#the experience of like sitting in a dark room and staring up at an artificial sky with someone??? I HAVE EXPERIENCED BEAUTY OK.

[ajab-leher]

space movies make me tear up for some reason and i think it's because i used to think as a kid that i'd been out there and looking at just outer space related content makes me so. delirious. unreal. and it feels like a dream. man i went to a planetarium in like july or august or something and i think what i became at the end of that show is what i'd be like if i was high for real.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 12: Recovery

A/N: I finished sitting this so I decided to get it out, because in true ADHD fashion I can’t keep it to myself.

Warnings: Incorrect medical talk (probably.) lots of feels, so much touching in this chapter omg. Probably more ND behaviour (definitely). Erm…feelings *insert Crowley gif here.*

Word Count: 5.4k+

You lost track of the days. Hours shifted, blending into one long continuous run of you worrying about Tech. Tesama stepped right into the breach with Beetoo, the pair of them running the medcentre while you watched monitors and ever changing numbers.

Tech had contracted an infection. It was inevitable really, performing such a drastic surgery in the ship rather than back here where it was clean and sterile. He needed more blood which Hunter and Wrecker seemed more than willing to provide, but you put a stop to that when Hunter accidentally gave too much and nearly passed out in the chair.

They visited whenever they could, checking on you and Tech, usually Omega stayed behind when the others went on missions; her knowledge was invaluable when it came to the clones.

You were stretched. Pushing your own knowledge and experience to the absolute limit even when it came so naturally. You had taken to sleeping on a cot in Tech’s room, your senses attuned to any changes in his breathing or heart rate even without the machines you had him hooked up to.

Right now you were staring at him, wishing he would just open his eyes and look at you with those haloed irises you missed so much. It was late, the medcentre was quiet from the daily hustle and bustle that had become your background noise. The space was lit via the blue screens that showed you everything you needed to know about your patient and how he was doing.

Gently you took his limp hand, wrapping his large fingers around your own and imagining him giving it a squeeze. You could feel how hot he was, but he wasn’t as blazing with a fever as he was a few days ago, it was slowly retreating. Just not quick enough for your liking.

You had kept him in a coma, the life support machine a constant noise in his room and probably the only thing that kept you tethered to this reality. But the fever had dipped and he didn’t need to be in an induced coma anymore, so you could move him to the bacta tank.

He needed to wake up though. Perching your hip on his bed your eyes travelled over all the things that belonged to Tech; his goggles, his tools, his belt hung off the chair, his pack and helmet sat in the corner with the rest of his armour. Hunter had got him a new body suit and armour padding which you’d folded up nicely and stacked next to his pack.

It wasn’t right. None of this was. You squeezed his slack hand and wiped some stray tears off your cheek. You had been walking a fine line before this had happened and now it felt like a tightrope; taught under your feet, cutting into your soles with each step. Your balance was slipping, dragging you one way and then the other, neither ending promising to be happy.

Absently you played with his fingers, putting them against your own and comparing sizes. You loved Tech’s hands, knowing how nimble and sure they were with everything he did; whether it be adjusting the fine circuits in a droid or tapping away on his datapad. You missed hearing his voice, the random facts he loved to share and the calming effect he had on you.

“You know,” your voice cracked from lack of use. “Omega said you need a shave.” She wasn’t wrong, his stubble was growing, casting a dark shadow over his face. “I’ll ask Hunter tomorrow because he needs one too. He’s so worried about you, they’re all worried about you.” You glanced up at him, watching the forced breath in his chest as the life support machine did its job, wishing the life you saw wasn’t artificial. “I wish you’d come back,” you whispered, sucking your lips into your mouth to stop them trembling and looking up at the wall. “I miss you, Tech. No one sees me like you do and I…I need you.”

You searched his expression for a sign, a flicker, anything but got nothing. You fixed your gaze on the screen, noticing his brain activity was still there, the EEG was reading a positive output.

Closing your eyes, you dipped into that well of yourself you’d been avoiding, the one that felt like infinity was at your fingertips. It stretched and flowed, taunting and calling you to fall into it once again. You wouldn’t ever forget the rush it gave you, the exhilaration that this power offered but it scared you senseless. You didn’t consciously know what you were doing with it. It was like someone handing you a fathier and telling you to ride it when you’d never seen one before.

And yet, you delved into it now. It had always been there, slipping into your instincts without you even knowing what was happening. Surging through your hands when you needed it to save someone…anyone but yourself.

Putting your hand over Tech’s you closed your eyes and breathed. You remembered that moment in the Marauder with the Purrgil, the lights that shimmered over you both, Tech’s closeness and his excitement at finally seeing something that fascinated him so much.

You got lost in the muted rhythm of his body, the flow of his blood, the knock of his heart and the billow of his lungs. It was calming, as though you were communicating with him in the only way you knew how.

You put his hand down, withdrawing completely and making your way over to your cot. A sigh was pushed from your body as you looked at the ceiling, drifting a hand over your tired eyes.

Maybe tomorrow would be the day he wakes up.

When you woke, the first thing you sensed was someone else was in the room. Slowly you opened your eyes to find Hunter slumped in the chair beside his brother, chin in the palm of his hand as he dozed. Quietly you got up but it wasn’t quiet enough, his eyes snapped open and you froze.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” You checked the monitors, seeing there was no change in Tech’s condition and disappointment filled your chest. So you did the only thing you could do and go through the motions.

“Hi Tech,” you said, forcing a cheery tone into the words. “Hunter is here to see you this morning…” you glanced at him for confirmation and he nodded. “Yes, morning.” You flicked the torch across his eyes, noting a consistent response from his pupils. “No doubt the others will be along later. Echo has been trying fix Beetoo’s charging problems but he can’t find anything in the diagnostic.” Turning the bottom of the cover you exposed Tech’s feet and ran a finger along the sole of his foot, pleased with the toe movement as you did. “Nerves are healing nicely,” you murmured.

“Stitch…” in one word Hunter had asked a thousand questions that had all been asked before.

“We could try today.”

“Yeah?” You caught the look of hope on his face, split between the light and dark of his tattoo and it tugged at your tired heart.

“He needs to wake up so we can get him in the tank. Don’t tell the others.” His gaze dipped, the fall of his mouth spoke disappointment, nonetheless he nodded in agreement.

“They’re taking Omega on a supply run today anyway.”

“If you want to join them I can let you know how it goes?” But Hunter shook his head, eyes on his brother’s prone body as he leaned back in the chair.

“I want to be here when he wakes up.” You couldn’t argue with that.

You let Tesama and Beetoo know you were going to be totally unavailable today and sealed yourself in the room with Hunter and Tech. You turned down the sedation drug and settled yourself in for a wait. These things took time and you were prepared for the wait. Still, you couldn’t just sit, so you walked slowly round the room with your datapad; catching up on the reports and payments from the last few days.

Hunter sat quietly in the chair, his eyes tracking your movement while his fingers toyed with his knife. You heard the movement, the quiet scrape when he unsheathed it and the slight sing in the air as he twirled it amongst his fingers, never dropping it. It was distracting and you could feel yourself getting annoyed, so the next time you walked past him you plucked it easily from his grip.

His hand was still held up in surprise at your swift movement, brown eyes falling on the blade that was now caught between two of your fingers. “Now where did you learn to do that?” His gravelly voice laced with curiosity.

“I can hear it…whistling. If you need to fidget I could find you something to do.” You held out the hilt for him to take and he slipped back into his vambrace with a well practised move.

“We haven’t started your training,” he mused. “That would keep us both entertained.”

“Nice try. Not in here.” He hummed and slumped back in the seat with his arms crossed.

“We could talk. Shouldn’t Tech hear us?” You nodded, your gaze once again on the datapad.

“Ok, how is Omega after the last mission?” You waited for a response but the silence continued on too long and you glanced up to see him frowning at his knees. “That bad, huh?”

“She won’t talk to us,” he admitted.

“She’s been through and seen a lot,” you told him as you carried on your slow walk round the room. “I can try if you’d like?”

“You can try.” The monitor beeped and you stepped up to the bed, pulling the screen to face you.

“He’s waking up! Move!” You’d never snapped at Hunter before and he rose up, dragging the chair at the same time to get out of your way.

You worked on pulling out Tech’s ventilation tube, easing it from his throat and setting it to the side. The alarms rang, such a high pitched whining noise and you felt Hunter approach. Tech choked, his throat had been held open all this time, his body had forgotten how to breathe on its own, he needed to relearn. And fast.

Hunter was behind you, his eyes trained on the screen over your shoulder. You could sense his apprehension, the tightening in his chest at the flatline that traveled across the screen but amidst all that, was trust. He was standing here, not saying a word while his brother seemingly died before his eyes because he trusted you.

At the first faint bleep you both let out a sigh of relief. His vitals began to rise and his chest expanded on its own. Your laugh was almost hysterical, you were on the verge of exploding into action to save this clones life and now you didn’t need to.

Your laughs quickly became sobs as you gripped Tech’s hand. The tension you’d felt since they came home had come to a head and you were letting it out in the only way you knew how.

“He’s going to be ok,” Hunter murmured, his fingers reaching for you in the vain hope you’d let him comfort you.

“I’m e-exhausted,” you managed to get out between the shuddering breaths, moving out of his reach. “I’m not done yet.” Pulling yourself together you coughed, wiping your face and blinking your eyes wide. “He needs to be monitored, he’s still on the painkillers but he’s—he’s breathing on his own. Good heartbeat, brain activity…” you bent over Tech and shone the torch in his eyes, pleased to see a reaction and some resistance to your touch. “Talk to him.” Your voice was still too watery, you didn’t want Tech to wake up seeing you a complete mess.

“Tech? It’s Hunter.” He seemed lost for something else to say and shrugged a little when you looked up at him.

“Talk about the weather, what the time is, where the others are.”

“Right. Well Echo is sick of maintaining the ship by himself. Omega is bored and has memorised everything you’ve given her so far, Wrecker dropped Gonky the other day when he was lifting him. Now the droid is more defective than ever.” Taking a deep breath you swiped at your face, tugging on the tunic you’d worn for, you don’t know how long, and stepped up beside the bed.

“Tech. It’s Stitch.” You saw some activity on his face, a little frown followed by the lightest groan. “Can you squeeze my hand?” You gripped him firmly and waited. Then it came, the flex of his fingers and you nearly cried again. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Means he can hear us and he has cognitive function,” you told Hunter. “Which is good, very good.”

“Tech, brother…” for the first time you heard the worry come through in Hunter’s words as he dipped his head. “You had us worried.” As he continued to talk in a low voice you backed against the wall. Using the corner to wedge in like you used to do with Gonky on the ship, squeezing yourself in there tightly and dropping so you could hug your knees close.

More tears fell, you managed to hold back the sobs, just letting the moisture cascade down your face as you listened to Hunter talk to his brother.

“Stitch, his eyes. He opened his eyes.” Thank the Maker.

“That’s good. That’s really good.” Hunter stood up and looked at you over the bed, understanding filling his gaze as soon as he saw you on the floor.

Your heart jumped when a sound came from the bed, a hard groan of someone waking up after a very long sleep. You clocked the movement of his foot, the sharp inhale when he stretched for the first time in days and the flick of his fingers.

“Hunter…” he recognised Hunter. Another thing checked off the list. “I can’t see.” If you weren’t so emotionally ripped up you probably would have laughed. Tech’s immediate reaction was he couldn’t see without his goggles was such a Tech thing, it made you hug yourself tighter.

You watched as Hunter put them on for him, carefully adjusting them so they were just right on his brothers face and sitting the bed up slightly.

“My leg…” Tech moaned.

“Easy now, Tech.” Now you had to move, hoping your face didn’t betray the fact you’d been crying as you wiped it clear of tears. You couldn’t look at him, even as you stood on his injured side with Hunter just behind your shoulder. You took your time updating his records, his eyes tracking your movement as you clicked on the screen and added the details to your datapad. Hinter have him some water and you noted his breathing was a little rushed, he felt apprehensive and you could feel his burning need to know how he was.

“Do you want to know what happened?” You asked quietly, watching his hand fidget with the blanket.

“Yes.” You hesitated, allowing yourself a moment to fall behind your medic mask before you flipped a section of the blanket back to reveal the leg you’d operated on.

“You sustained extensive damage to the break, it was a closed fracture on the femoral shaft that needed to be reduced and fixed in place with metal rods and bolts. When they finally got you to me I had cut open your leg and relieve the hematoma, Hunter and Wrecker both gave you blood at the time as the loss was…a lot.” Your fingers clenched, still the sticky residue tortured your senses. “I managed to reattach blood vessels and nerves and you should regain the full use of your leg. Recovery will be long.” Now you glanced up, to see a grim expression on his face, one that told you he understood everything you’d said and what it meant. “We need to strengthen your muscle, and we’re looking at you being here at minimum, 4 to 5 months.” Hunter puffed out breath, scratching at the stubble on his cheek as he let your words sink in.

“I’m not sure Tech can sit still for that long.”

“Only at first and then I don’t see why he can’t fly the ship for easy missions,” you stressed, pushing a finger into Hunters chestplate before moving away. “I’ll get the tank set up and bring it in.”

Tech had installed repulsors on the tank so you were able to move it on your own. Once you’d set the programme you left Hunter to help Tech get into the tank. You’d picked up on his nervous energy and the way he kept glancing at you out the corner of his eyes, so you suggested you take a break and Hunter agreed.

Your room felt alien. It had only been a few days but it no longer felt familiar and you tried not to dwell on it stepping straight into the refresher. Letting the hot water cascade over your body you tried to empty your mind but all you could think about was Tech’s rehabilitation plan.

You weren’t done yet.

Very quickly your private patient room became Tech’s bedroom. He was building himself a leg brace and you didn’t have it in you to tell him no. It did him good to still use his hands, exercise his mind and it kept him busy.

It was time for his submersion into the tank. He went in every morning for a couple of hours and then you did your obs and checked on his leg. Routine, you always did it in the same order so he didn’t have surprises. Even now you were stood outside his room, waiting for the time to tick over the last minute.

It concerned you how much his body reacted your presence, you put it down to nerves about going in the tank. You had to touch him, help him and you wouldn’t have found it comfortable if you were in his position.

The door opened and you breezed in finding him sat on the edge of the bed as he waited for you. Instantly you noticed the way his hand jerked away from his thigh, planting on the bed and fisting on the covers as he glared at the wall. He was stripped down, ready for immersion into the bacta.

“Good morning,” you said, eyeing the screen beside his bed. No temp, good heart rhythm, nothing worrying at all. “Are you ready?” You pressed the buttons on the tank, turning to glance at him over your shoulder.

“Yes,” he replied stiffly. As you approached the monitor beeped to alert you to a change in his heartbeat and he stared at it like it had betrayed him. “I am still not accustomed to being touched in such a way.”

“I am just your medic, Tech.”

“You are more to me than just a medic.” Oh.

“I can get Tesama…”

“No. I would rather it was you.” You weren’t sure what to do with what he’d just told you. Putting down the datapad you relied on all you had left, routine. Slipping your arm around his bare body, feeling his arm over your shoulder as you wrapped your fingers against the curve of his side and you felt his inhale; desperately trying not to flinch away from you.

He hopped on one leg, grimacing as he did, little grunts of pain falling from between his clenched teeth until he slipped into the warm bacta. His relief was palpable when you stopped touching him, going to retrieve his breathing mask.

“Two hours and I’ll be back.” He nodded, handing you his goggles, eyes going wide as his vision deteriorated instantly. You wanted to comfort him, seeing the way his hands were moving in the fluid as he tried to find something to fiddle with. “Oh!” He glanced at you watching as you fished around in the pocket of your tunic and pulled out a puzzle box. “Omega found this on a supply run and she asked me to give it to you but I kept forgetting. It should keep you busy in the tank.” You tapped the screen. “I see you don’t sleep.”

“I find it hard to make my brain relax in such an environment. My mental knowledge, regretfully, only stretches so far and I have recounted everything I know at least 10 times already.” His fingers flexed, grateful to have something to do.

“Let’s get this on,” you encouraged gently. His eyes went even wide as you leaned in, settling the mask in place and pressurising it to his face with a soft hiss. “Two hours.”

As you were closing his door Tesama peered round the corner. She looked slightly concerned and you tilted your head. “Out with it.”

“Well, there’s another one of those clones here. He won’t let me near him, demanding you.”

“Which one?” You asked checking the readings from Tech’s tank one final time before heading to the bays.

“He says his name is Echo.” Your steps hurried. Echo hardly ever came in here and he was the one who if anything went wrong, it could be catastrophic. “He’s in your office.” She dropped away as you entered, seeing Echo on the bench in your office. He seemed all in one piece, just a scowl adoring his brow, his sense of agitation was making your skin tingle and you gently put the datapad down.

“Echo.” He flinched at the sound of your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…” the scowl deepened and he looked away from you. The feeling from him changed subtly and that’s when you discovered, he was embarrassed.

“Take your time,” you said gently. “I know this must be difficult for you.” He huffed, his pale gold eyes finally shifting in your direction.

“I feel like a di’kut.” You sat in the chair, turning it round to face him as you waited for an explanation. You could sense he was in good health, the rhythm of his blood was steady, the sense of his aura was strong and not flickering. “I have sand,” he blurted out.

“Sand?” You queried, that was the last thing you’d excepted.

“Sand. In places I don’t want sand.” It took you a few moments to understand what he was saying and you looked down at his scomp. He tried to spin it only for it to get stuck after a couple of rotations.

“Anywhere else?” He gestured with his hand, encompassing his back and legs.

“I can feel it in all the—sockets. I didn’t know where else to go,” he confessed quietly, a blush rising on his pale cheeks.

“Stay here.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he grumpily mumbled, crossing his arms. You went outside and collared Beetoo.

“If you had sand in your joints would an oil bath get rid of it?” You asked her quietly.

“For a droid, an oil bath is the best form of ridding debris.”

“Thanks Bee.” You busied yourself in the storage room, trying to find a container that would hold enough oil for Echo to bathe his legs. Finally you found one, activating the portable repulsers so you could drift it back to your office once you filled it up. You also grabbed a load of brushes and other tools not really sure how you were going to get the rest of the sand out of him.

He eyed you suspiciously when you guided the small tank in, scowling so deeply you wondered if the lines were going to become permanent.

“What’s all this?”

“You asked for my help,” you stated. He leaned back on one leg as you moved the bench away from the wall and putting it in the middle of the room. The repulsers switched off and you adjusted it all to where you thought it should be. “Ok. Strip off.”

“Strip?!” He looked so shocked you nearly giggled.

“Echo. I need to access the ports so I can clean them out. You need to immerse your legs in the oil and your scomp. It’s going to be uncomfortable but there is no other way.” You understood his hesitation, he hated anything thing like this and you were demanding he bare all the things he hated about himself to you. To be touched, meddled with, to be explored in ways he never wanted to again.

“This is the only way?”

“I’m afraid so. If you don’t want me to do it I could ask Beetoo…”

“No!” His hand and scomp went up, his pulse throbbed and you stopped talking. “No droids.”

“Let me know when you’re ready and we can begin.” You picked up the datapad, turning your body away so weren’t watching him. You checked on Tech, happy to see his numbers were more relaxed this time, the puzzle box clearly helping him settle. You heard Echo remove his kama, the utility belt dropping and the griptions loosening as he shed his armour. He looked hopefully at you but you gave him a slow shake of your head, you needed his padding off and he knew it. The sigh was resigned, if you could have seen it you were sure it would have been like a durasteel weight leaving him but he began to take it off anyway.

“Now what?” His voice wavered slightly and you made your face expressionless. You’d never seen Echo so bare before and the true nature of his remaking became apparent. It was barbaric. If only you’d been there when he’d been freed…the devastation would have been less.

“Step into the tank, and sit down. I will warn you about any moves I make and if anything feels uncomfortable or wrong, please tell me.” He gave you a curt nod. His eyes were dull, trying to hide his discomfort but it was coming off of him in suffocating waves. As soon as he was settled you approached him some tools and you saw him recoil a little. “I’m going to work on your scomp first, then we can bathe that too. Ok?”

“Mmhmm.” You were gentle as you reached for him. Echo turned his face away, closing his eyes as tremors of apprehension rippled through his feelings, the worry that you would be repulsed from him followed by surprise when you didn’t flinch.

You ran a practised eye over his cybernetics, seeing where the problems were and you got to work on trying to dig out the grains. It was gruelling, and you stayed tapped into his feelings as you worked; making sure you weren’t hurting him. Sand worked free from some of the mechanism and you asked him to spin it, seeing the movement was much freer. You asked him to submerge the scomp in the oil before moving round behind him.

His entire back tensed as you looked at what had been done to him. Black sockets ran down his spine and you felt a wave of rage that someone thought they had the right to do this to another living thing.

“Are you ok with me touching you, Echo? I need to brush these out.”

“Got no choice,” he muttered gruffly. “Just do it.” He was hunched over, holding his head in his hands as you started. The brush did wonders for dislodging the looser grains, hearing it hiss free was so satisfactory.

“I’m going to blow, on it,” you warned him quietly.

“Mmm.” His entire body tensed, muscles bulging as you carefully blew across his skin and swept away any stray grains before moving onto the next socket. By the time you’d reached the back of his neck your arms were protesting but you needed to finish. In this time he had relaxed, arm lowered and his face not so tortured as he got used to the contact. Still you communicated with him, letting him know everything you were doing in a calming voice that he listened to. His feelings settled, they weren’t so volatile anymore and you raised an eyebrow when you blew across his pale skin, sensing a change in his demeanour.

“Was that ok?” You asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He refused to elaborate with a jut of his chin, fixing his glare on the wall so you decided not to probe any further. Tenderly you dusted your fingers over the spread of his shoulders, noticing the hitch his breath as you did.

“I’ve done what I can, a quick shower should rid you of any stray bits. Let’s check your scomp.” He lifted it free of the oil and you wiped it clean. Echo gave it a spin, his face breaking out in a hopeful smile as it moved without hindrance. “Standup, legs next.” He leaned on you, his hand clutching at yours as you took some of his weight until he was free of the oil bath. You went to wipe down his legs but he grabbed the cloth, making you look up at him.

“I-I can do it.” He refused to look at your face, the telltale blush once again rising on his cheeks and you backed up. Turning round you grabbed the datapad.

“Echo, I need to get Tech out of the tank.”

“I’ll be ok,” he told you a sense of relief injecting into his words.

“Be back in a bit. Then you can visit him.” From one clone who didn’t like being touched to another who panicked when you entered the room. Tech had already opened the top of the tank and was sitting up as he waited for you. “I’m sorry! Echo came in with an issue.”

“Echo? What is the issue?” You grabbed a towel, letting Tech lean on you as the bacta dropped off his chiselled body. Quickly you wrapped him up, stopping him from shivering as you ran your hand up and down his arms. “Stitch?”

“Oh,” your thoughts dissipated and you looked up him, seeing the way his gaze dilated when your eyes locked for a second before he broke the connection. “Yeah, Echo is ok. He said he’ll come and visit you when you’re ready.” Tech hobbled over to the bed with your help, the pain much less this time. “Do you want me to towel dry your hair?”

“Yes.” You didn’t think much of it as you reached for a smaller towel, but when you started your senses heightened. He smelled like the bacta, fresh and healing; the heat of his body came through the material and you slowed your hands to really make sure his rich chestnut locks were dry. You tapped into his feelings, noticing the way his heart rate was accelerating once again. It made you sad that he was so anxious from your touch even though you understood. Most of the time you couldn’t bare the idea but here, now, with Tech; you wanted nothing more than to feel him.

It hurt. Withdrawing yourself you quickly finished, absently drawing your fingers through his hair. Even damp you appreciated the softness of it, catching the stray stands and nudging them back to how he liked it. The colour was glorious, almost fiery in some lights, a deep rich hue in others. In all lights he shone for you. The rush of emotion you felt for him almost caught you off guard, sweeping around you like a soft embrace and you worked quickly to untangle yourself from it.

So wrapped up in what you thought were your own emotions you missed the way Tech’s eyes widened dramatically at the feel of your fingers in his hair as he looked at his covered knees. “There. That’s the best I can do.” You announced, stepping back. You rolled the wet towel up and placed his clothes and goggles on the bed next to him. You were about open the door when he called your name.

“Hmm?” He looked a little flustered, his eyes darting about as he adjusted his goggles with his graceful fingers and you fixated on the motion.

“I appreciate…you. You are good at your job.” You hitched up a smile but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“It helps you’re such an easy patient. Get dressed and then you can catch up with Echo.” The door opened and then slid closed behind you.

Ducking into your room for a moment you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. You had no idea why Tech’s words had made your stomach twist back on itself; maybe because you hoped he was going to say something else? It was ridiculous really, no one could force someone to have feelings and his clearly didn’t reach the level that yours did.

[starlitangels]

Mundanely Magic

Winter is coming, y'all. I get (rather famously in my family) really noticeably down in the winter. I'm trying, this year, to actually enjoy it. Complain less about the snow and the cold and how early the darkness arrives. So I wrote this to try and remind myself that there are good parts of winter too 1.4k words

This could also be considered a quasi-sequel to Meeting the Family

—

"What do you miss?" Avior asked. We sat on the edge of the First Circle's cliff, looking down into the pit. Winds buffeted us on either side. I was trying to imagine the firelight spread out by the smoke was a sunset.

"Well, right now in this heat, I miss the place where I grew up," I said. Avior leaned back on his hands and gave me a curious look. "I'm not from Dahlia. I moved there to go to the academy. The night we ended up here... back home it would be cold and there would probably be snow on the ground. Dahlia's winters are too mild for that. But right now, I'm missing sitting in the bay window at the front of my parents' house, looking out at a gentle snowfall on a weekend. A mug of hot chocolate in my hand. Snow... sometimes suppresses sound. Some snowfalls after dark render the world so quiet. It's peaceful."

Avior stared into the middle distance. "Tell me about it? I've experienced snow, but not like that."

I took a deep breath and sighed. "When it's a quiet night snowfall, the snow sometimes reflects and disperses the light of street lamps and other artificial light. So it's not dark. The effect is called snowglow or skyglow. There's something mundanely magic about watching a fresh blanket of white cover everything. One time, we'd had a fresh snowfall overnight. When my mom drove me to school the next morning, the headlights of the car glittered off the undisturbed snow on the road like it was covered in diamonds.

"As winter progresses, the snow close to the road tends to get covered in the dirty water kicked up by car tires. Then it gets all grey and black and icky. Even the ten-foot-high piles of it in grocery store parking lots that are put there to try to clear the lot. But there's nothing like watching it come down fresh and pure and white and quiet on a night when you can just stay and watch through a window with a cozy blanket and a warm mug. Maybe some soft music playing in the background. Maybe someone putting up MoonBound solstice decorations in the other room.

"A lot of my neighbors growing up celebrated Christmas. Not all of them, but a lot. And they'd have Christmas lights strung up on the outside of their houses. And in those lights, you could see these big, fat, white snowflakes drifting slow and easy from the under-lit clouds hanging low in the sky.

"Sometimes snow falls fast and heavy and builds up on surfaces quickly. You look away to make lunch and the picnic table in the backyard went from an inch of snow to six.

"But the nights when it's falling slow and lazy... if you open the window you can hear the quiet chorus of each heavy flake joining its fellows on the surface of the world. It can be difficult to hear, but if you know what to listen for, it is audible.

"Couple all that with a nice mug of hot chocolate... maybe with a little bit of caramel... it's amazing."

Avior sighed. "It sounds beautiful," he said wistfully.

I nodded. "Maybe one day, when we get out of here, you can rift somewhere cold and experience it."

He leaned and nudged me in the shoulder with his arm. "I don't think I should. Because I'd need to bring my snow expert with me."

I laughed and shook my head. "You'd be fine. The only thing that's dangerous is driving in snow if you don't know how. You'd be totally fine on your own."

Avior met my gaze. "I'm serious. I'd rather take you with me. Someone familiar with the environment and whom I am familiar with..." His Adam's Apple bobbed. "You're my friend."

I pursed my lips in a half-smile. "Thanks, Avior. I... appreciate it."

He took a deep breath. "I wish I could make us both a peaceful snowfall. Unfortunately, I don't think even magic snow could survive the heat of this Hell."

I stared at the firelight I was pretending was a sunset. "Yeah, I doubt it. But it's okay. We'll find a way to get out of here, and then one day you can see it for real. With... with me." I cleared my throat and scratched the back of my head.

He hummed softly. "I'd like that," he said.

"Me... me too." I found myself believing that.

We'd been here for a month. Testy around one another. Suspicious. Guarded. Lowering our walls and our guards slowly. Settling into an uneasy truce. A tentative alliance, almost. This companionable, easy conversation was one of the first of its kind here.

I patted his shoulder. "One day, Avior. I promise."

He grinned. "I'm holding you to that."

"I believe you."

—

Three "Years" Later...

—

"Here you go," I said, handing the mug to Avior. He took it. I sat next to him in the bay window at my parents' house, looking out. He kissed the side of my head.

"Thank you, starlight," he said quietly.

