first tickets. It’s a slower boat, but it goes farther, and it garuntees dolphin sightings.” Lance smirks. “That’s my Keith,” he responds. ☆°☆°☆° Twenty minutes later, a new line has fully formed for the new, bigger boat. Two kids and a grandma are chattering beside Lance and Keith. “Look, there’s a Poké-Spot on the boat!” one of the kids cheers. “Quit your Pokémon Go-ing,” the grandma snaps. Lance chuckles and turns his attention back to Keith. Soon, people began boarding. Right before they stepped on the boat, a young lady with a White Lion t-shirt stops the two boys. “Excuse me sirs,” she raises her camera. “But we are offering pictures for the boat ride that you can purchase at the end of the ride. Would you like to take a picture?” “Sure,” Lance replies as he wraps his arm around Keith and makes a peace sign with his free hand. “Smile!” The lady clicks her camera. “Thank you for choosing The White Lion boat tours,” she welcomes. ☆°☆°☆° Lance and Keith both decided beforehand that they wanted to go to the second floor of the boat, so they scurry quickly up the stairs in hopes to get a good spot. Thankfully, they manage to grab spots at the front. Lance sits down on the bench and Keith plops right beside him. As soon as the boat starts humming, a voice comes to the speakers. “Hello, and welcome to The White Lion’s Pounce boat tour,” a supposedly Australian man cheers. “My name is Coran, and I will be your guide on this trip. Firstly, let’s go over some safety rules.” The man goes on to explain where the life jackets are, what to do if you feel seasick, and other various things to know when on a boat. Lance can tell the Keith’s attention has already wandered from the peppy voice’s informative talks. Right now, Keith is staring out onto the long stretch of water before them, and Lance couldn’t help but smile. “But Lance! I don’t even like the beach!” He could still hear Keith’s complaints from a couple days ago. “It will be fun, babe! New experiences and all,” Lance persuaded. “Besides, I already bought the tickets, so we have to go.” Lance’s pleading worked, of course. It’s just his natural charming boyfriend skills. ☆°☆°☆° The boat finally made its way out of the dock and through the mouth of the small river into the ocean. People fishing on the edge of the big rocks and stones waved as the boat went by. Eventually, Lance stands up to the railing, and looks out. The boat was gently gliding on the water, rocking slightly with the dips and peaks of the waves. Keith joins him in a little bit, placing his hand over Lance’s, which was already on the rail. Now, the scene was different. The boat is gliding at a steady pace parallel to the boardwalk. From the distance, the people, umbrellas, towels, and small tents looked like blended spots dotting the long stretch of beach. Behind them stood hotels and restaurants varying in size, color, and shape. Lance spots a Marriot, a Hilton, and a Holiday Inn as they pass by. The Marriot looked the newest with its glassy, black exterior. Soon, the long and busy boardwalk mellowed down to the more open, lesser used beach. Hotels turned into private rental houses, and the crowds faded. Lance pointed to a small lilac house. “'You wanna stay there someday for a vacation?” he jokingly asks Keith. The other boy scoffs in response. “As if. More than a day at this sandy giver of salt and sunburns and I will actually die.” Lance giggles. “Okay, you vampire.” Keith glances away as his mouth turns upwards in a slight grin. ☆°☆°☆° A few more minutes pass when the boat halts to an even slower turtle’s pace. The speakers crackle as Coran begins to speak. “We are approaching our dolphin sight-seeing spot, folks!” he says with almost too much enthusiasm. “While you keep your eyes peeled for them, take a moment to look again in front of you to our very own Seagull’s Peak Lighthouse! Originally built in…” Lance’s ears blocks out the rest because his eyes are busy darting around for any signs of dolphins. Finally, a gray fin popped up from the water. “Dolphin!” Lance yells. Keith turns his head around to where Lance’s eyes were staring. “'Looks like we spotted our first dolphins! Ladies and gentlemen, look out for more.” The crowd oohed and ahhed as more and more dolphins appear splash around the boat. Coran continues, talking more about the dolphins. Lance spots Keith grinning excitedly at the intermittent dolphins. He smiles to himself, content with the fact that his boyfriend was enjoying this too. ☆°☆°☆° Eventually, the boat turned around and they were heading back the way they came. Keith had prompted that both of them go downstairs for a change, and Lance happily agreed. The boat was shaking and rocking back and forth as it made its way through the water, so it was hard to balance when walking. Fortunately, Keith and Lance had each other’ hands to hold on to, so they walk to and down the stairs and towards the front much easier. “Woah,” Keith gasps when he sees rests his hands on the railing, looking on to the ocean from a much closer view. “Yeah. This thing’s going pretty fast, isn’t it?” Keith opens his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a random child squealing. “Mommy! Look it’s a rainbow!” Keith and Lance look up to see a faded, but visible arch of colors that the girl was pointing too. Other families took notice and began to stare in awe. “That’s kinda gay,” Lance jokes, lightheartedly jabbing Keith’s side with his elbow. Keith snickers along. He smirks, arching an eyebrow. “You think?” ☆°☆°☆° “And that concludes our boat ride! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for choosing the White Lion! Photos are available for purchase at the docking point of the boat. Have a wonderful evening.” The speakers crackle again after the announcement before playing random pop songs as it did at the beginning of the tour. Soon, the air fills with sounds chatting and talking as the passengers filed out of the boat onto the dock. Lance and Keith were among one of the last people to go out, so it was less crowded when they finally step onto the platform. The lady from before handed them their photo from the start of the trip, and soon, the two were back in the car. This time, Keith was in the driver’s seat. “So,” Lance starts. “How did you like it?” he asks in a sing song voice. “It was good,” Keith responds, putting on his seat belt. He should have been happy, but Lance deflates from how monotone Keith sounded. “That’s all?" Keith must have taken notice of Lance’s grimace because he quickly rushed to add a supposedly forced, "It was great! The dolphins and rainbow were very cool!” “I thought you were enjoying it,” Lance reprimands, his lips pursed and brows tight. “I guess not.” “No, Lance, it’s not like that,” Keith trails. “I had a really good time.” “You don’t have to lie about it.” Keith pouts in response, but doesn’t press any further. He plugs the key into the car, and they leave the parking lot in silence. ☆°☆°☆° Lance stares out the window, taking in the busy streets of the oceanfront. He expects that in a few minutes, the sight would be gone as they leave the area, but as more time passes, it seems that they were going deeper in. “Hey, are you sure we’re going the right way?” Lance asks, not even moving his head to face Keith. “Yes.” He hears in response. “But it looks like we’re heading towards the beach,” Lance counters, finally turning his attention to his boyfriend. “It almost seems like that’s the point,” Keith replies, voice sarcastically high. “Are you taking us…?” Lance doesn’t finish his sentence, and Keith doesn’t bother to fill it in. ☆°☆°☆° The car comes to a halt on a sandy parking lot. A couple of children chase and run around eachother as adults pop open their trunks to take out various beach toys and towels. Keith’s seat belt clicks open, and opens the door to come out. He motions his hands for Lance to come out as well, but Lance was still trying to process what they might even be doing here. “Come on,” Keith drags. “We don’t have all day.” “Okay..” Lance tags the word with suspicion. He steps out and joins Keith. The two walk down the sandy ramp to the actually beach. They walk wordlessly, until finally, they reach the water. Keith plops down on the semi wet sand, and pats down next to him for Lance to follow. He sits down. Now, Lance was throughly confused. “What are we doing here?” He finally asks. “You, like, hate the beach.” “Yeah, but you love it.” Lance’s face flushes when he sees Keith give a small smile. “I thought that I could make it up to you if I brought you here. I’m sorry for not being enthusiastic enough,” Keith mumbles. Lance perks up, and he waves his arms. “No, Keith! I’m sorry. I should have trusted you when you said you were having a good time,” he huffs. “I was just expecting a little more response than a ‘It was good.’ But it’s okay, I know you meant well.” He slowly wraps an arm around Keith and pulls him closer. “Thanks for bringing us here,” Lance whispers into Keith’s hair. “I appreciate it.” The Sun dips behind them, creating a soft blend of blues, oranges, and pinks all around the beach. Waves peacefully crash up and down, creating one of the only noises on the lesser crowded beach. Lance pretends nobody else is there but him and Keith as he leans forward to kiss him. One kiss turned to two, to three, to more than he could keep track of. Soon enough, they were both smiling so hard, none of them could continue. The giggle and hug; Lance only occasionally pressing his lips against Keith’s forehead. “Hey, you,” Lance sighs contently. “Hey.” “'Wanna know a secret?” The other boy smirks. “Yeah.” Lance leans to Keith’s ear before whispering, “I love you.” Keith stifles a laugh. “That wasn’t a secret, idiot.” “But it still made your heart race, didn’t it?” Lance light heartedly retorts. Instead of giving a proper response, Keith pulls Lance in for another kiss. “'Love you too,” he finally says with a barely audible voice. Sometimes Lance wonders what he did to deserve someone as wonderful as Keith. He doesn’t know, and probably never will. That doesn’t stop him from loving Keith, though. He’ll never stop loving Keith.

[pa-panda-heroes]

im the same anon who sent the pro-hero + league thing and dabi, shiggy, toga 🥺💞💖💖 thank you, lovely.

Enjoy, anoni!! I’m realising my scenarios are aren’t really scenarios, are they?

Strict!Pro-hero!reader being seduced by Dabi, Tomura, and Himiko!

Warning: N/S/FW content. Minors, do NOT interact. Seriously! This is no place for you. (Edit: that means a anyone under 18. That’s the threshold I’ve seen others use, so I’m sticking it’s that.) Note: there are individual warnings for each character so that you know what you’re about to read ^v^b

Dabi:

Warnings- adult content, thigh riding, biting, edging, alcohol mention, swearing

To say that you were known for being cool-headed and strict was a major understatement. You weren’t as popular as All Might, but those who knew you understood you to be a hero who, no matter how any villain taunted or insulted you, was concrete and unbending to their childish games. You went by the book and rarely made exceptions.

And then Dabi entered the picture. Cynical, rough, sardonic as hell, and quite the lawbreaker - and flirt. He’d stir some trouble in the streets, and then dip out when things got sketchy for him. In the midst of doing so, he’d always send some nasty smirk and comment your way. “Some nice legs you got there, doll. They’d look nicer above your head, though,” was his favorite; or perhaps it was your response he vied for so much. Because boy, you wanted to respond. You couldn’t deny the selfish gratification that came of his antics, knowing someone didn’t treat you as a gripey, square of a woman.

But that was the last thought on your mind as you sauntered through an alleyway on your walk home from having harmless fun with your fellow heroes. You hadn’t drank a sip, afraid of trouble spurring and hence your being called in. Your focus was fixated on your phone in your hand as you read the text one of your coworkers sent you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, babe,” you suddenly hear, and instantly recognize the bastard of a voice. And instantly you feel that familiar throbbing at your core at the sound of it.

You look up from your phone, stone-faced as always, and try to resist the urge to scowl at him. You fail, though. He’s standing not far from you with his hands in his pockets, but it doesn’t look like this encounter was intended. “Don’t call me that,” you warn shakily, only for his smirk to widen and show off his teeth before he closes the gap between you. You elect to swing a fist at him but miss entirely before a blur flashes over your vision and your back hits the hard brick of the alley.

“Why not? We both know you enjoy it,” he snickers, his forearm across the front of your shoulders, his left hand occupied with pinning your wrist to the wall and knee stuck in-between yours. “If you really meant that punch, I wouldn’t have been able to dodge it, right?”

Right.

He even left your other hand free to prove his point.

Your breath is heavy and fluttered as he leans closer. You said nothing, but the fact that your wrist was relaxed in his hold told him everything. You see him smirk again, thereafter his arm leaves your chest so that he could put his thumb under your chin, the rest of his fingers splayed out on your jaw and you gulp. Your eyes fall half-lidded when he leans in close, but he quickly pushes your head back and veers off to the side to suckle at your neck, earning a quiet whine from you. Dabi acknowledges it with an eerie chuckle, to which you nearly respond with suspect before a cry leaves your lips at the sensation of teeth gnashing at your collarbone, the feeling of his chin staples rolling over your skin surprisingly heavenly. He resorts back to suckling and you’re sure he’s leaving at least a few hickies, but you’re too wrapped up in his hands fondling your hips and ass to care. They’re so warm, it’s ecstatic. He’s sweltering hot, unlike the cool wetness settling between your legs.

“Aah, Dabi...!”

You can’t help the whine of your lips or buck of your hips, nor the yelp that results when you unintentionally grind your throbbing core against his thigh. Dabi pulls off of your neck with a pop before he grabs your hips with both hands to pull you closer, encouraging you to ride his thigh. “My leg, ah?” he breathes, his voice more curious than either of you would admit. He leans in towards your ear, hot breath sending a chill down your spine. “Go on, do it,” he demands, his voice a whisper. “Lift that skirt and cum on my thigh, doll.”

You shut your eyes tight and moan at such a filthy command, his husky voice a contributor. Dabi’s too impatient with you to let you move your skirt out of the way as he does it himself, his returned grip on your hips surely to bruise them. You’re able to look down as he guides you, and there’s a clear streak of wetness soaking his pant leg. You shiver at the sight of your arousal, and again when he reaches to move your panties out of the way to let you grind bare against his jeans. You stare at the sight, not having it in you to look away. He must’ve followed your graze, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as you begin to cry out and moan louder. Dabi’s tongue is awfully quick to find and lick at your ear, while his teeth occasionally gnaw at it and pull. You were so pent up, even after a night of fun, it was no surprise your climax was already catching up to you. Your pace gets faster and faster, until that tightened coil-

Doesn’t snap. Dabi retreated his thigh from you and grabs your jaw to force you to look at his simper, earning a pout from you. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t make that face,” he taunts.

“You didn’t really think that’d be it, did you, babe?”

Tomura:

Warnings- adult content, spanking, swearing, orgasm denial

Being an infamously stoic hero had its perks. No one expected you to goof off on talk shows or crack a corny joke in interviews. Everyone liked that you weren’t careless and rambunctious; it just suited you not to be. A downside was being viewed as a “strict, rule-hungry old bag,” though. And you weren’t even old! But because you took being a hero seriously and followed rules, it gave you a public opinion not far off from Endeavor’s.

Getting on the trail of the leader of the League of Villains was a royal pain in the ass, much less staying there. It didn’t help that he seemed to take a special interest in you. There was always a hungry look in his eyes when you faced off, and nearly every time it felt like he’d planned the encounter as if to merely get a glimpse of you.

It wasn’t something you hated. This game of cat and mouse was exhilarating. Constant. Safe. It was a release. The more it happened, the more you thought it was the same way for him.

That theory was confirmed in its entirety when he randomly showed up in your apartment and looked at you as if he’d waited a significant amount of time. On you. You freeze in place after shutting your door, your bag of groceries still in hand as he stares at you from the couch. The silence that falls is thick, and not entirely uncomfortable, but it is unwelcome. You walk over to the kitchen area and set the bag atop the counter, before turning around to see Tomura standing right in front of you, the lack of hands adorning his body confusing you. “Why... are you here?” you ask hesitantly, noting the unconscious clenching of your thighs.

“You wouldn’t make a damn move, so I had to.”

His answer was simple and dry, and you begin to wonder if that meant anything other than what you wanted it to. His intentions are clear when he approaches further, backing you into the counter and caging you with an arm on each side. Tomura just stares at you. It was your turn. That’s how your little game went. And so you jolted forward, latching onto his lips with your own. Your dominance is short-lived, though, as he deepens the kiss when you yelp from his hand smacking against the side of your thigh, his tongue invading your mouth. Tomura’s hands are quick to snake up your shirt and paw at your uncovered breasts, the villain then smirking at the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra while he chuckles at your moan. His fingers pinch your hardening nubs, resulting in your pulling back from his lips and mewling.

His breaths are getting heavy, as are yours. Tomura grabs your arm and spins you around so that your backside is facing him, your ass end poking out at him when he grabs your head and pushes down to bend you over the counter. You glance back at him, but your focus is broken when you feel his hardened cock against your ass. Your whine only encourages him to briskly unbuckle your pants and pull them down, and you half-expect him to grind against you again - but he doesn’t. You begin to push back against him, albeit a hand on the small of your back lunges you forward and you scramble to get a grip on the counter beneath you. Hard to do that on a flat, smooth surface.

“Funny, you’re such a stickler about rules, and yet here you are, trying to make your own,” he jeers, and you swallow thickly. “You can follow a command, can’t you, hero?”

You gulp again and try to writhe in place, only to shriek when a hand lands sharp on your ass cheek as his other hand digs into your back. “Can’t you?” he repeats, and the feeling of your cunt clenching practically resounds throughout your body. You’re soaked, it’s clear. You pant instead of responding, almost sounding like a bitch in heat before another slap sounds against your reddening asscheek and you moan aloud, earning yourself yet another.

“I can!” you nearly scream, white-hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes - either from the pleasure, or the pain, you’re not sure.

“Don’t cum.”

You gasp and glance back at him, lips agape as you felt the pulling down of your panties. All you can see is those dark, red eyes glaring at you like a predator about to devour its prey.

Himiko:

Warnings- adult content, mentions of stalking, biting, oral, slight knife use (your poor panties), swearing, home... invasion?

Note- I’m not sure how old Toga is. Granted that she wears a school uniform and she crushes on Izuku, I’m setting her age to 20 here because I’m really not sure.

Being stalked by villains is not something you’re unfamiliar with. Being called a stone-faced, soulless shell of of a woman is not something you’re unfamiliar with either, a result of the public eye constantly fixated on you. On the contradictory, a grown ass villain flirting with your austere being was something you were quite unused to. Toga Himiko of the League of Villains was always hot on your trail, quick to retreat when noticed yet quick to notice you first. The smile that would crack her lips open was clearly meant for you and for you alone, always used as a flirtatious taunt. It wasn’t uncommon for you to track her down and chase after her, nor was it uncommon for her to track you down and leap after you.

Your game of push-and-pull had been on for a while. She was always so quick to escape no matter the situation, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out how she did it. Nor could you figure out how the hell she got into your apartment. While you were there. Granted, you were asleep, but still...

She grins at you again in your bedroom doorway, that grin you know well, and seems to fiddle with the belt loop at her shorts, having long since abandoned the school girl schtick. It only worked for so long anyway. “Y/n-chan,” she beams, nearly drooling. “I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you tonight?” Her voice is sweet and lilted, and for a split second you believe her. She still had that sweet and harmless-looking appearance despite being a hardened villain. You lick your lips almost unconsciously, which she takes as an invitation to your bed, except she yanks your bedding off of you unceremoniously to replace it with her body as she straddles your hips.

You stare at her, your hands instinctively going for the sides of her thighs, with which she seems quite pleased as she squeaks at you. “You look so small down there, hero,” she mutters, her grin ear-to-ear. “So cuuute!” Her eyes then narrow almost darkly at you and she cocks her head sideways. “So quiet. Are you still sleepy, hm?”

Her thighs are so plump and sweet that you gulp underneath her while wondering what she’d taste like, but she shakes her head at you. “No, not tonight, lovey.” Himiko leans down and lunges her tongue into your open mouth, your moans mixing together as she does so, albeit yours increases in volume when she palms your breast through your shirt and squeezes before flicking her finger at your hardening nipple. The villain pulls away from you too quickly, sitting up so briskly your head almost spins, as she ignores the trail of saliva that follows. Her hips are adjusted atop you before she grabs the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth. You catch on immediately and comply, biting the fabric into place as she goes to town kissing and licking your sternum between your tits. Golden, sharp eyes never leave yours in the moment, and her mouth feels hot against your skin as you moan. Her groping at your legs only serves to make you more vocal.

The bloodthirsty woman travels down your navel, yet goes right past where you want her most, while your whine is punctuated by the bucking of your hips. Himiko instead elects to suckle at your hip and upper thigh, before she parts your legs and settles between them. You jolt a little as she licks a stripe up your thigh until her tongue is a finger’s width away from the throbbing wetness between your legs. She giggles at your response, then landing a quick, tiny bite on your thigh before licking her lips. You don’t realise you’ve reached out to grab the top of her head and pulled it toward you until you feel the softness of her hair underneath your fingertips and another giggle escapes her. Himiko’s tongue pokes out from her lips as she pulls a knife from her belt to shred away at the hip of your panties before pulling them down to give her access to your throbbing clit.

Her tongue is quick to prod at your hole, then dragging up towards your clit before her lips are around it and sucking away. You cry out as a result, hips bucking again as your free hand clutches the bedsheet beneath you. You hear what sounds like a growl come from Himiko’s throat, then watch as her arms hook around your legs and hold your hips down. The sweat starting to coat your skin keeps her from getting a decent grip, so she uses force while her tongue dips into you and pokes around with her thumb rubbing at your swollen, puffy clit.

“Toga-chan-!”

Your whining out her name encourages her thumb to rub circles and increase its pace, Himiko finally letting out her own moan into your soaked cunt as her tongue begins to lick and suck away. Your grip on the sheets tightens until your knuckles are white, your mantra of moans music to her ears. Until suddenly, she pulls away, your essence coating her lips and practically dripping down her chin.

“Y/n-chan,” she says almost darkly, with the look in her eyes making your cunt clench around nothing, “you can’t cum yet.”

[omniscientwreck]

Day 6: Time & Transformation // Temptation

Day 6 of @shadowgastweek (I’m very late I know I’m sorry!) 

Please enjoy this little glimpse into the future I hope the wizards will get one day, please let me know what you think! 

“Caleb?”

“Ja?” The wizard looks over, silver hairs peeking through the copper and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose looking over from the loveseat where his papers and books were sprawled across the dark upholstery.

A familiar, grin spreads freely across his features.

“Can I tempt you away from your studies for a moment?”

Eyebrows raise and a mischievous glint, “Well you know, this is some important work I’m doing. I’m not sure if you can compete.”

Gliding over, Essek leans down over the human’s form, sporting his own devilish grin. The wizard’s eyes raked over him with a hunger. That could wait. They have time. “Oh I assure you I can be quite compelling.” And he leans in to kiss Caleb. Kissing him is so comfortable, safe, it fills him with a warmth he’d never previously known. It’s been years and it still excites him when their lips connect. Caleb’s short stubble scrapes a bit before they part, Essek righting himself and offering Caleb a hand.

“I have to say Thelyss, you make a good case. What is it?”

“I just wanted to talk with you, about tomorrow.”

As Caleb stands he smiles reassuringly, “Mein Engel, you are still nervous?” He grabs for Essek’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Caleb’s hands are strong and his fingers are wider than Essek’s. It’s easy to feel reassured in his grasp, familiar callouses rough as Caleb’s thumb rubs circles into his hand. “The spell has been performed many times without issue, we’ve got it figured out. I’m certainly excited to see what happens.”

Essek nods, “Of course I am excited too, but well. The other times it was you and now it’s me and transmutation certainly isn’t my specialty.”

A gentle laugh falls from Caleb’s lips and he squeezes Essek’s hand, “You know you really don’t give yourself enough credit. You quite nearly pioneered an entire school of magic. You’ve been it’s foremost scholar and teacher for some time. I understand nerves but I promise you I trust your ability. You’ll have the rest of the Nein there, Veth has had it done to her and the rest were there with us the first time. I will be okay. Besides, won’t you be happy for me to be rid of some of these age markers?”

He winks at Essek, teasing, already knowing the answer. “You grow more beautiful every day Caleb, I have never once regretted the aging of your body. You know very well it’s not about looks, it’s about time.” Caleb stops their walking and wraps his arms around him, pulling Essek in and kissing him gently, chastely. “Regardless of how old you look or what happens tomorrow I intend to stay by your side until death. But we only have one life so we may as well lengthen our time.”

Caleb kisses the tip of his nose and they continue outside of their home. The dark of the night engulfs them and the glow of the stars is vibrant as always, Essek looks at his husband and tries to quell the nerves, the anticipation, when a voice fills his mind, “Hey Essek it’s Jester! I couldn’t wait to see you and Caleb until tomorrow, it’s been so long and I’ve missed you so much. I’m-” the spell cuts off and he waits a few moments to see if she plans to recast.

When he hears nothing he responds, out loud so Caleb can hear, “Hello Jester. It is good to hear from you. We’re home and I believe you know our address. You’re welcome at any time.”

Caleb’s crows feet crinkle around his still piercing blue eyes, “Well, if Jester’s here then so is Fjord and I can’t imagine the others are far behind. We should prepare the guest beds.”

They float inside to welcome their friends and briefly Essek’s anxiety is pushed to the back of his mind.

-----

Long ago he’d finally stopped referring to the Nein as ‘Caleb’s friends’ and accepted his role in their lives and allowed them to step into their roles in his properly. Agents of change, bestowers of affection, it’s been about a year since they last saw everyone together.

Ten years ago when they defeated Lucien the group took a break. Jester and Fjord split off to Nicodranas with Veth, Caduceus went home, Yasha and Beau had posted up mainly in Zadash, and Essek and Caleb spent a great deal of time travelling and exploring. Whenever one of the Nein called they all answered, whether it was something as simple as providing fire power when Beau had an investigation or something as momentous as tying up loose ends from their past, they remained steadfast to one another.

Jester, Fjord, and Veth and her family are the first to arrive and Essek opens a well aged wine. Luc is a teenager at this point and he’s becoming a bit of a menace at the amusement of his uncles. Caleb had previously taught him message and he’s been getting a lot of mileage out of it. Jester and Fjord have stories from having come back from a few months at sea, helping with some errands for merchant ships for old times’ sake.

Their home feels full and alive, and the next moring when Beau and Yasha arrive, and then Caduceus it feels like the family is whole again.

They begin digging clay out of the back yard just as they had the first time and as everyone assumes their positions, laughing and joking, filling the backyard with cacophonous uproar, Essek is hit with nostalgia.

He misses travelling with them, having them by his side and standing at theirs throughout some of the worst confrontations in history. He misses the jokes they lob his way with ease, Fjord and Veth hurling insults back and forth, all of it. It seems like so much time has passed since they had last upturned his yard to help a friend into a new form, but in his comparatively long life it’s hardly any time at all.

They assemble the clay, sprinkling in diamond dust and Essek is basically useless with nerves, they’ve created the trough, incorporated the diamond dust. All that’s left is him. They pause to eat, Caduceus’ cooking a welcome break from the day’s preparations.

Dinner is delicious, and loud, full of stories Luc and Yeza have heard dozens of times but still delightful all the same. As they finish eating and prepare to cast the rest clean up as Essek floats outside to check their arrangement one last time. He feels a punch land on the back of his shoulder, where he was once marked by the Nonagon and Beau surveys alongside him, the day’s work. “Hey man, you okay?”

He should be used to her check-ins but she still puts him on edge despite their ‘beef’ as she put it having been ‘squashed’ years ago. “I am alright. This is a big deal and well, I just want to perform well.”

“You will.” She rubs his shoulders a bit and continues, “You know, I didn’t think you deserved him. Even after we figured our shit out and you like became cool. I didn’t think you were good enough for him. Thanks for proving me wrong, you’re good people and I know you’ll take care of him. You’re nervous because you care and that shows me a lot about you. You’ve always been that way but. Well, I see the way you look at him, it’s just real fucking nice.”

All he can do in response is nod and swallow hard, he doesn’t have words to explain what the reassurance means. He kneels down to ensure the dimensions are right for the fiftieth time and the others come out breaking the silence.

“Ah- before we begin can I steal him quickly?” Caleb asks his friends as if they have somewhere else to be or any reason to deny the couple a few words. He takes Essek a good distance away so they can talk without being overheard. “Schatz, are you ready?”

“It feels like I should be asking you that. You know the form you would like to assume?”

Caleb nods, “Just as we discussed, we’ll put us on a more even playing field.”

Essek tucks a stray strand of copper hair behind a rounded ear and looks at his husband’s face one last time, “I can’t say I won’t miss this view Widogast, you are a most striking man.”

Caleb just laughs and kisses him gently, “Well you have much to look forward to.”

They stay like that for a moment, hands clasped, pulling their bodies close, eye to eye. Determination and a stoic resilience fall over Essek and he nods to Caleb, “Ready?”

“Ready.”

All told the casting is uneventful. The Nein are knelt in a circle around Caleb with Essek at the head, kissing him one last time before beginning the incantation. As the wind picks up and arcane lines and symbols light up, Essek’s concentration is stone cold. The clay begins slowly building over Caleb, covering his face entirely and as the view of his partner is taken from him he seems to connect on a deeper level to Caleb’s psyche. They think together of the chosen form, and he can feel a reassuring wave come off of Caleb as he continues reciting the incantation. The runes light and as he continues casting and putting everything he has into ensuring their mutual happiness. His voice gradually rises and arcane power swirls around them, hair freely whipping around the faces of his friends, watching with confidence, Yasha smiling knowingly at him across the vessel. He can feel the heat radiating as his hands pass over Caleb and at the hour the clay bursts, the ensuing wave of arcane energy pushes him back a foot or so, even in his kneeling position. The light from the spell is snuffed instantly and the night is dark again. Before them is Caleb anew.

He brushes clay away from his face with slender fingers, gently sitting up as Jester helps him. Essek floats over, kneeling beside him where he sits.

Caleb turns to look at him, he has the same copper hair and bright blue eyes, but the skin is smooth and free of stubble, his ears narrow to a point, and his features are just a little finer.

They did it.

Caleb looks at Essek for a moment, not dissimilar from the look they’d shared as they met at the altar the day they were wed, “So this is what you look like in the dark.”

He cups Essek’s face with a smooth hand and laughs lightly as the Nein begin chattering around them, Essek doesn’t hear what they say as Caleb brings his new lips to Essek’s and they’re locked in their second first kiss. Pulling back slightly, Essek’s laughter rings out and they press their foreheads together. He feels someone wrap their arms around the two of them and eventually the rest of the Nein join. In the middle of the large group hug two wizards hold each other and time stretches before Essek as the full gravity of the what they’ve done makes his heart soar. Time will catch up eventually, it always does, but for now they have plenty.

[abzzz3]

No Soul to Love - Part One

Part one of a multipart fic requested by @leniram1890 , I hope this does your vision justice

Summary: The soul is a powerful thing. It has the ability to heal people when harnessed, but also has a will of it’s own when you find a soulmate. Your soul has been ripped from you for the very purpose of healing others, and now you’re just trying to have as normal of a life as possible. That’s when tall, dark and handsome showed up, flipping everything onto it’s head and forcing you to hope for more than this life you’ve been damned to.

Pairing: Loki x Reader 

Tags: @leniram1890 @kcd15​

Warnings: None that I can think of/remember

Word Count: 1,593

Notes: This is the first I’ve written in a while so please be gentle, however constructive criticism is welcome.

_____________________________________________________

“Milk or sugar?”

You snapped out of the thoughts running through your head and looked at the man sitting across from you, pouring a cup of coffee for each of you.