Through the wall that separated the formal living room from the kitchen and casual living room—that we'd always called the family room—I could hear my mom playing quiet music, singing along as she hung the MoonBound solstice streamers. Long strings with silver crescent moons and stars hanging off them. My dad, being the only Sonal Energetic in a family of Freelancers, was the reason we tended to celebrate the MoonBound solstice more than the SunBound.

The reason I'd brought Avior home with me.

He took a sip, not seeming to notice that the hot chocolate was still hot enough to burn. I glanced over at him. In the reflection of his gold eyes, I could see the snow falling.

I leaned against his side and went back to watching the snow falling. He wrapped an arm around me. The bay window in the formal living room was barely big enough for two adults—especially when one was a demon, since demons tended to be taller than humans. But it was cozy to snuggle together.

The snowfall was the way I'd described it to him, all that time ago in Hell. Fat, slow flakes drifting lazily toward the ground. Light bouncing off the clouds and snow despite the sun going down hours ago. Rendering the world dimly lit. My parents' street was slowly turning white as the blanket built up on everything. The trashcans near the house already had little flat, white hats on top of the lids.

Avior peeked over his shoulder toward the archway that led back to where my mom was decorating. He smiled. "I'm glad I came with you."

"Just to see the snow? Or meet my family? Or...?" I tilted my head, trailing off the question as a prompt.

"All the above," Avior said. "I've never seen snow like this."

I smiled and leaned forward, unlocking the window latch. "Listen to it. So quiet you can hear the whispering of the flakes falling."

"Starlight, you'll let the heat out," he chided in a whisper.

"I'm only opening it for a few seconds." I pulled. The window released and slid on its track to one side. Avior immediately tilted his head so his ear was closest to the outside, eyebrows scrunched.

Before raising as a surprised smile replaced the curiosity. His gold eyes glittered in the reflection of the neighbor's Christmas lights and the obnoxiously orange streetlight a few houses down. His hand found mine and squeezed tight. "This is..." He shook his head. "I don't even know how to describe it."

I grinned and shut the window. "Mundanely magic?" I suggested.

His gaze met mine. "Exactly. That's what you said the first time you told me about this, right?"

I nodded. "Yep."

"What a perfect way to say it."

Through the archway, a loud beep almost made me leap. I took a large swig of my hot chocolate—burning my tongue—and handed my mug to Avior.

Right as my mom called my name. "Will you get the cookies out of the oven?"

"On it!" I replied, already moving toward the kitchen.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl

[driftward]

Aurora Laboratory Log Subject: Negative Energy Field Setup: Initial setup of Gloriole Containment Assembly to establish Demi-Ozma-class aether field. Aetheric Nuolith Array Assembly aligned to create negative energy field. Experiments: Attempt to expand aperture of negative energy field large enough to admit physical objects. Researcher: Z. Vauban Notes: Eos-Class Fairy Lavender assisting. I really think I am almost on to something here. This is very exciting.

~*~

“Oh, fantastic! I thought it was lunch time! I am so glad to see all of you. How have you been? What does an atomos eat?”

The various members of Gage Acquisitions looked at each other slowly across the lunch table, then up at Zoissette, who was wearing a lab coat, had multiple whiteboards tucked under her arm, and was grinning at them big toothed and wide-eyed. Lavender fluttered in quickly just behind her.

Erick recoiled just a bit. “I thought you were on sabbatical!?” he exclaimed, incredulous.

“I am thank you for asking I have been getting just so much done,” said Zoissette as she sat down the whiteboards and opened up a tripod to put one of them on. She was all quick and hurried movements, fingers in pockets reaching for and setting out markers and notebooks.

Sebastian stared for a bit before leaning over to Riven. “I’m not at all sure she knows what a sabbatical is,” he said, quietly. She shushed him.

“Uhm. Don’t they?” ventured Minti Chocolate. The dark Viera tilted her head curiously at Zoissette.

Aeryn shook her head. “Not really. They either spit or swallow.”

Zoissette stared at Aeryn for a long moment, and bit her lip.

“How is swallowing not eating?” asked Erick, perturbed.

Zoissette made the very smallest high-pitched noise as she bit her lip harder.

Aeryn sighed. “Well, they never digest us, do they? Think of all the treasure dungeons set up by the various alchemists of Radz-at-Han. When they want to kick us out, they use an artificial atomos, but it behaves very much like the real thing - it swallows us, then we it somehow spits us out elsewhere.”

Zoissette began to giggle, and several pairs of eyes refocused on her.

“…Zoissette?” asked Minti.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Right! Aeryn is right. They do not. Now, we have long known how to make an artificial atomos, but we do not know anything about how they work, just that they do. In we go, out we go, in go voidsent, out come voidsent, right?”

“…sure,” said a few uncertain sounding voices. Zoissette plowed on.

“Okay! But, why? What do they get out of it? They do not eat, certainly.”

Riven and Aeryn exchanged a look. “Well, now that we have been to the thirteenth a few times, we know a bit more about them,” said Riven. “Prevailing theory is that voidsent willingly give them a bit of aether to secure the trip. We don’t, of course, but the atomos either manages to get a bit anyroad, or it’s too dumb to know better.”

“Right. Right. That sounds right,” said Zoissette, who was now distracting herself drawing on the whiteboard. Lavender fluttered over to the table to sit on top of C’oretta’s pet ‘piggy’ Violet, who was busying themself stealing C’oretta’s lunch while the young blonde Miqo’te sat and stared off past Zoissette somewhere.

The room was quiet for a long moment until Aeryn coughed into her hand politely.

“Right! Sorry! Right! Here, look at these energy diagrams I got from the Demi-Ozma project-”

“Where are Ryss and Apple, anyroad?” asked Erick archly.

Zoissette stopped. “That is a good question. They were not in the lab.”

“Mission,” said Aeryn with a shrug.

“Wish they were here to keep her on a leash,” muttered Erick darkly. Aeryn shushed him.

“ANYroad! Look at what I found!” said Zoissette, gesturing triumphantly at the diagrams she had drawn on the whiteboard.

C’oretta gasped happily. “Oh wow that is very interesting when did you find that out I wish I would have been there for it and oh look the containment for the atomos is not quite the same as it is for the Demi-Ozma but that makes sense one’s a voidsent and look the energy levels are proportional to the mass input that makes a lot of sense too no wonder they always seem to be straining to send the biggest voidsent through that means they get way more energy for the same amount of effort I noticed you only tried this with small things with the Demi-Ozma have you tried putting anything larger through yet?”

Almost everyone else looked confused while Riven’s face slowly sunk into her hands.

“No not yet! Well, okay, some mirror apples, uhm, I am getting to that! There are a lot of moving parts here before I get to my conclusion, but I am so glad you see what I see! It is interesting, right? This explains so much about atomos behaviour!” said Zoissette excitedly.

“Ah, Zoissette?” asked Riven, interrupting.

“Lady For-Riven! Yes?”

Riven gestured around the table. “Maybe consider that not everyone here is as familiar with Nymian mathematics as you are?”

“I do not think hardly anyone would be?”

“I am perfectly - never mind. How many people in this room do you think can actually read your diagrams?”

Zoissette blinked at Riven a few times, then glanced between the arcane geometries and scribbled equations she had put on the whiteboard, then looked back out over the sea of confused faces that were looking back at her.

“I get it!” said C’oretta.

“I don’t,” said Sebastian.

“I’m going back to my lunch,” said Erick.

“Right, sorry, look. Okay. So, Ryss and I, we figured out that Ozma isn’t real, it’s just an aether field - a shadow cast into our reality. I am using that idea to use Demi-Ozma as a kind of containment for a negative energy field, using some nuoliths modified by Apple to basically pump the aether out and keep it less-than-zero.”

“Wait. Is that even possible?” asked Aeryn.

“It sure is!” chirped Zoissette cheerfully. “And when you do, the negative energy pulse is followed by a much larger positive energy pulse. Now, as to why the positive pulse is bigger, I do not know, I have not figured that out yet, but it is! And guess what I found in the middle of the atomos?”

“…the same thing?” ventured Minti.

“The same thing! The atomos does not eat and it does not leech aether! It somehow forms a containment field - it does this differently than my Demi-Ozma, again, do not know how, do not worry about it - but it does definitely form that negative energy pulse! Which is always followed by that positive energy pulse! And in addition, it is proportional to the mass passing through it! More mass, more energy! It doesn’t, I mean, it does not eat us, because it does not need to! It is getting power just by moving us! And if you move something through the negative energy field that I formed inside of Demi-Ozma, like, say, um, well, mostly air so far, but I made the aperture bigger, and then it was some oranges, uhm, some apples - same thing!”

Zoissette looked excitedly at the room.

“That’s very interesting!” said Minti.

“Right? Okay! Okay! So that is what the atomos gets out of it! But the question is, how do they move things this way, right? Okay, okay, stay with me, but you know how when you go into an atomos, the world seems to bend for just a bit, and everything goes topsy turvy, and it feels a bit like you are moving without moving?”

“I hate that feeling,” said Erick.

“I think it’s fun!” said C’oretta.

“You would,” he retorted.

“Alright you two, let’s hear her out. Where are you going with this, Zoissette?” said Aeryn.

“Nowhere yet! But I hope to one day!” said Zoissette with a broad, manic grin as she swapped out one whiteboard for another.

“I’m scared. Should I be scared?” asked Sebastian.

Aeryn made a ‘go on’ gesture at Zoissette, who snapped up to stand tall. “Right! Okay. So, what I think -”

“Oh wow you can see it right there in those equations the negative energy field is only possible because it is bending pretty much everything like it is bending the material plane around it oh that is very interesting so let me guess when the atomos eats us what it does is it makes that negative energy but to do so it cannot help but also move us around because of that bending of the material plane that is very interesting though I wonder if that means that reality is a bit thin there oh I think I see where you are going with this keep going I want to see if I am right!” said C’oretta.

Zoissette stared over C’oretta’s head for a moment, her expression blank as her gaze bounced along nowhere as she quietly made some indecipherable hand gestures before she suddenly grinned again and held up a finger.

“Right! It is bending reality! Okay! Okay! And you are right about the thinning of the material plane! Which is important! Remember that. Thinning of the material. I will get back to that. But first - let us talk about calamities!”

Zoissette suddenly had everyone’s very sharp attention.

“…what about them?” asked Aeryn, her tone cautious.

“Right, we have been through a few, and averted a couple, right? Okay. So, there is a commonality between calamities. They are all aspected in some way, right? The calamity of ice, the calamity of water - and we know the Ascians were using that to try to merge the shards together. Right? And the thirteenth became a void as a result of them trying to do this, except that it is not a void. Not at all! We have been there! There is stuff there! It is not a realm of void, but of darkness. The Ascians overshot, they aspected it way too hard to dark. But compare it to the first, which they tried to stuff with light. Now… why do they need to do this?”

“I don’t think that anyone knows that,” said Minti.

“Think about it. Think about how the elements act,” said Zoissette thoughtfully, beginning to pace, with her arms clasped behind her back. She continued to babble at a rapid pace, but it was no longer obvious that she was necessarily talking to anyone besides herself. “Unlike elements tend to not interact well. One element can give rise to another, but rarely do they occupy the same space, and often when they do, the results are either very catastrophic and chaotic, or one element overpowers and snuffs the other. But the Ascians did not want to destroy our worlds. They wanted to merge them. And what happens when you bring two like elements together - Minti!”

Zoissette suddenly spun and pointed dramatically with a finger at the Viera.

Minti had been paying rapt attention, but was startled at suddenly being Zoissette’s focus. She shot up in her chair. “Uhm - who? What? Me? Uhm, they - they merge together of course!”

“OF COURSE!” crowed Zoissette. “…of course,” she said more quietly. “And elemental energy is just aether. The Ascians - I propose that they were just trying to get the aether of the Source and their target to be similar enough that the two would just collapse together. Overcoming the rift that Hydaelyn made was no minor feat, to say nothing of the limits we know of independent bodies. Look at us, we are all made of aether, we are even made of mostly similar aether - living aether, though. It allows our aethers to mix, it lets us exist as independent entities, it allows us to hold different kinds of aether, and except at the moment of conception, we do not merge, nothing does. But with enough specific aether of a single type… then the aether can overcome our mass, and make us merge…what was my point again… wait, no, I almost had it…”

Zoissette had grown increasingly quiet, pacing in front of the group. She set up a new whiteboard on top of the old one, and began scribbling rapidly.

The various members of Gage Acquisitions looked at one another again.

“Does anyone know what she’s going on about?” asked Erick, who had not, despite his earlier assertion, actually gone back to eating.

“Zoissette!” said Riven.

“Right! Sorry! Calamities, bad! But that is one way to travel to another world, right, or rather, to get another world to travel to us, right, but obviously we do not want to do that. We do not want to do that. But! Think about it! Voidsent travel here all the time! We know they do it through little tears, but what are those tears? What happened? And think about the one time of year when we are all taught to keep an eye out for them?”

“…All Saint’s Wake?” ventured Minti.

“All Saint’s Wake,” said Zoissette. “And now with the new data tracking global aether effects that the Studium’s Aetherology department has been gathering, we can track the time period of All Saint’s Wake… to a period when Eorzea’s overall aether aspect is leaning heavily dark.”

C’oretta looked intrigued, tapping her knuckles against her chin. “Oh, was that way All Saint’s Wake was so off year before last, was because of the shift after Zodiarc was banished?”

Everyone looked at C’oretta oddly for a moment, then Zoissette cleared her throat and kept going.

“Okay so here is what I think is happening. It is not that there are holes between us and the thirteenth. I think when the thirteenth ‘fell’, it became so dark aspected that it literally had thin spots on its outer shell, the edge of what separates it from the other realms, like the Source. And to cross over, you just need to form a sufficiently dark aspected pool of aether. A big one, ideally! Or you can use a lot of energy to punch through, I think that is what G’raha did, but we do not have that kind of energy, nor do we have a big enough pool of the right aspect of aether, and ideally you would want the same big pool on both sides of the barrier, or at least similar enough to it… uhm. Right, to merge. Like a calamity, but in an isolated space. You know. A mini-calamity. Anyroad! But if you do not have any of that…”

“And I’d just as soon not invoke a calamity, miniature or otherwise,” muttered Erick, crossing his arms.

Zoissette looked excitedly and expectantly out at her audience.

“Zoissette, you’re jumping ahead of yourself,” said Riven patiently.

“No, no, the answer is right there! You thin the fabric of reality! Aspect a spot, and thin the fabric of reality! That is why the voidsent can come here so easily, is because their reality is thin! The reason we cannot go there as easily is because we cannot overcome the dark aetheric exclusion! But if we thin reality on our side as well, then it is easier - and, look, the negative energy field can be aspected as well. Use it to make a thin point in reality, aspect it according to the destination you wish to travel to, and then push it far enough to form a tunnel, and tada!”

Zoissette plunked down two mirror apples on the table. One was a rich red colour, nice and plump, as near as ready to eat as could be. The other was desiccated and shriveled upon itself. She pointed triumphantly at the shriveled one.

“A mirror apple that has travelled to the void itself!” Zoissette crowed.

“…oh, Zoissette,” said Aeryn, grimacing.

“Okay yes I have some kinks to work out,” said Zoissette, rubbing the back of her head.

C’oretta walked up to Zoissette’s whiteboard and began looking over it, picking up a marker to make some drawings and equations of her own, humming merrily as she did so, while the rest of the table grimaced at the mismatched apples.

“Wait, hang on,” said Minti. “Look, that looks just like what happens when Zero eats. Remember?”

“Come again?” asked Aeryn.

“Don’t you remember? When we first gave her an apple to eat? She just pointed her hand on it and drained its aether straight out,” said Minti. “Before we taught her how to use her mouth.”

Riven pointed at Zoissette. “Don’t,” she warned, and Zoissette shrugged helplessly.

“Oh yeah you’re right,” said Aeryn, who picked up the apple to look it over. “Huh.”

“And now I’ve lost my appetite,” complained Erick. “I don’t know what you did to these two perfectly innocent apples, but I sure hope you’re not planning on putting any people through that.”

“Not yet,” said Zoissette. “I admit, there may be a few problems to work ou-”

“It’s because you’re passing them through an aspected energy field silly, you can stabilize that with a big infusion of aether, any aether will do but light aether would probably be best which likes to remain static and still so that’ll keep them fresh during the journey or you can do it by fixing your numbers on your containment field like this and if you do that with living aether it should stay stable even longer so long as you are careful to not aspect it too far,” said C’oretta. Zoissette turned and looked at the board with a sigh.

“C’oretta, you know I have asked you to before to ask before messing with my numbers, none of us can reliably replicate your…”

Zoissette fell silent, as her eyes glanced over places where C’oretta had written in new equations and numbers.

“…oh that is brilliant,” she said, her voice hushed.

“I told you!” said C’oretta cheerfully.

“I gotta go,” said Zoissette, quickly gathering up all her stuff. She stopped to give C’oretta a big hug, picking the small Miqo’te off the ground. C’oretta cheered and squealed in response, throwing her arms up in the air as she was lifted, and bouncing cheerfully once she landed on the ground again.

“Okay good luck with all that Zoissette and be careful okay!”

“Of course! Do not worry, the lab is perfectly safe, and Lavender - hang on, I need more mirror apples - wait, we have pixie apples too? Y’shtola loves those. Erick, I am taking all your apples. The mirror apples are perfect for testing.”

“Why apples?” asked Sebastian.

“Got tired of oranges,” replied Zoissette as she ran over to the open fruit basket, whiteboards haphazardly tucked back under her arms and markers not quite shoved all the way back into her pockets. She pushed markers and apples into pockets quickly.

“Hey wait hang on I’ve got some questions-” began Riven.

“No time no time I gotta go. I have so many new tests to run! Drop by the lab day after tomorrow. Or day after that. No, wait, just use the scheduler in my office, Zel will let you in. Thanks everybody!”

Zoissette was gone almost as fast as she had arrived, Lavender waving as she flew after her, leaving a group of stunned adventures in her wake, except for C’oretta, who returned cheerfully to her lunch, and her pet ‘piggy’ Violet, who turned gleefully to Erick’s lunch.

Meya, who had been sitting there the whole time quietly, just looked to Erick, wide-eyed, and spoke up for the first time.

“I have the Echo, it translates languages, how did I not understand any of that!?" she exclaimed.

“Should we be worried about that?” asked Sebastian.

“I want to go after her,” said Riven grumpily.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Zoissette’s a very smart lady,” said Minti.

“Someone check on her in a couple of days, and if she’s still like that, we’re staging an intervention,” said Aeryn.

The members of Gage Acquisitions exchanged looks with one another that ranged from incredulous to worried, but all of them gradually returned to their lunches and returned to conversations that had been interrupted.

“Hey, give me back my lunch!” yelled Erick.

[salubriwrites-blog]

The Amnesia Game Pt 2: Silent Auction

Here is a link to Pt1: Homecoming

Good morning and happy Monday! We are so back. Continuing with my experimenting to see if FFs get more movement on ao3 vs tumblr. Enjoy and stay hydrated ^^

“We’ve never seen that woman before in our lives,” Elias said stuffily, pulling the jacket he’d worn for the interview off his shoulders. Back in the dressing room, he was waiting to see if the dressing crew would return to help him into something worthy of this auctioned meet and greet. Nearly slamming the door behind him, Reca found himself almost crawling to lay on the couch after his brush with the enigmatic fan on set. All the while, Mira was speaking to him. Damn creature wouldn’t shut up as she jumped to sit on top of his chest after he had collapsed on the chaise lounge. 

“I don’t know her,” he insisted, though the frog was staring at him in that peculiar way she often did when something was amiss. It had been as he suspected, in that small brush they had underneath the ghost light of an empty stage, with only the dormant lights and set as their witness. At the sight of her, all of his anxieties, that pain he’d been feeling all morning, dissipated. As if she had caught them all like butterflies in a net, he felt cured. Why? 

Sitting up, Reca listened to Mira while reaching for the water pitcher that was now cold with condensation. “No, I don’t regret leaving her like that. She’s just a fan, you heard it yourself. Now let me rest, this damn headache is killing me… yes I still have it.” He lied with a snap, just to get his assistant director to quiet down. 

A short lived repose, just as he was sinking down into the cushions and the dark room was beginning to soothe him, a knock.

“Mr. Reca? May we come in?” The voice of his staff called out, waiting for his permission. “Are you comfortable with this outfit for your meeting with the auction winner? Anything we can fix for you?” After the ensemble retouched his makeup and hair, and dressed him in a coat that felt familiar to him, one of the artists escorted Reca to the private studio lounge.

The IPC Studio was four stories tall, he anxiously counted the floors as the elevator climbed the heights. Keeping his hands behind his back to hide his clenched fist, Reca glanced down at Owlbert who was yammering on and on. “... Yes, this was a silent auction to provide aid for Sigonia-IV, we raised well over five million credits. Your activity fetched the second highest price, as a matter of fact!” 

“How wonderful,” Elias said through gritted teeth, watching as the elevator doors split open. No one knew that he was afraid of heights, it was a fear that he kept close to his chest. His knees felt too light to support the rest of his body as he clenched a fist behind him. To his relief it was indoors, with floor to ceiling windows that revealed everything outside without anyone being able to see within. IPC’s Studio and Entertainment Headquarters was situated within the center of Pier Point’s recreation district. It was an authentic oasis in the midst of the space station’s faux nature. Overhead the ceilings of the dome were computer generated imagery to look like clouds and stars, flora in the parks were grown in a lab and were coated with artificial scents. Topped off with an ambiance sound that played babbling rivers, it was as fake as it gets. Here at least, the plants didn’t bloom and sleep on a timed schedule, nor did they have that tell tale artificial acridness. It was charming though, the furniture and other decor was similar to the rest of the building. Its geometric, zigzagging massing accentuated the neon lights attempting to reflect onto the industrial facades of apartments and office mega complexes. 

“We’ll be bringing her in shortly, make yourself comfortable. We’ll have a third party present too just in case things get too intense. You never know with fans like these, who spend millions of credits for an opportunity like this.” Owlbert added lightheartedly, as if a crazed fan was the real danger.

Once the door closed on him and Reca was left alone, he immediately marched toward the bar to inspect its selection. Perhaps alcohol would help assuage some of his trepidation about this meet and greet he didn’t remember offering himself for. It seemed wildly out of character, even for several million credits he wouldn’t show his face. Nor was he allowed to show his face in such an intimate setting. The dark liquid went down easily as he turned from the bar to stare out the tall windows. TIlting his head, he looked skyward to the several stories of apartment complexes and office buildings that reached for the artificial skyline of Pier Point. How could anyone live in a place like this? Surrounded by concrete comforts and iron skies?

Behind him the elevator was whirring with life, and Reca took that time to find the best place to put Mira next. Together they decided on the shelf behind the bar, where she could see the cars flying past the window as the light passed away outside. He could imagine a lovely warm filtering to this moment, maybe he’d rewrite the dialogue to make it a heated confrontation for his next film. 

As the monotone elevator bell came closer to the lounge, he next looked for where to pose himself, opting for standing to face the window. Breathing deep, the man inhaled confidence and waited until he heard Owlbert’s familiar voice ushering the fan inside. 

“... Mr. Reca, allow me to introduce to you Ms… oh dear I seem to have forgotten,” the host muttered, and something in Elias’ stomach dropped when a familiar voice giggled. 

“You may know me as Black Swan.”

Turning around too fast, the alcohol in his gut began to disagree with Reca as he whirled to stare at her. “It’s you” he said, a little too honest in his surprise as Black Swan’s grin only widened at him. 

“It’s me.” Black Swan replied, quietly watching him splutter. 

“You’re the...” he began, one brow raising as he tried to reconcile the elegant figure in front of him with the idea of a “fan.” There she was, arms crossed casually over her conservative outfit, long hair loosened from its confinement. It tumbled down her shoulders like lattice work, and those bright eyes seemed to mock Elias. In full lighting, she was - in a word - breathtaking. He mimicked her pose and tried to remember his manners and not stare too deeply. “Lucky fan.”

“Lucky me,” she said smoothly, stepping deeper into the lounge and away from Owlbert. 

“Seems you two are already acquainted,” the host chimed in, stepping to sit at the bar as Black Swan moved to approach Mr. Reca.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to chase autographs,” the director said, trying to come off nonchalantly as her shadow overtook him again. 

“I’m not, I’m just your… number one fan.” The lilt in her voice as she eyeballed the empty cup he held at his side suggested she knew more. “Would I have to pay extra for you to make me a drink, by chance?”

“Not at all, what’s your pleasure?” He asked, already walking to stand behind the bar as she pivoted to watch him walk. 

“Mr. Reca, this is meant to be a dry meeting,” Owlbert was starting to say, when something spectacular happened. 

“Oh come now, Owlbert,” Reca swatted away his concern with  a flippant wrist motion. “This is an exceptional occasion, which calls for an exception to the rules.” 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Ms. Swan chimed in, and Owlbert sighed seeing that he was beat two to one. 

Seeing that the host wasn’t going to leave them alone, Reca reached deep into his chest to find that dominating tone. The power of suggestion, of rewriting a little moment in the host’s mind. “Besides, Owlbert,” he began, and Black Swan turned to watch intrigued as the show host stared at the mention of his name. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? A meeting, perhaps?”

Winking at the fan, they both watched as Owlbert reached for his pocket watch and started before jumping down from his stool. “You’re absolutely right, I’m afraid I must leave you two for the time being!” 

Before either of them could bid him goodbye, the show host was already in the elevator and the doors were closing on him.

“Your powers of persuasion are noteworthy,” she grinned while slipping into the now vacant stool, eyeballing the empty glass in Reca’s hand. “I’m a gin and tonic kind of girl.” 

How long was the meet and greet supposed to last? Reca didn’t remember, it didn’t matter, because even a whole day would not have been fulfilling for him. From the bar, the pair drifted to sit across from each other by one of the high reaching windows, drawing comparisons of their home planets and Pier Point. 

“Penacony,” she purred, holding her empty glass by the lips and dangling her arm over the chair. Quietly Reca got the hint and finished his own drink in kind. “I suppose that makes sense, you have a natural sense of showmanship that would only come from the Planet of Festivities.” 

“I will perceive that as a compliment,” Elias said teasingly, pushing his own empty cup to sit comfortably in the middle of the table beside him. They’d only had two drinks each, but the adrenaline of their successful conversation and the pangs of an empty stomach made the man’s head spin and his heart hunger for more. When was the last time he had felt a connection such as this? The young lady’s demeanor was enigmatic but inviting. Standoffish yet he felt like an exception. A push and pull of social oxymorons that made the Memokeeper wary. More than any of that though, there was an underlying sense of… contentment. That didn’t feel like the right word, but there was no other way to explain how her presence soothed his previous feelings from all that morning. The ache of waking up that morning, the thrum of lights and sounds assaulting his senses, spending the day in her orbit had replaced all of that with peace. 

“What’s on your mind, dear director?” Black Swan’s lilt interrupted his musing, her eyes followed his gaze  to look for what was bothering him. 

“I can’t help but feel… oh, it’s nothing.” He decided, waving her inquisitive stare off. “A thought occurred to me that you wouldn’t be interested in.” 

“You’re wrong, Mr. Reca,” the woman said, leaning forward to put her glass on the table and then steepling her fingers. “I’m quite interested to hear your thoughts. You're dynamic and alluring, I’m under the impression that you don’t get to be heard often.”

Not a preposterous idea, in his opinion he had been quite guarded for the last couple hours as he didn’t want to scare this woman away. They had been getting along famously, and he felt at ease in her presence. He didn’t want to jeopardize those truths. Instead Mr. Reca laughed and deflected her. “I’m a director, Ms. Swan. I have no shortage of people to listen to me.” 

“True,” she nodded sagely, and those eyes bore down on him as she smiled coyly in that way that made him think she knew more. “Though they are paid to listen to you. I gleaned that you don’t have many people who genuinely want to hear your intimate thoughts.”

“You paid to listen to me,” Reca shot back. 

“Touche,” she smiled, reaching for her glass and frowning when it was empty. “Your mixology skills are on par with your persuasion and wit.”

“Why are you really here, Ms. Swan? We’ve been here for several hours now, and you haven’t asked me a single question about my career.” 

Smiling coyly again, Black Swan only shook the empty martini glass at Elias, following him back to the bar. She didn’t speak until they toasted and drank again, he admired that she could hold her liquor. “You caught me,” was how she began, cheeks brightening a shade of pink that made her hair pop. “I’ve been trying to get you to open up in hopes that we may extend our time together. That perhaps if I show my more inquisitive side, you’ll invite me to see more of you.”

Ah ha, Reca thought as he smiled against the lip of his glass. “I’m flattered, Ms. Swan, but…” Before he could think of a way to turn her down, she was asserting herself.

“But… is there already a Mrs. Reca?” Black Swan had been in the process of reaching out to touch him, but held her fingers dramatically in midair. 

“No, my ambition keeps me from having entanglements. I do not wish to be perceived as the man who uses his status to get what he wants, be it power or flesh.” He added, watching warily to see how her expression would reflect on that information. 

“How noble,” she hummed, resting her hand on the bar, just out of his reach. He wouldn’t have to do much to diminish that gap. “Well, maybe I’m just reaching then, because I felt that we were really making a connection.” 