“No”

He tutts, “Now, now. No need to be so rude”

You scoffed, shaking your head. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Of course he’s serious though, he’s been nothing but serious since the day you met him. All his jokes, his laughing, his lying was all part of his plan. None of it was ever real.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, barely above a whisper, as he gave you a cruel smirk

“I’ve told you this before” Was his answer

“No you haven’t. You’ve told me it was because you liked me, but that’s not an answer. Tell me why you did it.” You replied, trying to sound sure of yourself and calm, but below the surface you were begging the man in front of you to give you some answers.

He poured some milk and three sugar cubes into his coffee, stirring it and taking a long sip of it before putting it back down on the table in front of me.

“Because your need to help others is perfect for my need to help others. Your soul is so full of it that it will work far better than many I have used before.”

You weren’t looking at him as he spoke, instead you were looking at the ring on his finger, which was golden with a black stone as large as a marble in it and when you caught it in the right light you could see a rainbow of colours dance around inside. Those colours were your soul, along with the souls of who knows how many others, well a part of my soul. The rest of it was somewhere hidden where you would never find it, the ring just allowed him to access your soul any time he wanted, because apparently no matter how far your soul is separated to the rest of it, it will always try to become whole again. You’ve imagined yourself prying and ripping that stone from his fingers so many times and smashing it on the ground to finally be free again. It will never happen though. Your soul is his to use up until there is nothing left and you die. ‘Some healer’ you thought, scoffing at his apparent profession.

“Don’t even think about it, you know what happened last time you tried it” He warned, wiggling his fingers so the colours flashed in the sunlight and across your face

Your hand went involuntarily to your shoulder, where you still had phantom pains from when he tore your soul along the edge last time you tried to pry that ring off him. You hadn’t been able to move your shoulder for a week without crying out in pain.

“Can I please go? I have to get to work soon” You asked, still watching his hand

“Yes, but we’ll be back here again tomorrow morning, remember”

You nodded and grabbed your bag, leaving him and your untouched coffee behind you and headed to work.

His name was Adam, he was a work friend of your late husband, George, who was invited round for dinner one night, which is how you first met him. Months went by and all three of you got along really well, until slowly you began to get tired more often and felt like you were losing yourself and losing interest in all your favourite activities. George was amazing throughout it all, taking you to and from appointments with the doctor and your psychologist, he even surprised you one day when you came home from work late with dinner cooked, fresh peonies on the table and candles lit. You looked at him that night and for the first time in a while felt some warmth in your chest, which was pure love towards the man standing in front of you. But, the next morning he was dead. Doctors said he died of heart failure, but his heart was perfectly healthy until that point, so you couldn’t understand how it could have happened.

That was when Adam rocked up on your doorstep, telling you everything. How he was a healer, and used certain methods that those on Earth cannot use, in order to help people get better. How he took your soul from you one night, after finding out enough about you to decide your soul was perfect. That was when he also told you why your late husband had died. Apparently for anyone who’s soul is caught and they are in love at the same time, the soul is harder to mould and be used by the healer. So, he makes it his duty to kill anyone who is one of his trapped souls’ soulmate.

You had to wipe a tear from your cheek as you walked into the front door of the bookshop you worked at. It may have been 6 months ago but it still hurt like it was yesterday.

“Morning y/n!” Tessa called from one of the far walls as she stocked some shelves with books we had just gotten in.

“Morning Tessa, how was Jamie’s recital last night?” You asked

“Amazing, that little boy is just like his father”

You could hear the smile on her face, just by the way her voice carried across the room. It made you happy to see her so happy because you knew of all people she deserved it. You popped your name badge on, put your bag in the staff room and went and turned the open sign around on the front door, ready for the influx of customers today. You worked in an independent bookshop which stocked best sellers, classics, rare books, and anything else in between for every interest and age. The owners were Mr and Mrs Bates, who have retired from working instore and now manage mostly from home, except for the one day a week they come in to check up on us. They were old and Mrs Bates has just had a hip replacement so you didn’t blame them for not being more present.

The door had opened many times already today, and the bell had rung each time to the point where it was now background noise to you. You were currently in the New Age section, reshuffling the books into order by author’s surname when a shadow appeared behind you.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’m wanting some recommendations for some new books” A cool, smooth voice said from behind you

You turned around, an arm full of books, and saw none other than Loki standing in front of you, and a little close for comfort as well. You were gobsmacked, unable to let any words out as you tried to put together some semblance of a sentence to say to him.

“I-, ah, well. . . yes, I-I think I can-” You stumbled out, tripping over every word that left your mouth

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to enslave you all” He joked, a smirk just visible on his lips

Loki of Asgard, the God who tried to conquer Earth, was making a joke. Of course that was years ago that he tried to do that, and it has since come to light that he was under some kind of control at the time, you just never thought you would be in the same 10 mile radius to him, let alone in the same room.

“Oh, sorry” you snapped out of it “Of course I can help, what kind of stuff do you like to read?”

“Well, I used to read great tales of heroics and quests back in Asgard. Along with more educational material than you could imagine. Do you have anything like that?” He asked

“I can find something in the classics section that you might like. Similar to your stories of heroics and quests, how does that sound?”

“Lead the way” He said, stretching out his arm in a way of beckoning you forward and towards the centre of the room where you would presumably head to the classics section from

You glanced at him as you walked past him, getting a smell of whatever cologne he used. It was a mix of spices with a woody base and something so sophisticated that it would make any woman weak in the knees because it was so alluring. It was the kind of thing you would imagine a good looking businessman would wear in your favourite trashy romance book. Ignoring the scent, even if you just wanted to get another lung full of it, you lead him across the room and towards one of the back corners where the classic literature was.

Wracking your brain for something that was like what he was describing you instantly thought of Tolkien’s ‘The Hobbit’, which you grabbed off the shelf, and Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’, which you kind of just had a feeling he would enjoy, before turning around to face Loki. You showed him both books, giving a brief synopsis of each and asked his thoughts on them.

“Both sound intriguing. I’ll get both and come back once I have read them and let you know my thoughts.” He confirmed, not giving you any chance to respond before he headed towards the counter to purchase them and was gone out the front door without much more than a polite smile and head bob/mini bow in your direction.

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 6, 3943 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Back to Vex, on her path to hunt a fiend...

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

“It’s fine, thank you anyway.”

Vex slams the red button on her phone, as if clicking on it harder will make her frustration known to the world. She wishes she had an older phone so she could slam down the handset onto the base. It would be like slamming a door at the end of an argument; a physical show of her feelings.

She’s been on the phone all morning, trying desperately to get some answers on what she’s supposed to do with the fiend now that it has killed at least one person. Not anyone, at that, someone trained to take things down and keep parks protected. If Regae was anything like her, he had put up a fight before dying. But the creature had prevailed.

The one thing she was told about was the Grey Hunt. Not only did the Pale Guard officer tell her about it on the crime scene, but pretty much everyone she’s tried calling told her to ask them. Except they don’t exist anymore. They haven’t in years.

There are no records of previous members either. Vex wants to scream in frustration. For the first time since she’s arrived, she realizes how alone she is. She wasn’t so alone before. In Shademurk, she could ask Saundor and if he was in a good mood and if she played her cards right, he would use his amazing influence to help her. Here she has no one. She almost misses him.

What? No. She doesn’t miss him. She can’t miss him, she won’t. The fact that he was supposed to love her and that she had to bargain with him, the very sovereign of Shademurk Bog, to get him to do anything for her, from dishes to actually working with her to make Shademurk better.

She doesn’t miss him. At all. Her new home is completely clear of him, empty of memories of him. She’s not going to choke on his presence every time she looks somewhere. It’s better here. She’s better now than she ever was before.

If Saundor was here, he would take credit for her strength, for her work. He would say he made her, shaped her into the ranger he is today. He always used to say that. She used to believe him.

Vex stands from her chair and paces a little into the cabin. No Grey Hunt. No Pale Guard. As far as she knows, Pike Trickfoot and Grog Strongjaw are still willing to go hunt a fiend with her. That’s all she has. Her own limited abilities, a cleric and a goliath. And no Vax.

She told him to stay in Westrunn a little. She was hoping to have the fiend problem sorted before he arrived, to be honest, so she wouldn’t have to ask for his help. He’s helped her way too much already.

Besides, she’d rather know he’s with Gilmore, enjoying himself and his boyfriend. They don’t see each other enough. She can manage without him. She should be able to. She’s a strong, capable person.

In the bathroom, she splashes cold water onto her face, forcefully clearing her thoughts. When she looks up from the sink to look into the mirror, she swallows, hard. She looks tired. There are dark circles in the brown skin below her eyes. Her lips are cracked, from the cold. She’s forgotten to put on lip balm. Her hair is dirty, greasy.

It’s been three days. Three days since she’s received that call on the forgotten radio. Three days and she’s already forgotten to take care of herself. She’s really holding on by a thread, isn’t she?

Her nails dig painfully into her palm and only then does she stop staring at her own tired face.

She walks away and slams the door behind herself. The force makes the wall shudder and it feels right. Vex smiles a little. That was the first hint of satisfaction she’s felt since her arrow shot through Donovan Clarence’s hand.

The cub at her feet whines a little, turning over from where he’d been napping.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly and crouches to pet the dark brown fur. “Slamming the door woke you up, huh?” She asks softly.

The cub leans into her hand like he’s starving for touch. He’s always going to forgive her for these things, isn’t he? Her smile widens slightly, growing more relaxed and genuine.

Her phone buzzes and she reaches for it, before sitting on the floor next to the cub. It’s a text from Vax, with an image attached. She opens the image first.

It’s a photo of the inside of a shop, large and filled with glass-covered shelves. She can see the shine of gold and silver and precious gems behind the glass. Her eyebrow raises. The fact they’re still behind glass and not in Vax’s sneaky hand is surprising. She looks over at the caption of the image.

Exercise in restraint: Gilmore’s shop. Many trinkets, none for me.

About five different dirty remarks come to Vex’s mind but she pushes them back. Vax is a bit uncomfortable with discussions of his sex life, joking unfactual remarks or not. She’s not going to make him uncomfortable now.

She takes a picture of the cub snuggled in the space between her crossed legs.

I saw this one and couldn’t help myself… Trinket addiction running in the family?

She sends the picture but looks down at the cub with a thought. Trinket is a good name. She likes it. Loves it, actually.

“May I call you Trinket, darling?” She asks. Giving him a name means keeping him, but she’s far past that point now. She’s known it, deep down for a while.

The cub doesn’t seem to mind it. Vex presses a kiss to the furry head with a smile, the biggest in a long time.

They say rangers often find companions. Vex has just found hers.

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

They meet at the mouth of the trail, the way they’d originally planned. It’s a few days later than expected, yes, but Vex has been busy desperately trying to get some sort of official help. She was hoping not to have to ask Pike and Grog.

She sees the goliath before the gnome, the giant axe hanging heavy over the man’s shoulder. By his side, the cleric looks way less aggressive. Vex doesn’t know which one will be more useful. Divine healing or brute force. Either way, she’s incredibly glad to have someone by her side right now.

“So,” she smiles nervously. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for pushing back the date of meeting. I was hoping to get some sort of professional help, but it seems like Whitestone doesn’t have the infrastructure.”

The cleric, Pike, nods. “The city has seen a lot of things.”

Vex doesn’t know what that means, really. She doesn’t ask. Not right now. She’ll ask later, once they have a dead fiend and a victory under their belt. People were much more likely to spill secrets if adrenaline and serotonin were flowing through their veins.

Sometimes, she’s almost ashamed of the many tricks she’s learned throughout the years. And then she remembers it was people like the Syngornian Elves and Saundor who made her learn these things,and she stops feeling like she should have somehow stayed innocent through all the shit they put her through.

They start on their way, not to where she initially sensed the fiend, but to where the body was found. It’s more likely that they’ll find usable traces there.

The winter cold bites at her cheeks, but the goliath is shirtless. She raises an eyebrow, both respectful and thinking him mad to be out there like this. They start climbing up the trail in relative silence, with the crunching of their boots and the jingling of the cleric’s chainmail.

Vex doesn’t know what kind of small talk to do now. This is not a light-hearted situation, and she just wants the creature out of her woods.

“Have you killed fiends before?” The goliath asks after a moment.

Vex looks over at him over her shoulder. “Not a fiend, no. I’ve killed other things. Fey, mostly.”

Pike raises an eyebrow. “Fey? Were you around the doors to the Feywild before you came to the Alabaster Sierras?”

Vex hesitates for a moment. It’s a lot of information to give to complete strangers. She shrugged the paranoia off however. “I was. I was tasked with keeping an eye on a part of the Verdant Expanse, that, just like Syngorn, can switch between the Feywild and our plane. I lived in the Feywild for a part of my time there.”

“That’s so cool!” Pike grins and Vex can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

It is pretty cool.

The Feywild is somewhere most people have barely heard of, let alone visited. And Vex, though in pretty horrible circumstances, has been able to call it home for a moment of her life. On the way up the trail, her two companions manage to coax her into recounting the Feywild.

She tells them of the permanent dusk, of the sun that’s always at its most beautiful, its most reddening and purpling state duskward of Shademurk. She tells them of the dark of the night on the other side, of looking at the sky and never knowing exactly the time. She tells them of age-old trees that hold secrets they only tell the worthy.

She tells them of dryads and naiads and the howling of lycans. She doesn’t tell them of Saundor but she tells them of Fenthras.

One day, she’ll reach under her bed, take it out and shoot. It’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, the wood alive and the power tangible. She still dreams of wielding it, as she runs free through ever shifting woods, laughter on her lips.

When they make it to the campsite where the body was found, she feels lighter than she has in a long time. Both the cleric and the goliath are smiling lightly. They exchange a look, and then get to work.

Vex sits on a stone and starts expanding her consciousness as Pike runs identifying and tracking spells on whatever magic trace they can find. It’s hard to tune out her kind babbling or Grog’s regular deep-toned comments, but Vex finally manages and exhales.

With her breath goes her mind and soon she finds herself floating, drifting, one with the wind and with nature. She barely has to wait to find the fiendish presence. It pings on her mental radar loud and clear and close.

Way too close. They’re close to its lair.

Vex’s eyes open wide and she comes back crashing into herself. She barely gives herself time to come back into her body before she shoots to her feet and shares her findings. Grog takes his giant axe out. Pike unclasps a mace the size of her body from Grog’s back.

Vex takes her bow in hand and notches an arrow, ready to draw and shoot. They start walking in the direction where she can still feel the echoing presence of the creature. It rests heavy on her back of her neck, a pressure she can’t shake.

They walk into higher grass off of beaten paths. Vex slips into the underbrush with ease, but it’s far from the case for the two accompanying her. Pike in particular makes great noise and gets caught in almost every weed she can possibly get caught on. Vex huffs. Here goes the effect of surprise.

They find the lair empty, and her heart tightens in her chest. Fuck. It knows they are there.

A shape moves from the shadows overhead and Vex immediately reacts. Her body moves without her thinking anything through. Her arrow shoots through the air and hits right in the middle of the creature’s chest. It screams in pain. Vex smirks. She’s good at this.

The creature has stopped long enough for all of them to see what it is. It’s tall, Vex’s size. Its skin is spiky, barbed, horns sprouting from its skull. Its scream makes the air around it shiver with heat.

The scream is immediately answered by one from Grog. The goliath steps forward with bloodshot eyes and angry determination. He swings his axe forward and pounces on the creature. Maybe his rage has distracted him, because his axe swings wide, the creature too fast to be hit by the massive weapon.

The cleric immediately jumps into action, hands shining with divine light as she reaches up with her holy symbol. Vex can see the wings of Sarenrae carved onto the metal before they disappear behind the burning white light. It shoots out of the symbol and hits the creature.

It screams again as the radiant light engulfs it, lighting it up and burning it with divine power. If they were in darkness, it would be obvious to all of them now. There’s no way any of them are going to miss their next hit against it.

Grog has gotten too close to the creature however, and though it’s still burning with light, it takes no time to attack the giant target the goliath makes. It swipes at the grey-skinned man, one hand missing before the second catches the goliath in the chest, dragging into the skin. Vex winces, but the goliath seems more okay than expected.

The creature tries to hit him with his tail but Grog dodges it with a shiver-inducing grin. “Come on, devil devil!” He taunts. “Is that all you can do?”

Vex’s eyes cross with the creature’s and she takes the opportunity to Hunter’s Mark it. She reaches for another arrow, but her fingers rip against her quiver, shaking lightly now that she’s realized what they were facing. She curses. Pike sends her a slightly worried look.

Grog retaliates against the clawing he’s just received. The axe cleaves a giant gash into the shoulder of the fiend. The goliath immediately reiterates, hacking at the shoulder. The arm of the fiend is now hanging by tendons. It seems to be in incredible pain.

Reaching up with its good arm, the creature screams, warmth radiating from it. Flames erupt from the hand of the creature. Both tries miss the massive target of Grog. The creature seems confused. That’s what pain like the one being inflicted to it does.

Vex notches in another arrow. It grazes the creature but is deflected by its spikes. She groans in annoyance. None of this is working. Why is she so useless right now?

Grog’s axe finally cuts off the creature’s arm, but it doesn’t seem to slow it down that much. Another ray of blinding light hits the devil, however. Pike is breathing hard, but her spells are finding purchase and Vex is incredibly thankful for that, even if they do not do a lot of damage.

The goliath keeps taking a great amount of injury from the furious and in pain devil. Fire burns onto the grey skin, scorching it and a sickening smell permeates the air around them. Vex wants this to end, but she knows it won’t be that easy.

Vex’s next arrow finds purchase right as the great axe slashes through the devil’s chest. A handaxe flies by Vex and hits it square in the thigh. The wounded creature turns around, tail whipping at Grog, before pouncing in with one undamaged arm, missing the goliath entirely with the last two.

They keep hammering at the creature, arrows and great axe wounds and additional mace wounds from a determined Pike hacking at its defenses and crushing its bones. Vex is sweating, she’s a little unfocused, and the screams of the goliath’s rage resounds in her head.

When it finally falls down, it’s one of Vex’s arrows that lodges itself in its eyeball, deeply. It gurgles as it falls, twitching for a few seconds until it stops moving entirely. Vex exhales. She feels like the combat has lasted hours when it’s probably only been minutes.

Pike rushes to her friend and heals him immediately, the burn and other wounds healing and disappearing from the grey flesh as Vex watches. A little unsteady, she finds somewhere to sit and to search.

She waits for a while, searches for something she could have missed, but all fiendish presence is gone from the perimeter of her searching abilities. Relief floods through her system and she finally smiles. It was hard, but they did it. They killed the fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are safer now than they were before.

Vex’s entire body unravels suddenly, her shoulder slumping. They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re all alive and safe and the fiend is gone and she didn’t die killing it. She looks at Pike and Grog. They both look messy and fight-tousled. Vex imagines she looks like that too.

“Thank you,” she says. She means it.

Grog smiles at her, a warm smile. He’s nice. Big and scary, but nice. “It was really fun.” He probably means it too.

Pike nods. “It was!”

Vex is a little more surprised at that, but she can’t help the grin that stretches over her mouth. They start walking again. Vex invites them for tea or coffee. They both ask for alcohol and she chuckles.

They settle around Vex’s table. The cabin feels a little cramped with the two of them. Vex manages to find three containers for the strong old whiskey that Regae left behind. They cheer and drink.

“I’m from Westrunn. The Everlight brought me here,” Pike says when Vex asks if she’s from Whitestone.

“I’m from Westrunn too,” Grog smiles. “And I follow her.” There is unbridled affection in the way he looks over at Pike.

“My brother’s currently in Westrunn,” she points out. “Spending some time with his boyfriend.”

Pike nods. “That’s sweet! I hope he enjoys the city. It’s a little quiet, but it’s a nice place.”

Vex doesn’t say that she doesn’t expect Vax to do a lot of sight-seeing while with Gilmore. The three of them share some food, the rations they’d taken for a possible camping in the mountains, had the fiend evaded them for much longer.

The camaraderie wraps around her like a warm blanket and she finds herself laughing more than she has in years. When she herself starts to feel a light buzz from the alcohol she’s been very careful not to drink too much of, she shifts and prepares herself to start asking questions.

“Have you spent a lot of time here in Whitestone?” She asks after a moment.

“It’s our first time here, actually,” Pike smiles. “We usually stay in Westrunn, or travel south, not north. There is not much for us here.”

Vex raises an eyebrow. “What changed?”

Pike shrugs. “As I said, the Everlight. I’m a cleric, and when my deity calls, I always answer.”

Vex tries to figure out if that’s true, if Pike always answers to Sarenrae but the gnome is hard to read, her blue eyes staring right back into Vex’s as she speaks. There is a steadiness about her though. Something Vex usually senses in the druids and clerics and acolytes of this world, and also in some arcanists, who have faith in their studies the way others have faith in their gods.

Vex wonders how she feels to people. Is she steady with faith? Or is she chaotic and unstable? She wishes, in this moment, that she could see herself through someone else’s eyes. She wants to know what she is to others, so badly.

“What did the Everlight tell you to do here?” She continues.

Pike’s eyes grow a little sharper for a moment, before she smiles again. “There is something for me to heal here. A soul yearning desperately for redemption. My goddess is the patron of healing and redemption, of second chances. This is what I am here for.”

Vex swallows. “Would that be related to the De Rolo Massacre?”

“Maybe,” the gnome shrugs. “Or maybe not. If we had all the details of what exactly our deities want us to do, all these divine quests wouldn’t be quite the challenges they are supposed to be.”

That’s true, she guesses. Vex is definitely not faithful enough for this. She smiles anyway, leaning back against her chair.

The gnome keeps talking. “Maybe the fiend we killed was that soul. Maybe someone we’ve crossed paths with in the street. Maybe it’s you.”

Vex freezes.

“Many people would ask questions about someone like you deciding to live alone this way, in a cabin in the forest,” Pike shrugs. “It’s none of my business, of course. And I will never fault anyone for unconventional life choices.” She hums. “But you ask many questions.”

Kind, warm, but very perceptive. Vex holds up her hands. “You got me,” she huffs. “Just trying to get answers about what’s going on in this city. No one will answer my questions.” She’s tired of it now. So fucking tired. “It was incredibly difficult to find people to help me with this fiend business because no one will talk to me about anything.”

Pike reaches for her hand. “You are a stranger to these people, Vex’ahlia. Give them time to get to know you. For all they know, you have bad intentions. I come with the symbol of my goddess, and that opens some doors to me, and to Grog.” The goliath nods at the mention of his name. “You don’t have that. Unless you’re some deity’s chosen or champion… But you don’t seem like it.”

Vex almost gets offended by that. But the gnome is right. Vex came into town with suspicious eyes. That’s not something people can trust.

“I’m sorry,” Vex sighs. “For the questions I’ve asked. You didn’t have to answer them.”

Pike shrugs. “I didn’t really mind. I’m here because I need to be. And Grog’s with me because he always is, and always will be.” She smiles at that. “You’re here for a reason too.”

Vex huffs. “Right,” she shakes her head. “Did Sarenrae tell you that?” She asks sarcastically.

“You’re not a believer,” Pike chuckles. “It kinda comes off of you like waves. That you don’t believe in anything.”

Vex lost her reason to believe when a dragon burnt her home village to the ground, taking her mother with it. Every snide remark from Syngornian elves, every time she had to fight for Saundor to do anything for her, those were all nails in the coffin of her faith, in gods or in people.

“I think… I think you should start the way back to Whitestone. The road is long, and I don’t want you to get caught by the night. There are creatures.”

Grog huffs. “We can take them on. You fought by our side, you have seen our power.”

Vex doesn’t reply. Pike gets the memo. She gently pushes Grog into getting up. Vex walks them to the door and to the trail and bids them goodbye.

She sits back down at the table. The cabin is small but it feels huge now that she’s alone. Sounds seem to reverberate now that it’s only her breathing, only her body. She wants to run off and tells those two kind people to come back, to stay, to not leave her alone like this. She doesn’t though. She exhales and she starts preparing for more work, and for a good night of sleep.

Did she get any answer? No she didn’t. But at least she’s killed a fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are a bit safer than they were when she arrived.

[corancoranthemagicalman]

💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

Thank you so much 💜 my day was stressful and mentally taxing but overall it was fine :) i am so so flattered/flustered that you want to gift me something in return- i never expect anything when i'm penguin anon. And irl i'm trying to be better at accepting things from people. so if you really would like to gift me something here are some tropes i like: cas gardening (sorry i can't get away from flowers/plants!), dadstiel with baby or toddler jack, general domestic fluff, anything that explores cas & dean healing/character growth 💜 but i honestly don't expect anything in return for my hearts and flowers. They are freely given 💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜

-🐧🌻

I’m sorry to hear it was stressful for you, dear. I’m glad that overall it wasn’t too bad for you, though. I hope this cheers you up? I’m a few hours later with it because I get distracted big time in research. Like figuring out that Dean was 22 when Shrek came out. Which had literally no bearing on this, but was fun to figure out. The hearts and flowers are more than appreciated. 💕🌺🌺💕

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

What he could look at was Mom holding Sammy. He was only a couple of months old, but Mom was excitedly talking to him as if he could talk back. Dad said he wouldn’t be able to talk for a while. That didn’t seem to bother Mom. She was content to describe the flowers to Sammy. They were taller than Dean was. Mom said they wouldn’t get any bigger, but one day Dean would be tall enough to hold Sammy up to the flower petals. He looked forward to that.

Mom looked pretty in her dress, from Dean’s memory of the time. Her skirt swayed in the autumn wind in time with the petals dancing in the breeze. It was ethereal, like a princess talking to animals. Except instead of a squirrel on her shoulder there was a baby in her arms. Dean thought it looked like magic.

A few months later, when Dean was finally trusted with holding Sammy in his arms, he was running out of his burning home.

He didn’t think about the sunflowers they left behind.

Read more undercut or check it out on AO3!

Later in life, when Dean was flirting too close to a stable relationship with a reporter, he idly thumbed at the petals of the Suntastic Yellows. He remembered his mom telling him that they were the tiniest sunflowers. The type they used in bouquets. Cassie had a small pot resting on her windowsill.

Cassie’s hands drew around his waist from behind him. Humming into his neck, Cassie drew him backward with her. He thought about it in an absent sense, walking away from the sunflowers.

“You know,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, “they say that sunflowers track the sun all throughout the day.”

“Oh, really?” Dean smirked, taking her lips in his own. She was wonderful, really. Too wonderful. Wonderful enough that Dean thought about confessing everything to her. Cassie would understand. She was clever and understanding. Hell, maybe she’d even accept him.

It was too bad, then, that when Dean told her what he did—what he was—that she didn’t believe him. Dean wouldn’t have believed himself either. Walking away with his keys in his hand and his heart at his feet, Dean wondered if this is what it would always feel like. If he would always have to walk away from the place his heart was trying to make into a home. Maybe it was something about being a sunflower. Always tracking the sun throughout the day.

Too bad Dean couldn’t find the damn sunlight.

“Dude, look!” Dean grinned during another part of his life, pointing at some old lady’s front garden full of Taiyos. “It’s like Shrek.” He teased his brother, elbowing Sam who only rolled his eyes in return.

“Shrek? Really?” Sam scoffed. “How old were you when that even happened?”

Dean huffed a laugh. “What? You’re telling me you didn’t go watch the cinematic masterpiece known as Shrek with all of your college buddies?”

Sam rolled his eyes again, huffing with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sure, Dean. And then we watched Holiday in the Sun right after, too.”

“Never took you for a Mary-Kate and Ashley fan, Sammy.” Dean grinned, watching the sunflowers swaying in the breeze from the corner of his eye.

They looked peaceful in the witness’ front yard. Untouched by the grueling werewolf that was lurking through the small town. Dean could hear Sam’s sharp inhale from beside him.

“I always thought sunflowers were… homey,” Sam confessed, watching the sunflowers dance with a furrowed brow.

Shooting Sam a crooked grin, Dean stepped forward toward the sunflowers but he didn’t dare touch them. “I’m not surprised,” he began. “Mom used to grow them. She started taking you out into the garden as soon as you stopped crying all the time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, causing Dean to look at him with concern. It wasn’t often that Sam was quiet, but when he was it was always a contemplative silence. “I didn’t know that.” He spoke softly.

“You wouldn’t have remembered.” Dean shrugged, stepping onto the witness’ walkway to begin making their way up to the door. “These are a bit taller than hers were. But then again, everything seemed taller then.”

There was another moment of contemplative silence, but it seemed Sam had nothing left to say. He knocked on the witness’ door, taking care not to meet Dean’s eye. Dean wondered what that meant. Wondered if Sam felt the same way when he saw sunflowers.

Then again, Sam had always been larger than life. Tall and proud.

When Dean was on the aching side of forty, he watched Castiel hold their four-year-old son to the blooming sunflowers he kept in the backyard. Cas had been enchanted by the Little Beckas when he had seen them. While they might not have been the tallest—or the smallest—of sunflowers, he had thought they were lovely. Dean had made a quip about their halo and bought Cas seeds the same day.

Watching Cas and Jack reminded Dean of being four and trying to see what color the sun was. It was blinding, something he felt he should look away from lest it hurt him. But he found that he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to watch Cas answer every question Jack had.

He was beautiful, Dean often thought, but especially in moments like these. The cuffs of his jeans were muddied and his bare feet were buried in the soil where he sat with Jack in his lap. Dean hated how Cas refused to wear shoes outside, but he had claimed to like being closer to the Earth. Dean couldn’t argue with him. He wouldn’t argue with him; not for what made him happy.

Cas turned to look at him, catching his gaze and drawing him closer with just a look. Dean moved without hesitation, standing beside Cas and kicking at his knee with his booted foot. His approach drew Jack’s attention away from the flowers, who clapped excitedly the closer he got.

“Whaddya think, Jack? Do you like the colors?” Dean hummed, watching Jack’s gummy smile as the kid waved up at him.

“Daddy says that sunflowers face East!” He pointed enthusiastically, laughing and reaching for the blooms in front of him.

Dean frowned, looking from Cas to the flowers. “I thought sunflowers rotated with the sun or whatever.”

Cas hummed, tilting his head with a nod. “They do, in their youth.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “But when they mature, the sunflowers learn that they get the most light during the morning hours when the sun has just risen from the East.” Bouncing Jack momentarily and causing the boy to giggle, Cas turned to face Dean. “They just learn what’s healthiest for them. It just takes time.”

Inhaling sharply, Dean wondered if this was it. If this was his East. Watching a smiling Jack and Cas whispering about sunflowers that—while not the tallest or the smallest—were a halo of colors. Two colors that came together, that never faded, that bloomed to life in this tiny garden he called home. He was a dark heart and a bright halo, smiling toward the bright, white sunlight of a gummy smile and clapping hands.

With a grunt, Dean lowered himself to the soil, sitting beside Cas and wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder. “These little guys are pollen-less,” he spoke to Jack. “That’s why we got the honeysuckles.”

“Honeysuckles stand for devotion.” Cas’ voice rumbled gently. “In the ancient Celtic alphabet, the symbol that the Ogham carved into stone to represent the honeysuckle stood for following one’s path.”