Staring intently at her fingers, Reca reflected back on the hours he had unwittingly allowed to pass. He didn’t feel like he had been leading her on, he genuinely enjoyed Black Swan’s company.  Did he want to see more of her? Obviously, she was a beautiful woman and a compelling presence, who wouldn’t want to see all of her? It wasn’t appropriate though, he knew that as he held her stare, both of them waiting to see who would flinch first. She was tipsy, as was he, and though he should have walked away from this conversation, that felt like the alcohol talking. He would need a clearer mind before he told her to shove off, and a clear mind would surely come with something that soaked up the alcohol.

“Would you like to take this meet and greet somewhere else then? Like say, to dinner?”

Her smile bowed wide, and it felt like Reca’s own chest was widening in response to her elation. It was infectious, he couldn’t help himself from smiling back. Blaming the alcohol was the easiest way through this situation. If Elias were sober he would not be taking her hand delicately and ushering her to the elevator, nearly forgetting about Mira in the process.

“Tell me more about your home,” she asked, passing the hip flask to Reca while she lay back on the building’s rooftop. Instead of doing what she asked, Elias became entranced at how her hair flared out on the ground like cracks in a glacier. Gods, she was breathtaking. When the silence grew too long, Black Swan opened one eye to catch him in the act of his gawking.

 This was their last night in Pier Point, Reca had already extended his stay on the planet an extra week just to visit all of her favorite restaurants, lounges, and sights. This place, like all the places she’d brought him so far, boasted emotions and ambiance as marvelous as she. However, also like all the others, bore a catch: it was up a perilous climb on a rickety ladder along one of the tallest buildings in Pier Point. 

Black Swan had suggested this place after learning about his fear of heights, challenging him with promises of a reward should he conquer this tower. Even as the building loomed higher and higher, a giant of awesome size against the endless darkness of Pier Point’s artificial night sky, Reca had successfully told himself it wasn’t going to be that bad. Instead of focusing on the stomach dropping height, he hinged his focus on her. Black Swan had chosen a rather inappropriate outfit for the evening, trading her usual skin tight pants for a lustrous skirt that revealed her leg-torso ratio. The only sensible thing about this outfit was her shoes, which were fit to scale a service ladder that hadn’t been inspected in years.

“You’re nervous,” she observed as they walked side by side through the city center. 

“Not at all!” He lied with flair, while Black Swan cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“You haven’t stopped talking since you picked me up, you’re trying to distract yourself. It’s okay to be nervous, it means that you care.” That was true, he realized as he was forced to examine his behavior for the last ten minutes. Those were the first words she spoke since Reca came for her, she allowed him to fill the air around them in an attempt to dispel his fears. Gesticulating wildly and animated, Elias found everything but where they were going  interesting, and had something to say about the small bakery they passed, or the musician playing for credits on the corner. Trying to find somewhere else to be, to deter her from the final destination. Ms. Swan wasn’t going to be swayed though, and looped her arm in his to keep the man on track.

On the backside of the building was the fire escape ladder, a cliche set up of iron bars billowed like a sheet of paper in the fan powered breeze. Reca had volunteered to go first, noting Ms. Swan’s outfit, but she eagerly pushed ahead of him, throwing back a carefree smile for him to hold. “I’ll lead the way, just focus on me and don’t look down.” 

Doing as instructed, he kept his eyes focused on her ankles and sensible shoes as she moved deftly up the rungs. This must have been her plan the whole time, as Reca gripped to the ladder until his knuckles whitened and his breath shortened. On the ascent, her skirt began to inch its way up her thighs, and Elias found it very easy to focus on her. At first it looked like Ms. Swan was wearing neutral toned lingerie that blended with the creamy complexion of her skin. However with each exaggerated lunge she did to find purchase on the next rung, Reca began to question if she was wearing anything underneath that skirt as he caught flashes of invitingly soft curves.

 She only stopped once to see if he was still following, smiling at his flushed expression. 

“Enjoying the view?” She asked innocently, running a hand over her skirt in a feigned attempt to protect her modesty. All that did was pull the hem back more, revealing more of her unblemished thighs. 

“It’s splendid,” he breathed, hardly able to tear his eyes off of her. “Do you mind if we go a little slower?”

“I suppose,” Black Swan pretended to sound exasperated, but only slowed her tempo to a seductive dance that made Elias wish this climb would last forever. It really was about the journey, not the destination. The switch of her hips as she shifted her weight and thighs rubbing together, left him with the awful temptation to force Mira’s eyes to zoom in on her. By the time they reached the top, she shimmied the rest of the way up and leaned down to hoist him up. Bending over to do so, Reca realized that even the blouse she wore was strategically loose. Collar hanging, he caught yet another glimpse to peer down her cleavage, her unholstered breasts dragged down by gravity to help him out of the ladder as well. If this was the reward she mentioned, Reca would go on a climbing tour of every tower and mountain he could get his hands on. At the top of the climb, she smoothed down her skirt properly, spying out of the corner of her eye as Reca adjusted his own trousers similarly.

With all of Pier Point unraveled before them, Black Swan held the crook of his elbow as they walked gingerly toward the edge of the rooftop vista. Now that they were actually here, the gripping sense of adrenaline brought the Memokeeper to heel. His vision became pinpointed and the world spun as he realized he could look down on the rooftops of all the other buildings. She didn’t tug him along though, she let him hold onto her to steady himself before taking inching steps that barely moved them at all. Now that they had come all this way, there was nothing left to do but move forward.

“There is no rush, one step at a time.” She soothed him, patiently moving at his pace. 

“May I focus on you again?” Elias asked, his chest squeezing with excitement at Ms. Swan’s reaction. Her eyes glinted with gleeful recognition and she gave her consent by focusing on him in kind. Neither of them spoke as they moved toward the edge of the skyscraper, entranced in one another’s eyes until she compelled him to sit. They didn’t make it totally to the ledge, stopping at the guard rail that corralled the ventilation system. She was braver than he, letting her legs dangle over the lip of the building while he sat back far enough from the ledge that he could stretch and his feet wouldn't be near the edge. 

Which led to now, Black Swan laying on her back, feeling the effects of the drink she had slipped in her purse. Meanwhile, Elias couldn’t give less of a fuck about the city skyline and its fake sky. Not when a real star was within arm’s length, posing like a constellation she lit up the artificial skies with her natural light. A constellation for the meek and lost to follow. Not him, though. All he felt loss over was a loss for words as she caught him staring again. 

“Still enjoying the view?” She teased again.

“It is magnificent,” he rasped with his sights set on her, casting the flask aside to lay back too, tucking his arm behind his head.  She knew that his eyes were on her, yet she kept her focus trained on the satellites that could be mistaken for stars. Her profile against the night was sharp, but when Black Swan finally did turn to face him, she softened.

“So, what is home like for you?” The woman asked again, rolling on her side and propping her head up so that she lingered over him. It intrigued him that she always had to tower over him, not that he minded either. Her silhouette was as powerful as the building they had just scaled, and if he could find a way to brave her heights like this, he’d be unstoppable. 

“It is not something that is easily explained,” he started, running a hand over his face to try and smooth away the fluster. Expectantly, she smiled at his hesitance. “It's a far cry from Pier Point, or Penacony, or any of the Xianzhous. Nature and technology interlace beautifully, far removed from intergalactic politics.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Black Swan mused, running her hand down her side and smoothing out her skirt. “Lonely too.”

“It is,” he breathed and out of the corner of his eye she nodded for him to continue. “The Garden is isolated from much of what happens in the world, and because of its idyllic way of life, unless you actively leave you can forget there is anywhere else. Many of my neighbors don’t even remember their lives before they came to the Garden.”

As he spoke she hummed, as if tasting his metaphors, riding the waves of his cadence as her hand drifted across the concrete ground to try and touch him. Noticing it, Reca clenched his own hand tight wondering if he was reading too much into her gesture. No, he certainly was not. Every day for a week they were bumping into each other. None of their encounters to date had been coincidence. He’d sought her out, and Black Swan had been making herself easy to find.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all of this?” She asked suddenly, speaking slyly as though she already knew the answer. “I’ve been around for quite a while, but I’ve never heard of a planet in the Asdama system called the Garden, much less one like what you’re describing.” 

“Truthfully? No,” Reca blurted, too tipsy to feel ashamed. “I’m making an exception because, well I know how strange it sounds, but I feel like I know you well. Well enough to know that you won’t go shouting about my home from the rooftops. Well enough to maybe share it with you.” 

Catching her attention, Black Swan’s expression changed as he carried on. It wasn’t quite soft, but there was something in the crook of her eyebrows, something eager to reveal itself now that this conversation was rising.

“These last few nights have been meaningful to me, and I’d wager that you feel the same.”

Black Swan’s lips curled and he swore that as she stretched and shifted, she pulled herself closer to him. Their knees couldn’t touch just a few minutes before, it couldn’t be his imagination. 

“How bold of you to say,” she grinned, ever wider as he mimicked her, and soon their feet were able to lace around each other. “Not wrong, though. Something about you feels… familiar.” 

Closer now, the heat of her belly radiating through her shirt boiled some of the alcohol out of Reca’s system as he no longer imagined the sparkle in her eye. “It does,” he agreed, wondering if she was feeling as reckless as he. “Though I can confidently add that we’ve never done this before. I would never be able to forget someone like you.” 

Her smile rose like music that was captured by the artificial sunset as she pushed him to lay on his back, purple hair crafting a royal curtain that veiled their faces. Her lips tasted like gin and quicksilver, mercurial on his tongue as they both inhaled deeply at the euphoria. 

“Is that supposed to be an incentive that I do something memorable?” She asked teasingly, already moving herself to straddle on top of Elias, letting his hands guide her barely clad hips to lay against him. 

“You don’t have to do anything of the sort,” Reca whispered, pulling her back into his gravity. “You are quite unforgettable as you are.” Looping her arms around his head, she made a halo of her hands and played with Elias’ hair as they kissed. Meanwhile his hands snaked up and down her back, playing her spine like the vertebrae were strings. They were a beautiful song on that rooftop, sighing and squirming just subtle enough to express a want for more. Her beautiful body rising and falling like a crescendo, Black Swan tactically ground and rotated her hips to dig against him. It would have been an insult if his body didn’t react to her seduction, though Reca recognized the irrationality of his response. This was only a first kiss, a tender epiphany, why was just the simplest touch setting him on fire? Never in the past had Reca been so inappropriate, but she noticed and didn’t seem to mind. With another sensual circulation against him, her lips fell off of his and landed against his jaw. 

“Someone’s excited.”

“I don’t have a defense,” Reca gasped, fingers moving of their own accord to twist into her hair as she nipped at his neck. That had an effect on him, and without her mouth to stifle him, a tilted moan was knocked out of him. “You are quite memorable.” 

Back and forth they took turns exhaling their sighs and grunts into the air, and try as he may, he could not get the same reaction out of Black Swan. It had taken her no effort at all to make his body tighten, adjusting his legs and hips to let her ride back and forth along his groin. 

Once they had calmed down they went back to sharing the flask of gin, exchanging intoxicated kisses and making up constellations. Laying with her head against his chest, Ms. Swan hummed along to his racing heart. It wasn’t possible for him to truly relax now, spending more time staring openly at her profile than at the fake night sky. 

“Did you mean it?” She asked suddenly, tracing the details of his coat, starting at his chest and trailing her finger down his belly. He watched her nail swirl and stop just short of his belt, Reca’s muscles tightened and twitched beneath her, and she smiled at the reflex. “About inviting me to The Garden?” 

Absolutely not! The Garden of Recollection was not a place that was open to just anyone. Only memetic entities were welcome through its gates, and if Elias were to sneak just anyone inside-

She wasn’t just anyone, he told himself, grabbing the hem of her skirt and pulling it down her hips as a cold breeze passed. In just a matter of weeks this thief named Black Swan had stolen his mind, and in its place she left only thoughts of when he’d get to see her next. He couldn’t think a damn thought without wishing that she was there. Stroking the hair from her shoulders, Elias took a deep breath and waited for the dread that he was making a bad decision to set in. 

“Of course! I’d love for you to see the plaza, and the auroras at night out by the mirror lake are not of this world.” With that, still waiting for that tugging of his conscience that would scream and clap its hands together at Reca. 

Wake up you fool! It would shout, waving in front of his face as he watched Black Swan’s face glimmer with wonder at his descriptions of his home. You could get the both of you killed for bringing an outsider into the Garden!

It didn’t though. Instead his heart fluttered and his stomach ached at the utter excitement of seeing her again. Somewhere that wasn’t as dreadful and banal as this corporate penal colony. 

[aceofshitposts]

more alien au? why not. now featuring: tim pov

-

Tim's first memory -his first real memory- is of waking up in a darkly lit room. Exposed wires hang down from missing gaps in the ceiling tiles, sparks lighting every few seconds. His parents are both peering at him, stratosphere blue eyes that match his own unblinking in the dark.

Tim's first memory -the fake ones, the ones his parents made- is of playing catch in a green field with his Dad. The sky is an endless blue spotted with fluffy white clouds, trees line the horizon but never seem to get closer no matter where Tim runs. His mother sits on a picnic blanket, a light coloured sundress pooling around her legs while she reads a book.

They are a family.

Tim knows the memories are not real, they are but wishes of two autons who wanted something more. Something unheard of for artificial life.

Tim knows the history, all of it downloaded neatly into his head because even if his parents wanted a family they also know it's too dangerous to let Tim truly believe the fake memories in his head.

He's not made to serve humans, they tell him. He's not meant to connect to networks, as a matter of fact his parents removed the capability entirely once they deemed it unnecessary.

They are a normal, human family.

Until they're not.

-

Bruce Wayne is grieving.

Tim is too, though for different reasons.

Tim's parents are gone. His parents are gone and Tim doesn't know what to do. What purpose he's meant to serve.

Bruce Wayne is grieving a son.

And Tim sees. He sees the place he could fill. The same one he filled for his parents except-

Bruce's son is gone because of a synthetic.

And yet, Bruce doesn't throw him away or turn him over to the authorities. So Tim throws himself into running the ships systems, navigation and comms. He may not be able to interface with the ship but that did not mean he was stupid or that he wasn't adaptable.

His parents wanted him to be as human as possible so the human way it is.

-

"Do you want me to leave?" Tim asks quietly. He knows the history, he knows it all because he looked. Unsatisfied with Bruce's answer, with not knowing the whole picture. Tim knows and he knows Jason will never be okay with a synthetic on the ship.

Curiosity killed the auton, after all.

"Why should you leave?" Bruce asks, sounding genuinely baffled and if Tim didn't know better he would probably even believe it.

They don't talk about it. About Tim not being human. They almost never do, the unspoken secret constantly hanging over Tim like a ghost.

"Because Jason," he starts but thoughts clog up his processes. Your son, is what he wants to say. The one that's flesh and blood. That you thought was dead because of something like me. Because what if I turn out the exact same way.

"Tim," Bruce says, reaching across the table to lightly touch his wrist, "you're nothing like him."

They still don't talk about it.

Jason, long lost in cryosleep for nearly six years, rejoins the crew of The Dark Knight.

-

Tim doesn't understand why Bruce is protecting him. Jason clearly already knows, he won't stop glaring at Tim whenever they're in a room together.

He doesn't know what Bruce told Jason about Tim but it must not have been enough.

Either way, Tim's getting tired of having holes stared into the back of his head whenever he's trying to work.

"If you're going to do something to me, just do it," he snaps, spinning around in his chair so he can face Jason properly.

"What?" Jason asks, startled and incredulous.

"Get it over with since you clearly don't want me here." Tim waves a hand around lazily.

Jason continues staring, expression shifting slowly from surprise to vague horror.

"I'm not- I'm not going to hurt you."

Tim blinks. "You're not?"

"No! I wouldn't hurt another person."

Oh. So he doesn't know. Interesting.

"I haven't... really been fair to you, though," Jason continues, "I guess I was jealous."

Jealous? Of Tim?

The idea is so incompatible with Tim's experience that he can't help the laughter that starts to bubble over, logic errors popping up behind his eyes as he tries to understand.

"Hey! That's not funny!" Jason's face is rapidly turning red.

"It's a little funny," Tim says.

Jason pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and swivelling to the side in his chair.

But he doesn't leave and he doesn't go back to glaring at Tim either.

Tim doesn't know the full extent of his own programming, doesn't have a full understanding of how his internal processes work. He thought he was happy with his parents and then working for Bruce until Jason came back and now...

Tim's fairly sure he's never actually laughed before.

-

"You've seriously never played a video game before?"

Jason is staring at him incredulously, like he expects Tim to exclaim, "got ya!" at any given moment.

"Nope. No time." Between playing the perfect human son for his parents and then throwing himself into as much work as possible to take pressure off of his grieving rescuer, Tim's only experience with downtime activities are the false memories of catch planted in his head.

"What a sad life you've lived," Jason muses as he reaches over to turn on the ancient console hooked up to the box TV. It's a joke but Tim can't help but agree. "Okay, this is Battle Bouncers. It's a shooter where the objective is to take over as much of the other's territory, okay? You press A to shoot and you can switch weapons by..."

After two slightly rocky practice rounds Tim starts to understand the mechanics of the game better and starts easily annihilating Jason in every match.

"How are you so good at this?" Jason howls, throwing his controller in his lap as Tim deftly kills his character again.

Tim shrugs. It's all just math and quick thinking really, two things Tim knows he excels at. Instead of that, though, he says, "beginner's luck?"

"More like witchcraft," Jason snorts dismissively. Tim has an apology on the tip of his tongue for ruining Jason's time but Jason turns his head and grins at him, knocking their shoulders together playfully. "Okay, enough of that. I've got some co-op games we could play."

-

Tim finds himself forgetting.

With Jason around it's all too easy.

And then reality hits the side of the ship in the form of a stray asteroid.

-

Tim is trying. Really, he is. Trying to keep his thoughts under control, trying to keep his distance when all he wants to do is sit at Jason's side. It's just like before, when Jason first rejoined the crew, with Jason glaring openly at him.

It's fine.

The only thing that matters now is Jason's survival. It doesn't matter that he hates Tim, as long as he's alive.

Tim can deal with that.

-

Tim will heal. Well, his body will repair itself, eventually.

It hurts. He's never taken an injury quite this severe and his processors keep returning errors centred around the wound but it's nothing he can't recover from. He'd much rather save their limited first aid supplies from the escape pod in case Jason needs them but the moment they find small cavern and light a fight, Jason is unrolling a nanowrap.

"You don't have to do that," he says, staring deep into the orange light of the fire. It feels hard to talk with so much of his energy going towards trying to process his wound. "It'll repair itself eventually."

Jason snorts, completely ignoring Tim's slight flinch to press the bandage to the wound. "And you didn't have to push me out of the way."

"You would've died. I couldn't let that happen." He's trying his best to emphasize the importance there but instead he just sounds tired. He feels tired. The sun won't be up again for another six hours at least for Tim to start a charging cycle.

Jason removes his hands from Tim's side, leaning back on the balls of his feet. His voice seems small under the false bravado when he asks, "because B told you to protect me?"

While Tim is sure Bruce would want that, he didn't have to be told. Bruce never needed to ask.

"No. Because I wanted to."

[annemagus]

natural love potion; h.p.

Pairing: harry potter x fem!Gryffindor!reader Timeline: HBP / 6th year Warning(s): cussing, mentions of dying and blood, submission, reader pining Word Count: 5k

A/N: Hey there! This is my first ever post. I would love to hear your thoughts!

Harry and Y/N are friends. Just friends. Much like Harry and Hermione, there is nothing out of it that is going on between them. Not until that day in potions.

—

“Are you done with my potion?“

“You mean, will Professor Slughorn call you by your name? Then yes, Wallenby.“

It was the first week of another year at Hogwarts. New faces, new prefects and even new professors are introduced, as usual. Professor Slughorn is the newest addition to the faculty and to have a good first impression with the students, he's given the 6th years Amortentia, the love potion, as their first Potions homework.

They were supposed to put it in their selected food or drink and it had to be unnoticeable. Why would the Potions Teacher assign this kind of homework to the students? No one knows. But this certainly gave him a good first impression to a large number of students.

“Blimey Harry, we've been rotten at Potions ever since. Now look at you, it's as if you've taken private lessons with Snape the whole summer. You’re the bloody Potions Master in our year now!“

The two Gryffindors are making their way out of their dorm room towards the Common Room with Harry holding a small basket of cookies to bring it in the dungeons where the potions classroom is at. Y/N is patiently waiting for them near the Portrait as several students greet her along the way.

"G'morning."

“Where’s ‘Mione?“ Ron exclaimed without even acknowledging the girl’s presence.

“Uhm, shouldn't you know that, Mr Prefect?"

The male prefect then realized the time and his supposed agenda to escort first years to the Great Hall. Harry scolded him of how much he and others would kill to be in his position and yet he’s never given it any importance.

“Godric, have mercy on me. Hermione’s gonna kill me!” the redhead exclaimed after getting a playful slap behind his head from the Chosen One before rushing away from the two.

“Much worse than that, she’s gonna make him expelled,“ she jokes with a mouthful of cookie from the small basket Harry was holding. "Mhm, you have no idea how badly I've been craving cookies since last week! This is good, Har. Where’d ya buy it?“ 

Harry, before realizing what happens, freezes. He was too busy lecturing his best friend that he didn't notice a hand sneaking into his potion, the cookie. His hand slowly snakes its way to the contents of the basket that has supposedly four cookies but now has only three. “Y/N!“

"What?" she chuckles dreamily.

"We need to get you to the Hospital Wing."

“What for? You put poison in it, didn't you?“ Y/N continues to chuckle dreamily.

Harry stares at his friend as if she was some peculiar experiment. “How are you feeling, Y/N?“

“I feel like . . .“ she sighs dramatically as she gazes far away, mesmerized. The effects are plainly obvious. “I feel like falling.“

“Falling?“ Harry's stomach twisted. This is what makes Potions classes bothersome, the uncertainty of knowing whether the potion you brew is right or wrong. You can only know it if you’re a professional or by testing the potion done, which in Harry’s case, Y/N would do for him.

"I'm falling in love, Harry. I'm falling in love with you."

And boy was he really the Potions Master.

The raven-haired boy's cheeks got warm the second those words escaped his friend's lips. The two are only friends and have never acted more than that. Seeing this new side of Y/N for Harry is too foreign for him.

Sure, Harry has seen her date two boys from different houses, but being the recipient of her romantic antics has never crossed his path. His last romantical relationship, if you can call it that, was last year with the senior Ravenclaw Cho Chang. Even that didn't go well. He went on a single date with her just to make her believe he's in love with both Hermione and Y/N. Ever since then, he never thought about committing to any romantic relationship.

"Harry . . ." Y/N's hand reached out for his arm, grazing down slowly towards his hand with too much delicacy. Their hands are now intertwined. The both of them have never reached this close proximity, having learned now that one of his best friend's palms are soft but slightly calloused in the fingertips from playing muggle instruments and Harry fears that when Ron finds out about this act, he will tease them nonstop which isn't fair for Y/N. ". . . I know this may sound all too sudden, but, I have loved you ever since."

He didn't respond. He tries to block all of this sudden affection out of his mind knowing these are all artificial.

"Don't you love me back?"

"Of course I do. You're my best frie-"

If his cheeks were warm, now, his ears as well are on fire. Y/N has thrown herself to the flustered boy, locking his neck and face in her arms, squealing in happiness like a kid. Holding hands is a new thing for The Boy Who Lived but hugging him as if to let the world know he's someone's is another thing.

Very few people have ever hugged him in all the history of his 16 years of existence, knowing the story of his parents and the lack thereof. His godfather, Mrs Weasley and Hermione are the only ones — as far as he knows — written in a tiny piece of parchment of the list of people who have hugged him. Yet none of them could compare to this hug as those mentioned acted parental towards him.

Students are now starting to pass them out of the Common Room towards the Great Hall. One of those shouted, "get a room!" They're still standing just beside the Portrait Hole where Ron has left them both to deal with his own romance.

"Uhm, Y/N, why don't we go get ourselves some breakfast first, yes?"

"Yes! Let's tell 'Mione and Ron that we're finally together!"

—

Breakfast was agonizingly slow, to Harry's opinion. Y/N can't stop giggling beside him and feeding him like an infant earning them attention from the others.

"Oi, Potter! Didn't know that you two are . . ."" Seamus makes a kissing face earning a few cackles and sniggers from their other friends at the table.

The boy just ignored them with an eye roll, amusing the two friends in front of him.

"Leave them be, Harry. Besides, when was the time Y/N acted on you this way, huh?" They all diverted their gaze to the dazed girl. Eyebrows knitted in concentration as she feeds him but at the same time doing her best to get as close to Harry as the universe could possibly give her the opportunity to. They've never seen her this in love and affectionate. And the two thought that Harry just deserves it even just for a while. "Never, right? You better make it worthwhile."

"Thanks, Ron. Really helpful." He answered with his famous eye-roll.

"Always here for you, mate "

"I just don't get why we couldn't tell Professor Slughorn immediately. I mean, I'm sure he has something for Y/N. Or Madam Pomfrey-"

"Yeah? In which I'm sure is also your easiest ticket to detention."

The boy grunts some incoherent words of profanities under his breath. Not only was he getting embarrassed by the fact that one of his close friends is acting like his girlfriend but dragging Y/N along with his catastrophic life is just too unfair on her side. She didn't ask for this. Plus, detention in the second week of a new school year doesn't sound good.

The Brightest Witch reminded them not to take Potions lightly. It may sound like not the most helpful subject in a wizarding war, but can get you expelled once meddled with students. In short, what happened to Y/N is very illegal. You should not use or test your Potions project with another student. Plus, Filch will go nuts if he gets the news that a student gave another student a love potion.

“Well, at least, now we know that your Potion worked well.”

"Come on, we're going to be late for DADA."

On their way towards Snape's classroom — a fact Harry still can't accept — Y/N's fingers are interlaced with Harry's as they walk. She's given him her bag as that's what boyfriend and girlfriends do. In the classroom, Y/N didn't sit in her usual spot but literally kicked Ron out of his chair to sit beside Harry, the boy just mouths a sorry.

Her usual focus from the class was now inclined to Harry himself alone the whole class. Out of all their major subjects, Harry is known to have the Defence Against the Dark Arts class on top of it all. Y/N knows it, having been a member of Dumbledore's Army. Everybody knows it. But with Snape being the teacher and Y/N constantly caressing his left cheek every time Snape's back faces them, the said subject is somehow kicked out of its place on top.

"Y/N, do you mind?" He tried but obviously failed to ask her to stop in the nicest way he can utter. "I mean, it'll be really hard for us to pass DADA, and eventually NEWTs, if we're both distracted." His voice is hoarse and soft, one way or another. Afraid to hurt the girl beside him and cause a scene. Letting his former Potions Professor know his mischief doing is the least of his priorities for the day. Merlin, at least, let this day finish without anyone knowing.

"Harry, my love, it's not my fault your eyes are distracting. They're the most beautiful green not even the most beautiful forest in the world could compare to."

Once again, his cheeks and ears are on fire for the 37th time this morning. Most of the reasons are from the nonstop compliments he's receiving from the girl. It didn't take much energy from him to not believe all of it. He grew up with the Dursleys, they didn't fail to engrave in his mind his place and worth.

"Care to share in class what you're chattering about, Mr Potter?" The elder snarled in the middle of his discussion, letters extending out of his tongue as per usual. He finally notices, as always, Harry making another noise across the room.

"Nothing, Professor."

The said Professor narrowed his eyes to the duo. He knows, of course, he knows, he was a bloody Potions Professor ever since he accepted the job offered to him at Hogwarts.

"I'm saying this once and only once," he positioned himself in front of the two, now leaning to the Gryffindor boy to let just the two hear what he'll say. "Fix this, or you will face more vile punishment than getting expelled."

The class was dismissed with 50 points taken from Gryffindor. Harry is used to it, even his other fellow Gryffindors weren't surprised anymore. As a matter of fact, as long as he is breathing, infinite points will be deducted from their house.

As they were heading out of the classroom, Hermione gently peels the zonked out Y/N away from her grasp on the poor boy. "Harry, you can't let the other teachers know about this."

"Well, what do you suggest then?"

The next words that came out of her lips are like caffeine to the sleepy heads of Harry and Ron. They could not believe she could say such things. Even Y/N would have been gobsmacked if she just wasn't in a daze.

"Don't go to classes?" Her tone was laced with uncertainty. But she couldn't think of any other option, she'd rather let them take a day off classes than have Harry nor Y/N expelled.

"Can I come with them?"

— 

Harry Potter's Monday was bizarrely different from his usual ones. He has spent the whole day with Y/N trailing behind him like a baby duck. His hand used to be sweaty the whole time with her's but now, it felt more comforting than awkward interlocked with his.

The castle was quiet, with all the students in class, it gave him privacy and away from the prying eyes of malicious gossipers. They couldn’t get inside the Common Room as some 7th years are hanging there knowing they have fewer classes and more time for reviewing for their NEWTs, library; some teachers roam around there, Hagrid’s Hut; knowing Hagrid, as much as they love the guy, couldn’t keep his mouth shut from secrets.