Dean snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sort of counterintuitive. Since, yanno, Free Will.” He quipped, raising a curious brow toward Cas.

Bowing his head in concession, Cas continued. “Yes, that is true. The Druids meant it more like… trusting one’s gut. Rather than sticking to the story.” He grinned, rocking with Jack in his arms for a moment. “But the honeysuckle is rather hard to kill. That is why it means everlasting devotion.”

“Deaths don’t stick, huh?” Dean hummed, squeezing Cas closer into his side. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Cas exhaled a laugh, resting his head atop Jack’s. “The Chinese valued the honeysuckle for its healing properties. It can be a cooling herb to remove toxins.”

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek, keeping his lips there for a moment longer before pulling away. “Even if the honeysuckle can’t heal ‘em, the sunflowers like the company anyway.” He smiled softly, watching as Cas’ eyes turned dewy toward him. “And ‘sides, the honeysuckle brings all the bees to the yard.”

Snorting laughter that Jack joined in without knowing the cause, Cas shook his head. “I suppose so.” His attempt to suppress a smile made Dean’s own grin widen. “But the sunflower is more than enough company.”

“Damn straight,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips, kissing him slowly and savoring the moment.

Between them, Jack made exaggerated kissy faces, causing them to pull apart and watch him with amusement. He grinned, reaching up and holding Dean and Cas’ cheeks in his palms.

“Daddy and Poppa sittin’ in a tree!” Jack sang, giggling as he smushed their heads together.

Mocking a frown, Dean held his other hand out behind Jack’s back. His palm felt so large in comparison to how small Jack was. “Did Uncle Sam teach you that?”

“Yup!” Jack nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing as he continued to hum the song under his breath.

Cas gave another chuckle under his breath, looking from Jack to Dean. “I suppose we should head inside. We're still expecting Sam and Eileen for lunch.”

Dean stood with a groan as his knees ached. He reached out a hand to help Cas and Jack up, standing tall with his family in their little garden. Keeping their fingers intertwined, Dean didn’t have to think about the sunflowers they left behind.

They would be there as long as the sun was in the East.

[vivithefolle]

Ron’s greatest acts of bravery

An itty-bitty butthurty Harmony shipper reported this answer of mine and got it deleted by the Quora moderation. Naturally, I have contested this decision, but my appeal has been unanswered as of now. So here’s what we’re going to do, folks: I’m gonna repost this answer of mine here, where no angwy widdle Hawmony shipper can censor it. And y’all are going to spam the reblog button until people can’t go in the Harry Potter tag without finding this answer reblogged at least five times over. Good? Good.

(this is totally a demarcation line I don’t know what you’re talking about)

What was Ron Weasley's greatest act of bravery in any of the Harry Potter movies or books?

We of course have the mythical “I’ll be a knight” but that’s so easy. Ron would die for his loved ones any day of any week, because that’s how stupidly selfless and self-effacing he is.

There is the equally mythical “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” which reeks of badassery and awesomeness, but it has also been quoted before, and to be fair that wasn’t one of Ron’s greatest acts of bravery. Oh, yes, it is incredibly brave, but Ron has plenty more of those to give.

One that is often forgotten is “He beat you!”, spoken to Voldemort in the flesh, which also highlights just how far Ron has come from the beginning of the series - because unlike what the haters want you to believe, Ronald Weasley has an actual character arc. An arc that keeps getting reseted and postponed in-between books because his author is too busy trying to make her Mary Sue look better instead, but he has one, and it’s so perfectly illustrated by this:

"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about be ing a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort" Ron gasped. "What?" said Harry. "You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --" - Philosopher’s Stone

—-

"Malfoy's dad must have told him," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle --" "Say You-Know-Who, will you?" interjected Ron angrily. - Prisoner of Azkaban

—-

“My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again." "Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. "And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. - Goblet Of Fire

—-

"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" "He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more.

From the boy who flinched at Voldemort’s name, to the man who was the first to sass back to Voldemort when the latter dissed his best mate. To say nothing of the fact that this was the first time Ron ever saw Voldemort in the flesh. Ron had never seen Voldemort before, yet the second Voldemort says something about Harry, Ron is up in arms and ready to kill the Dark Lord with his bare hands.

We could go with the tested-and-true “follow the spiders”. Unlike in the movies where Harry immediately sees a trail of spiders and Ron follows moaning and bumbling all the while, in the books Harry and Ron are comfortably in the castle when they decide to follow. Ron has the time to psych himself up, to terrify himself into imagining the spiders, and was given the time to backtrack a million times over. But he didn’t. This one Tumblr post has said it all.

Yes, “Follow the spiders” is probably one of Ron’s bravest moments, but…

But, but, but.

There’s more.

Sure, I absolutely adore Ron and can’t choose between all those awesome moments he has to his name, because they’re all so wonderful. From the ones that highlight just how much he’s grown and developed in spite of his own author treating him like an afterthought; from the ones that showcase just how good a kid he is, how much he loves and fights for his friends; all those moments that show that no, Ron Weasley isn’t a fair-weather friend and anyone who calls him that needs a high-five in the face with a block of concrete…

Out of those moments, out of them all, I have to pick something that is too often forgotten, too often glossed over, even by those of us who love Ron.

I’m talking, naturally, of his return.

Harry had no strength to lift his head and see his savior’s identity. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had cut tightly into his flesh. It was gone. Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head, “Are—you—mental?”

Whether you think that Ron “abandoned” Harry and Hermione, whether you think that Ron is a traitor or a man with the patience of a saint who put up with Harry and Hermione’s bullshit for too long. Whether you think the three times Harry told him to leave were a factor or whether you place the blame solely on Ron’s shoulders.

Ron comes back to save Harry’s life.

But not only that.

“No!” said Ron. “No, don’t open it! I’m serious!” “Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing, it’s been months—” “Because that thing’s bad for me!” said Ron, backing away from the locket on the rock. “I can’t handle it! I’m not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff — stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can’t explain it, and then I’d take it off and I’d get my head on straight again, and then I’d have to put the effing thing back on—I can’t do it, Harry!” He had bakced away, the sword dragging at his side, shaking his head.

Ron came back, even though he knew it would mean being with the thing that had tortured him all this time.

The thing that latched onto all of Ron’s weak spots, cultivated them, weaponized them, used them to push Ron closer and closer to the edge, until he couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. (Funny how some will act as though Hermione’s birds were her “snapping”, but when Ron is holding Voldemort’s soul in his hands and going insane under their very eyes they just say “hurr durr teh locket didnt do nuthin”…)

And with this thing preying on him, tormenting him, Ron did what any rational, sane human being would have done when their abuser forgets to lock the door.

He opened it and ran.

But, but, but, and that’s where the bravery comes in.

He came back.

He knew there was this thing that preyed upon him relentlessly, a thing that managed to make him believe his best friends didn’t want nor cared about him, that his entire existence amounted to nothing, that he was just a waste of space nobody wanted around.

“Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence... We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption —”

“You mother confessed,” sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, “that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange...” “Who wouldn’t prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,” crooned Riddle-Hermione

Ron fled from this sort of abuse, from this sort of torture, then he decided to come back for more.

Because even though he believed his friends didn’t need him, even though he thought his friends were better off without him, he still wanted to make himself useful. He still wanted to help.

And once he’d saved Harry, he was back to facing the entity that has been torturing him, and that entity proceeded to show off Ron’s deepest, most shameful secrets… to his best mate.

Ron’s entire self-esteem is tied to the way his loved ones perceive him:

“You did brilliantly, Ron!” This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.

The image the Mirror of Erised showed Ron was one of glory and fame… or was it?

"No -- I'm alone -- but I'm different -- I look older -- and I'm head boy!" "What?" "I am -- I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to -- and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup -- I'm Quidditch captain, too."

Being Head Boy and Quidditch captain. He could have seen himself being crowned World’s Best Emperor if he wanted, with legions of fans throwing himself at him, but that doesn’t happen.

Instead he sees himself being like Bill. Like his cool older brother. And Quidditch captain, like his other cool older brother Charlie.

What Ron wants… is to make his loved ones proud.

Ron defines himself by the way his loved ones look at him.

When Malfoy calls him an idiot he scoffs because it’s Malfoy. When Hermione calls him an idiot, though…? Ouch.

And now all of Ron’s secrets, all his feelings of inadequacy and inferiority that he has tried to keep quiet throughout the series out of respect for Harry, his deepest fears… They’re all there for Harry to see, for Harry to judge, for Harry to feel disgusted by. Because how dare Ron Weasley have problems, how dare Ron Weasley be envious of Harry Potter, whose life is nothing but suffering?

Ron’s greatest act of bravery, to me, was coming back, even though for all he knew Harry and Hermione had hooked up while he was gone (they’d never, of course, but how could he know?), even though he knew it would mean being up for Round #2 of his private torture sessions with Voldemort, even though he believed he wouldn’t be welcome…

He still came back. Because it was the right thing to do.

Anyone who’s gonna tell me that Ronald Weasley isn’t loyal to the core can suck on a cactus.

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (2)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd's lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 2 of 6 Word Count: 4212 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 10/06/2021

Chapter Title: Save the Children!

Chapter Summary: Lloyd and Colette take a break from studying and decide to play a video game. Colette starts to ruminate a little on how she's different from the rest of her classmates...

(Colloyd Week Day 2: Sidequest)

Notes+Warnings: Chapter 2 of my multi-chapter Colloyd week fic! Colette and Lloyd play a bunch of Kameo: Elements of Power. Lloyd is bisexual. This chapter might have a bit of internalised acephobia so beware.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

12-years-old

"There! Over there!" Colette shouted, dropping the Xbox controller onto her lap and gesturing frantically towards a corner of the television screen. In her frantic excitement, she completely forgot that Lloyd was sitting right next to her on the sofa, her elbow banging straight into Lloyd's arm.

Lloyd, startled, pitched to the side and pushed the joystick on his Xbox controller in the same direction.

Major Ruin, who Lloyd had been controlling to charge up a Bolder Rush, executed the move at this exact moment as Lloyd let go of the right trigger.

And so Major Ruin careened right off the edge of the platform, as per the directions Lloyd had just inputted into the game. The tragic end to a glorious adventure. Kameo would never rescue her father from her sister’s evil clutches, for she had fallen to her death from a high height... by complete accident. Or maybe it would be better to class this as incompetence?

Oops.

"Oh, no," they both muttered at the same time, staring with their mouths open in horror. Colette reached out uselessly towards the TV, as if she could reach into the game and stop Major Ruin’s fall.

As if.

The armadillo look-alike Earth elemental (except a lot spikier) continued to fall while flailing their stubby limbs uselessly, eventually hitting the ground with the familiar and resonant "thud", accompanied with the dreaded snapping sound that had populated much of their playtime in the Snow-top Village. The thin and winding ice paths throughout that area had led to many a death from fall damage as they had tried to get their hands on the elemental fruits hidden away among various corners. Now that they were in the Ancient Tower, with its dark, foreboding, narrow stone corridors lit only by the sparest of torches sitting in sconces, where there was only one path forward and they were caged in by walls, Colette thought their falling episodes would be over. It was a bit claustrophobic, really.

It appeared that was not the case. Fall damage was eternal, and it would haunt them always, following them everywhere and showing its face at the most inopportune of moments.

Major Ruin morphed back into Kameo's petite, winged form, collapsing to the ground with a pained groan. Lloyd's side of the screen faded to black before he respawned at the last checkpoint, erasing a full 20 minutes of progress. The Kameo that Colette controlled was now completely alone in the chamber, performing her idle animations as Colette’s controller went untouched. Lloyd dropped his Xbox controller into his lap as well, leaning back against the sofa as he let out a groan of his own.

There was no sound apart from the whirring coming from the Xbox under the TV, the game music, and the "whup-whup" of the blades of the ancient standing fan in the corner of the living room, struggling in its job to blow "cool" air at them and combat the viciously hot weather.

Lloyd had every right to be frustrated with her; she had a tendency to kill him in-game. It wasn't murder, just manslaughter: knocking him off the cliff, setting both of them on fire, or startling him in general. It wasn't just in Kameo. Her clumsiness and butterfingers translated to every genre. No matter the game - Mario, Minecraft, Maplestory - she always found some way to cause a game over.

But he'd never directed any frustration or anger towards her. These are just silly games, he said every time. Much easier to laugh over the mirthful consequences together than get mad. Whenever they had the time to play video games together, the air was filled with nothing but laughter, a few frustrated grumbles from when they were struggling at a particular level, and the occasional rib from Lloyd’s end when she messed up. That's what made it incredibly fun. What the two of them had termed "game-time" never failed to put a smile on their faces.

And it was an effective destresser! It was a great relief to be able to channel all the stress from studying for PSLE into beating up trolls in Kameo. That appeared to be Lloyd's favourite part of the game - racking up combos with his favourite character Pummel Weed. Though she had to say her favourite part of the game so far was watching the cutscenes that played after rescuing the baby elementals from the prisons created by the nefarious shadow trolls. The wacky transformation from adorable blob to full-fledged elemental, complete with the blob sprouting arms and growing claws or shells, was… interesting to witness.

"Sorry," she sheepishly said, still feeling the need to apologise as she patted his hand. "Didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I found the last child!"

"Oh, really? Where?” Lloyd asked eagerly, attention turning back to the TV. “I couldn't see anything. It's all so dark."

"Over there." More calmly this time, Colette pointed out the child encased in a translucent ice crystal, tucked away in a corner of the platform hidden in shadow. She’d forgotten the name of this species, and could only describe them as cuttlefish that had taken human form. What were they were doing so far from the Mountain Falls? Weren't they native to that location? "We need to free them quickly! This is the last child."

“The last - you’ve been keeping count?!” Lloyd asked, voice rising in volume and shock written clearly across his face.

“Yeah! The mother said there were three, and we’ve rescued two. She must have been really worried, or she wouldn’t have begged us to save her children. I want to reunite them as soon as possible!”

"Alright. Ice, huh? It'd be similar to the other crystals we got rid of in the snow area. So just turn into Ash!" Lloyd suggested.

"Oh, you're right! Thanks for the reminder!" Colette opened the transformation wheel with a quick press of a button and proceeded to fumble with the joystick for a full minute while Lloyd slowly crawled his way back up the tower. She kept pushing too far to the right and overshooting Ash's dragon head on the wheel to land on Thermite, before overcorrecting to the left and landing on 40 Below. Frustration slowly piled up until she groaned, burying her head in her lap. This was embarrassing. She couldn't even navigate a simple menu like this, even after months of playing this game. Butterfingers, once again.

"Lloyd, can you open the main menu? I'll just pick Ash from there."

"Nah, we don't need to open Wotnot. Let's give Ortho a break for now," Lloyd replied. She knew that wasn't the real reason. Lloyd just didn’t want to hear from the eccentric wizard trapped within the paperback book that doubled as the main menu. "Here, let me help. But you need to get up first!" She straightened up, still sulking as he smiled at her, looking like he was holding back laughter at her predicament.

Lloyd stretched out his hand and placed his index finger over her thumb, gently guiding her thumb on the joystick so that the selection square landed right on Ash's head. Colette watched as Kameo hunched over and transformed into the red, clawed, scaly dragon that was the fire elemental Ash, tail slowly swaying from side-to-side as his wings flapped.

"You're so good at this..." she muttered, glancing down at her controller where Lloyd's hand was still placed over hers. They were only 12, but his hands were already slightly bigger than hers. He'd gotten his growth spurt in the earlier part of this year and shot up in height; now half a head taller than her. It was a slightly startling change after being the same height for the six years they'd known each other. He would likely only grow taller as time went on. As for herself... Maybe she'd gain another 5 centimetres by the time she was 18, if she was lucky. Given the actual state of her luck, she'd probably stagnate at her current height. Tallness was just not in the cards for her.

Not that she minded. The added height made him rather comfortable to lie on. If he gained just a few more centimetres, his shoulder would be the perfect height to rest her head on… That would make movie nights all the more comfortable.

Plus, the height change was just that. A physical change. Inside, Lloyd was still the same person - the boy who loved playing with Noishe but hated doing his homework, and would do everything in the world to avoid it. He hadn't changed. Not a single bit.

"Don’t sweat it. There are so many things you’re good at too! If it weren’t for your keen eye, I would’ve missed the kid entirely… So don’t be too bothered!” Lloyd gave her hand one squeeze before removing his hand, returning to his quest of returning to Colette's location. "Now, melt the ice!”

Colette did exactly that, leading the lumbering Ash over to the entrapped child and unleashing his fire breath. She watched with bated breath as the ice slowly melted, causing more of the child to be exposed to the air. They had previously used this exact same technique to unearth elemental fruits in the icy caverns filled with those icky bugs that exploded when defeated and obscured the screen with blue juice. It had been exciting then, to stumble upon secrets because of their penchant for exploration. But watching the child slowly be freed, watching their tentacles slowly start to move as they came into contact with warm air, was an entirely different experience, one that filled her with joy.

When was the last time the two of them completed a side objective like this, one that had direct effects on a citizen of this magical world? Casting her mind back informed her that that would be the starting town, when they returned to water the farmer’s crops with Deep Blue.

Now that the last child had been fully freed, all the children went running back to their worried mother, who proceeded to pull them into a giant group hug. Colette dropped her controller, clapping her hands together at such a sweet sight. Lloyd did laugh, then, a chuckle that she could feel rumble through her as well from where their shoulders touched. "What are you so excited about?" he asked.

"We did it! We saved all the children!" she exclaimed, watching the mother pull out one of the large elemental fruit in thanks. "Doesn't that make you happy? That we were able to help someone... That's what makes these side objectives fulfilling, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just like you to get like this over a video game,” Lloyd replied, watching Kameo hoist the elemental fruit into the air, where it magically shrunk in size to fit in her bag. Colette wondered how Kameo’s bag even worked - how did it store Wotnot and dozens of elemental fruits? It was like a black hole. Just like Noishe's stomach.

“Though..." Lloyd frowned, staring up at the clock that hung on the wall, whose hands indicated that it was 2 pm. "Time’s up. We should get back to revising before Mom gets home from the vet with Noishe."

"Oh, you're right..." That was a downer. Time had flown so fast; their 20 minutes were up already!

The moment had come to return to the dining table and the assessment books that sat open on it. Studying was never fun, but it just had to be math today, and the chapter just had to be nets. Her most hated subject, combined with the topic she hated most. It was a headache all around.

But Lloyd was surprisingly good at nets, and he'd been a great help the whole day. Even if he still hated math with a passion and always got stuck on algebra questions, where it was her turn to assist him. That was why studying together was effective! They could fill in the gaps for each other, and motivate each other to keep going. Just three months left to go until it was all over! They could do this, and they would get through it. Together, just as they would every predicament that came to pass in the future.

"Um, and before you go home today, could you help me with something else?"

"What is it?" Colette asked, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. Lloyd was staring at the carpet, his hand absent-mindedly pulling at the hem of his singlet, separating the fabric from sweaty skin.

“Ellum’s birthday present,” Lloyd muttered, his voice getting softer with each word he spoke, until she could barely make out the words. “His birthday is in two weeks, and I…”

Ohhh.

They had a habit of telling each other almost everything, for any secret was always safe with the other. So she knew why Lloyd was clamming up. Ellum was his current crush, after all.

“Say no more. Of course I’ll help you! We can do whatever you want!” she replied with enthusiasm. She'd be happy to help.

"Thank you," Lloyd replied, meeting her gaze again with a tiny smile lighting up his face. "Now, let's get back to studying."

They made the short walk to the dining table, taking their seats across from each other. Lloyd's face was already starting to twist into a grimace, resigning himself to another few hours of torture at the hands of the twisted people who made their livelihood setting math questions.

Clearing away the Kit Kat wrappers on her assessment book, she glanced down at a question about nets she'd been working on before the break. Yet not a single word on the page was being absorbed. They were all running away from her.

The downside of Lloyd confiding in her for all of his crushes was that it was a stark reminder that she hadn't had her first one yet. And then, inevitably, her mind would drift further to all the little ways she stood out from her classmates.

It was like everyone around her had changed drastically overnight at some unknown point in time. The jokesters of the class had just started making dirty jokes one day, prompting scandalised glares from the rest of the class but also prompting snickers. She herself didn't get the joke half the time, just laughed to go along with everyone else.

Then there was the shift in daily conversation. Instead of discussing their favourite Pokémon, more often than not the other girls would now discuss in hushed voices while giggling which celebrity was the most attractive. She herself would sit quietly, trying to melt into the wall as she observed without interjecting, half fascinated and half horrified. Weren't they all too young for this?

Things got even more awkward when she was forcibly pulled into the conversation when someone directed a question at her. She had no idea what to say whenever someone showed her a picture of a celebrity and asked her to rate them. The only thing she ever managed to stutter out was that their eyes were a nice colour, and so was their hair. That... was how you judged a person on how attractive they were, right? Everyone else, though, seemed to think she was weird. But how was she supposed to be feeling? No one had ever taught her. It felt like everyone was keeping a secret from her on how these things were supposed to work, then making fun of her for not getting it.

She only got more confused every time something like that happened. All she wanted to do was go back to talking about her favourite cartoons, but that didn't seem to be an option. Lloyd wasn't in the same class as her, so she couldn't even sit with him and ignore everyone else. The only time she could meet up with him during school hours was at recess. She didn't know what Lloyd talked about with the rest of his friends. Maybe the same stuff. But she didn't really care, because, with him, she could just be herself. There was no need for tiring pretence.

All she could do when the girls were in a mood to discuss celebrities again was sit a little outside of their circle, counting down the seconds remaining for class to start while she tried to look as occupied as possible. She couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief every time the topic of conversation turned back to something a little easier to understand, like video games.

But surely, someday, she would understand.

She was waiting. For that day. For her to finally catch up to everyone else in the race she hadn’t even known she’d entered until everyone had left her in the dust, still standing with her mouth agape at the starting line. To finally be like everyone else, to be able to fit in seamlessly. But there was no use getting down about it!

She just had to meet The One. Then everything would change, everything would fix itself. That's what happened in all the stories, the shows, the movies, after all.

Because everyone, in the end, learned to feel the same way, right?

~~~

19-years-old

"Right! I think that’s enough for now.” Colette’s voice shattered the serenity of her room from where she was sitting on the bed with her laptop balanced in her lap, cutting through the sleepy fog that was starting to fill Lloyd’s head. The peaceful Ghibli tunes that had been filling the room cut off abruptly as she shut her laptop screen, reaching a hand up to undo her messy hair bun.

Lloyd yawned, rubbing his eyes and hoping that would make his eyelids feel less heavy. Pushing himself up from his belly-down position on the bed, he caught one last glance of the back of Colette's neck before her hair covered it again. Doing prep for uni was not the most exciting way to pass the afternoon, and it certainly wasn't normal fare for a date. But it had to be done, so they might as well do it together, as they did all things.

Though he'd gotten distracted and started scrolling through YouTube about an hour ago.

"Are you going to change out of pyjamas?” Lloyd asked, stretching, his shirt hiking up slightly. He’d taken the lift down the three floors that separated his apartment and hers in the old HDB block that they’d stayed in all their lives, rang the doorbell while staring at the Chinese New Year decorations that were still hung up despite the month now being April, and waited for Colette to open the door… Only to be met with the sight of Colette in her favourite doggie pyjamas, the baby blue button-up ones that covered every inch of her skin. She'd shrugged and said it was cold from the non-stop rain, but he knew the real reason was the lazy post-A-levels haze, that affected him as well. These days, sleeping in until noon was the norm. Or sleeping in until one of his parents came into his bedroom to knock him awake.

“Yeah,” she replied, grabbing a towel and a few articles of clothing from the open wardrobe and heading towards the doorway.

“Alright.”

Lloyd closed his laptop slowly, not wanting a repeat of the time in Secondary 3 he’d shattered the screen because Zelos had sneaked up on him and caught him unawares. He rolled off the bed, making the small trip of barely a few steps to the study table, passing the various objects Colette had up on the walls - the Disney posters she’d gotten ages ago, and the random stickers she’d amassed over the years from school club sales and donations - and the bay window filled to the brim with cute and huggable soft toys, a familiar Siberian Husky that showed the signs of being well-loved sitting atop the pile.

Lying on the study table was Colette’s Nintendo Switch, plugged into a socket to charge. Right next to it was a jar holding paintbrushes of all sizes, all of them as clean of paint as possible, for he knew Colette took extremely good care of her art supplies. The sketchbook no one was allowed to peek into was sticking out of the table’s drawer, half-used pads of foolscap and sheets of paper with pencils rolling in them visible within. Files that he’d nearly kicked, containing lecture notes and worksheets, were shoved into messy piles under the table, unneeded after the conclusion of examinations but having no convenient place to be stored. The tiny shelf sitting on the table still had her Junior College badge housed on one of the layers, silver in colour and reflecting the light from the windows, despite her having no use for it ever since they had graduated in November. (Perhaps she liked looking at it? She was something of a magpie sometimes.) He could spot a familiar conch shell, placed among other knick-knacks, mostly birthday presents.

Picking up the handheld (with its lime green and cyan JoyCons firmly attached), he unplugged the charger and watched the screen light up - and frowned at what it showed him.

"Hey, Colette!" he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He hoped he could catch her before she entered the bathroom. Uncle Frank was working in the master bedroom no more than five metres away and had been nothing less than incredibly nice, as he always was, providing tons of refreshments and snacks. Lloyd would like to prevent a shouting relay if possible.

If Colette had been walking, she shouldn't have reached the bathroom yet...

The fast pitter-patter of bare feet against the floor informed him that he was right. "What is it, Lloyd?" Colette's head poked its way into the doorframe, her golden hair reaching down towards the floor, her blue eyes wide and questioning.

"You left Animal Crossing on," he answered, waving the Switch in the air.

Her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh. You know what to do, right?"

Control the playable character and put her to sleep, then save the game. He'd done it before.

"Yeah, but, I was thinking... I haven't taken a walk on your island since last year. How about I take another tour while you're in the bathroom? If you're okay with it, of course."

"Oh, sure! I trust you." Colette smiled sweetly, turning to leave before pausing and turning back. "But remember -"

"- remember not to step on the flowers." Lloyd finished her sentence easily, stating that fact very seriously. He knew about Colette's concerns about her precious flowers, which she’d spent hours arranging around her little island until they were in just the right spot - fields of rainbows to welcome any guests and guide them around. He hadn't known that the stems of the flowers could break from being trampled multiple times when he first explored her quaint world - the fictional flowers were just as fragile as their real-life counterparts. He’d kept that in mind ever since, adding it to the many rules to follow to ensure no harm came to all the hard work Colette had put in to make her island perfect.

"Yep. Um…” Colette wrung her hands together, bowing her head so her hair formed a veil over her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

“No, nothing’s wrong!” Colette hurriedly replied, lifting her head again. She screwed her eyes shut, hands clenching into fists. “I - uh, just wanted to say… I love you!”

The last three words came out in a shout, so quick that he almost didn’t catch them.

Lloyd froze, trying to process what he’d just heard - and before he could reply, Colette was already gone, having fled down the corridor and out of sight.

He slowly shut his mouth, which he hadn’t even realised was open.

This was the first time she’d said those coveted three words since they'd started dating. Her voice had been dripping with uncertainty, her posture betraying her shyness, but no matter how contradictory, she’d said it with sincerity, with all her heart. And even though he didn't need to hear them from her to know she loved him, for it was actions that counted, and certainly didn't need to hear them from her for him to love her, it still made him smile, his whole soul filled with a light warmth.

They’d travelled such a long way from all the checkpoints in life that they'd passed together. They still had a long way to go, but they’d do it together. As they always had.

"I love you too, silly," he said into empty space, knowing Colette couldn't hear him but wanting to say it anyway.

Lloyd unlocked the Switch screen, staring down at Colette's intricate creation. Flowers filled the screen, black, grey, white, purple, that he found familiar but couldn't put a name to. Oh, well. He would just tour the island and check out any new changes while he walked to the living room and waited for Colette to come back. Maybe he'd visit the town centre as well.

The most vital question to be answered was... Had Colette gotten those froggy chairs that she wanted for the townspeople?

~~~

Next chapter

[darlingsdevil]

The Setting Sun (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

I sincerely apologize again, I cannot add a read more tab on mobile.

Summary: Your marriage with Arthur isn’t going too smoothly.

F!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, verbally abusive relationship, degrading terminology pertaining to women, violence.

Words: 3.6k

A/N: Sorry for the angst.. I guess? This will be a two part fic.

Slight spoilers

•••

You had heard the whispers around camp as your marriage fell apart. The women slyly mumbled about your fighting, and how they were sure you didn’t sleep in the same bed as him anymore. The men were more open about their observations and their rumors, especially Micah who nearly begged you to take his hand in marriage the second you called it quits with Arthur. Both the men and the women grumbling in the morning when your fighting seeped into the late hours of the night. But it wasn’t either of their talk that drove you mad, it was the disapproving look from Dutch. He looked at you like you had failed his son, which you had.

You were hot headed and Arthur was spiraling down a path of rage. The way he looked at you these days were cold, filled with anger, even when you weren’t fighting. Arthur looked sick at even the sight of you, like you were a monster in his bed. Arthur was met with cold glares and disapproving eyes when not fighting.

It was awful, nearly every night tears fell from your eyes when you decided to cool off by the river while Arthur got to sleep in his tent, scribbling away at that stupid journal. Your face hot, voice scratchy from screaming.

Hosea had asked you once if you would like to leave for a month or two and come back, once the dust had settled between you two, and your marriage could be repaired from the little threads that were still holding it together. You decided if it became that bad, you would, but you wouldn’t let Arthur run you out of your home that easily. Perhaps it had gotten ‘too bad’ too long ago. You had been in the gang nearly just as long as he had been and you grew up together.

Arthur hated fighting with you, he could tell your jabs at each other were pent up emotions from long ago. But when things got firey, and the truth was spewed from eachother, you felt the riff grow larger and larger between you. You didn’t like fighting, neither did he, but something in your blood got hot and your eyes blinded by rage, the moment your husband said anything. He was the same, like everything he said would come out ten times worse than he meant it, like he couldn’t control himself from letting every mean thing he thought of, come from his mouth. Every jab, every screaming match, every fight tore you from him.

You tried your best to remember every good moment with him, how he used to make you feel. How you felt when he would catch you staring or the first time he kissed you, blushing faces and shy glances. But the worst moments with him stuck in your mind even when you weren’t upset with him. It felt like the bad was outweighing the good. Bad memories clouding your mind, covering the good ones.

Arthur left for jobs more frequently, taking the longest ones so he wouldn’t have to see you. Arthur was so sick of fighting, he had to get away.

Apologies were never frequent. He rarely ever slept besides you, that had long since been out of the question. You were like a stranger in his bed, nothing more than a common whore he could use whenever he wanted, nothing like the sweet Arthur who would be so gentle with you, slow touches like he was afraid that you would break.

Your marriage was falling apart, and you were both the culprits. You barely felt anything for him besides anger, your pride refusing to allow yourself to miss him. But deep down, your heart ached every time you let him walk away, let him turn his back on you. Where did it all go wrong?