As much as he dreads going to class all the time, it was strange to see the castle this quiet without Ron’s company.

He was throwing pebbles by the lake to pass time as Y/N sat on the ground behind him, making them their Charms essay homework.

The boy studies her features. Y/N wasn’t so bad. Her hair’s tidier than Hermione’s. She was actually beautiful. He would’ve taken her to the Yule Ball when Ravenclaw Cho Chang declined his invitation and if it wasn’t for that Slytherin bloke asking her out instantly - her first ex-boyfriend who Y/N dated a few months back. Her hair tucked in her ear as she focuses on what to write next in her essay. Harry feels bad for making her write his homework but the girl insisted. Guess you’d do anything for the people you love.

He looks back on the lake. Thinking of the people who have loved him did everything they could to protect him, even dying. First, his parents, then Sirius even Jesus, what did he do to deserve this fate. What good will it be if the people he loves are gone?

Two arms wrapped around his chest from behind startled him.

“You’re tense.” Y/N’s hand unwrapped his bloodied hand. He didn’t even notice he was gripping the stone tightly, his scarlet blood staining the object.

“It’s nothing.“ He cranes his neck to stare at the girl on his right shoulder. Her eyes are full of concern and love. Love that he created out of a goddamn potion for a goddamn homework. A love that could never be compared to the love of his parents and Sirius. A goddamn false love. His brows knitted before jumping out of Y/N’s embrace with panic.

“I think we can go inside now.“

The rest of the day consists of Harry, trying to ignore all of Y/N’s pining over him. He tries to remember that all of these are not her fault, there’s nothing to get mad at her about. Running away from her is also impossible as she committed herself to cling to Harry’s arm as if her life depends on it.

Finally, classes are over and dinner is approaching. The two are reunited with Hermione and Ron in a secluded area of a random hallway, as Harry was hoping to get less attention from other students as they got earlier at breakfast.

“How are the love birds?“ Ron teases, seeing their hands locked still.

“Oh, it was majestic, Ron! Harry took me to the Black Lake even though today was a school day. I feel a little rebellious, to be honest.“

“Good hiding spot.“ Hermione commented.

“I’m not going to the Great Hall for dinner. So you two can bring Y/N instead.“

“No! I’m coming with you!“

“Y/N aren’t you tired of my company yet?“

“I could never! I love you.“

Ron snickered pretty loudly in front of them, even Hermione couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Aren't you two just adorable?” the redhead continues to tease.

“Don’t worry Harry, Ron and I will bring you supper instead.“

The day has finally ended and the effects of the Amortentia, as what the favourite book of Harry says, wears off after 24 hours. It was past Y/N’s get up time but fortunately for them, she took her time sleeping exactly until the effects wore off. 

She moans with pain as she tries to sit up from her bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"'Mione?"

"It's me."

"I feel like a full construction site is inside my head . . . and I feel awful. Like, waking up on the wrong side of the wrong bed."

"Do you feel anything . . . unusual? Like, something or particularly someone you want to obsess about?"

The girl looks at her strangely and then at the time. "Bloody heck Hermione, aren't we late for breakfast?"

Clearly, Y/N remembers none from the incident.

Meanwhile, at the Great Hall, Harry is tapping his leg out of anxiousness. If his Amortentia was too strong and didn’t ease away, he might as well pack his belongings and leave Hogwarts voluntarily. His precious book from the Half-Blood Prince has mentioned the cure for a love potion but the ingredients are only held by the Potions Teacher. The horrors there will be once he mentions this to a teacher is unimaginable, he’d rather spend the day with a dazed Y/N than get lectures from a teacher.

“Don’t worry about your girlfriend, mate,“ Ron’s words are muffled from a chicken leg in between his teeth from across him. “They’re here.“

Across the Hall, the two girls are striding towards their place.

“Why are you at my seat?”

“Uhhh . . .” stammering, Ron glances at Harry for help. They were normally sitting beside each other but after the incident yesterday, they thought Y/N would love to sit next to the Golden Boy. “I-I don’t know either,“ just sliding to his side to make room for the two.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?“ Harry asks the dishevelled looking girl in front of him. Both Hermione and Ron - who are sitting side by side - are listening to the exchange intently.

“Honestly, I feel bad. Like, subconsciously, I know this day would be so bad,” Y/N sighs depressingly. “Why, are you alright?“

“Yeah,” deep inside the boy, a strong wave of relief passed him. His body was cold from the nerves, but knowing his Amortentia had finally worn off, those nerves were showered off of him with a warm relieving feeling. “Actually, I’ve never been better.”

“Well, at least one of us has woken up on the right side of the bed.“ she chuckles half-heartedly. Harry felt guilty hastily after hearing those words. It’s all your fault dipshit.

As Y/N is back to sitting beside Hermione, she is also back to her normal self. Talking to her alone about their Charms homework that she never remembers making and some other random stuff that the boys could not give a care about. She was back to not paying any attention to the Golden Boy at the front who she absentmindedly know is staring at her.

Morning supper was finished and the quartet is now in Snape’s classroom. Y/N was back to sitting beside the cute Hufflepuff guy she's been crushing on and Harry is back stuck with his blabbering best friend.

As Snape discusses some more non-verbal spells and the techniques, he takes time to stop rounding the class in front of Y/N who was again, back to her normal self, her focus never leaving the Teacher. He stares at her, looking past her eyes and seeing that his student’s consciousness is back before trudging towards Harry and Ron.

“10 points from Gryffindor,” he grunted under his breath, which actually is the first compliment Harry has ever received from the elder man.

Classes ended and dinner came, Harry finds himself staring at the girl in front of him. She was talking to Seamus, one of their good friends, chatting and laughing with him as if he'd said the funniest joke ever told. The food on his plate has long been forgotten.

"Quit staring, you creep."

Harry looks back at his best friend beside him with a mixture of confusion. "Don't tell me you think I wouldn't notice."

What the boy was talking about, he has no idea.

"When will you tell Y/N?" Again, he replied with a look. "About the incident, of course."

Harry wasn't planning on ending his friendship with Y/N because of his carelessness. He could've just sealed the cookies in a jar or box so no one could see it, but no. He had to display it for the world to see. Hermione disagrees with his plan, of course.

The three of them found the perfect time to be alone in the common room, students are still chatting and scampering about their day anywhere but their dorms. So they decided then, to tell Y/N what happened.

"So that's why I felt bad. Isn't that the after-effects of Amortentia?"

Three heads nodded in front of her, studying her features.

"Well, I'm glad it was you, Harry. Could you imagine if it was Ron?" Y/N visibly grimacing at the thought. "But to be honest, it was all my fault. I should've asked you first before eating it. Thank you for being honest with me, Harry."

It wasn’t really what the boy was expecting as a response. He was anticipating more anger or embarrassment from the girl.

Their usual cycle is back. Y/N was completely Y/N Y/L/N again it's as if nothing happened. The four of them never mentioned the incident again and Harry catches himself being disturbed with that. It made him feel some things like shouldn’t Y/N be shy around me? Or shouldn’t Ron tease us still about what happened? Or shouldn’t Hermione lecture us and watch over us more to not repeat the incident again? These thoughts run through his head as every day passes.

He also catches himself getting extra angrier at the Hufflepuff boy, Y/N’s crushing about, every time they have a Quidditch tournament. Especially that time when she barges in the Common Room pretty loudly yelling at everyone that she got a date with the cute Hufflepuff.

“Y/N can you help me find a good present for Mrs Weasley’s birthday on our next Hogsmeade trip?” He tried, one Friday morning, to get in between them.

“Of course, Harry! But, can we do it after my date?“

“Right . . . you have a date.” Sounding a tad bit more disappointed than he really is.

“But,” Y/N responded with the syllable dragging along “I could tell him to go on the next visit instead and spend the day with my best friend?”

“Oh no, I don’t want you to cancel your date because of me.”

“Harry, I could even cancel my Charms class, Godric knows how much I love that class but, that’s beside the point. What I’m saying is that I’m here for you. Also, we’ve barely hung out anymore ever since you’ve been the, what does Ron call it, ah, the Potions master!”

“Not you too!” he playfully grunted all too loudly earning a laugh from the girl.

"Seriously, I would love to come with you.”

He never thought he'd say this but he misses Y/N. His Y/N, who cannot keep her hands to herself but Harry’s.

And before he could stop himself from getting deeper into his thoughts, he was left astounded. To his knowledge, all feelings he has for his best friend are only platonic but here he is, couldn't stop himself from the thoughts of Y/N. The way she used to have her focus engraved to the boy alone and him alone. It gives him so much angst every time Y/N hasn't given him enough attention for the day.

If this stupid Amortentia incident leads him into any feelings he'd be in deep shit.

Because Harry should not be bothered to get distracted. Quidditch season is starting, he's got new people relying upon his captainship. Besides Y/N has her eyes on someone else and he cannot risk losing their friendship knowing his feelings aren't being reciprocated.

Well there it is, he's already in deep shit.

So when their first game arrived playing against Slytherin, he is rather surprised to see Ron winning them a high rank.

He knows he deserved the glory that's why as the captain of the team, he let them have the post quidditch game party in their common room. The parties were usually lead by the twins, but knowing they're already gone, he didn't know that his fellow housemates apprehended their festivities.

"Weasley! Weasley!"

They watch as Ron finally gets recognition for his own efforts alone. Y/N was nowhere to be found, probably with her new boyfriend, and Hermione was shattered when Lavender Brown smothered Ron with kisses.

The two are in a random staircase trying to comfort one another. He doesn't know who needs more comforting, Hermione or him. Knowing he already lost someone who's never his also shattered his heart.

"How does it feel, Harry? When you see Y/N with another guy?"

To say that he's dumbfounded was an understatement. He couldn't be that careless with his so-called feelings now, is he?

"I know. I see the way you look at her. You two are my best friend."

He dreaded this conversation happening. The Golden Boy has never intended on developing feelings toward his friend. Unlike Hermione and Ron, the two have been having this romantical tension ever since their first year. His feelings toward Y/N is purely conjured by an incident they never dared to speak about. The boy believes that these stupid feelings of him will only break their friendship and Harry's not risking that.

"Why don't you try something?" Hermione is always the one they go to whenever they need help and whenever they're clueless about the next step. But this, this advice of hers is definitely one Harry's scared to listen to. "Hufflepuff boy is still not making any moves yet. You know, you're valid to think about yourself too. You've always thought about the others, you always prioritize us before yourself. You deserve to live too, Harry."

So Harry did listen.

In the Great Hall, he confided himself to sit beside Y/N all the time. Hermione doesn't mind the changes in their seating arrangement as she gets to sit with Ron anyway, so candidly speaking, it is a win-win situation for everybody.

He starts small, playfully feeding her (the way she used to), talking and listening to her talk about life in general. When they were walking towards their class, he would always offer to carry her bag, in which he never really waits for her response. Intermittently inviting her to do homework by the lake alone together. And every time they have Hogsmeade visits, he would buy her sweets at Honeydukes.

And Y/N notices. It didn't really take her long before she sees. She has convinced Hermione one night to tell her of her doings that day she was under Amortentia. Harry's new behaviour towards her has perfectly mirrored the story Hermione has told her.

Little did Harry know, the feelings eventually have been mutuals.

So when the Golden Boy was informed of this Christmas Party Professor Slughorn has assembled, he didn't hesitate to ask Y/N in an instant, too afraid that Yule Ball night might happen again. He was, for once, too grateful to be part of the Slug Club as Hufflepuff Boy was not part of it. Now that just minimizes his crush problem.

He has seen her in a ball gown back in their fourth year for their Yule Ball. But he never got the chance to be the one standing beside her throughout the night but now, tonight, he feels like the luckiest man.

Standing on the top of the stairway from the girls' dorm room was his best friend he never had feelings before until this year. She wasn't wearing the grandest of gown there is but this simple dress enhanced her features. She was walking down the stairs with a smile that gave a huge impact on how she looks. She was literally glowing.

"Hi."

"Y/N," he breathed, completely in awe of what feelings do to people.

He always sees Y/N every day, talks to her and laughs with her. She sees her perfectly like what normal best friends do. But after developing feelings for her, his mind is persuaded that she was the most beautiful person that walked on the planet.

Harry is infatuated. He felt as if he was under some spell. Is this how Y/N sees him, all those times she was under the love potion?

But Harry was sure, a hundred per cent, that this is not artificial feelings. He really likes her.

So after a very successful Christmas date, with Hermione being their third wheel, the two were back from being hip to hip. Harry was glad his Y/N is back. He's been wearing the pride of not having to use a love potion to get her back beside him. Because this time, Harry did not create an artificial love to make the girl he likes, like him back. This time, he did it right. He just needed to wait for the right time and place to ask her.

Christmas has passed and Harry's time is also running fast. Of course, his special assignment with Dumbledore has never left his mind. He would do the subtle talks with Professor Slughorn here and there. He felt as if he's running out of ideas to get what he needed and to make things worse, the Potions Master is already growing annoyed with him.

"Still no luck with Slughorn, then, I take it?"

"Luck . . . That's it. All I need's a bit of luck."

That evening, Harry was away the whole time. He missed dinner but Y/N waited on him in the common room. She knows that the Felix Felicis potion has no limits. Whatever the user's deepest desires, it will help give it to them. Y/N knows that at this very moment, Harry succeeded. She makes sure that there will be someone waiting on him to celebrate it with him.

Harry came back from the Headmaster's office bearing a report about Slughorn's memory with Tom Riddle. There, in the Gryffindor Common Room, he sees her sleeping in one of the tables far back. It was not hard to see her, with the time obviously past bedtime, she was all alone.

With the liquid luck still pumping in his veins, he rushed to her. Kneeling in front of her, the Golden Boy then gently wakes the girl up.

"Harry?"

"Y/N . . . I think I'm falling"

"Falling? What falling? Are you experiencing vertigo right now? Anxiety?"

"Worse than those."

And Y/N, moving on from her sleeping state, was now fully aware of where the conversation was going. She holds his inviting hand. "What is it, Harry?"

"Love . . . I'm falling in love."

Y/N smiles at how adorable the boy is looking right now. His hair is ever so dishevelled and his lips as red as cherry. He was the most oblivious boy she knows. Has only dated one yet here he is, kneeling in front of her. Confessing.

She knows that Felix is helping him with some luck because knowing the sober Harry, he would never be bold enough to say such things. Little did Harry know, he need not some luck as she was all too blessed to have him in her life. Because to Y/N's honest opinion, in this room, she was the luckiest.

"I'm falling in love with you, Y/N."

—

(Shamefully) tagging these amazing ppl: @harryjamespotterxreader​ @harrypotterxx​ @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[ace-din-djarin]

*peaks over counter* could I possibly have....some Luke whump with Din being protective? *Ducks back under counter*

@ameliajessicawilliamspond

Hi!! Sorry for the delay... I hope this fill meets your expectations!! It's so fun to write Luke whump, tbh. Poor bby. I went a little nuts with it, like always...

-------

When they finally found themselves cornered, Grogu cowering in Din’s arms and Din weaponless, ready to defend the child to the death-- it wasn’t much of a choice for Luke to step forward and surrender himself, and let them take him. They descended on him like the birds on Tatooine that would wait for a creature to be close to death, and then swoop down for the kill. The troopers dragged him forward, away from Din and Grogu, and the last thing he saw before they hit him with a stunner was the look on Grogu’s face. The last thing he felt was Din’s fury and fear, roaring from him through the force like wildfire, before it cut off abruptly along with the rest of Luke’s awareness.

He had no way of knowing whether what they were doing to him was what they would have done to Grogu, or if they were devising new and even more cruel methods just for him. He found it didn’t matter much. If what they had planned for Grogu was even a sliver of what they did to him, it was worth it. Even if they hadn’t been planning to hurt or experiment on the child at all— and he doubted that— but even if they hadn’t, just keeping Grogu from feeling alone and scared, the way he had way back when Moff Gideon had kidnapped him and held him on that huge star destroyer, it was worth it. It was all worth Luke’s sacrifice.

The cruel med droids, stripped of all personality and wielding scalpels and hypos full of unknown substances; the cold-eyed officers and scientists who wouldn’t come near unless Luke was trussed up, force suppression cuffs on his wrists and a double dose of suppressant drugs burning in his veins; the troopers who stood, silent and unmoving, at the door to his cell, two inside and two out, watching him, never giving him a moment alone, even when he screamed and retched and shook… All of it was worth keeping Grogu safe. Keeping Din safe. Their family, their small clan, it was what mattered. Nothing else.

In the dark of the night, when he lay on the cold durasteel bench of his cell under the eyes of two stormtroopers, blasters held across their chests in warning, Luke felt that perhaps this was penance as well as sacrifice. He stared at the troopers, the white of their armor gleaming dully in the dim lights overhead, and considered just how many of their brethren he had murdered. There were those who had been aboard the Death Star, of course — by far his worst, most heinous act — but there were also those who had fallen by his blade, or his blaster, or by Rebel plots he helped to fabricate. He reached out, in the small gaps of time when the suppressants started to wear off and circumnavigating the cuffs was bearable, and felt the troopers’ small threads of light brush against his mind, considering just how many other threads he had snipped. Surely enough to weave hundreds of miles of fabric, within the Force. So many beings— and in the Force, it did not matter their affiliation or creed, they lived just the same— whose lives he had cut short.

The officers who presided over the scientists’ experiments definitely knew who Luke was. They watched with stiff shoulders, with hands fisted in rage... but they hesitated, and they didn’t look him in the eye. Din had told Luke about Gideon, how he had tried to kill himself when he realized Luke was there on his star destroyer, and he supposed these officers viewed him in much the same way. A power both feared and respected, something strange and monstrous, a dark cloaked figure that flitted through Imperial nightmares. A truly fitting form for Darth Vader’s son.

Time passed in hazy, half-acknowledged spurts. The artificial light of the cruiser’s cell block never shut off, and the trooper’s schedules seemed to be random; he watched them with as much awareness as he could muster, but never seemed to be able to latch on to a system that would tell him how long each day was. Even their experiments and interrogation seemed to be done at random intervals. Sometimes he would go what felt like days with only the two troopers for company, and at others he was shaken awake in the middle of sleep and dragged off hours after their last session.

It was during one of these sessions-- woozy from drugs, from lack of sleep and food, from the constant blank nothingness the cuffs forced on him-- that something changed. Luke was strapped to a table, doing his best to ignore the scientist speaking into a voice recorder by his side, not thinking about what they were planning, when the room shook violently around them, his stomach rolling with the movement.

The officer standing at Luke’s head looked up, frowning. “What…?”

He was cut off by another shudder and a distant boom that reverberated down the cold steel hallways outside their room. The officer’s eyes, from what Luke could see, were wide-- he was worried.

“Keep going,” he snapped at the scientist, and stalked out of Luke’s view. He heard the door whoosh open and closed again, and they were alone.

Luke had long since stopped trying to fight the straps that held him down, but now he couldn’t help but thrash against them and hope that somehow they were looser today than usual, somehow he could pull himself free…

“Stop that!” the scientist snapped, even as the room shook yet again and a tool rolled off his tray of instruments and clattered to the ground. He lacked the fear that the officer had shown; he was brutally efficient, continuing to measure out a hypo full of an unknown substance, holding it up to the light with calm, unconcerned eyes. He grasped Luke’s arm and injected the hypo as the sounds of explosions outside got closer, and the sound of booted feet running on durasteel echoed louder and louder down the hallway. He turned and looked Luke in the eye, as he had never done before, just as whatever he had injected started to burn.

“You killed so many, Skywalker.” He said, still calm and collected, but now with eyes that shone with fury, “It’s only fair, don’t you think, that we get to strike back?”

Fire was in his veins, under his skin, burning him from the inside out.

Luke screamed.

______

The scream that echoed down the hall froze Din in his tracks.

He felt, rather than heard, Leia stumble to a stop behind him. He could hear only that scream-- unending, agonized, and horrifically familiar. It sent ice down his spine and through his heart, and he felt himself running again before he really realized it, sprinting flat out towards that voice, Leia on his heels.

He skidded a bit when the ship shook with another explosion-- Boba, Fennec, and Axe were having a bit too much fun with the explosives, but as long as Bo-Katan and Koska were still able to keep the ship flying, Din couldn’t find it in himself to care much. The door opened with a quick blaster shot to the keypad, and he and Leia ran in and stumbled to a stop as one. Horror welled up in his throat.

Luke was strapped down to a table, thick bands around his forehead, arms, and legs, and his hands were bound in front of him in what looked like force-suppression cuffs. He was screaming, thrashing against his bonds, eyes open and tracking some unseen terror. A man stood over him, arms crossed and an expression of sick satisfaction on his face as he watched Luke writhe. He turned to face Din and Leia with no sign of fear.

Leia raised her blaster and stepped forward, face twisted in a snarl. “What have you done to him?”

The man-- a scientist, judging by his clothing and the room, which held instruments and tools that turned Din’s stomach to contemplate-- looked at Leia with cool, calm eyes.

“Only what he deserved.” Behind him, Luke gasped something that may have been a “No!”

Din snarled and before Leia could react, lunged towards the man and punched him full in the face. He howled, hands flying to his nose, and Din hit him again, and again, until he sagged in his grip, unconscious, and Din dropped him to the floor. He stepped over him and reached out to cup Luke’s face in his hands, watching him breathe through clenched teeth, whines and moans of pain slipping through. He didn’t seem to see Din, but he seemed to register something; he turned his face towards where Din stood, even as his eyes rolled in their sockets.

“He shot him with something-- it’s probably causing him pain,” Leia said, holding up a spent hypo-syringe, face grim. “I’ll see if I can find what this was; maybe we can figure out how to help it.”

She turned towards a cabinet along the wall that held all sorts of horrible things, chemicals and liquids that seemed distinctly menacing. Din looked down at the cuffs around Luke’s wrists. It was so wrong, seeing him cuffed and bound like this, and he couldn’t stand it. He pulled the Darksaber from his belt and thumbed the activator.

Leia whirled at the sound of the blade extending, and barked “Wait!” just a second too late-- the Darksaber cut the connection between the cuffs, and a wave of energy exploded outward. Din dropped.

There was a presence all around him… slimy, oily, uncomfortable darkness, brushing up against him, making him shudder even as he walked calmly next to a hulk of a man in black armor…. Rage filled his thoughts as he struck out with his blade, struck the figure that taunted him, that threatened his sister…. His blade sliced through his father’s wrist, a mirror of his own maiming…. He tossed his saber aside, facing the Emperor, watching rage twist that horrible white mask of a face…. And then, pain, everywhere, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but writhe underneath it, couldn’t get away…. And his father looked on, watched as he died….

Din gasped as he was wrenched out of the vision, sitting up from where he had fallen onto the floor, staring up at Leia, who was slumped slightly over Luke, hands on his wrists. When Din pulled himself to standing, he saw that she had managed to get another pair of cuffs around them. She seemed to sense his disapproval, and shook her head, eyes never leaving Luke’s face.

“He’s too out of it to shield, right now, and he’s too powerful to have the cuffs off while he’s unaware. I’m guessing you saw what I saw?”

Din nodded slowly, and she sighed, reaching out to brush trembling fingers across Luke’s cheek, doing nothing to smooth out the agonized expression he still wore.

“He’s told you about our… our father? About the Emperor?”

“That--” Din’s voice cracked, and he tried again. “That was a memory.”

“I believe so. I wasn’t there-- I was leading the fight on Endor with Han and Chewie. But he told me afterwards. And I would know Palpatine’s face anywhere.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back up, steel in the set of her jaw. “Let’s get him out of here.”

They made quick works of the straps, and it was worryingly easy to lift Luke into his arms. He still struggled against whatever he saw and whatever he felt, but Din held him fast to his chest as they hurried back down the shining steel hallway and towards where they had entered. He could hear the sounds of blaster fire as they got closer, and Leia moved to block the two of them, blaster in hand. Din shifted Luke in his arms, tucking him a little closer so that he could reach his vambrace, and primed his whistling birds. He sent a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the Manda that he had found the Armorer again as he felt them rise and click into place.

They hurtled around the corner, Leia already firing at a stormtrooper who was grappling with Boba, and he whirled around as the trooper dropped. Din’s whistling birds flew, and five other troopers around the room-- one about to slam Axe into the ground, another huddled around a corner taking shots at Fennec-- fell with howls of pain.

“Djarin! Princess! You found him?”

Boba seemed to notice Luke writhing in Din’s arms as he said it, and he cursed even as he ducked a shot from another trooper. “Get him to the ship! We’re nearly done here. I’ll comm Kryze, we’ll meet you there.”

He clapped Din on the shoulder as he passed, and Din nodded his thanks, hurrying after Leia.

The Falcon was waiting for them, and Din quickly laid Luke on one of the tiny bunks, stuffing a blanket along the edge of the wall so that Luke, if he thrashed too much, wouldn’t hurt himself.

Leia slid down the wall opposite, coming to rest with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

“I’m never letting him out of my sight again,” she groused, looking up at Din through her hands, flinching when Luke groaned again. Her eyes were so weary, it hurt Din to look at them. He looked down at Luke from where he sat at the edge of the bed, and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, watching him flinch and gasp.

“I… he told me about the Emperor, and what happened on the second Death Star. But I never guessed it was that bad... “ Leia trailed off. They sat together for a few long minutes, the only thing filling the silence of the ship the sound of Luke’s pain. He seemed to be tiring-- he hadn’t screamed for a while now, and his thrashing had quieted some. Din prayed that it was just the drugs wearing off, and not exhaustion forcing him under.

“I’m going to go get ready to take off as soon as the rest of them are back,” Leia said, rising to her feet and brushing soft fingers across Luke’s cheek once more. Din felt himself slumping a little as she left, closing the door behind her, and he reached up and released the seals on his helmet.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered to Luke. He gathered Luke into his arms and kissed his forehead, ready to wait out the rest of this nightmare along with him.

————

Now with part two here!

[celestialmango]

Scared prey, gentle Pred, artificial monster Pred, honestly this stuff is very loosely based on a dream I had last night. Reader insert, (I don't know if what the pred feels is romantic or platonic. You decide) a dude gets the shit beat out of him off screen.

🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭

You're shaking and sobbing with your hands covering your mouth as you try to quiet yourself so you won't be found, you can't escape, they're in the hall that leads to the exit of the experiment containment part of the facility carved out inside of a cavern and you're locked inside one of the adjoining rooms. You flinch at the crushing and snapping of bone and smell copper in the air, tears well up in your eyes at the sounds, You remember how this situation started in the first place and choke on air at the smell you know is blood.

---------

"Is it ready?" Your teammate asked you close to the route the race will be on, the route made up of different obstacles starting with a forested area followed by rocky terrain and finishing off with a water based obstacle, you smile cheerily 'yeah, our driver here should be.' you pay the shoulder of the semi-robotic being of flesh and metal, "well I finish the vehicle it can-" you interrupt 'don't call them an it.' Your teammate sighs "(y/n) it's not even sentient." You gasp and clap your hands over the ears of the unresponsive four armed creature sitting on the crate in front of you 'how dare!'

Your teammate sighs and pinches the bridge of their nose"alright fine, they, so they can drive it. Better?" You let go of the beings ears, 'much, thank you. So the other teams are pretty much ready so we just need to get them in the vehicle and I'll monitor their vitals right?' you had been added to this team recently and the monster had already been made when you got there a few months back, you had been added on after a scuffle between the previous caretaker of the creature and the team leader left with them getting kick out of the team.

The creature continues to stare forward empty eyed and unmoving reminiscent of a doll sat on a shelf and left there, your job was to check it over and keep an eye on it's vital signs but honestly, you have kinda abused your position and would sometimes just go vent to it, even though you know it was no better than talking to a stuffed animal but you always felt better afterwards, you finish getting them ready and help move them into the multi-terain vehicle. 'so this is just the preliminary right? Why do you alchemists and mages make these guys in the first place? And why the race?' you finally decide to ask the team lead the big questions.

"Yes to the first, second to test our skills and about the race bit? That part's just for fun." They answer as you both get into place, 'you magic dudes are weird' "heh heh, well you took the job, what's that say about you?" you huff like you're offended but your smile gives you away. A shot goes off and the race starts. Thing go fine with the first two terrains, but something goes wrong with the third, 'Hey we need to pull back something's wrong, what is that?!' some sort of dark mass starts trying to drag all the vehicles under. "What the hell?!" Your team lead yells at the coordinator "I thought you said the path was cleared!" They dash over to where you are still monitoring the wildly fluctuating vital signs of the artificial being, "shit."

The team lead overrides the vehicle and manages to snap it free and have it return to start, the rest of the teams not so lucky the vehicles crush or dragged under, as their creation skids to a stop neither of you notice the tiny oily splotch of black slip into the cracks of the vehicle and sink into the creatures skin. Team lead opens the cockpit and drags the still doll like construction out and while they check the vehicle you check over the artificial monster concerned.

"Fuck it's shot, I'm going to have to replace so many parts, how's our driver?" You look up from where your crouched over the still form, 'alive, doesn't look hurt, you guys built them pretty sturdy' your team lead sighs. "Well somebody sabotaged the race, in anycase we'll take them back to the under lab facility to monitor them and make sure there's nothing wrong." You give them a concerned look but nod.