It started with simple bickering, turned into infrequent fights, and then arguments that left you sobbing and dizzy, his words repeating in your brain, over and over until that’s all you could think about.

One afternoon, when Arthur had been gone for days, you found a letter in Arthur’s trunk. You were looking for an old skirt to make into a blanket, the Heartlands air was unforgiving at night and without Arthur’s body heat next to you, you were frozen.

You noticed how the envelope was already opened, gingerly, not with a letter opener or even torn. You weren’t going to look inside, you weren’t that nosy, but the name on the outside left you pondering.

Mary Linton

Judging by how carefully Arthur had opened the letter, the letter stuck out to you. Something wasn’t right. While Arthur’s absence was not uncommon, you were perplexed by the name. Why did it stand out?

Until it finally hit you, your heart dropped to your stomach. You felt sick. Mary Linton was Mary Gillis, Arthur’s ex fiancé. He had convinced you years ago she was nothing to worry about. You were about to examine the contents when you felt someone behind you.

Arthur snatched the letter from your hands, glaring at you. His eyes shot daggers right through you.

“What the fuck is that, Arthur?” You asked accusingly.

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Arthur growled in response. He held the letter behind him, guarding it like it was something precious.

“Why did that whore send you a letter?” You couldn’t control the words coming out of your mouth. Anger rose in you at the disrespect.

“Don’t look through my things again,” Arthur turned away, ready to walk off.

“Nope. You don’t get to walk away, tell me what that woman wants from you,” You yelled at him, Arthur swiveled around, his entire face enraged.

“What the hell are accusing me of?”

“I don’t know. What’s it sound like?” You spat back at him, crossing your arms in a defiant stance.

“You’re accusing me of cheating on you?” Arthur scoffed.

“I’m sure you’ve done a hell of a lot worse while you were with me,” You shot back. It was verbal war, and you were both stuck in the crossfire.

“Shut your mouth, woman. You’re walking on thin ice,” Arthur said in a low voice, inching closer to you.

“I might as well dance then. Don’t tell me to shut my fucking mouth, tell that slut to shut her fucking legs.”

Arthur’s nose twitched, he didn’t care about holding back. He would already regret saying something bad.

“You really think I’m banging Mary?”

You were silent, glaring at him. You looked at him like he was the most vile thing on the planet.

“Well then you’re dumber than I expected. Maybe if you had snooped around my stuff before I got back you would have been able to read it,” Arthur held the letter, waving it in front of you.

“I fucking hate you,” Your voice rose, anger building up in you like it was the only thing you could ever feel again.

Arthur nodded, turning away from you, “Like I don’t already know that.”

Hot tears began trailing down your face, as you covered your mouth. You didn’t mean to say that. Your heart beat rushed in your ears. Everything felt awful, Arthur started walking away from you.

“Don’t walk away, you smug bastard!” Your voice cracked, like you were begging him to turn around and tell you everything was alright. You felt your knees almost give out, everything felt dizzy as the blood rushed to your head. Your chest heaved with sobs, your legs giving out as you fell to the ground with a thud.

Arthur continued walking away, he couldn’t handle the shouting, he couldn’t handle the pain. It was suffocating. He held his chin high, as he felt the ground underneath him. Arthur’s emotions were bubbling underneath him, he so desperately wanted to turn around and ask to stop the fighting, the pain, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I never want to see you ever again!” You shouted as your heart completely shattered into a thousand pieces. You leaned against his trunk, sobs racking through your body, pain erupting through your entire body.

Arthur didn’t turn around, not even to look around at your ruined state at the foot of his bed.

You had to get out of this camp, away from this gang. The members of the camp already began their gossip, a few sneaking glances at you. Their gossip was loud, bouncing off your skull, every rumor suffocating you.

You stood up quickly, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, their judging eyes piercing through you. You rummaged through your things from Arthur’s tent, grabbing only your essential items. You took the blanket off of his bed and made a makeshift sack out of it, tying all your things in it. You took one last look at your family, they might not even be here when you left but that was a chance you were willing to take. You were willing to go it alone for awhile if it meant things would cool down.

You rushed to your mare, you hopped on her and stormed away, through the thicket. You heard someone shout your name but you didn’t look back, leaving behind everything you had ever known.

The sun was beginning to set in the western sky, so you rode towards it, feeling like you were untouchable yet breakable all at the same time. Like a pound of bricks couldn’t hurt you, but a light feather could easily. You were like a bomb, one wrong move and everything could come shattering down.

The cool air was freeing, you only slowed for your horse to breathe, though she adored the run. When you began thinking clearer, it had been too far to turn back. It was completely dark out now, it would be foolish to continue riding.

You found a nice spot on a cliff's edge, hidden by a thicket of trees. It was your home for the night, not perfect but it would do. You unrolled your blanket and set it down on the stone. The cliff overlooked all of the Heartlands it seemed. The sky was a brilliant blue, with speckles of diamonds sewn in, weaved throughout.

Arthur was likely looking at the same sky, you wondered if he was thinking of the same things. You wondered if he was looking for you, waiting for you to come home to him.

You loved Arthur, you did, you loved him since the day you met him. You didn’t want to fight with him, ever.

Maybe you would’ve warned the young girl you once were if you had gotten the chance, but there was no turning back now.

Surprisingly, the night brought you peace, a stark contrast to the heat that burned you during the day.

You wondered if this was the final straw with Arthur, if you had fucked things up too badly. Mary Linton was no rival, you knew Arthur would never do such a thing. It hurt to remember what you said to him, to the man you loved so dearly. Vicious words cutting so deep, that you were even surprised they had come from your mouth.

You were both to blame. Your hearts no longer beating in sync, a riff in between you. A stranger in your own bed.

“I never want to see you ever again!”

The last thing you said to him. You hadn’t even meant it. You wondered if the universe would play some cruel trick on you for saying such an awful thing.

Sleep came rather peacefully, drifting away while you thought of everything you should have done differently.

The night sky twinkled, Arthur stared at it from the edge of his bed. Regretting his actions during the day, he couldn’t sleep. If only he had just told you that Mary needed his help, instead of hiding it. No one knew where you went and he was worried sick. Arthur wondered if this was it, after all the verbal cyanide, the brutal end to a sad story.

He hoped it wasn’t.

•••

Three weeks passed, since you had taken a break from the gang. A well needed break, that was for sure. You no longer hated the thought of Arthur, instead you missed him, wondering how you could be so blind. You craved Arthur’s touch, for him to hold you, for the first time in what felt like years.

When you would return, you would apologize for everything that you had done, you would make it up to him. Everything would go back to normal.

No one bothered you as you lived off the land, you had been to Valentine only once. You prayed no one would be in town while you were there, luckily no one was. You had even gone as far as to scope out Horeshoe Overlook, it was still thriving, you could see almost everyone through your binoculars. You even caught a glimpse of Arthur, he tried to hide his distress but you could tell something was troubling him. Arthur was talking with Dutch, Dutch looking nearly as distressed as him. After a few moments, you decided to leave before anyone came snooping around.

That was a week ago, you were going to return to camp in a day. Uneasiness grew on you throughout the night, you wondered if Arthur would ever take you back.

At night, you watched the sky again, it was clear again, not a cloud in all of it’s endlessness. You ate your supper for the last time in your small home, it had become rather nice. You bought a tent from Valentine and even found some books to go along with it.

Your expedition into the wilderness left you with a lot of time to think, but tonight your mind wouldn’t muster a single thought. Like all your thoughts had suddenly vanished.

Sleep didn’t come quite as easily, your body not allowing yourself to drift into the realm of sleep. Though your body felt heavy with worry, you felt nearly weightlessness, like you were drifting on a cloud, above everything.

As you stared into the black sky, you heard a snap behind you. You immediately reached for your gun, on high alert. Your fingers trailing over the trigger. Anyone who dared mess with you would get a face full of lead.

Another crunch. This was no animal, animals were not that quiet.

“Who’s there?” You called out, your voice rising above the trees.

A third snap, you turned immediately to where you heard it, aiming your gun towards the thicket.

A man with a wolfish grin stepped out, looking at you like you were a piece of meat.

“What’s a little lady like yourself doing out here all alone?” The man inched closer to you, taking slow steps. The shadows casted on the man, making him look unnatural, almost like a monster.

“Another step and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” You barked, aiming your gun at his head.

A second man stepped out from behind you, you swiveled around to face him, the first man pulled out his own gun and aimed it at the back of your head, you felt the cool metal on your head. You narrowed your eyes at the second man, your veins growing hot.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options.

Almost instantly, you elbowed the man behind you, knocking his gun out of his hand, before the second man could react, you shot him in the face, he fell to the ground in a gorey mess.

“Oh, you little bitch!” The first man shouted, delirious and enraged. He tackled you, right as you were turning to face him. The man pinned you to the forest floor, your mind was being taken over by the survival instinct. He punched you directly in the face, the force of it making you see stars, you kicked out your legs, staggering him for a moment so you could throw a punch, right in the nose, his nose cracked underneath your knuckles. The man fell off of you, his nose spewing blood, the bone in a crooked shape.

He cradled his nose with one hand, the other scrambling for his gun that had been knocked out of his hand. Your mind was fuzzy, you got up as quickly as you could, your face aching.

The man reached for his gun, you aimed your own, on the ground he aimed at you and fired. You fired your own gun, both bullets seemingly moving in slow motion as they passed each other. The gunshot was loud, nearly deafening. The man was dead, the bullet went straight through his head.

You almost didn’t feel the bullet until seconds later. Pain erupted in your abdomen, you felt the slick blood pool out of you, darkening your blouse.

The bullet tore through your flesh with every step you took, you rushed to your horse, wincing. Blood got all over her silky coat, like an abstract painting. You set off back to camp, through the forest and deserts of the Heartlands.

Pain continued to develop in your stomach, your mind started going fuzzy. The air whipped around you, as you rode hard back to camp. Every jolt shot pain in your stomach. The only thing you could think about was reaching camp, being home finally.

Black spots began clouding your vision, the terrain slowly becoming more and more familiar. You felt weak, like all your limbs were ten times heavier. Blood continued to pool out of you, a slow, but steady stream.

You leaned against your mare’s head, your own head too heavy to keep up. She was a pretty horse, strong and loyal.

Why had you been so foolish to leave camp? Why had you been so foolish to be horrible to Arthur? Where did it all go wrong?

You regretted a thousand things it seemed. A thousand things you would never get to see, it seemed. Repairing your marriage with Arthur, owning a small farm with him when things cooled down, having a little girl and a little boy that looked just like him, growing old with Arthur, simple things. You would miss it all.

You could barely see now, your mind slowly going blank. Your limbs no longer feeling attached to your body. You could just barely make out Horseshoe Overlook in front of you, the lights dim and shapeless.

This was death, it seemed so distant and so close all at the same time. Peaceful and painful. You let your eyes close for the final time, just as you reached the outskirts of the camp.

You slowly slipped off your horse, into the grassy ground.

This was death. You had gotten your wish.

•••

Arthur heard a scream from the other side of camp, immediately shooting up from his bed. It sounded like one of the women. The other men came rushing to that side of camp, Arthur grabbing his own gun and dragging himself out of bed.

A large group gathered by something on the ground, it was silent, no one saying anything. The entire group turned to Arthur, splitting to make a path for him.

You were on the ground, bloody, and lifeless. Arthur’s eyes widened as he kneeled next to you. He could barely believe what he was seeing.

“No, no, no, no. Wake up, come on darlin’, wake up,” Arthur shook his head, grabbing your limp hand. At first, he was sure you would wake up.

“God damnit, wake up,” Arthur said louder, shaking you. Anger, grief and disbelief in his voice.

“She’s not waking up, Arthur,” Susan said from behind him, her voice breaking. He heard sobs from behind him, someone put a hand on his shoulder.

It was silent, everyone holding their breath. They watched him with intent, making sure he would not crack. The crickets chirped in the distant, the air from his lungs being sucked out.

Everything cruel he had ever said to you, everytime he had ever convinced himself he hated you, flooded his mind. Everything he did wrong, everything that went wrong.

Arthur brushed the hair from your face, holding back his tears. The crowd dispersed from behind him, leaving him alone with you. He covered his mouth to stop the sobs that would escape his mouth otherwise.

The anger and sadness that ripped through him, a sudden pit in his stomach that would never go away from now until he died. His entire world had been knocked out of place, thrown off track.

His chest heaved with pain. He was never able to make it right with you, and that would live with him forever. Knowing you died thinking he hated you, it was unbearable.

“You weren’t supposed to go like this,” Arthur whispered to you, he lightly held your face like you were fragile.

Arthur slowly picked you up, holding your cold body in his strong arms.

“We were supposed to make up, get out of this life, have a few kids, run a little farm,” Arthur poured his heart out to you, carrying you to the outskirts of camp. The patrons of camp bowed their heads as he passed them, a silent goodbye.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said to you, clutching you close to him, his hands shaking. Blood getting all over his clothes, staining them, even when the blood went away he still could smell the stench of blood on them. A forever mark on his soul.

Arthur buried you that night, on a little hill surrounded with flowers, overlooking the setting sun. A part of him died with you. He would remember the last words you had ever said to him, and how he had simply walked away.

Arthur never forgave himself.

•••

[ofheroesandvillains]

Do Better 2 - Tony Stark

Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Words: 3.7k Warnings: None? Some angst - tried to make this one a little happier than the last though! It’s a rollercoaster. Summary: I was very surprised that people liked the first part as much as they did, and I got a few requests to show how Tony and Mom met, and Tony and Kid’s relationship a few months later. Hope it isn’t trash, if it is, let me know!

Going to be honest, I’m in a big writing slump. I feel like everything I write is coming out wrong and it sucks. Hoping this one is alright, but I did do most of it on a good-ish day. Thank you so much for being patient, I hope everyone is doing well!

(gif not mine!)

There were times in his life where Tony really had to admit that he’d be nothing without Pepper Potts. She was the type of person who’d do her job and do it well regardless of the circumstances. Hell, most of the time she’d do his job too. But these were the early days, long before he’d realised her importance, and even longer before he’d realised his own feelings for her.

She’d only just started working for him and somehow she had already managed to drag him out of his workshop and into his worst nightmare. He’d never liked the theatre and he didn’t care much for dancing either. He wasn’t the type to sit still for hours on end, and he never quite understood how his mother managed to persuade his stone-cold father to always go with her. 

Howard probably just liked having an excuse to stay as far away from him as possible, but that didn’t matter anymore.

What did matter was that it had been over an hour and there was absolutely nothing that could keep him in his seat any longer. Pepper be damned, he’d kiss ass another time and in another place - preferably one with an open bar. 

Just as he started easing himself out of his seat, he saw her. Graceful, beautiful…entrancing. They all were, and if you asked him what was so special about her in particular, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. There was just something different about her. It could have been luck, or fate, or maybe even just random chance, but something had brought them together that night.

Maybe, he thought…maybe he could stick around a little longer.

--------- 

What would later become the most important day of his life, ended much like any other.

“Y’know…you’re not half bad.”

She glanced over her shoulder. If his presence surprised her, she didn’t show it. Plenty of celebrities hung around to meet the performers after a show. Plenty of press, too. 

“Oh? Tony Stark: closet choreographer.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she returned to packing her bag. “They left that one out of the tabloids.”

“We all make mistakes,” he shrugged. “Speaking of, how ‘bout a drink?”

She turned around, brows arched high.

“With you?”

“Preferably. I mean-“

“No.”

His dark lashes fluttered. “No…?”

She laughed at his wide-eyed look. 