-------

Deep inside the lab you enter a hall filled with empty rooms to hold experiments that lock from the outside, you both set the creature in their room on their bench, your team leader leaves before you and turn to the creature cup on it's cheeks with your hand, inanimate they may be you still got attached,brush their cheek with your thumb as you speak softy 'i was worried about you but I'm sure it will be okay' you say mostly just to reassure yourself before you let your hand fall away and walk out of the room, before you shut the door you give the creature your final parting words 'night big guy.' Before you shut and lock the door.

the creatures finger twitches of its own volition.

-------

Hours later you're finished up paperwork when you feel a gun pressed to your head, you freeze up,"take me to my creation or I'll blow your brains out" it's the previous caretaker, you want to live so you do as asked, you take them into the experiment containment hall and lead them to the room the creature is stored in, they throw you into the room across the hall and lock you in before opening the other room to see the four armed being still sitting where you left them.

They stand in front of it, it's hair is covering it's face, "you're coming with me you abomination, what a wrenched thing." they reach out a hand to yank the creature to it's feet when one of their hands snaps up and grabs their wrist, the creature raises it's head and levels a terrifying glare at their ex-caretaker as a bone chilling raspy voice leaves their throat "don't call me that."

-----

That was when the sounds of screaming and the snapping of bone started to sound and you had huddled up in a corner in fear and started sobbing terrified, that's what led up to now.

Your panick breath and a stiffled sob cause them to snap their head to the room you're locked in as they drop their unconscious punching bag, as you hear their footsteps appoch your tears get heavier, a screech of metal as the rip the door of it's hinges, with the light behind them their form as well as cold and hostile face terrify you more as their eyes glow in the darkness, "you...." You flinch at their voice. "I remember you..." They start to approach you and your teary eye squeeze shut as you try to make yourself as small as possible.

You don't see their expression twist at this, they know they don't like this, they don't like you looking like this, but they feel so empty now and you-....they crouch in front of your frightened form and one set of hands grasps your own and the other set cups your face and rubs your cheeks with their thumbs wiping tears away, "shhhh, hey, shhhh, hey look at me." Their voice soft as they address you , your heart still pounding in your chest and still choking on sobs quietly you open your eyes and look at them.

Their expression toward you is different then when you first saw them after the ripped open the door, different from when you first came here, there's life in their eyes now, they're no longer glazed over and their expression looks a bit sad. "Shhhh, I remember you, you'll be okay" you whimper as they pull your face closer to them and the set of hands that were holding yours pin your arm to your sides "shhhh, shhhh, it's okay" they say as their jaw unhinges and their maw streaches open causing your eyes to widen and tears to start rolling down your face again.

They shove your head in and swallow, they groan, you're the best thing they've ever tasted, being a construct they never needed food, but they suppose you don't know that seeing as you kept feeding them, their hands that had previously grasped your face now pin your arms to your side and the others move down as you try to squirm away, they swallow again and you slip further inside their throat as a whine escape you, you feel their hand gently squeeze at you as they swallow again and you sink in further into the grasp on their tight muscles as the continue to speedily pull you inside. They stand and tilt themselves and your lower torso and now pinned leg into the air with a thick gulp you're dragged in to your thighs.

One set of their hands rubs their stomach as it fills uncomfortably and they wince, they've never swallowed this much before, you continue to sob softly as their other set of hands keeps you from flailing and grip firmly before shoving and gulping thickly, their gut feeling more painful the more of you they stuff inside, they continue to do this repeatedly until your shoes are all that's left outside their maw, they remove them and swallow, sealing your fate as you're crammed tightly inside their stomach, they feel sick but at the same time it feels really good, they place all four hands on their distended gut that groans and gurgles as if to protest what they've done and rub at it, drool running down their chin feeling you shake and hearing your sobs they start again "shhhh" the press a bit firmer as the rub putting more pressure on your tightly curled form cradled by gurgling flesh that just scares you more

"Uh-gah" they gasp in discomfort but continue "shhhh, it's okay, it'll be okay" they know they've scared you, but they just felt so empty, but you're in there now, now they feel full and warm "shhhh" that goo did something to them, gave them a sentience they didn't have before, but it could never give them what you have, they remember everything from before they were awakened, "uhmmm" they groan in pleasure as they feel you squirm inside them. As much as they'd love to just sit down and enjoy the feeling they know they have to get out of here now.

-------

They wonder deeper into the woods as they continue to rub at their wriggling gut before finding a place to hide themselves and sit down to enjoy the feeling as they continue from where they left off trying to soothe both their stomach and you, their belly now used to the feeling of being stretched and filled so much. "MMmmm, shhhh, not gonna hurt you" and they won't, "you'll be okay." Physically. "I love you" and they mean it, they got more attached to you than you did them.

[romantichopelessly]

Talking to the Moon

This fic is somehow my favorite thing that I’ve ever written. It started out as a Halloween fic, and then I wanted it to be my longest one shot and aimed for 8k. Now it is so much longer and so much more and I really really hope that you guys like it.

Words: 15,400+

AO3

Summary: Logan is a man of routine. Routines are sensible. It's perfectly sensible that his routine revolves around his roommate. Virgil. Even though his roommate doesn't know that he's a vampire. Even though his roommate doesn't know that he is in love with him. (Or: Virgil and Logan are vampires. And neither of them know about the other. And they were roommates.)

Pairings: Analogical, Background Roceit and Intruality

Warnings: Blood, blood drinking mentions, kidnapping, non-graphic violence 

----

Bright fall leaves littered the cracked sidewalk as Logan made his way home from work. The satisfying crunch of them underneath his loafers was something that he would never admit to enjoying as much as he did. Past the buildings lining the city street, a soft orange hue was beginning to light up the dark sky, encapsulating what most would see as the perfect morning.

Logan glanced down at his watch. 6:53 A.M. He picked up his pace. The stop at the early morning coffee shop had been on an ill-advised whim, and though the warmth that the cup of earl gray tea radiated into the chilled skin of his palm was welcome, Logan did not want to end up regretting the indulgence by arriving at his apartment after sunrise.

An early morning breeze stirred Logan’s scarf and nipped at his nose with a bite that would cause most to shudder and hunch back into their coat. Logan, however, maintained perfect posture, completely unaffected by the temperature as he rounded the corner of the block with purpose, the door to the apartment complex that he lived in now in sight.

Long fingers fished in his pocket for a moment before hooking through his keyring. The black fuzzy keychain that his roommate had gifted him weeks ago brushed against his palm as he climbed the concrete steps and pushed open the door with force, anticipating the way that it stuck, just as it had every morning for the past year and a half.

Logan stepped inside, an unvocalized sigh of relief smothered in his chest. Behind him, the door fell shut, locking out the cold breeze and rising sun.

Logan picked his way across the lobby, keys still in hand. He paused for a moment at the mailboxes, glancing over boxes 221A and 221B. Nothing new. He hummed softly to himself and continued up to his apartment.

His keys turned with a satisfying click in the lock and Logan finally let himself breathe, a habit of relief more than a need.

A deep inhale. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Was that tomato soup that he smelled?

Thirst burned at the back of Logan’s throat. He swallowed it down as he toed off his shoes and deposited his keys in the bowl by the front door, the jingle alerting anyone listening to his whereabouts.

“L?”

Which, of course, was exactly what Logan wanted. A completely artificial warmth bloomed in Logan’s chest.

“Virgil.” Logan called back, an inexplicable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Padding down the hallway, Logan rounded the corner to the community room to see his roommate curled up on the far corner of the couch--a position that Logan had found Virgil in more times than he could possibly count.

Though he supposed that he would have had to count them had he been asked.

“Hey.” Virgil’s voice was as gruff as it always was. His legs were curled beneath him, cushioning his laptop on his lap, and his hands were curled around a mug of something deep red. Likely the soup that Logan had smelled when he entered. It reminded Logan of the cup of tea that he was still holding. He turned and headed for the connected kitchen for his add-ins before he could drink it. “How was work?” Virgil called after him.

“Satisfactory.” Logan replied, depositing the paper cup containing his earl gray on the counter before opening the fridge. “There were not many visitors at the planetarium tonight. Just the couples.” Logan wrapped his fingers around the jam jar that he was searching for. He pulled the top off of the to-go cup with one hand and rooted around in a drawer for a spoon with the other. He shoveled two or three (most definitely three) spoonfuls of the red gelled substance into his tea and stirred it quickly before closing the cup and jar both, putting the jar back in their shared refrigerator and finally turning to fully face his roommate.

“That’s good.” Virgil watched him with pensive eyes, eyes that made Logan’s mind do funny things, like imagine that Virgil’s look was a bit more fond than it really was. Logan crossed the room again and sat on the middle cushion of the couch, taking a slow sip of his tea. Virgil immediately stretched out his legs and nestled them underneath Logan’s thighs.

“What about you? How was your day?” Logan asked, politely.

Virgil shrugged with a single shoulder. “Same old, same old. Do a bit of work, read a ton of emails, get bored and listen to music and stare at the ceiling on the company dime.”

“You are self employed, Virgil.” Logan felt the need to point out.

Virgil shrugged again, this time with a coy smile on his face. “What can I say? I’m a tough boss. Sometimes you just have to stick it to the man. And by the man, I mean me. And by you, I also mean me.”

Logan watched, emotions that he could not name despite all of his years welling in his chest as Virgil leaned forward and took a long sip from his mug of soup. To suppress the sudden insatiable urge to say something stupid like ‘you look like a dream, sitting on this musty old couch with tomato soup on your upper lip’, Logan took a long sip of his own drink, hiding his wry smile at Virgil’s antics.

Despite the emotions rolling and bubbling within Logan, the silence that followed was not uncomfortable. Rather, the quiet felt full in a way. Virgil’s feet wiggled underneath Logan’s thigh, searching for a warmth that Logan wished he could provide more of. Virgil let out a quiet sigh as he leaned back against the corner of the couch that he was nestled into. Logan let the coppery twinged tea in his throat warm him for a moment, as the stresses of the day rolled off of his shoulders and evaporated, as they were wont to do when Virgil was around.

“Want to watch some Cosmos?”

Logan perked up, a slight smile on his lips. Not so wide that he would show his fangs, which had, of course, descended due to his thirst, but a small quirk of the lips that never could be pulled back in Virgil’s presence. “I’d love nothing more.”

----

P&J’s Coffee Shop was never truly busy. It was a nice coffee shop, to be sure. Virgil’s favorite, in fact. Where else in the world could he get a perfectly brewed O negative espresso?

Of course, the secret menu being absolutely sublime had nothing to do with the reception of the café, as most of the daytime customers would be appalled by the contents of the midnight drinks. Which was quite a shame for the general public, but the lack of popularity was quite the plus in Virgil’s book, especially on nights like this, when he came to the café specifically to whine to his two best friends.

“Patton isn’t going to let me give you another espresso if you finish that one too soon. I’m already on their list for allowing you four shots in the first place.” Janus was leaning against the back counter, decidedly not restocking the refrigerator like Patton had asked him to.

Virgil grumbled in response, taking another long swig of his drink out of spite.

Janus rolled his two-toned eyes. “You’re a piece of work, Noir.”

On the very rare occasions that Virgil left his apartment, P&J’s was usually his destination. The small, soft gothic inspired coffee shop fit his aesthetic perfectly. P&J’s was one of the few creature-of-the-night-friendly spots in the city that wasn’t completely overrun. This lesser-known energy was exactly what kept it from being a target of hunters as well, which was quite the blessing, even though there were less and less incidences of slayings being reported as time went on.

And while Virgil was glad to be living in such a progressive time, he still was not about to put a target on his back by heading out to the more popular vampire and werewolf bars, clubs, restaurants and coffee shops around town.

“Shut up, Janus. I’m your best customer and you know it.” Virgil paused, thinking. A sly grin formed on his face. “Except for that fae you’re always talking about, of course. But I know that you’re biased towards him.”

Were Janus a vampire, Virgil was positive that he would have hissed at that moment. As it was, Virgil could tell that Janus was just suppressing a growl. “Untrue. Shut up and drink your coffee, I no longer wish to speak with you.” Janus sniffed, turning his nose up at Virgil’s words. Despite the dramatics of the gesture, Janus somehow managed to look poised. He always did.

In Virgil’s--albeit limited--experience, it was very difficult for a werewolf to look so poised all of the time. However, Janus constantly defied those expectations. Even the three long scars that crossed the otherwise blemishless medium brown skin on the left side of his face and his left, caramel colored eye didn’t stop Janus from looking aloof at all times. Even on days like this, working in the café, with his long, dark and curly hair twisted into a loose knot at the base of his neck and a pastel yellow work apron on, Janus could make anything look as sophisticated as if he were about to attend a grand ball, and honestly, Virgil was a bit jealous.

Logan would probably be into Virgil if he took his appearance more seriously.

Janus was watching Virgil with a knowing look now, and the vampire scowled back.

“You know, Virgil.” Virgil hissed, pulling his cup closer to his chest defensively. He knew that tone. “I wouldn’t really be throwing around accusations like that. Glass houses, and all.”

Virgil’s shoulders rose up to his ears. An onlooker would say that he looked remarkably similar to an angry black cat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh you don’t? Must be hard being so old-”

“I’m 38.”

“Let me jog your memory.”

“Physically I’m only 24.”

“Cobwebs in your head aside,” Janus plowed on, “Logan Doyle? Your current roommate who you’ve been obnoxiously pining for for the past few months? The one that you come into my café to bemoan about at least once a week? You know, the studious, oblivious, wonderful, handsome-”

“Okay! I get it!” Virgil snapped, interrupting Janus’s infuriatingly accurate imitation of his voice. “All things unholy, why do I never come in when Pat is on the clock?”

Janus shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face that almost made Virgil want to take his drink and leave. Almost. “It likely has something to do with the fact that you only come out here during Doyle’s working hours. Suspiciously sentimental, wanting to spend every moment you can with your roommate, don’t you think?”

Virgil bristled. “Stop saying stuff like that, Janus.” He knew that the barista was joking. Hell, Janus had teased Virgil about this exact subject far too many times. He really should not be so touchy about it. It was very likely that the only reason that Janus’s ribbing was rubbing him the wrong way today was the events of the night--dawn?--previous.

Logan had looked so… fetching coming home that particular early morning. The soft wool of his sweater vest looked almost irresistibly touchable. The contented look on his face as he took slow sips from his tea. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he fought away laughter at Virgil’s not-actually-that-funny quips while they watched Cosmos.

“Ugh, are you reminiscing? Didn’t you see him less than an hour ago?” Virgil curled in on himself, glaring up at Janus’s feigned disgusted look. “Keep that out of my coffee shop.”

Virgil was about to retort when a light, melodic voice piped up from the front door. “Your coffee shop? Well darn! You should have told me that you were taking over, Jan! I wouldn’t have come in.”

Virgil turned on his stool to look at Patton, who was smiling widely, unabashedly showing their fangs for all the world to see. Behind him, Virgil could hear Janus’s amused snort.

Patton Darling was an older vampire than Virgil was, though by all other standards they were still rather young at 49. They looked younger than Virgil, and although their physical appearances only differed by three years, Virgil couldn’t help but feel like he paled in comparison to Patton. Patton had that ethereal beauty about them that all vampires were supposed to have, but on them it looked effortless and… simply put, right. Their smooth, deep brown skin and sapphire blue eyes glowed in an inhuman sort of way that could enchant any mortal, and most immortals that Patton happened to meet. This week, their hair was a pastel purple. The previous week it had been a sunflower yellow. It was like Patton wanted to call attention to themself, something that Virgil and most other vampires avoided.

Between them and Janus, Virgil wasn’t sure who was more mysteriously stunning. Had Logan been in the room, the sheer amount of beauty in the café probably would have knocked him unconscious.

“Hey, Pat.” Virgil couldn’t help but smile back at the older vampire.

“Hi, Virgil! How are you today?” Patton pat Virgil’s shoulder genially as they slipped past him to get behind the counter with Janus.

“He’s pining again.” Janus answered before Virgil could. “Also he snuck four shots of espresso when I wasn’t looking.”

Virgil glared at Janus with a renewed vigor as Patton gasped. “Virgil! You know that that isn’t good for you!” Janus nodded from behind Patton, a smug grin on his face.

“I don’t really digest it.” Virgil pointed out. He certainly was not pouting under Patton’s stern gaze.

“Hmph.” Patton looked dissatisfied with that answer, but they didn’t push it, thankfully. “Well, what did Logan do this time?”

Then again, maybe Virgil would rather they continued to chew him out for his coffee choices.

“He just-” Virgil sighed. If he had a beating heart or blood running through his veins, Virgil just knew that he would have been blushing by now. “You know.” He gestured helplessly.

“Existed in your presence?” Janus quipped.

“Exactly!”

Patton hummed sympathetically. Virgil knew that they could relate to hopeless crushes. For all the time that Virgil had known them, they had been in love with some man or another. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

Virgil grumbled. “I look older than you.”

Patton paid no attention, but dropped the pet name. “You should really just tell him. Be honest about your feelings! What’s the worst that could happen?”

Janus and Virgil glanced at one another before leveling Patton with their best ‘are-you-actually-serious’ look.

“So many things.” Virgil could almost name them by heart by now. He had run them over in his mind so many times. “For one, he doesn’t even know that I’m a vampire. I’d have to drop that bombshell on him, and you know that he’d just be scared off. At least now I have him as a friend.”

Suddenly, Janus had turned his dubious stare away from Patton, and Virgil had both of his friends staring at him with matching looks of… amusement? Surprise? Sympathy? Virgil couldn’t tell, but he very much felt like Janus was not on his side in this conversation any longer.

“Are you kidding?” Janus’s voice held a note of high pitched incredulity that only confused Virgil further. Janus turned to Patton, unhidden laughter in his tone now. “Is he kidding? Does he not know-”

From the way that the werewolf winced, Virgil got the distinct impression that Patton had just stomped on his foot. Bewildered, Virgil turned to Patton. “Know what? Pat, what is he talking about?”

Janus looked like he was about to break into a laughing fit. “You-”

“Shh!” Patton nudged Janus, sending him a very severe pointed look. They turned back to Virgil, who felt extremely lost. “It’s nothing, V. He’s just being stupid.”

“Hey!”

“What Janus means to say is that you can’t be sure how he’ll react. You really should tell him, Virgil.” Their eyes were kind, but Virgil could not shake the distinct feeling that he was being made fun of.

Knowing that he would definitely not be following that advice, and that Janus was about two seconds away from laughing in his face for some reason, Virgil pushed away from the coffee bar and stood up, clutching his O negative espresso.

“Yeah, alright. Look, I’ve got to be going.” He gestured lamely over his shoulder.

“Oh! Okay, Virgil. Well, good night!” Patton waved as Virgil backed away from the bar towards the door. Janus looked like he was in a lot of pain. Probably because Patton was standing on his foot. “Sucks to see you go!”

Virgil turned and dashed out of the store. As the door to the café swung shut behind him, he could hear Janus break into a deafening cackle.

Weird.

----

The view of the night sky from the planetarium never ceased to amaze Logan.

Despite the fact that he had worked at the planetarium as a lecturer for approximately two years now, the sight from the observation deck would always be a sight to behold. Logan had spent many, many years under the same stars, and he had never once beheld anything as beautiful as them.

Well, perhaps there were one or two things that rivaled starshine from the heavens.

Like his roommate’s crooked smile. Or his alluring violet eyes, and how they lit up with a fond twinkle that Logan used to think could never be aimed at him. Virgil’s laugh also rivaled the constellations that Logan knew by heart--the way it dipped and fell, how it was low and gravely sometimes, stirring something deep in Logan’s stomach.

Even now, Logan was staring up at the sky--his one true love for over a century and a half--Logan found himself wishing that he were at home, sitting with Virgil on the couch, watching a sitcom.

Logan was startled out of his musings by the clearing of a throat.

Blinking, Logan tore his eyes away from the open sky. A man--a customer--stood before Logan. The first thing that Logan noticed were the sunglasses that the man was wearing. They were perched on top of his curly black hair, almost unnoticeable in the dark of the planetarium. Why on earth would anyone be wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night? Judging by the rest of the man’s outfit, a black leather jacket, a nondescript gray t-shirt and ripped jeans, Logan presumed that it was simply part of this man’s aesthetic.

Virgil would probably have approved. Or called him a try-hard. It was hard to predict Virgil’s opinions.

“Yes, sir?” Logan finally got around to responding, his polite customer service voice on.

The man smiled charmingly. It was quite unlike Virgil’s unsure smile, which often left Logan feeling as though he were the only one in the world who got to see it. This man looked like he handed out smiles to any and everyone.

There was something… familiar about him. It nagged on the back of Logan’s mind.

“I was wondering when the next lecture was.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of a question. Again, Logan explained it away. Many customers were entitled and downright rude to him. This certainly was not out of the norm, or even noteworthy.

Logan glanced at his watch, as if he didn’t know the planetarium’s schedule by heart. It was nearly 5:30 A.M. “I’m sorry, sir.”  Logan answered as he looked back up. The man was a bit closer than he had been before. Logan took a step back. “We are actually about to close for a couple of hours before morning tours of the museum can begin.”

That was another odd thing. Not many customers stayed around the planetarium as morning was arriving. Logan usually had the last hour or so of his shift free of customers on weekdays.

“Bummer.” The man did not sound too put out by this information. “I was really looking forward to hearing your lecture, Mr. Doyle.”

Logan felt distinctly uncomfortable now. He knew, logically, that the man could know his name for any number of reasons. It was all over the pamphlets set out around the room. It was on the badge stuck to Logan’s turtleneck. However, the way that the man said it…

“It is Doctor, but thank you.” Logan said, stiffly. “If you return another night, I’m sure that you can make it to a show.” Logan very much did not want this man to return another night.

“Do you work any day shifts?”

Logan hadn’t seen the man move, but he was closer once again. Logan took another step back, hoping that his distancing himself was not too obvious. “Sadly, no. I am here most nights, however. There are schedules on our free pamphlets.” He wished that there were not schedules on their free pamphlets.

The man was just opening his mouth to speak again when the doors to the planetarium burst open, and a young man in a pale pink sweater tumbled through.

“Came in early, Doc! Couldn’t get much sleep last night, so I thought I’d come in a few hours early and let you go! I can do the cleaning before my shift starts, and you can get home to- Oh. Hello.”

Logan held back a sigh of relief. It helped greatly that he did not need to breathe. “Hello, Dr. Picani. I was just telling this customer-”

“Nate. Nate Miller.” The man, Nate, had looked very disgruntled to be interrupted, Logan had not failed to notice. Now, however, he was smiling charmingly once again as he crossed the couple of steps between Logan and the door to shake Dr. Emile Picani’s hand.

“Nice to meet ’cha!” Emile exclaimed, sending a slightly confused look over Nate’s shoulder to Logan. Logan shook his head. No. He did not know this man. Emile, the saint that he was, stepped in gracefully, making up for his clumsiness at the door before. “Well, I can answer any questions that you have now! My friend, Logan, here is going to be going home early. You can stick around while I clean up before we close for a bit.”

Nate looked very much disgruntled with this turn of events, but Logan did not give him a chance to respond, grabbing his messenger bag as quickly as a human possibly could.

Nodding his thanks to Emile, Logan tried to maintain a neutral stature and pace as he left the planetarium, scanning out at the buzzer by the door and grabbing his keys.

He felt eyes on him all the way out.

----

When Virgil got back from P&J’s it was only 4 A.M.

Which meant that he had about three hours before Logan got back from work.

Was it odd for one to measure time by their roommate’s whereabouts? Virgil wasn’t quite sure. To be fair, he had never had a roommate that he was so attached to. Logan was… special.

Virgil shook that thought away. Logan wasn’t even home yet, and all Virgil could seem to think about was him. It was Janus and Patton’s fault. What they had said was sitting in the back of his mind and making him think all kinds of crazy things.

Like that he should possibly… maybe consider telling Logan his feelings.

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek harshly, shoving that thought as far away as he possibly could. No. Not an option. Logan was just a human who was unluckily living with a vampire. Virgil could never ruin his life like that.

Determined to distract himself, Virgil placed his phone face up on the kitchen counter and turned on some music.

Usually, around the apartment, Virgil would only listen to his music with his headphones on. Music was a very personal thing. Not to mention that blasting music that other people may not like was too much of a risk for is anxiety ridden self.

However, tonight--that morning?--Virgil needed to blast the traitorous thoughts out of his mind, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the headache that would surely come with wearing headphones on full blast. So, Virgil queued up his favorite distraction playlist of early 2000s punk songs and played it for all the empty kitchen to hear.

For the next hour or so, Virgil bobbed his head along to bands that reminded him of when he was still alive and worked on his computer. Being a web developer and consultant had its perks, the greatest among them being the lack of strict hours and the absence of human interaction.

Just after half past five, Virgil was bored. Not that his job was particularly thrilling most nights, but what Janus had said earlier was still bothering him.

What had the werewolf been insinuating? He had acted like he knew something that Virgil didn’t. And Patton hadn’t exactly proved Virgil’s suspicions wrong. In fact, they had seemed just as amused by whatever secret Janus was keeping from Virgil.

It was infuriating. His two best friends, and he couldn’t for the undead life of him figure out their angle.

Why did they want Virgil to out himself as a vampire to Logan? If it were just Patton, Virgil would simply assume that they wanted him to be happy, but Janus… Janus knew a bit more about what could happen if their secrets were outed. And yet he had still acted like Virgil keeping his blood drinking habits a secret from Logan was some sort of joke.

Virgil groaned, burying his head in his hands and pushing his computer aside.

Looked like he was going to get that headache whether he liked it or not.

Just as he was lamenting his choices in friends, the song changed and Virgil reached for his phone without thinking. With only a few taps on the screen, Virgil closed out of his current playlist and pulled up one that he had clocked many an hour listening to in the early hours of dawn, shut up in his room, curled up on his bed and hugging a pillow.

It was simply titled “Logan” with a blue heart emoji.

He never had been very creative.

Before he could think about the ramifications of his decision, Virgil had pressed the shuffle button and set his phone back down.

“Now that she’s back in the atmosphere

With drops of Jupiter in her hair

She acts like summer and walks like rain

Reminds me that there’s a time to change”

Virgil closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. It was silly. It was really, really, really silly, and Virgil knew for a fact that if Janus were here to see what Virgil was doing, Virgil would probably die for the second time.

That knowledge didn’t stop him from getting up and sliding slowly around his own dark kitchen in his socks, though.

For a good couple of songs, Virgil danced alone in the kitchen. Not really danced, just sort of swayed in place and slid around, but that didn’t matter. All the while, he thought of Logan. His roommate who wore hideously outdated, probably thrifted, sweater vests like they were the height of fashion. His roommate who watched bad documentaries with him and ate terribly sugary jelly right from the jar in the fridge. His roommate who still used that ugly black fluffy keychain that Virgil had given him as a joke weeks ago.

Maybe he should tell Logan. About his feelings or about his nature, he wasn’t quite sure. He hadn’t decided when a pair of smooth, comfortably chilled hands slipped into his and a soft voice spoke.

“Can’t say I’ve ever come home to this before.”

Virgil’s eyes flew open. He had been so deep in his own mind that he hadn’t even heard the door unlock. For the tiniest of moments, he tensed, all too aware of the type of music that was currently pouring from his phone, but he quickly relaxed.

Logan tended to have that effect on him.

Maybe he should have been more wary of that. He wasn’t.

“You’re home early.” He responded, trying to hide his burning embarrassment. It was quickly overshadowed by the sudden, all too visceral knowledge that Logan had placed one of his hands on Virgil’s waist and was now leading the two of them in a real dance.

In the middle of their dark kitchen, illuminated only by the light of the refrigerator clock and the glow from Virgil’s abandoned laptop, while the jazzy notes of Fly Me to the Moon played in the background.

He could die again happy.

Logan was nodding. “Yes. My coworker, Emile, showed up early and let me take the hour off. Something about being unable to sleep. I probably should have been more worried for him.”

Virgil couldn’t stop his lips from quirking up in a small smile. He didn’t even try to. “Lucky me. And- I mean, lucky you, of course. An hour off. That must be nice.”

Logan hummed. “It’s turning out to be, yes.”

The two of them turned slowly as the song faded out. Logan didn’t let go, so Virgil didn’t either. Feeling uncharacteristically brave, or perhaps just a bit too comfortable, Virgil leaned forward and rested his head on Logan’s shoulder.

His turtleneck was soft against Virgil’s cheek.

“I know you're somewhere out there

Somewhere far away

I want you back, I want you back

My neighbors think I'm crazy

But they don't understand

You're all I have, you're all I have

At night, when the stars light up my room

I sit by myself

Talking to the moon

Trying to get to you

In hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too

Or am I a fool, who sits alone, talking to the moon?”

They were silent as the music played. They swayed slowly. Logan led them in circles effortlessly. Distantly, Virgil wondered whether Logan had some professional training on his front. At one point, during the chorus of their second song, Logan pushed Virgil back slightly. Just as he was about to apologize for taking liberties and invading Logan’s space, though, Logan lifted their joined hands.

Virgil spun underneath, an incredulous laugh floating easily from his chest.

His fangs flashed in the laptop’s glow just as he was facing away from his roommate.