“I’m starving. If dinner’s on the table then you’re on, otherwise…get out of my way, Mr Stark.”

His mouth abruptly shut and he looked far too pleased with himself. 

“Dinner it is. Dessert’s on me, literally, figuratively…any way you want.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. 

“Mr Stark! A photo for the Times?”

“Big smiles,” he murmured in her ear, an arm looping around her waist with the speed of an experienced red carpet walker. She laughed at the thought, her eyes scrunching shut before the flash could blind her. 

Pepper would remember it as the day he almost cost them a new partnership, and the tabloids would immortalise it as ‘Playboy’ Tony Stark’s latest conquest. But Tony, well, he remembered it for what it was. The day his greatest creation was unknowingly conceived.

---------

“You got your lunch?”

“Yep. Pepper packed it.”

“Homework?”

“It’s all there, dad.” 

Tony didn’t fail to notice her amusement as he pulled up to the school entrance. He didn’t always have the time to take her himself, but this was a special occasion. And, if he was being honest with himself, he kinda enjoyed it. Driving his kid to school…there was something extraordinarily ordinary about it, and he liked it. 

The car door slammed shut and she made her way around to his window.

“Are you going to be home when I get out?” There was a hopeful spark in her eyes.

“Not today.” The spark fizzled out. “I’m picking you up myself, birthday girl.”

She rolled her eyes but there was genuine happiness in her smile.

“See ya later, dad.”

He smiled at the spring in her step when she turned to head inside, and he just couldn’t help himself. 

“Have a good day, kiddo! Love you!”

She almost jumped at the sudden and unnecessarily loud shout - and she wasn’t the only one. Her eyes flickered over the students openly gawking at him, and Tony chuckled at the scowl she sent his way. Seeing Tony Stark was like seeing a unicorn in the wild, and whispers were already buzzing around her. 

“You let your old man know if the other kids are mean to you!” 

“Dad.”

Teenagers, Tony thought, so self-conscious. 

“Alright, alright. Get out of here.”

He watched her rush to the front door, pointedly ignoring the stares that followed her. In time, she’d gotten used to them, as much as he wished she didn’t have to. 

---------

School became hectic as soon as the announcement was made. Tony Stark’s long-lost daughter had returned to him, and she was attending Midtown High. Being the ‘new kid’ was bad enough, she thought, but being the famous new kid was chaos. 

She thought a sense of pride would come with the announcement - and it certainly had - but what was it they said about grass being greener on the other side? She quickly realised that her dad hadn’t really been ashamed of her...he’d been trying to protect her. From the cameras, from the fame, from everything he thought ruined him. 

The other kids were nice to her, of course they were. But she went about her business as if nothing had changed. In a way, nothing had. She’d been a Stark from the beginning, but it would be a lie to say that her newfound popularity wasn’t getting on her nerves.

She was almost envious of Parker all over again, this time for his anonymity. She didn’t realise how much she would miss just being another face in class, another mundane student. Now there was a title attached to her that she’d never be able to shake. Tony Stark’s daughter. Ironman’s daughter. 

At least Parker didn’t have to deal with Flash hounding him each day about the company and ‘what’s it like to have Tony Stark as a father?’ And ‘are you an Avenger by default?’ And ‘who’s stronger, Thor or Captain America?’ 

But if there was one good thing that came of it, it was that Peter now had a new and entirely unexpected ally.

---------

“Hey, Parker? Parker!”

Peter shoved his textbooks into his backpack and threw it over his shoulder with a sigh. Ned gave him a sympathetic glance, but they both knew it was best to just humour Flash in these moments. And that’s exactly what Peter did when he finally turned around, anxiously clutching the strap of his bag.

“You got a date for Lucy’s party this weekend?” asked Flash.

“I’m uh, I’m not going.”

Flash’s lips curled in triumph. “What’s the matter, Parker? Not cool enough for an invite?”

“No, he’s just hanging out with Tony Stark this weekend instead,” Ned blurted out, earning a sharp glare from his best friend. 

“Dude,” Peter hissed under his breath. 

He knew Ned meant well. In his own way, Ned was trying to stand up for him, but these things always had a tendency to back-fire on them.

Flash scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m going caroling with Hulk this year.”

By now a small crowd had gathered, students bustling to their lockers in preparation for their next class. A few of them watched the exchange and laughed. It was nothing new, but they had nothing better to do.

“Just admit it, Parker,” Flash drawled. “You’re too much of a loser to-”

“Hey, Peter. You still coming over for brunch this weekend? Dad was wondering.”

The whole hall came to a sudden stop and Peter’s eyes widened along with Flash’s. Where Flash went out of his way to bother him, she did all she could to avoid him. There were times where he wondered just what he’d done to make her dislike him, and he even considered asking Mr Stark. But he thought better of it when he realised just how stupid that idea sounded. 

Flash’s eyes flickered between them, his mouth open in surprise. The rest of the student body was staring at Peter, waiting for some kind of answer. Ned gave him a not-so-subtle nudge and the silence was shattered.

“Y-yeah. Uh-huh. Definitely, this- this weekend. The brunch…” He nodded so fast he’d put a bobblehead to shame.

Another nudge from Ned had him clearing his throat.

“I’ll be there,” he smiled, all nerves and gratitude.

And she flashed him a signature Stark smile in return, full of hidden mischief and a touch of reassurance. He reminded himself to breathe.

“Great. Feel free to come along if you’re not busy, Ned.”

Ned’s brows shot up and he shared a disbelieving smile with Peter. The crowd in the hallway parted for her like the Red Sea and all anyone could do was watch as she marched away without a second glance. Maybe, just maybe, her newfound fame wasn’t all bad. 

---------

“Can I take it off yet?”

“No.”

“But-“

“Nope.”

“Dad.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Fine,” she huffed, arms crossed. 

She had no doubt that beyond the blindfold, her father looked all too pleased with himself. Let it be known that Tony Stark was excellent at planning surprises, because she had absolutely no idea where they were going, or if they were even still in New York. 

He’d been fretting about her for weeks leading up to this day, and now that it had arrived, she’d been showered with all the gifts she’d refused to let him buy for her throughout the year. But she wouldn’t deny him this one chance to spoil her. It was the first birthday he got to spend with her and he had F.R.I.D.A.Y send a very strict warning to pretty much everyone with his cell number.  

If anyone so much as thought about ruining their day together, he’d make their life a living hell as only Tony Stark could. Even Pepper, who’d done her best not to laugh at the time, endured a half-hearted finger-wagging session the night before. She hadn’t taken it to heart, in fact, she thought it was one of the sweetest things Tony had ever done.

He was trying so hard to honour the words that still echoed in his mind, ones he’d never forget.

Stop letting her down…

He’d be the first to admit that maybe he’d taken it a little too far. Despite personally driving his daughter to school and trying to make it home in time for dinner each day, Tony was a bit of a mess. These were uncharted waters and he didn’t exactly have a prime example in his father to know how far was too far, but he thought it was going quite well. 

There was a happiness in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she first arrived, a newfound comfort that allowed her to spend weekends in his workshop with him, asking question after question about his latest project.

If she was happy, then he was happy. He was doing his best to be the dad she deserved, and Pepper had reassured him that he was doing a good job.

Unfortunately, and understandably, her happiness had dipped. A month after transferring to the Tower, her mother had passed. Tony had known that pain before, he’d known the loss and suffering. But seeing his child, the one person in the world he do absolutely anything for, experience that same thing…it hurt him more than he ever thought possible.   

“Dad?”

He was mercifully thrown out of his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“Can I take it off now?”

“Sure.”

She perked up. “Really?”

Tony smirked. 

“No.”

---------

“Okay, a little to the left…not that far left.” Tony’s hand shot out to keep her from tumbling down the stairs. 

This blindfold thing didn’t seem like such a great idea in hindsight. Getting up the stairs had taken far too long for someone as impatient as Tony Stark. 

“Now?” She asked, not even bothering to hide her exasperation. 

“Just gimme...” Keys jingled. “A sec.” A lock clicked. “Alright, just a few more seconds.” A hand wrapped itself around her elbow and steered her inside the room. 

The door slipped shut behind her, and her dad was unusually silent.

“Alright, kid. You can take it off now.”

Her eyes were moist and bleary when she finally slipped the blindfold off, but she froze. 

She knew these floors. She knew the walls and the equipment too, freshly painted and newly bought, but familiar nonetheless. Too many tears had been shed in recent months, but she couldn’t help the sting in her eyes nor the pressure at the back of her throat. She could only stare, wide-eyed as her feet unconsciously led her toward the wall of mirrors she’d looked into every weekend since she was a child.

There, right on the wall above, was a framed photo. She didn’t need to ask when it was taken, there was only one possible answer. Her mother’s smile was radiant, her eyes scrunched in a laugh as the man beside stared down at her with a smile of his own. They made for a beautiful pair, no matter how temporary their acquaintance. She’d never seen this photo before, never thought one existed. 

But in that moment, in her mind, they were right where they belonged - together.

A shuddering breath left her and she tried to steady herself. 

No more tears.

She forced her gaze away.

By the window was a desk, it wasn’t there before but the desk itself was irrelevant. The small box on top of it was wrapped in matte red wrapping paper and a shiny gold ribbon. She cracked a shaky smile and glanced over at her dad. He was lingering by the doorway, letting her have this moment to herself. 

He offered her a soft smile in return.

Her legs hadn’t felt this weak in a long time but they made it. There was a small piece of paper, folded and tucked beneath the ribbon.

The writing was unforgettable, elegantly slanted, if a little shaky. She realised then, that it must have been written near the end. Short and to the point. The sting in her eyes disappeared, the dam broke, and he was there in a flash.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

I love you so much, 

Mom xxx

“It’s alright.” A hand rubbed her back gently. “I got you.”

He’d comforted her before, and though he was more familiar with the protocol now, he’d often get chatty in situations like this - bringing up anything and everything to lessen the weight of the moment. It was usually enough to distract her until she fell asleep on rough nights. He’d joke that her old man’s ramblings could put her right to bed, and he liked to think that she appreciated his efforts. 

But this time…this time there was no avoiding the conversation that had to be had.

“She told me about this place, y’know? Said it was your favourite place in the world.”

“It is.”

Her words were muffled, by her tears or by his shirt, probably both. 

“Also said you wanted to be an instructor when you grew up.”

“I do.”

She pulled away from him then, the sleeves of her sweater pressed to her eyes as she took another shuddering breath. 

“Then you’re gonna need a studio, huh?” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

Her hands finally came away from her bloodshot eyes, and he had to remind himself that there were some things he couldn’t protect her from, things that were out of his control. Loss, unfortunately, was one of those things. 

“Last one, I promise,” he said with a guilty little smile, and the small red box in hand. 

She huffed a laugh, the sound thick in her throat. Two keys twinkled at her when she removed the lid, freshly cut and in much better condition than she remembered.

“Happy birthday, kid,” he murmured softly.

A sweet and appreciative smile tugged at her lips, and she threw her arms around him again.  

“Thanks, dad. For everything.” She drew in a deep breath. “You’re the best.”

Smartest, sleaziest, cockiest…they were all titles he’d boasted in the tabloids during his younger days, but he never thought he’d earn the best. Not from anyone that mattered. 

“Come on,” he said, ignoring the slight prickling in his own eyes. “I left cake in the storeroom fridge. Don’t tell Pepper.”

---------

The weekend had come around quickly and she’d completely forgotten the invitation she’d extended to Parker and Ned, until her dad had instructed her to send Spider-boy to him as soon as he arrived. They were okay - friendly enough and better than most of the other kids at school. But that didn’t mean she wanted them there. 

The elevator chimed. Too late. 

“H-hey, hi.”

It was Parker who spoke, Ned was too busy staring at the walls and ceilings and…literally everything, to form any words. 

“Hi?” She absentmindedly greeted, watching as Ned wandered off in some sort of trance. 

“Hi.” Parker smiled, awkward and somewhat dopey, a match for his breathy tone. He realised that she realised that he was staring, and with a flutter of lashes, that familiar look of panic crossed his features. Then he was back to the stuttering, stammering, mess she knew him to be.

“Thanks for, y’know, helping out with Flash. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. To be honest, I didn’t think you guys would actually come.”

“We weren’t going to - not because we didn’t want to!” He quickly added, rambling on like water gushing from a cracked dam. “I did, we did. I just know we’re not exactly friends - and that’s totally fine, really - and I didn’t want to bother you, I just wanted to thank you for- for your…” He trailed off with a long, drawn-out breath, and wide-eyed mortification. “Help.” 

It sounded more like he was asking for it.

“Right…” She nodded, drawing out the word in a way that made his cheeks flood with warmth, before jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Dad’s in his workshop, said something about an upgrade if you’re interested.”

“Oh! Great. Thank you, I um, I’ll just…” He pointed in the same direction, and wondered why a small smile had slipped onto her face. Then he realised he was staring again. Peter cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away with a sheepish smile. “Heh, sorry. Thanks again!” 

“Peter?”

He spun around.

“It’s the…other door.”

His cheeks flushed once more and he rushed out of the room before he could embarrass himself further. 

“What’d I miss?” Ned smiled obliviously.

I have no idea, she thought with a shake of her head.

“C’mon, Ned. Let me show you around.”

---------

When she left the house that day the fridge had been bare. The tickets were in her dad’s pocket, or in Pepper’s purse, and a smile was on her face.

As soon as the music began, she forgot about the ache in her knees and the butterflies running rampant in her stomach. She’d never been so nervous for a performance. But then again, no other performance had ever been as important to her as this one. The excitement of having her father there, watching her dance for the very first time had long since evaporated, and all that remained were her nerves and a twinge of sadness she tried her best to push down. 

It wasn’t the first recital her mother hadn’t been able to make it to, but it was the first one since she’d passed. 

The morning had been spent in tears. When she thought of dancing, she thought of weekends spent in their studio, and road trips across the States from competition to competition. The afternoon came. It forced sadness from her mind and welcomed uncertainty. 

Her whole life had been spent wondering what her father would think of her - if someone as brilliant as Tony Stark could ever be proud of someone as normal as her. She didn’t like business, and she didn’t want Stark Industries. She was certain he knew this by now, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about it. Instead, he’d bought her old dance studio and slipped into front row seats while she hyperventilated backstage. 

Her stress, it seemed, was for nothing. That was usually how things went.

“Incredible!”

“You think so?”

“Sure do. I couldn’t look away, right, Pep?” 

Pepper nodded with an indulgent smile.

“It’s the longest he’s been able to focus on a single thing since we met.” She shot Tony a pointed look that softened when she looked over at his daughter. “Congratulations, sweetie, that was an amazing performance.”

“Thanks, Pepper!” 

“So what now? You gotta go sign autographs, take some selfies with the fans?” She laughed and gave her dad a nudge. Tony smiled down at her.

“Now, I go get changed and then you buy me food.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He nodded, watching as she turned to head backstage. “Hey, kid?”

“Yeah?” 

She looked back at him, and Tony couldn’t help the intense feeling of deja vu that came over him. She looked so much like her mother in that moment, and though he knew she was a whole half of him, it only really hit him then. Pepper gave his waist a reassuring squeeze, always attuned to his every thought. 

Something swelled in his chest, pure and whole and unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He always thought he hated his father, but now, as he stood there with her looking up at him like his opinion meant the world to her…he couldn’t help but feel sorry for old Howard. Had he ever felt the way Tony felt now? Had he ever looked at his own son and wondered how he ever could have gotten so lucky?

Whatever he was originally planning on saying was forgotten. 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

Her smile was blinding and that was all he needed.

“Thanks, dad.” 

--------

Thoughts?