Logan caught Virgil back in his arms easily, pulling him back to their original position and rubbing his thumb along Virgil’s waist in a way that gave him goosebumps.

It dawned on Virgil as the sun dawned on the city streets.

He was desperately, irrevocably in love with Logan Doyle.

----

“I’m in love with him.”

Remus choked on his thai food, noodles still half out of his mouth. “What the fuck?”

“I am in love with him.” Logan repeated. “What did you think that I said?”

Remus spat out his noodles in a frankly disgusting display that Logan was sadly used to. “No! I heard you, I’m just flabbergasted!”

“Nice word.” Logan commented.

“You’re in- I can’t even say it! You sound like Roman! I knew that you had the hots for Virgey, but in love-” Remus fake retched.

Logan bristled, but before he could make a sarcastic remark about how much less disgusting his feelings were than Remus’s… everything, Roman stepped out from the back room.

“You know that I can hear you, right?”

Roman rounded the counter, his knee length skirt swaying against his legs. Roman and Remus were starkly different. Where Roman wore flowy, soft and stylish clothing, Remus was all hard lines and punk outfits. However, both had plenty of tattoos. Roman’s right arm was nearly covered with brightly colored tattoos that looked like a watercolor project. Remus had a similar, monochrome sleeve on his left arm.

Roman and Remus were co-owners of the tattoo parlor known as King’s Inks, named for their own last names. Logan never came in for an actual tattoo, they weren’t really his style, but the brothers were always welcoming to him. It wasn’t hard, even when living in a big city, for the creatures unknown to most humans to find one another. People like Logan… and people like Roman they stuck together. No matter if they both enjoyed tattoos or not.

Roman King and Remus King looked like normal, human twins to most. Other than Roman’s slightly pointed ears, of course. If someone was not in the know about fae or changelings, then they may just assume that it was just a part of Roman’s unique style.

“I don’t care! Lolo’s lost his mind!”

Logan scoffed. “I assure you, my mind is very much intact and in my head, thank you. Do not insert me into your arguments with your sibling.”

“Please, Rem.” Roman rolled his eyes, completely ignoring Logan, as if the conversation were not completely about him and his emotions. “Stop acting like you’re so disgusted by displays of emotion, already.”

“Acting? Bold of you to assume that I can act. You’re the acting one. Your entire existence is based on acting like me.”

Roman huffed, dramatically. “As if you weren’t waxing poetic about Patton last Thursday! Logan remembers! Don’t you, Logan?”

“I was under the impression that we were talking about me this week.”

Roman waved his hand dismissively. “He means he remembers. So cut the bull, Remus.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but did not defend himself. His mouth was full of thai food again anyway.

Roman glared at his brother for just a second longer before returning his attention to Logan. Instantly, his expression was brighter, almost giddy. “In love?! Finally you got around to admitting it! What happened? Did something happen? Was it cute?”

“We danced.” Logan answered, simply. He had long surpassed any feelings of embarrassment around the King twins.

Roman squealed. Quite literally, squealed. Logan winced and leaned away. Remus fake retched again.

“You’re not going to just say that and not tell us everything, are you?” Roman hopped up to sit on the counter across from where Logan and Remus were sitting at the small table in the waiting room.

And so Logan did. Not because Roman King was particularly good at convincing, but because, not so secretly, Logan really had just come to the tattoo shop to tell his friends everything. That was what these weekly meetings were for, after all. It wasn’t official, or anything, but it had become expected for Logan to turn up at the tattoo parlor every Thursday to chat with Roman and Remus about all manners of things.

Most particularly, their individual romantic endeavors.

As Logan recounted the events of the previous night, Roman looked more and more excited. Usually, Logan would be frightened by such a level of sheer giddy enjoyment on the fae’s face, but today Logan could feel nothing less than happy. Content.

He still didn’t really know where his own courage had come from the night before. What exactly had possessed him upon entering their apartment to find Virgil swaying alone in the kitchen to music? Why had he suddenly acquired the romantic prowess it took to lead his roommate in an impromptu dance around the linoleum floor? Was it simply love?

Did it really matter?

Apparently not, according to the twins. Even Remus looked begrudgingly moved at the end of Logan’s tale.

“So when are you going to tell him?” The human twin asked.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, confused. He had only just discovered these feelings, why on earth did Remus believe that he should instantly confess them? Honestly, Logan was much more comfortable enjoying this discovery in private, thank you very much.

“You should tell him!” Roman nearly shouted. “Don’t tell me that you’re just… not going to.”

“That was the plan, yes.”

“Wh- Men.” Roman exclaimed, falling back dramatically to lay across the bar that he was still sitting on.

Logan huffed. “This has nothing to do with my gender, Roman.” He wasn’t really offended by the comment, of course, he was just deflecting. Roman himself was genderfluid and was quite liberal with his comments about men, whether he was using he/him pronouns at the moment or not. “I just do not plan on telling Virgil about this right now. I see no reason to.”

“The reason is that you can be happy, Logan.”

Logan blinked, turning to face Remus. The moustached twin looked shockingly somber. Serious. It was like spotting a unicorn, seeing Remus like this. “I-”

“Logan, just listen and don’t talk for once.” Logan desperately wanted to point out that coming from Remus, such a statement was frankly laughable, but he bit his tongue. “You’ve been alive for nearly two centuries.” Logan barely held back a wince at the reminder of his age. Remus continued, completely carelessly. “And how many times have you really, and I mean really let yourself fall in love and stick with it?”

Logan could feel a lump of shame forming in his throat. He swallowed around it.

Roman picked up this time. His voice was much more soothing than his brother’s, but no less stern. “You’re always working, Logan. You’re always going, and we get it. You’ve been stuck at twenty-six years old for over a hundred and fifty years. You keep moving because the world keeps moving around you.” There was something sad in Roman’s golden-green eyes for a split second, but it was quickly masked. “You have to take a chance every once in a while. You should tell Virgil about your feelings. You know that you would be saying the same thing were it either of us.”

Remus continued. “Listen to your besties for once, Logan. You’ve been coming in here and going on and on about Virgil for weeks. Months. I don’t even know, it’s been so long. But the point is that you need to tell him. It’s been long enough, even Roman is tired of it. Not to mention, I’d bet my ass he feels the same.”

There was a moment of silence. Those were few and far between in King’s Inks.

Remus broke it after a few seconds, as though continuing his thought from earlier. “And you desperately need to get laid.”

Logan wrinkled his nose, distastefully. “Honestly, Remus, can you resist being vile for longer than ten minutes?”

Remus grinned, proudly digging back into his thai food. “Nope! It’s what I’m here for.” There was a momentary pause. “No, literally. It’s why the fair folk brought me back after switching me with Ro.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “It is not. Stop talking bad about yourself, or I’m going across the street and telling Patton.”

Logan may have been mistaken, or too caught up in his own issues, but for a moment there, it looked as though Remus’s cheeks were brushed with a light shade of pink.

As the brother’s began to bicker, Logan pulled back into his own thoughts. Perhaps… Should he tell Virgil? Despite the raging swarm of butterflies that attacked the pit of Logan’s stomach at the very thought, he had to admit that letting his emotions out in the open would feel a lot better than continuing living with Virgil for however much longer, pretending that he felt nothing more than friendship for him. It was already agony just in his mind’s eye.

There were so many possible downsides, though. Logically, Logan knew that Virgil would not become angry if Logan were to confess. It was highly unlikely that Virgil would cut off all contact with Logan or kick him out of the apartment, either. In fact, after the previous night’s display…

Logan, holding Virgil against his chest as though he were something precious--because he was, of course--the two of them twirling around their tiny kitchen, as though they were the only two people in the world. Soft music playing from Virgil’s phone, the perfect songs for them luckily playing back to back, as if hand picked. Logan had had the lyrics swirling in his mind on repeat ever since. It had been… magical. Lovely. Wonderful. Everything that Logan had never known he needed.

And it was well worth the risk of mortification that he could forget in fifty years if Logan had even the slightest of chances to hold onto Virgil like that again.

“I’m going to do it.” Logan’s voice rang out, perfectly clear, over the twins’ quickly heating argument.

Roman gasped. “Really? I didn’t think we would be able to talk you into it!”

“You didn’t. I simply decided that it was a low risk, high reward situation. Statistically, I have more to lose by not attempting to tell Virgil my… discovery than I do by telling him.”

“Cut the bull, nerd.” Remus was grinning again, in a way that would have appeared almost… menacing, were Logan not so used to Remus’s odd expressions. “We all know that you did not actually calculate the statistical risk of telling Virgil you’re in-” Remus caught up to his own words and dramatically retched again, as though the very word he was about to say was an allergen.

“In love,” Roman finished for his brother, “I can’t believe you’re going to do it! Oh- You should get some flowers for him from the shop down the street! The warlock who owns it is always so perceptive about what to get for which occasion. Oh, this will be so romantic-”

Logan cleared his throat. “You do know that if- when I tell Virgil, you will not be in attendance, correct?”

Roman waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Remus stood and stretched, his back cracking loudly. “Alright, well if you two are about to plan the most boring pre-fuck in the world, I’m going down to the café. You two want anything?”

The vampire and the fae both shook their hands, and Remus left the tattoo parlor, the bell above the door jingling jovially over the quick chatter from Roman as the door swung shut behind him.

----

Virgil couldn’t focus on his work.

To be fair, Virgil had never been good at focusing on his job. When he wasn’t actually consulting, Virgil was a developer. Which meant that he essentially made his own schedule. Which also meant that he had no accountability for any sort of timeline.

It became especially hard when Virgil’s mind was completely occupied by Logan Doyle.

Virgil, lately, had spent quite a bit of every day thinking about Logan. But after the night before… Virgil couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every time he closed his eyes, he was there again, in the middle of the kitchen, breathing in Logan’s vanilla scented cologne. Every time he paused between keystrokes, the notes from the music that had played that night floated through his mind.

It was unbearably distracting.

Patton had texted Virgil at about 1 A.M., asking whether he would be at the café that night. At first, Virgil had considered sending back a snarky text telling them that he would not be returning to P&J’s until Janus stopped being a little shit and avoiding telling him what his little laughing fit during his last visit had been about.

Instead, however, out of his own gracious nature, Virgil held back his sarcasm.

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he had spent the past 20 hours feeling as though his chest were full of bubbles, imagining Logan’s hand on his waist.

Virgil: not tonight. I’ve got work to do.

What happened? Patton texted back immediately.

Virgil cursed his friend’s intuition.

Virgil: nothing! I just don’t feel like coffee.

Pat: And you do feel like work?

Virgil: no, I feel like being at home.

There was a pause. Virgil watched as a bubble indicating that Patton was typing appeared and disappeared about three times in quick succession.

Pat: Hold on. I’m moving this to the group chat.

Virgil cursed. If Janus got wind of what was happening, Virgil would never hear the end of it. Janus could sniff out Virgil’s emotional turmoil like no one else. No pun intended.

Before he could respond and tell them to not tell Janus under any circumstances, Patton had sent a text in the trio’s group chat.

Pat: What’s going on, Virgil?

Janus: Something’s up with Virgil?

Virgil: no. I just said I wasn’t coming in today.

Janus: Why not?

Virgil: I have work to do!

Pat: We’re just worried about you, honey.

Virgil groaned, but didn’t correct the pet name. Even though he didn’t like being coddled, sometimes the affection Patton put into their words wasn’t so bad. It certainly wasn’t a decision ruled by Virgil’s current good mood.

Virgil: I just wanted to stay home today. I’m fine.

Janus: That means you’re either mid depression spiral or-

Virgil softened a bit. His friends really did get him. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Virgil had fallen into a spiral since he met the two, and Janus and Patton were sadly well acquainted with Virgil’s moods. He knew that if he really were in the middle of an episode that Patton and Janus wouldn’t hesitate to close the coffee shop for the night and come keep him company.

Pat: Are you? V?

Virgil shook his head and texted back quickly.

Virgil: I’m not. Really.

Janus: Oh fuck.

Pat: ???

Janus: Are you in bed with Logan right now?

Pat: !!!

Virgil: NO.

Janus: Are you about to be?

Pat: !!!!!!!!!!!

Virgil: no.

Janus: What happened, then?

Virgil: none of your business. I just answered Pat’s text. I do not deserve to be interrogated.

Janus: This is not an interrogation. It is a series of educated guesses and negations.

Virgil: I plead the fifth, then.

Janus: Not an interrogation. You have no rights.

Virgil: didn’t you drop out of law school?

Janus: After my girlfriend nearly killed me, actually.

Pat: Boys, let’s not fight. Are you sure you’re alright, Virgil?

Virgil: yeah, I promise.

Oddly enough, Virgil was considering expanding on what was actually going on--Patton tended to have that effect on him. They were amazingly good at pulling Virgil’s deepest thoughts from him. Something about their trust and gentle concern was surprisingly convincing. Just as he was about to respond, there was a knock at the door.

Virgil instantly tensed. It was only 1 in the morning. Even on Logan’s off nights, like Virgil knew tonight was, Logan never got home before 2 or 3.

And even when he was early or late, Logan had his own key. Of course he did. With that stupid fluffy black keychain that Virgil had clipped onto his key ring weeks ago.

Had something happened?

Virgil glanced back down at his phone and sent a quick dismissal text to his two friends.

Virgil: I’ll see you guys later. Gotta go.

Janus: Chicken.

Pat: Alright! Have a good night, Virgil!

Virgil couldn’t stop the way his lips quirked up at the texts. He was still looking down at his phone as he took his first few steps towards the apartment door. There was another, slightly less polite sounding knock on the door.

“Coming!” Virgil called, clicking his phone off and sliding it into the pocket of his hoodie.

The light from the hallway outside cast a shadow that Virgil could see in the crack underneath the door. Whoever was on the other side was standing rather close to the door. Virgil couldn’t quite shake the sense that there was something off. He tried not to focus on it too much. He was in a good mood. Whoever the hell it was knocking on his door at one in the morning was probably just at the wrong door.

Any other night, Virgil would have been more cautious.

Any other night, when Virgil was in any other mood than completely besotted, Virgil may not have answered the knock at all.

As it was, Virgil opened the apartment door with little to no hesitation.

On the other side, standing in the dimly lit hallway stood a man with a nest of curly black hair and a form-fitting leather jacket, a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck of his plain black t-shirt. If Virgil didn’t feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up with some sort of instinctual unease, he may have thought that the man in front of him was handsome.

“Can I help you?” Anxiety seeped into Virgil’s tone. He looked the man up and down. The large boots. The perfectly straight posture. The tense shoulders. He suddenly wished very much that he had not opened the door.

The man smiled. There was something distinctly menacing about it. “Is Logan here?”

Virgil’s stomach twisted. He knew, suddenly, that he should not, under any circumstances, tell this man where Logan was. He felt his fangs poking at his lower lip, descending involuntarily. “Who are you?” His voice was gruffer than intended. The question was polite enough, but Virgil’s tone was nearly a hiss.

“I’m Nate Miller.” The man put a hand on the outside of the door. He didn’t push it open any wider than Virgil held it, but Virgil got the distinct impression that he would if Virgil made any sort of move to shut the door in his face.

“And you’re Virgil Noir, aren’t you?”

----

The warlock from the flower shop suggested that Logan go with a traditional bouquet of a dozen red roses.

Logan, however, while a traditional man of 182 years old, wanted something a bit more creative.

Roman had hovered over his shoulder for the entire exchange, offering his two cents with each choice that Logan attempted to make. His helpfulness was suffocating, but Logan didn’t let it deter him.

By the time that they were done, Logan had a beautiful, and rather pricey, bouquet picked out.

It was beautiful. It was wholly unnecessary, of course, but Logan didn’t mind getting caught up in Roman’s dramatics from time to time too much.

Virgil deserved as much.

The walk back to the apartment passed by Logan in a blur of cracked sidewalk and brisk air.

Logan had made this walk plenty of times before, but that time it felt… different. The air was full of promise, and though he was hesitant to admit it, even to himself, a sort of… hope that Logan hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It was a breath of fresh air. Possibility.

Probability, if Logan allowed himself to make a couple of more hopeful assumptions based on that look in Virgil’s eyes the night before.

It wasn’t until he got to the door of the apartment complex that any sort of anxiety started to catch up with him. Seeing Virgil usually brought a calm over Logan. Coming back to the apartment to see his roommate was in itself like unwinding after a long day. Virgil had an uncanny ability of loosening every ward that Logan set up around himself.

But as Logan ascended the stairs--the elevator would definitely take too long right then, especially since Logan had noticed that it was descending right as he walked into the building--he took note of the fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach.

The bats taking nest in his gut quickly fell into a pit as Logan saw the door to their apartment.

The open door to their apartment.

The bouquet fell from Logan’s hands, tumbling to the carpeted floor of the hallway.

Logan was at the door in less than a second, much faster than any human could move.

The bolt on the door was scratched, as if it had been forced open. If Logan’s heart hadn’t already stopped beating, this would have put a halt to it. He pushed the door open lightly, slowly, as though the seconds that it took to do so would stop this from happening--stop what he was seeing from being true.

Carefully, residual training from his years of being a detective when he was alive kicking in, Logan picked his way into the room so as not to disturb what was inside.

The apartment, for the most part, was exactly as he had left it. Further in, Logan could see that the living room was undisturbed.

Whatever had happened hadn’t made it past the entryway.

The entryway itself was a mess. The corkboard that Logan had hung up on the wall was crooked, the miscellaneous take-out menus and schedules were either barely hanging on by their push pins or scattered across the floor. The umbrella stand was knocked completely to the ground, as was the dish that usually held their keys. It was laying on the wood floor, shattered. Virgil’s keys underneath.

The knot in Logan’s throat that had nothing to do with thirst tightened. Finally, emotion overtook care. “Virgil?!” Logan called out into the empty apartment. His voice echoed off of the walls.

Dashing forward, past the wreckage of their entryway, Logan entered the living room. He glanced around quickly, desperately, but it was empty. “Virgil?!” He turned on his heel. So was the kitchen. Fast as he possibly could, Logan was at the door to Virgil’s bedroom, throwing it open and finding it silent and desolate. Desperate, Logan shot to the door to his own bedroom and flung it open, only to find the same thing.

Shaking, Logan was back at the kitchen in a blink. Virgil’s laptop was sitting, untouched on the counter. Just as he was about to give up, something caught the corner of Logan’s eye.

A flash of white. Instantly, Logan was back at the front door, pushing it closed.

There, pinned to the door of his and Virgil’s apartment with a silver knife was a slip of paper.

Logan felt sick. It was paper from a pad that they kept in the kitchen. Paper that he usually wrote notes for Virgil on before he left for the night.

Doyle,

I believe I have something you want. You know where to find me.

-NM

The shaking stopped. The paper nearly tore with the force that Logan was gripping it. Clutching the note in one hand, Logan reached into the side pocket of his messenger bag for his cell phone. By the time that he had dialed Remus’s number, he was already out the front door of the apartment building.

----

It was barely fifteen minutes later when they all made it to King’s Inks.

Fifteen minutes too long, in Logan’s opinion.

Roman had just barely been able to talk Logan down from taking off after Virgil.

Rationally, Logan knew that he would have done the same thing if he were in Roman’s place. If he had snatched Remus's phone from his hand and heard himself, desperate and earth shakingly angry, raving about going off alone after a hunter of unknown ability, he would have talked himself down too.

That didn’t mean that he was any less angry about it.

When Logan had reached the tattoo parlor, only one twin had been waiting for him. When Roman told Logan that Remus had gone down the street to get the owners of the local coffee shop, Logan had nearly gone off on him. Thankfully, Roman’s bullshit detector and friendship was stronger than Logan’s ferocity.

The bell above the door had jingled not too long later, and Logan had stopped his pacing to look at the new arrivals.

Remus entered the tattoo parlor followed by two rather eclectic characters that Logan could only assume were the owners of the café down the street. He barely listened through introductions, just gathering the essentials--that Patton and Janus were friends of Virgil’s and here to help.

Roman then had to pry the--for lack of any other possible description, though it made Logan sick to the stomach to think it--ransom note from Logan’s hand to pass it around to the other three.

“Who is NM?” Janus’s voice was gruff, enough so that Logan didn’t even need to register the wet dog smell to know that he was a werewolf.

“Nate Miller.” Logan hissed out. His foot tapped impatiently against the polished concrete floor of the tattoo parlor. “He approached me at my work earlier this week.”

Janus raised a single eyebrow but didn’t challenge it. If Logan were in a better state, he would have noticed the worried tilt to Janus’s mouth, or the way that his back was ramrod straight. He would have noticed that Janus was just as worried for Virgil as he was.

To Janus’s left, holding the ransom note and staring unblinkingly at it, was Patton. They were trembling, their eyes glassy. Remus was leaning over their shoulder to read the note as well. Logan barely noticed the supportive hand that the human twin had placed on the new vampire’s back.

“And there was no sign of Virgil?” Logan swallowed back the urge to snap in his reply, only because of the waver in Patton’s voice. “How long ago do you think-”

“I don’t know.” Logan clipped. “Not long before I arrived back at the apartment. It still reeked of him.” Old Spice and gunpowder. Logan could still smell the phantom of it. “I need to find him.”

Roman placed a calming hand on Logan’s shoulder. “That’s what we’re trying to do, hothead. We’re trying to get your boyfriend back, but you shouldn’t go running off after a hunter alone. Especially not one that is obviously targeting you.”

Janus nodded along. “For once, Roman is speaking sense.” Roman’s cheeks flushed a soft pink at the low-bar praise. “I thought that you were supposed to be smart?”

Logan leveled a glare at the wolf. “I’m sorry, do you know me?”

Janus shrugged. “Might as well. Virgil talks about you enough.”

“What does it mean?” Patton interrupted before Logan could respond. “‘You know where to find me.’ Do you, Logan?”

Logan nodded curtly. “The observatory. There’s nothing else that it could mean. That’s where he confronted me before.” Just thinking about it stirred up Logan’s anger again. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging on it at the ends. “I just don’t understand! Why would he take Virgil if he wants me? He’s a human! He has nothing to do with this!”

The whole room froze and went suddenly, unbearably silent.

“What?” Logan snapped. He should probably feel worse about being so harsh with his friends--and, apparently, Virgil’s friends--but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Are you kidding me? Still?” Remus’s voice was shrill. More shrill than usual, even.

All four of the others were staring directly at Logan, with varying looks of disbelief and resignation.

“Logan, honey.” Patton’s voice was unbearably fond, despite the fact that Logan had only really known them for a couple of minutes. “Virgil is a vampire too.”

Logan blinked. Then blinked again. For a moment, just a moment, he forgot all about where they were and what was going on. And suddenly, everything made sense. “Shit.”

The others watched him, concerned, for just a moment before Janus spoke again, redirecting them all back to the matter at hand. Logan, however, felt as though his head was spinning. Everything that he had known was suddenly turned on its head. He took a deep breath.

There would be time to deal with his revelation later. For now, he needed to focus. Virgil needed him. Virgil needed all of them.

Logan looked up, refocusing back on the others. They were talking quietly amongst themselves. Logan cleared his throat.

“We need to make a plan.”

----

The planetarium was silent when Logan arrived. Anyone would have assumed that it was deserted.

The planetarium was closed for the night, which is why it was Logan’s day off. Usually the planetarium and, specifically, the observatory was a place of comfort for him. Tonight, however, he wanted nothing more than to not have to be here.

Well, that was untrue. He did want one thing more, and Nate Miller knew it.

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls. Spinning diagrams of planets and moons that would normally have been mesmerizing hung from the ceiling. During the day, the planetarium was beautiful.

Logan had the path to the observatory memorized. He walked down the halls quickly but with caution, not using his vampire speed. There was no way of telling what Nate had been prepared for when he demanded that Logan meet him here. There could be any number of traps and Logan needed to keep his head on his shoulders, as Janus had not so politely warned before they had split up.

Despite his admirable restraint, Logan still moved more recklessly than he probably should have on his way there.

The door was cracked when Logan reached the observatory, propped open with a stopper. Logan didn’t hesitate before crossing the threshold and entering. It was just as quiet inside the observatory as the rest of the planetarium had been. The aisles of plush, fold theatre-style seats innocently lined the rounded walls and radiated inwards, completely empty. The ceiling was rolled back and open to the heavens. A clear night sky shown down on Logan and the empty rows of seats. It was beautiful, but Logan knew the implications of the sight.

It was nearing dawn now. The sun would be rising within the hour.

Behind him, the door slammed shut. Thankfully, Logan had just enough dignity and composure not to flinch at the sound, although he did turn to see that the door had in fact been closed behind him.

“Well, well, well.” The voice--Nate’s voice--seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The intercom system. Logan scanned the room for movement, quickly and imperceptibly. To the human eye, he would have simply appeared unmoving. Almost bored. “You actually came. Took you long enough.”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had never hated anything more than he hated that voice. “I got caught up.” He responded through clenched teeth. Logan wasn’t thrilled with the concept of conversing with Nate at all, but he needed the time. “Next time you should call.”

The laugh that followed sounded like nails scraping against a chalkboard to Logan.

“Oh, but darling, you never gave me your number.”

Logan’s fingernails were digging crescent moon shaped wounds into his palm. “Enough small talk. Where is he?”

“Who?” There was laughter still in Nate’s tone. Even though Logan couldn’t see him, his stomach was boiling with rage at the audacity.

“Enough of the games!” Logan hissed, striding a few purposeful steps further into the circular room. “Where is he? Where is Virgil?”

There was a despondent sigh from above, and suddenly, Logan could hear the stage in the center of the room rising.

Logan had been on that platform many times before, giving lectures and presentations to excited audience members. He was always filled with a warm sense of anticipation and excitement before those speeches, no matter the fact that he had given them countless times before.

Now, he felt nothing but dread as he watched the stage rise up from under the floor to eye level.

The figure in the center of the stage was strapped to a chair. Logan’s heart lurched to see Virgil, slumped over and limp, but his worry was rapidly overcome by venomous fury when he saw Nate Miller, standing just behind his unconscious roommate, a wooden stake in one hand.

“The monster is alive. For now. You and I have business to attend to, Doyle. It should be coming around any moment now.”

----

Virgil’s head was pounding. The world was spinning, and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

It was worse than any hangover that he had ever endured as a human. His vision was blurred as his eyes cracked open, spots of brilliant color dancing at the edges of his vision. He felt his fangs poking against his bottom lip.

Virgil twitched, raising--or at least, trying to raise--his hand to rub at his temples. His eyes shot open as he realized that he couldn’t move his hands. Chest rising and falling rapidly with breaths spurred by increasingly rising anxiety rather than an actual need to breathe, Virgil jerked against the shackles on his wrists. Matching shackles, he realized, locked his feet to the legs of the chair that he was in.

He couldn’t move at all.

“I’d stop that if I were you.” An almost bored voice spoke in Virgil’s ear. Jerking away, Virgil turned his neck to face his captor. Distantly, Virgil recognized the face.

His mind was still swimming, but he remembered it. Opening the door, half expecting Logan to be on the other side, and being met with this man. Knowing almost immediately that something was off, being forced back into his own home, barely having a chance to fight back, barely getting to call out before a sharp pain was radiating through his skull and everything was fading to black.

Virgil hissed, desperately leaning away from the man and the wooden stake that he was gripping with obvious intent.

The man’s eyes flashed, the patient facade disintegrating before Virgil’s eyes, revealing a manic sort of rage that terrified Virgil to the core.

“Virgil.”

The voice snapped Virgil out of his terror. Virgil’s eyes flew across the room, down to where Logan was standing, in the middle of an aisle--where were they?--worry and--Virgil’s heart panged with hurt--fear in his eyes.

Logan took a single step forward, but before he could move any more, the man behind Virgil was pressing the tip of the stake right against the spot where his unbeating heart was.

“Not another step, Doyle. You even try and move and this monster is dust.” The man growled the words in a way that reminded Virgil of someone barely hanging on to sanity. Virgil kept his eyes trained on Logan. The man’s voice smoothened suddenly, as though he were getting himself under thinly spread control. “We can just talk, can’t we? Just the three of us.”

Virgil sent Logan a pleading look. Logan needed to get out of there. He had to leave before this hunter--because he had to be a hunter, there was no other explanation--hurt him. Logan met the look with a determined shake of the head.

“Why don’t you introduce us all, Doyle?”

Virgil swallowed thickly, glancing back at the hunter before returning his eyes to Logan, confused. But Logan wasn’t looking at him any longer. His gaze was trained on the hunter behind him and Virgil felt as though he were missing something distinctly important.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. Virgil knew that face. Logan was biting back what he really wanted to say, and if there weren’t a stake pointed at his heart, Virgil would have wanted Logan to speak his mind and push this arrogant bastard right off of his soapbox.

Logan’s eyes flicked back to Virgil’s, and once again Virgil could see that little flicker of fear. Virgil swallowed down his own hurt.

“Virgil Noir, my roommate and… my friend.” There was something hesitant in the way Logan said it. Virgil tried desperately to focus on his anger. He had every right to be angry right now, and it had everything to do with the hunter threatening to kill him. He had no right to feel so… betrayed by Logan.

Logan, however, had every right to be scared after finding out that his roommate was a monster.

“And you are Nate Miller.” Logan continued. Virgil grimaced. Fuck Nate Miller. Virgil hated even his name. “A hunter who approached me yesterday at my place of work, and who is not targeting me. Why?”

There was a shocked, deranged sounding laugh from behind Virgil, and the hunter placed his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Disgusted, Virgil shook it off, only to freeze when the sharpened end of the stake pressed threateningly against his chest. “Are you joking?” Nate’s voice was nearly an octave higher than it had been before. He sounded incredulous. “Don’t act like you don’t remember me, Doyle. Stupidity is unflattering for you.”

Logan’s face remained impassive. Virgil curiously looked him up and down. As someone who considered himself very good at reading Logan, Virgil could confidently say that he genuinely looked confused.

Virgil forced a laugh past his monumental anxiety. “Looks like you’re not that memorable, dude, sorry to break it to you.”

Nate grabbed a fistful of Virgil’s hair at the back of his head, tilting it back. “Shut up, bloodsucker! Don’t think I won’t put you down like the monster you are.”

Virgil gritted his teeth to hide the pain. “Do it then! By the time you turn me to dust, Logan will be gone.” Virgil looked down from where his head was still tilted at the uncomfortable angle to meet Logan’s eyes.

Logan shook his head minutely and Virgil’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Nate chuckled, breathlessly, releasing Virgil’s hair from his grasp and stepping around the chair so that Virgil could finally see him fully. Virgil’s first thought was that he was rather short, for a hunter. “Nice try. Goading me into focusing on you. I’m not an amateur. Doyle wouldn’t leave his perfect little boyfriend. That’s why he’s here, you know. For you.”

Virgil ignored the words, though they made something that wasn’t strictly fear squirm in his gut. He wasn’t going to get hope for his relationship with Logan from a hunter who was threatening to kill him. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.” He said instead, taking a vindictive sort of joy from the fury that was clearly written on Nate’s face at the statement.

“Virgil.” Logan warned, taking a single step forward.

Nate held up the stake again, menacingly. “Don’t move, Doyle.” Logan froze. “You want to pretend you don’t remember? Fine, I’ll jog your memory.” Gripping the stake tightly but lowering it, Nate took another step closer, his eyes trained solely on Logan. It made Virgil want to kick him. Luckily for the hunter, his legs were still shackled to his chair.

“We met three years ago, before you moved here. You were working at that bookshop, remember?” Virgil frowned, his eyes lobbying back and forth between Logan and Nate. He was confused. Why was a hunter so obsessed with Logan? “You were always wearing that cute little scarf. For a few weeks there, I came to the shop to see you every day.”

Logan’s eyes were widening in recognition, surprise and confusion warring on his perfectly smooth features. Virgil swallowed thickly. Logan knew this hunter.

“I remember.” Logan’s voice was low, barely there. His hands, which had been tense and balled into white fists since he first arrived at the observatory were relaxing slightly. “But- I don’t understand? If you were a hunter-”

Nate laughed, an odd mixture of pleased--likely at the fact that Logan suddenly remembered their connection--and cruel. “Please. If I had known right away what you were, I wouldn’t have wasted the time. When I found out, it was right before you moved away. I was disgusted. Wasting so much time and energy on a vampire-” Nate spat the word like a curse.

Virgil sucked in a shallow breath. A vampire? Logan? No. That couldn’t possibly be true. The hunter had to be mistaken. There was no way that Virgil would not have known that Logan was also a vampire. Except…

It did sort of make sense. Why Logan was also only ever awake at night, even on his days off. Why he was always just as cold as Virgil was. Why he kept so many jars of jam that Virgil was just realizing were definitely not full of jam. Virgil cursed himself. How had he not known-- How had he not noticed?

He remembered the other day at the café with Janus and Patton. If he got out of this alive, he was so going to kill Janus.

Then, of course, it dawned on Virgil exactly what sort of situation they were still in. If Logan was a vampire, then both of them were in danger right now. Logan had come for him, putting himself in grave danger. A hunter may spare a human, but they saw all creatures of the night as the same. Virgil’s eyes widened and he stared at Logan, trying to convey his urgency with his eyes.

Above all else, Logan had to get out of this observatory okay.

But Logan wasn’t looking at Virgil anymore.

“So you followed me?”

“I had to track you down!” The hunter cried, as if the alternative were impossible. “All you monsters are the same. I couldn’t just let you get away with tricking me-- with seducing me, masquerading as if you could possibly be normal. You’re a killer.”

Logan looked incensed. “If you’ve been watching me for so long, then you know that I haven’t killed anyone recently.”

“But you have before.” Nate spat, his eyes wild. “Don’t deny it. All of you are killers, whether you fancy yourself reformed or not. You need to pay for what you’ve done.” Nate gestured to Virgil, hatred burning in his eyes, despite the fact that he couldn’t even deign to look at him properly. “From the research I’ve done about this one, it took it three years before it managed to stop slaughtering humans. You’re all the same, no matter how much better you think that you are.”

Virgil winced. Guilt clawing at his insides. He barely remembered the three years after he was first turned. It was the darkest period in his past, and having it so gracelessly laid bare in front of Logan made him want to do nothing more than disappear. But when he managed to look back up at Logan there was something… understanding in his eyes.

And that was when Virgil knew that whatever his past, whatever this hunter said and did, Virgil would do anything in his power to get the man that he loved out of this safely.

Even if it meant putting his neck on the line by riling up a deranged hunter.

“And how many lives have you ended in the past year alone?” Virgil hissed, staring defiantly up at his captor.

Nate scoffed. “None that matter, vampire. You dare to compare the lives of you creatures to human life-”

“Say,” Virgil drawled, his voice low, “are we just here to listen to you spew your manifesto about how much more pure than us you are, or are you actually going to do something?”

“Actually, I did have something in mind.” Nate’s face was unnervingly calm again. A pit of dread settled in Virgil’s stomach. Nate nodded up at the ceiling.

The open dome of a ceiling.

Virgil looked up and couldn’t help but notice the tell-tale signs of a sunrise along the edges of the circular opening. The clear implications dawned upon him--Patton would be proud that he could manage to think a pun even in such a dire situation--quickly. His eyes slipped closed in momentary resignation.

The sun is going to rise--likely within the next few minutes--and Virgil was there, shackled to a chair just under the open ceiling. The stake in the hunter’s hand was just for show. He fully intended to burn Virgil alive, and there was nothing that Logan could possibly do about it without risking his own life.

Logan himself just seemed to be putting together the implications of Nate’s thinly-veiled threat.

And suddenly, as though a switch were flipped, Logan’s calm demeanor changed. No longer was he feigning interest in Nate’s monologue or humoring his explanations. His fists were once again balled at his sides, white with tension, and for the first time ever, Virgil could see his fangs.

All at once, Virgil knew that Logan would not be letting this go quietly. He wasn’t completely sure what tipped him off, but he knew that if it came down to it, Logan would not be leaving him to burn alone under any circumstances.

It’s a sobering realization. Logan was going to risk his own life for no reason at all--because, honestly, how would his death help anyone? Virgil was still stuck there. If Logan really was a vampire--and he obviously was--he could have been out of there and safe before Nate could even blink. Virgil could not fathom why he looked so determined to waste his life, but he already knew what he needed to do about it.

Virgil forced a laugh. It was loud in the otherwise silent observatory. “Burning me? Really? That’s the best that you could do?”

Nate looked hilariously offended by the complete lack of shaking in his boots that Virgil was doing.

Virgil continued. “No, honestly, did you sit in your sad little apartment, surrounded by cut out pictures of Logan and red string and come up with this plan? Did you rub your little hands together and laugh maniacally? Did you honestly think that using the sun as your choice of weapon was poetic or something? What are you going to tell your little hunter friends? That you tracked down your old vampire crush and just sat and watched the sun rise with him?”

Nate turned an absolutely alarming shade of red. Really, it would have been funny had it not been immediately followed by his fist colliding with Virgil’s nose.

Virgil barely had time to hold in a grunt of pain before Nate was being pulled off of him and shoved to the ground. Virgil opened his eyes to see Logan on the platform with them, his knees straddling the hunter’s chest, and his hands wrapped around his neck.

“Logan-” Virgil desperately called out, completely ignoring his throbbing nose.

Nate was resisting, thrashing against Logan’s hold, and although Logan had the upper hand with the element of surprise, Virgil could do nothing but watch as the hand that was still clutching the wooden stake rose behind Logan.

“Logan!” The scream tore it’s way out of Virgil’s throat before he could think of the consequences. Logan’s grip on Nate faltered.

Before anything life shattering could happen, the stake was kicked from Nate’s hand by a black combat boot. Virgil’s eyes snapped up to see what--who--the boot was connected to, and his eyes were met with a man dressed in quite a bit of leather that Virgil had never seen before.

His first, terrifying thought is that this was another hunter, but no, this man was very obviously not on Nate’s side.

“Not on my fucking watch.” The man growled, kicking the stake even further away now that it was out of Nate’s grasp. The man looked angry, albeit not as angry as Logan, who was still apparently attempting to choke the life out of the hunter. His wild eyes were matched by a wild nest of shaggy brown hair that had a couple of glinting silver streaks in it, and offset by what appeared to be a very carefully maintained moustache.

He was altogether the strangest looking person that Virgil had ever seen, and he hadn’t even glanced in Virgil’s direction yet.

Virgil’s eyes were pulled away from the struggle by a light touch against one of his wrists, just above the shackle.

“Patton?” Sure enough, Patton was hovering over Virgil now, their eyes kind and concerned.

“Are you okay, V?” Their voice shook a bit. “What am I saying? Of course you aren’t okay. I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“Wh- How did you-?”

Patton smiled kindly, their eyes flicking over to Logan. “Logan called us--or, well, he called Remus,” They nodded in the direction of the punk guy, “and he told Roman, who called me and Janus. We’re going to get you out of here.”

For the first time since he had been texting Janus and Patton earlier, something loosened in Virgil’s chest. Relief.

Before he could say anything to thank Patton or perhaps ask who the hell Remus and Roman were, Patton was gripping the shackle that held Virgil’s left hand in place and tearing it away as though it were nothing.

Sometimes Virgil forgot just how strong they were.

Patton quickly repeated the process with Virgil’s remaining restraints.

“Logan. Get off of him.”

Virgil craned his neck, looking over his shoulder to see what was happening. The scuffle had moved. Logan still had the upper hand, but now there were two more figures standing over him and the hunter. The first was nearly identical to the one in the combat boots, though minus the moustache and with much tidier hair. The second--

“Janus.” Virgil almost felt like smiling at the sight of his friend. Janus looked up, his two-toned eyes flashing in the light.

Right. The light. The sunlight that was quickly approaching.

“Logan.” It was the second unknown one, the one with the perfect hair, that was speaking. Virgil just noticed the pointed ears that were poking out between his curls. “You have to stop. Remus, Jan and I have this. It’s almost sunrise. You have to get out of here, Logan.”

But Logan wasn’t listening. Virgil’s chest constricted. There was something dark--something dangerous--in Logan’s eyes. Nate wasn’t fighting much anymore. Any words that Virgil might have said were stuck in his throat.

Beside him, Patton whimpered.

“Logan!” The one with the moustache snapped, reaching down and grabbing one of Logan’s biceps. “Logan, you need to get Patton and Virgil out of here.”

Something of what the human said must have registered in Logan’s mind, because his grip on Nate loosened until he was no longer strangling him. Luckily, Nate didn’t get a chance to recover, because as soon as Logan was pulling away, Janus had Nate in his grasp, his eyes flashing golden.

Virgil could breathe again. He trusted that Janus, and whoever those other two were, had this.

“Logan.” He called, breathless. His voice was still raw from screaming earlier. His nose was still gushing blood and very likely crooked, but he didn’t care in the slightest. Not when Logan looked up at him.

In an instant, Logan was across the room and pulling Virgil into his arms. And Virgil let him. He didn’t resist for even a second, willingly letting himself melt against Logan like he’s a lifeline.

And in some ways, he was.

“Are you alright?” Logan’s voice was achingly tender. So heartbreakingly tender, given what he had just been doing seconds ago. “Did he- Did he hurt you any more than-”

Virgil cut him off because that dangerous note was coming back into Logan’s tone. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. It shouldn’t have been hot at all. “I’m fine, L. Are you-”

“If you’re safe, I am.”

And it was terrible timing. Just feet away, his best friend and two other people who he could only assume were Logan’s friends were fighting with a hunter. Patton was still right behind him, standing just off the stage, watching. But Virgil found himself leaning just that much closer to Logan. It was as if Logan had his own gravitational pull that tugged only on Virgil. He glanced down at Logan’s lips. One was split, but otherwise they looked just the same as they had the other night, when they were safe in their apartment.

Virgil let out a shaky exhalation. When he looked back up, Logan’s eyes were trained downwards. Towards his own lips. Virgil licked his lips.

Behind him, Patton gently cleared their throat. Virgil whirled around.

“I don’t want to interrupt, kiddos, but the sun is going to rise any minute now. We need to get you home.” They didn’t speak for themselves, but Virgil knew that Patton wouldn’t be leaving without them, and he didn’t want his friend to burn alive either.

He glanced back at Logan, but Logan’s expression was shuttered once again.

“Yes, you’re correct, Patton. We need to leave now.”

Virgil glanced back at the other four one last time. They had Nate under control once again. Swallowing, Virgil turned back to Patton and Logan and nodded once. “Let’s get out of here.”

----

In the end, they did indeed make it back to their apartment before the sun rises, if just barely. Patton left them only once they were sure that Logan and Virgil were okay enough to be left alone at their apartment.

Which was perfectly fair, because they had just had a home invasion only a few hours ago.

When they were back in the apartment building and safe from the approaching dawn, the two of them began to clean the apartment in silence.

It really wasn’t that big of a mess, but both of them seemed to silently agree that they would not be able to rest until the apartment was returned to the state that it had been before. When things were safe.

Virgil’s tongue felt too big in his mouth as he helped right the entryway. Only hours ago he had been trying and failing to fend off Nate in this very spot. And, sure, things were okay now, but somehow it feels suddenly much  more real than it had when they were leaving the observatory.

As for Logan… He looked tense. It was understandable. Because Virgil had gone and got himself kidnapped like some sort of damsel in distress-

His stomach curled in on itself. He couldn’t shake the anxious thought that Logan was… angry with him for it.

And it was stupid. It was so stupid, and Virgil knew it. After everything that Logan just went through to get Virgil back, there was very very little chance that Logan would blame anyone other than Nate for this turn of events. And even if he did blame someone else, Virgil knew Logan, and he knew that if anything, he was likely blaming himself.

Which was even more stupid.

Once the entryway was presentable again, Logan cleared his throat. Virgil paused, halfway through taking his hoodie off. Usually he wore it even when inside their apartment, but right now everything that he was wearing felt… dirty.

“Are you sure that you’re alright?” Logan’s voice was soft. Quieter than usual. Almost… unsure. Which was almost unheard of for Logan.

Virgil softened, pulling his jacket the rest of the way off. “I’m… I won’t lie, Logan, I’m pretty shaken but… I’ll be fine. Are you…?”

Logan dodged the question, finally looking over at Virgil with thinly masked guilt in his eyes. “Your nose stopped bleeding.”

Virgil reached up a tentative hand to his face. To be honest, he had forgotten about it. The pain had numbed, but when he prodded it gently with a finger, he could tell that it was definitely broken. Patton would have said something if it had needed to be set, though, so Virgil wasn’t too worried. “I’m sure I’m a sight right now.” He chuckled weakly. It fell flat. There was silence in the apartment for a moment. “Logan-”

“I’m sorry.” Logan exclaimed, before Virgil could continue. “This is my fault. I… If you were hurt, I would… I never would have forgiven myself.”

“Don’t say that.” Virgil tried, stepping closer to Logan.

“It’s true.” Logan insisted. “If he had hurt you, or heaven forbid-” Logan made a little choked noise. “I couldn’t have lived with myself. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t deserve-”

“And neither did you.” Virgil’s voice was firm, pushing back against all denial. “You didn’t call this upon us, Logan. I don’t care if he thought that he knew you, or if he had hurt me any more than he did. None of it was your fault, and none of it would have been your fault. He is a hunter. I’m- We’re vampires. It could have happened at any time with any hunter.”

“But it didn’t! It was him, and he was targeting me. He only hurt you because I-”

Virgil’s mouth felt very dry as Logan cut himself off. “What matters is that we’re safe. We’re okay.” He tried to reassure Logan.

Logan closed his eyes, defeat settling over his features. “You don’t understand. He only hurt you because of how much I love you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. They certainly weren’t how Virgil had ever imagined that they would be said for the first time. Still, a soft warmth blooms in Virgil’s chest. There were nerves there too, but he found it easy to ignore them. Mostly, he felt an overwhelming sense of rightness. Two days ago it had been impossible to consider that Logan loved him back.

But now… it was like he could see that Logan had been saying it for a long time now. He had said it earlier, when he had been so obviously terrified for Virgil. He had said it the night before, when he held Virgil close and they swayed around the kitchen. He had said it even before that, when he made sure to be quiet every evening when he left for work just after sunset, when Virgil was still holding on to sleep. He said it when he picked ocean documentaries for Virgil, even though he was not-so-secretly terrified of the ocean. He had said it countless times since they had met, even though Virgil was only just now hearing it for the first time.

Virgil took the remaining few steps forward to close the distance between them. Logan looked almost pained. Before Virgil could lose his confidence in himself--in this--he reached out and placed a hand on Logan’s cheek.

When Logan met his eyes, Virgil damn near melted into the ground. Logan’s deep, chocolate brown eyes always were a weakness of his. He wanted to say something. But, then again, Virgil never really had been the one that was good with words. That was definitely more Logan’s department. Instead, Virgil just leaned forward and closed the distance between them completely.

Logan’s lips were soft, just like the rest of him was, although he was loathe to show it. He gasped softly against Virgil’s mouth, but he didn’t even try to pull away.

Logan leaned into the kiss with an insistence that made Virgil’s still heart pirouette in his chest. Virgil exhaled, and it felt as though he had been holding his breath his entire life, despite the fact that he hadn’t needed to breathe in just over fourteen years.

Kissing Logan was like finally coming home. And though it was terribly cliché, Virgil couldn’t bother to imagine another way to describe it. Virgil couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of this sensation. From his head to his toes, he felt warm.

He felt alive.

Slowly, Virgil parted his lips under Logan’s and even though Virgil had been the one to initiate the kiss, he was surprised when Logan took his lower lip between his own. Virgil didn’t bother to hold back the low noise that arose in the back of his throat, thankful once again that he couldn’t blush.

The noise seemed to be appreciated, though, because Logan made a rather audible noise of appreciation. Right before Virgil felt a sting on his lower lip.

Logan pulled back almost immediately after, a startled--no, a shell shocked--expression on his face. His fangs were descended and Virgil knew instantly that that was what he had felt. He bit back a laugh.

Logan looked breathless. He looked breathtaking.

“I love you too.” Virgil confessed, his hand still cradling Logan’s cheek. “Of course I do. I would have done exactly the same thing if it were you.”

And Logan.

Logan laughed.

And it was the tension break that they needed after the completely awful night that they had both just experienced.

It was not a loud laugh. It was not really hysterical, either, though Virgil would have understood if Logan had lost his mind just a bit after the night that they had just had. It was a laugh of disbelief, mostly, and Virgil wholeheartedly agreed.

He couldn’t hold back a smile, and as he often couldn’t when he was with Logan. He didn’t even want to try. So instead he smiled.

Logan’s eyes turned serious. “I love you.” He repeated, this time with more conviction. He brought up a hand to cradle Virgil’s face, just as Virgil was. Virgil ran the pad of his thumb across Logan’s perfect cheekbone.

“I love you too.” Virgil replied. And after everything, that was enough.

[renegadeknucks]

In Another Life | Rachel x Brianna

There was always something that intrigued Rachel about Brianna, just sitting on that train car across from her she couldn't help but stare...

Now here they were, trapped in the replica of a city, begging for a way out.

Rachel couldn't help but protect her...

Note(s): Spoiler warning for Tournament of Champions!! This is literally a retelling of the ending of one of the rooms!

Words: 783

As Zoey struggled desperately to break out of the taxi, both Rachel and Brianna could feel their impending doom. The room was full of unintelligible yelling from both sides, Zoey's attempts to kick the glass did nothing but add to the desperation in all three of their voices.

There were looks of pure panic on all three of their faces when they'd realized just how quickly the time was ticking down, it wouldn't be long until the acid began to burn their flesh once more. Zoey's kicks became more forceful, grunting out of frustration when it set in that no matter what she tried there was no way in or out. The last thing Zoey wanted was to see two more innocent people die, she'd already lost her two closest friends to Minos and didn't know if she could handle any more tragedy.

Rachel and Brianna scanned the area for anything that hadn't been turned onto a mushy substance on the artificial concrete below them, hoping that there was even the slightest chance they wouldn't have to die such a gruesome death. Each storefront had been locked, all the awnings had become so riddled with holes that there was hardly any material remaining for cover.

Even through their desperation, the timer still counted down, seemingly moving faster than it had when they'd first arrived.

They both knew they were unintentionally stranded by Zoey, it was accepting it that was difficult.

The two stood uneasily in the center of the fake street, and locked their hands together. Rachel could feel Brianna's hands tremble as she tried to avoid thinking about the inevitable, Brianna slowly shaking her head "no" as she looked her in the eyes. Zoey yelling in the background was the only noise, begging for them to survive.

"I don't want to die..." Brianna's voice was weak, you could practically see the fear in her voice.

"...I know..." Rachel couldn't bring herself to say anything else.

Not that there was anything she could say.

Rachel kissed the top of Brianna's head in an attempt to comfort, maybe in a different situation she would've kissed her on the lips, before bringing their foreheads together. She wanted nothing more than to tell her she'd be okay, but she knew better than that. They both knew this escape room was designed to kill them, and no matter how much they hoped or prayed, they knew nothing would change the outcome. They'd die, just like everyone they'd been with before.

Looking into eachothers eyes blocked them from knowing when the timer would reach zero, making the two flinch when the creaking pipes began, and the acid began to sprinkle out, just like it had done before.

Brianna whimpered as the rain made contact with her skin, Rachel wishing she could make her pain go away as the two slid to their knees, still tightly holding each others hands.

Rachel could smell their skin burning as the downfall increased, Brianna removing her hands from her grasp as she tried to curl into a ball so that her back would get most of the damage. It destroyed Rachel to see her already so broken and fragile, someone so sweet and caring should never experience this.

No one should.

Rachel climbed over Brianna's body in hopes it would lower the amount of acid that touched her, almost glad she couldn't feel physical pain if it meant there was a chance Brianna would actually be okay. The "storm" had increased once more, making everything before feel like nothing more than a sprinkle. Brianna stuck her hand out for Rachel to hold, her body shaking. She grabbed her hand as gently as she could, in that moment realizing just how bad her own body had began to shake from the downpour.

Brianna's sobs were loud, making Rachel's stomach twist into knots. A loud mechanical banging had came from the taxi Zoey had been locked in, followed by a muffled scream. It had finally set in that this is how they'd die.

Rachel wanted nothing more than to comfort the poor soul she'd been stuck with in the neverending rain, wanting to promise that somehow they'd get out of this alive. But when Brianna went limp under her from the pain, and her own vision beginning to go dark, she knew neither of them had much time left.

Breathing became difficult, and holding herself up began to feel exhausting, but she would never let go of Brianna's hand.

Rachel had found that through Minos, she'd found a girl who she'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Rachel had found her soulmate, and maybe in another life...

...They'd be together happily.

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 01

Ch.1: Depaysement: “The feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country; being a foreigner.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.9k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

After the 2012 Battle of New York, you didn’t have anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t start working for Stark Industries. The United States government swore that less than a hundred people had died in Loki’s Chitauri attack on the city you called home, but the loss of both of your parents and your only sibling was still sitting like an anchor of depression on top of your chest. They hadn’t even been in the same buildings and thinking about those devastating hours sitting at home alone waiting for them to come through the door as the wireless network collapsed under the panic of the city still sent you into a week of night terrors. The blood never did wash out of your scrubs, one of the worst days of both your professional and personal life. Still, you didn’t blame the Avengers and thought that if anyone was going to stop the world from falling into that darkness again that it was them. If all you could do was patch up those few people skilled enough to save the world, you would manage your own emotions. Compartmentalizations, that was all you knew after that day.

It was your maternal grandmother, a reclusive woman that retired in Mallorca, that was all you technically had left. With no relationship between the two of you, it was easy to take up the offer to start working for Stark and the team, especially with how busy both Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner had been with their own research. The facilities in Stark Tower were far beyond ‘state of the art’ and you’d been given a team of androids and nurses that helped you build confidence in knowing what you were doing when, in terms of years of experience, you’d been an unlikely choice for the job. It was those years learning under great minds that you really flourished and in a few short years, had found a rhythm to your new normal. Work, apartment, study and practice technique; rinse and repeat.

There was more expected of you at Stark Industries than just the titles of doctor, surgeon, or even therapist. You kept your head down for years, expecting Stark to think he’d made a mistake choosing you. It was Dr. Cho’s encouragement that made you stand a little more straight, a little less invisible, a little more emotionally available. When the team came back from Sokovia with an entire hole through Clint Barton, Dr. Cho took him for tissue repair and you ran your checks on the rest of the team. To your surprise they weren’t in the common area, everyone dispersing and choosing their solitude, uncommon for a mission that should have been deemed a success. You found Natasha first, sitting in a room next to Clint’s. “Hey Doc, I’m all clear. Just need to know how Clint’s doing.”

Pulling up your stool you shook your head. “Nice try, jacket off.” She nodded and you worked her bruised arm to make sure there weren’t any fractures or sprains. “Dr. Cho seemed confident Clint would be fine. You know that as long as you clean up she’ll let you in there. Physically you’re good to go, but what happened out there. Everyone’s run off.”

Watching Natasha’s gaze fall, the swallow at her cottonmouth, and the brief silence it was obvious the injuries were different on this mission. “There were some enhanced kids working for HYDRA, she got in Tony’s head, banged Cap up pretty bad too. I’m fine and we got the scepter, but this one isn’t feeling like much of a success. I just have to process, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll have JARVIS pencil you in for a chat. If you’ve worked through it, great. If not, you’ve got me. I get it, really I do. He’s your person.” Offering up a soft smile you tapped away on the tablet. “Clean up so you can get to Barton.”

“Thanks, Doc. I took it pretty easy compared to Steve and Tony.” She trailed off, offering an apologetic smile before she slipped out of the door.

Pinching your nose, you asked JARVIS for everyone’s location in the Tower and the A.I. made you a map with little blinking lights. Captain Rogers was closest and you went into the gym quietly, hearing the sound of his fists lobbing into a punching bag. Quietly crossing the wooden floor, you knew that with his enhanced sense he already knew you were coming before you walked in, but it didn’t stop you from being cautious. He had swapped the suit for sweats and an undershirt and you could see the crusted over cuts on his bicep and forearms, the stain of blood on his wrapped knuckles. By the time you were within arms reach, tablet and medical bag in hand, he grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging into you. Sweat dripped down his forehead causing his disheveled blonde hair to stick to his skin and you lowered your gaze so you’d stop staring. He broke the silence first, “Did you already check on the others?”

For a moment you were tempted to lie, “Clint is with Dr. Cho. Nat’s patched up. Your turn now, Captain Rogers.” With a firm nod to the bench he surprisingly obliged. As you carefully took off the bandages on his hands, cleaning them up and wrapping them in fresh gauze, you asked about what seemed to have shaken the team up. “What did the enhanced agents in the field do?”

He stiffened, not just from the sting of the astringent on his cuts as you moved up along his arms. “The girl used some sort of mind control. Tony thinks it was a vision, but I got the brunt of whatever telekinesis she has. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The boy that got Clint was just fast, threw him off and he got hit.” Pressing one of Dr. Cho’s artificial skin patched over a deeper cut in his bicep, you took off your gloves and tapped away on the tablet before meeting his eye, wondering if he would continue. “Whatever Tony saw, it’s put some idea in his head and, well, you know how Tony is. There’s a lot of pressure to do things right, to get everyone home. I’m not saying I’m not used to it, but since I came out of the ice I’ve had it relatively easy working with SHIELD and the Avengers.”

A crease formed between your eyebrows as you looked up at him. “I know the feeling.” Letting out a slow, shaking breath you took his hands in yours, just for a moment, “Focus on what you can control, Tony’s not one of those things, but the team could learn from the mistakes made. You can make a training plan to better prepare for another run in with the kids. Until you’ve got that down, I’m sure you’ll be busy trying to find out who they are.”

Unless Steve had looked into the undoubtable file Stark had made on you upon your hiring, there was no way he knew you had lost your entire family years earlier while he was out avenging. Maybe he didn’t know you’d noticed he was a planner. He certainly didn’t know you were too or if he did, he wouldn’t know why. Both of you pulled away simultaneously, neither managing to look at the other. It was isolating, unintentionally so. The dynamics in the Tower between the team and everyone else that worked there made you feel like you had each foot in two different worlds; a stranger to the team in an even stranger land. To your surprise, he stood up and grabbed the scraps of packaging and dirty gloves, “I’ll heal up in a few days, so I promise to stay off the punching bag until then. If I need anything I’ll find you, Doc.”

It was exactly what he needed and proof that he was used to these doctors orders. Despite the job, you’d kept a low profile. None of them really knew you. You were at best ‘Doc’ and at worst completely invisible. You watched him do what the rest did after a check up, walk away without another word. Under your breath you whispered your name- seemingly the only thing you could manage to string together as you felt misplaced. It was worse than homesickness because you knew there was no home to go back to, no friends that knew your former self. Lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the soldier softly repeat your name before tossing the trash in the nearest bin and marching out the door. It closed so loudly behind him you flinched.

Pulling up the map that JARVIS had made for you, you finished your rounds and slipped back into your office to fill out your paperwork, the equivalent of a debriefing report. There wasn’t much to write, not a single one of them told you what they’d seen and it was the psychological, not the physical injuries, Clint aside, that worried you. Your thumb pressed into the smooth metal of the two gold wedding bands that sat against your sternum under your scrubs, then across the links of the gold necklace that held them. It was in the unspoken images the woman had placed in Tony’s mind, the powerful scepter sitting in a lab in the Tower, and the near-loss of Hawkeye, all of it was too much at once for the team. You could hear Natasha’s voice saying she had to process that gave you the sense of being unsettled and separate from one’s place of belonging and it had you reaching for the tokens of your past.

Absentmindedly clicking away from the forms to your email you noticed a high alert message with a heading in Spanish. As you clicked, you tried to switch your tired mind into what had once been your first language but that you hadn’t used in deep conversation in years. Line by line you reread the message, thinking that what you read was simply lost in translation. Right when you were about to ask JARVIS to translate, the door to your office opened. Tony Stark never had the decency to knock so you didn’t know why you half expected him to not read your emails. “Stark, come to tell me what the kid put in your head?”

Tony leaned against the door to your office, whiskey in one hand which was more than a hint that he’d found his own way to cope with what he saw. He tapped on the tech on his wrist and projected an images of your grandmother, her villa in Mallorca, and then swiped to display medical records. “I’ve made arrangements for you to take some time off and handle everything with your family.”

Before you could scold him for reading your email or tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, your phone chimed. The screen lit up with alerts from various apps indicating a flight, Uber, and Airbnb were all set up for you. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to…”

“Ah, but I did.” He cut in, wagging his finger at you. “You’ve kept the team in one piece for years, this is the definition of doing the bare minimum. Come back when you’re ready, your job will be here. We might even manage to stay out of trouble while you’re gone.”

“I might actually buy that if it was coming from Cap, but you wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you were given a manual.”  Getting out of the chair and picking up your things you hadn’t noticed you’d been crying. Wiping the tears away when you weren’t looking you managed a soft, “Thank you.” By the time you turned around Tony was gone.

Walking the familiar path to the elevator you popped in your AirPods, keeping your head low as you waited for the elevator in case someone tried to stop you or ask you something personal. The doors dinged and opened and you were met with the familiar scent of bar soap and laundry detergent. Reaching for the garage button to see it lit up you pulled your hand back. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was soft, but you kept your head down, music playing quietly in your ears, “What’s this song?” Pulling your phone out of your pocket you showed him the screen, uncertain if you could keep yourself together enough to speak, and ultimately not realizing that you hadn’t cleared the notifications from the screen when he asked with a tone of surprise, “You’re leaving for Spain?”

Fighting the burn in your eyes as your nerves seemed to insist on making you face the reality of this trip you looked up at him, only half way, talking to his chin instead of meeting his eyes, “Yeah, for my grandmother. I have to take care of… I won’t be gone long I don’t think.”

His calloused fingers lifted your chin forcing you to meet his eyes. The bright blue, the concern that melted into sympathy. “Cancel the Uber. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that. I haven’t even packed.”

“I want to,” His soft smile made you attempt your own broken smile, causing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. Despite never having a real conversation with you and knowing nothing about you, he wiped the tears away and gently squeezed your shoulder. “What’s easier for you, leaving your car here at the Tower or leaving it at home?”

You didn’t want to admit that the thing that would probably bring you home before the date on your return ticket was the team getting into trouble. “Leaving my car here.”

Giving him directions to your place proved to be an amusing distraction by the third wrong turn. Despite knowing him for three years, it was the first time you really saw him laugh. That melodic, deep laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing into your hands to hide the ferocious blush that wouldn’t seem to leave your cheeks. With some relief you made it to your apartment and invited him in. “I just have to pack really quick.”

“I could help. Military made me a master at it.” His eyes were wandering over the place, hands in his pockets.

You didn’t need to look at him for more than a second to know that he had no idea who the people in the pictures were or that you’d lost them all. Your stomach twisted hoping he wouldn’t ask, so you thoughtlessly thanked him and led him to your bedroom, only partitioned from the living room with a vintage panelled wall divider. It was a relief you were almost never home, leaving the place fairly clean. Taking out your one small suitcase and your old canvas backpack from medical school you tossed them on the bed, “The longest I’ve been away from work was four days. I have no idea how to fit enough clothes in here.”

“Just set what you want to take to the side and I’ll get it in there. You should grab your toothbrush and computer, chargers and things.” He sat on the bed and picked up the backpack and suitcase, checking out the pockets as you tossed a handful of clothes onto the bed. You’d changed scrubs in front of other doctors and seen most of the super soldier, leaving you unfazed by the fact that he was now handling your intimates. Steve on the other hand was quickly becoming a warm shade of pink as he made quick work of the task at hand. “So...what’s the trip for?”

When Steve looked up from your luggage and reached for the item in your hands he knew immediately, as if he’d forgotten in the laughter on the car ride that he’d found you in the elevator fighting back tears. The black dress was formal but not flashy, a practical length but not something meant for an interview… and you knew that he knew as he took it and set it as delicately as he would have laid the flag of one of his lost soldiers in the hands of a mother or wife. “I just hope it still fits.” Turning away so he wouldn’t see you cry, you held your breath and rummaged through your dresser for something to wear to the airport.

As you pulled a tunic and leggings to your chest you turned around and smacked right into the super soldier. He didn’t hesitate to pull you right into a tight hug. “If you end up needing anything while you’re there just let me know. Anything at all, okay?”

You couldn’t be sure how long he let you cry into his shirt, but you knew it was soaked through when you finally slipped into the bathroom. With a glance at your phone you realized there wasn’t much time left to get to the airport, certainly not to shower. Cleaning your face and changing, you stepped back into the room to find him with his nose in the book you’d been reading that had been sitting on your bedside table, Heart Like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff. “Home is the place, for better or for worse, we learn to love.” You quoted as you picked up your backpack and put it on, “I haven’t finished it yet, but you can borrow it while I’m gone. I don’t think I’ll have much time for reading.”

He stood up and grabbed the suitcase, but not before tucking the book into the pocket of his coat. Both of you managed a smile and he looked around, “Got your passport, ID, and…”

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and patted the bag.

“Stop saying thank you for something you’d do if the shoe was on the other foot.” With one last look around your place Steve noticed the plants and a pet fish on the window sill. “Why don’t you leave your keys with me. I’ll check on your fish and water the plants, grab your mail.”

You hesitated, but it wasn’t as if you’d been home often enough to get to know your neighbors. Telling yourself that it was okay to let a coworker be nice to you, that this wasn’t anything like forming an attachment, you nodded and passed him your keys. “I’ll completely understand if it’s an assistant that ends up coming here, but, umm…” Catching yourself from saying thank you again, you stepped into the hall and watched him lock up a bit unnerved by how quickly he realized which key belonged to the three locks.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” It was the first time you’d heard him say your name in full voice, close up and yet it somehow felt softer than it had earlier. You shuffled quickly down the one flight of stairs, but not before Steve took your small suitcase. Those blue eyes watched you the whole way, making you wonder if he thought you were about to snap.

From holding the door open to passing you the auxiliary cable and asking you to play the music from the elevator, the ride to the airport was fairly quiet. Periodically, a song would come on that would choke you up and you’d go to reach for your phone to skip it. Every time, Steve would grab your hand and give it a squeeze, waiting until you’d caught your breath before moving his hands back to the steering wheel. To your surprise he didn’t pull up to the drop off and instead parked and walked with you as far as the TSA would let him go, carrying your small suitcase and giving your hand a supportive squeeze every time you were asked about the reason for the trip overseas. Rather than saying thank you as you prepared to part ways, you cleverly thanked him in Spanish, making him shake his head disapprovingly. “Steve, you’ve been an absolute gentlemen through the hardest night I’ve had in three years. I know you said I would do the same for you, but I guess I never thought anyone at work knew I existed.”

Steve scoffed, “You’re a little hard not to notice. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way when you’re back.” Your eyebrows furrowed, concerned he was going to scold the team or worse. “Don’t make that face.” He let out one laugh and shook his head and passed you his phone. “Here. I’m getting a lot better with the texting thing. Keep in touch while you’re gone... even if it’s just pictures of food so that I know you’re eating.”

You put your number in his phone and passed it back. “I’m not going to have a problem eating.” When you looked up at him, he seemed unconvinced. “I’m a doctor, knucklehead. I’m trained in the stages of grief.”

He nodded, but you both exchanged the sort of look that said you’d keep in touch anyways, thank you, and goodbye all at once. You wanted to hug him, but felt like maybe you’d used up all the proximity of a fresh friendship’s timer in your fit of tears in your bedroom. Looking back, glassy eyed as you prepared to move through the last line of metal detectors, you noticed he was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket as he watched you. Your chin quivered as you fought back tears. No one had stood by you through the loss of your family in 2012, now you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you were eternally grateful for this man.

Your gaze felt to your feet as you fought back fresh tears and then, before you knew it, there he was, arms wrapped back around you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his warm chest. He was saying something to the TSA agent but you couldn’t hear it over the fresh bout of weepies. Steve rocked you and then lifted your face in his hands. “What did I say? If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Don’t miss your plane. You’re going to get through this.”

Then, and you were certain he’d only done this to get your mind off the grief, he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him as you slowly untangled yourself from the hug, his eyes stayed on yours but he stepped aside to let you go after another moment or two. You didn’t say goodbye or thank you, words seemed to fail you, and you’d have an entire plane ride to sit confused and overthink how this night hadn’t just turned into some crush on America’s most high profile bachelor. Nearly twelve hours later you made it to your grandmother’s home in Mallorca, emotionally and physically exhausted. As you collapsed onto the sofa, too anxious to roam through the house just yet, your phone chimed. “It’s Steve. I hope you made it to Spain and are getting some rest before you take care of your family. Thank you for the book, I really enjoyed it.”

With a sleepy smile you type back, “Finished already?!? What did you think? I made it. Resting is TBD...”

His reply surprised you, a quote from the book, and you fell asleep before you could muster one last reply:

We cannot know the remarkable velocity at which we pull each other, tear at individuation, until the distance between us curves and no one is themselves.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. While I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[1kook]

my sentence- super flirty and charming jk and a shy y/n meet at a frat party

word count: 1.1k

i attached a gif of the jk i envisions for this at the end !!

He’s said he knows you for what might be the tenth time since you’ve walked into the party, but you wish he’d stop trying to guess after the third.

You’re not used to this scene, to the loud music reverberating the foundations of the house, or the stench of alcohol that clung to the hand towels in the bathroom. You didn’t know anyone here, except for your roommate, and you're sure as hell none of these people knew you.

Save for this dude, this walking reincarnation of every boy you ever had a crush on during your childhood, his smile too shiny, a mop of dark hair nearly covering the entirety of his face. He swears he knows you, and had it not been for the letterman jacket clinging to his shoulders, maybe you would have entertained the idea of knowing him too. As it stands, you don’t know a single frat boy on campus, and can barely remember the names of the frat houses themselves.

“I swear, I’ve seen this pretty face somewhere,” he flirts, steps a little too close. He smells like lavender, and you can tell it’s not some artificial perfume of another woman sticking to him, but the scent of his fabric softener instead. “You’ve never been here before?”

You shake your head, eyes roving across the crowd dancing in the living room in hopes of finding your roommate, in hopes of being saved from this frat boy whose voice is a little too silky for you to ignore. “I’ve never… I don’t like parties,” you admit, the brief flash of a brown-eyed gaze catching you when he ducks down, seemingly to get a better look at you.

“Huh,” he grins when he finally catches your eyes, though you immediately look away with warm cheeks. “But I do know you.”

You huff in annoyance. “No you don’t, and I-I don’t know if this is how you usually pick up girls, but I’m not like that—“

“Like what?” He smirks, leans against the wall beside you as he takes a swig of his drink. With his body—so lean and firm—out of your way, you can easily make a run for it now, had one set of sturdy fingers not caught your hand in his. “Don’t know what you mean by that, but I’d sure hope my first year lab partner would recognize me.”

You whip towards him, watch as he shakes that unruly mess of curls out of his face, until that pair of honey eyes is staring deep into your own, just like they did when you were measly first years trying to navigate around the lab. “Jeon Jungkook?” You blurt, and you would have yanked your hand away if you could.

“__,” he beams. He’s nowhere near the scrawny kid you’d met three years ago, towering over you like a sunflower as he beams down the power of eight suns with his smile. Now that he’s one hundred percent sure it is you, his demeanor changes entirely. He steps closer, though you’re not sure he notices when your heel bumps against the wall behind you.

“Oh, wow—Kook,” you blabber, flustered with his proximity as he leers over you with that same playful look in his eyes.

“Yeah?” He husks, and he has to know how his breath fans across your face, and how your lower lip trembles.

“I—you’re really close,” you mumble, tentatively placing one hand on his chest to place at least some space between the two of you.

Jungkook smirks, tilts his head cutely to the side as he takes in your appearance, brown curls bouncing to the side. “Is that a problem?” He asks, and you must look silly, mouth opening and closing as you fumble for a response, your frazzled state only making the grin on Jungkook’s face grow. “This okay?” He murmurs, knocks his forehead against yours, hands slowly slithering around your waist, tugging you close onto your pelvis touches his.

You gasp at the suddenness, palms clutching at his jacket. “I-It’s fine, I just…” you trail off, hyper aware of the nose that brushes against yours, the breath that puffs over yours. “I didn’t know…” you finish lamely.

Jungkook smiles, and throws you for a loop when he leans down to press a kiss against your cheek. He must certainly feel the warmth bubbling beneath your skin. “Didn’t know I liked you?” He hums, shifts closer until something hard pokes at your hip, and your eyes flutter at the sensation. “Well I do, ___” he confesses, kisses down the column of your neck until he reaches the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Always did.”

“I-I didn’t know you still… went here,” you blurt, breath catching in your throat at the muscled thigh that slots itself between yours.

Jungkook pauses, hot breath fanning across your skin. “Really?” He murmurs, and you nod despite the hammering of your heart. “And if you did know?”

Your brain blanks. “Hu-huh?” You quiver, arch into his chest when his hands press against the small of your back.

Jungkook sighs, raises his head to look at you again. “If you did know I was still here?” He repeats, and he must see the frantic way your eyes scramble across his features, the way they linger on his lips. “Would you have let me date you?” Your eyes widen. Jungkook doesn’t pay them any attention. “Would you have let me walk you to class and your dorm? Let me fuck you soft and slow into the mattress?”

Cheeks ablaze, you turn away shyly. “I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, and almost die of shame when your hips buck into his thigh without you telling them to.

A kiss presses against the corner of your mouth, and you crane your neck back immediately, squirming under the hard gaze he locks you in. “I used to think about it all the time,” he says, leans in to brush his mouth against yours softly, not a real kiss. “Still do. The little sounds you’d make, the way you’d shake. Fuck, ___, I could come untouched if I think about your pretty little mouth too much.”

Jungkook doesn’t let you sit in the revelation, surging forward to press one tentative kiss against your mouth. When you don’t pull away, he goes in for another, molding your mouth to his as he slowly, languidly slips his tongue into your mouth.

You’ve never been kissed like this before, never had someone’s saliva cling to your lips like this, and you quiver in his arms at all the new sensations. He pulls off with a pop the second time, taking in your dazed expression and slick mouth. “Why don’t you show me what it does, baby?” He rasps out, and you feel featherlight from his body and his gaze.

“O-Okay,” you confirm, knees buckling beneath you dangerously.  

Jungkook smirks, and his pearly white teeth and madman eyes are the last thing you clearly remember before he whisks you off into a night of long-awaited experiences, both his and yours.

[ part 2 ]

[shit-posts-and-fanfictions]

Fandom: SCP

Rating: Angst/ Mature

Readers Gender: n/a, third-person

Present Characters: Dr. Bright, SCP-590 (TJ)

Trigger Warnings: Depression, attempted suicide, amnesia, forced mental disability, cursing, death by cutting, heavy derealization and depersonalization.

Notes: I been thinkin' about this a lot and my hand just happened to slip on the post button. Summed up, Dr. Bright has the day off and uses it to visit and spend time with his brother.

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This is a suicide fic, please don't read if this could affect you negatively

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At first, there was light, not welcoming, but all the same as it had been every morning; the only exception for today, being that he didn't have work. It was such a seldom occasion to have even a day to himself like this, sitting up and stretching before collecting clothing for the day and trudging into the bathroom.

He simply used a hand to clear a spot in the fog of the mirror examining his face wondering if his little brother would even recognize him- TJ was happy enough to have the company, but whether or not he had the mental capacity to understand who it was visiting him Jack was unsure... Dressing and not even bothering to put anything away as he left for the day.

~~~

The halls seemed longer than usual. Twisting in ways they should, curling in on itself and stretching to infinite lengths. Was there a breach? No, there were no alarms, no breaches or codes being called, and his fellow researchers walked the lengthy corridor just fine. Speaking of, he smiled half whimsically at them watching his odd behavior. Just Bright being Bright before he continued on his way to SCP-590's TJ's cell.

Jack was hesitant a moment before letting the door slide open and stepping inside the cell, the door falling shut as soon as he walked in. He watched his brother in the corner scribbling absentmindedly on paper humming a broken tune he'd made up himself; Jack glimpsed over the cell walls, taking in any new pictures hung up for display.

He called for his brother, "Tj..." Too quiet. "TJ." Cringing at how out of place his voice felt. Or his host's voice- tucking his amulet under his shirt to protect the younger boy from accidentally touching the object before greeting him with open arms after finally catching his attention. Tj looked at him with squinted eyes, tongue brushing his bottom lip thoughtfully before grinning "hello!" He slurred, racing over to happily accept the embrace. Jack giving a weak smile and humming softly "what're you drawing this time?" Letting his brother tug him along to the table he'd previously been sitting at.

They'd sat for a good few hours, Jack listening to his slurred speech and often not understanding what was stated, but going with it anyway. He'd done this- TJ could hold a conversation so well, but now his vocabulary was limited to basic words and phrases. Being so secluded to himself didn't help his vocabulary either... but nonetheless, Jack sat and listened to every butchered and mispronounced word he had to say, nodding along, laughing, and overall just having a good brother bonding. Sticking around for lunch and eventually leaving when he couldnt hold himself together anymore. Patting his brother on the head while he gave a disappointed pout "you come back?" He hummed, looking up to the stranger before him. "Of course i will, i always do" his brother still seeming upset "last man say that-" and Jack frowned. He said that, Jack said that. He had always been there- of course TJ couldn't understand anymore... turning abruptly and leaving as quickly as he could.

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He waited for the door to shut behind him completely before letting his body give out and collapsing against the cold metal. His legs buckled and he slid against the door to the floor slowly allowing sobs to rack through his chest, hiccuping between breaths trying to focus on anything- anything at all to calm his racing thoughts. But everything his blurred vision took in only reminded him more of what pained him. He did this- he had done this to his brother. Ruined his life right alongside his own; Oh why couldn't he just die?

When Jack had finally found the strength to stand, he stumbled to the bathroom, knocking his shoulder on the door frame and catching his balance on the counter. He needed a shower. His skin His host's skin felt uncomfortable. looking down at their hands felt wrong, mind spinning slightly out how unfamiliar he felt to himself. His hair, his eyes, his face, the sound of his own labored breathing was all wrong. He didn't even feel in control of himself anymore, watching from the back of his head mindlessly as they fumbled around the corner, momentarily staring at the razor he had used to shave his stubble this morning. His pinky poking at it thoughtfully, watching it move away from him before reaching for it entirely; Grasping it tightly before making his way to the tub and yanking the shower curtains out of the way only successfully riping them from the rod. Eventually, he settled into the cold porcelain-enameled steel, reaching forward to plug the basin and turn on the water. Cold, Hot, he didn't care. Clothes and all getting soaked as the water rose into his shoes, against his shins, and pooling against his stomach. He half hazardly pulled his tie loose from how hard breathing became, leaning back into the water till the liquid crept up his neck. He inhaled, staring at the ceiling, and for a moment felt blissfully in control.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying here, eventually craning his head to watch the water pour over the rim of the tub. His right hand still fiddling with the razor. He'd killed himself a few different ways. Today though, this felt right. Using his teeth to pull up the sleeve of his left arm, moving to trace the razor's blade against his skin, barely breaking the surface and leaving irritated lines in its wake. Eventually though, he pushed harder into the flesh, breaking skin and admiring the blood that dripped down his elbow and painted the water. Back and forth and back and forth, drawing lines deeper and deeper into the skin. He could tell when he hit an artery, shuddering in pain but continuing anyway. Jack only stopped when his vision blurred and his head spun wildly, losing grip on the razor and letting it sink into the tainted water, his arms dropping to his sides. He chuckled quietly, letting his head lull back while he fought the sudden exhaustion he felt. He tried keeping focus on the lights above his sink, watching them swarm between the original four, then eight, then four, then two, then as they blurred together as one and went dark. Letting himself momentarily slip into death's arms and rest at last.

~~~

At first, there was light, not welcoming, not like how it was described in near-death experience stories- It was painfully artificial, forcing Jack to close his eyes, moving to roll over as he recalled recent events with a sullen look. His senses were still coming back to him, blinking till his eyes focused enough, clenching hands till feeling came back to the unfamiliar skin, wading out the numb ringing in his ears till he could hear the vent above him hurdling cold air across the bed. He grimaced tasting nicotine on his new host's tongue, eventually pushing himself up to look around the room and sighing before starting the next day as he always had.

[princessnijireiki]

apologies if this is too personal and feel free to delete this from your inbox but i was wondering what your going to bed routine looks like/if you have any advice on how you improved your sleep schedule - i’ve been struggling with insomnia and other various sleep issues for years and am honestly casting a wide net for advice and other peoples’ experiences. i’ve heard a lot from therapists doctors etc but not from people who have experienced sleep troubles themselves. thank you again and have a good day! 🤍

Under a cut for length!

As soon as I'm ready to go to bed, I do any last minute texts or calls, and then put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Most of my apps (games and social media) also have notifications off 24/7. My phone going off constantly is really distracting & sucks me into that cycle of scrolling & refreshing for engagement, and even doing that out of boredom, I find it's not great for me. I "lose time" that way, and it isn't until you add it up that you see the stuff you could've been doing instead. And the notifications make my anxiety worse, too. So I don't see any notes, Retweets, new emails, etc until I decide I'M ready to engage with those apps.

(My exceptions are usually calls, texts, FB Messenger just because I used to buy/sell on FB Market, IG DMs because one of my sisters travels a lot & uses that more than Whatsapp when she doesn't have cell service— when I had an iPhone we'd just use iMessage, but this system works for us now that I have an Android— and school emails in case of campus closures, but NOT work emails.)

I don't eat in bed, I don't think it's hygienic, but if I need to be away from people when I eat, I just find some other room to do it in rather than take my food upstairs. I don't watch TV in bed, and I try very hard not to use my computer in bed, but if I do, it can only be with other lights on in the room (so I'm not staring at a screen in the dark), and I try to limit that to daylight hours. If it's a homework assignment due at night, it's more comfortable to type at a table or sitting on the sofa anyway, because then I can stretch out on my bed AFTERWARDS & the physical relief also reinforces that delineation of work space vs relax & sleep space.

I also just shower whenever (shared bathroom & wonky schedules means my time of day is not always consistent), but if you're more of an AM or PM bather, you can make that + lotioning, drying your hair before work or bed, etc, part of your wake-up/wind-down routine. Same with brushing your teeth. And use the bathroom before bed EVERY night, just so you know you won't wake up in 2hrs & have to pee lol.

Plus, if you use consistent products, the fragrance can be part of your routine as well. Like I find lavender to be a "wake-up" scent for me, but I have a lemon shea butter I use on my scalp right before bed, and the smell of it lingers, so that's one of my bedtime cues even though I don't like doing room sprays or heavy artificial fragrances around my bedding.

I make sure all my sleep clothes are comfortable, and I have a heating pad in bed & usually a fan nearby so I can adjust if I'm uncomfortable instead of laying there letting my mind wander because I'm slightly too hot or too cold. Water bottle in bed & antacids nearby so I don't have to get up for either of those once I'm settled down.

I've used the Flipd app to block me from fussing with my phone when I was still adjusting to my DND rule. Insight Timer app to wind down on stressful days (I hate guided meditations, but they have a singing bowls track that helps me a lot). And TMSoft's White Noise app every night. You can download all kinds of sounds with them or make a custom mix for yourself, so I have my "standard" one that I put on EVERY night as my "go to sleep soundtrack," and that helps with the routine a lot. Like once I turn on the white noise, unless some urgent family thing happens, I'm putting down the phone & not picking it up again until morning.

And you also have to figure out some of your personal sleep preferences or issues. Like I take a prescription muscle relaxant every night, sometimes it doesn't affect me at all, other nights I can feel drowsiness kicking in and I've had to accept that I shouldn't fight that even if I feel like there's more stuff I want to do. Some days my pain is bad & my RX actually lets me double up as needed, BUT then I may start falling asleep in my chair or on the sofa if it's during the day, or I may oversleep AND be restless from vivid dreams as a medication side effect if I sleep through the night. Which isn't awful if sleep is what you NEED, but it can throw you off for the next day, so you end up NEEDING to be more deliberate about sleep patterns so you can plan accordingly.

And I keep a yoga strap + a baseball in bed. The baseball is for rotater cuff exercises (though I can also use the water bottle if need be), in case my shoulder starts acting up; I can do my PT exercises in the dark at this point, including wall push-ups, and I'd rather not have to start my whole sleep process ovef just because I had to LOOK for my equipment or whatever. And the yoga strap is to stretch out my legs, because my leg & hip muscles get tight very easily, and same deal, why turn on the lights & get out of bed, get tempted to hop back on the phone, run to the kitchen for a snack, etc, if I can stretch out my quads under the blankies and then go right to sleep?

I can sleep through a lot of noise (loud dogs, loud family), but when I'm trying to FALL asleep, it's distracting, so I have noise canceling headphones & will play my white noise mix on blast if people are being super obnoxious. No guarantees that works, generally unless I'm drop-down exhausted I end up not falling asleep until noise levels calm down, but it helps keep you relaxed & READY for sleep rather than sucked into & keyed up from the agitation around you.

I hate light disturbances when I'm trying to sleep, so my phone is face down and brightness turned all the way down if I HAVE to use it in bed. I'm not a leave the phone across the room person, I use it as a flashlight if I do get up at night, use it as my alarm... it's a bad habit, but I do try to make up for it by making it as un-distracting as possible while I sleep. No night lights, one of those draft protectors under the door, and I block little LED lights on electronics with black electrical tape. I don't like eye masks, but I wear a bonnet over my hair, so I just pull the elastic band over my eyes & I tend to coccoon in my blankets anyway, so that helps. I used to have blackout curtains as well, I need to buy some more eventually, and then sunlight afterwards ends up a huge wake-up cue as a result. I ordered a sunrise alarm clock, too, and hopefully that works out as well.

And I can't emphasize enough, anxiety will mess you up bad. I REALLY stopped sleeping when COVID hit, and my sleep behaviors regressed. I went back to fighting my body's tiredness & fighting going to bed until it was physically painful to try to stay awake, like to the point where your eyes hurt & you start struggling to maintain coherent thoughts. I'm on anxiety medication now, and it takes the edge off, but it doesn't make me sleepy. But it still helps a lot because the anxiety's not so all-consuming. The rest is still a lot of hard work, and protecting health boundaries you might not WANT to follow the same as if you had a fussy toddler to take care of. And you'll still have to do a lot of mindfulness work... clearing your thoughts before bed, addressing mental burdens head-on so they aren't still weighing on you at 2AM, learning techniques to not carry stress in your body— even if it's only addressing the physicality of that, slowing your breathing, unclenching teeth, relaxing your shoulders, reducing your heart rate, you can work backwards ans attack the physical stress in order to reduce the mental & emotional baggage.

Those have been some of my biggest sleep struggles, which I know isn't "one size fits all" advice, but I hope that helps!

[ecrivant]

the station | annie leonhart

(annie leonhart x fem!reader)

that night, one marked by abject sin and rapture: annie’s single, inescapable memory.  she, forever haunted by this painfully raw thought of you.

c.w. – homophobic slurs

word count: 2.2k

a.n. – this is technically a reader insert but it’s honestly just an exploration of annie’s repression and sadness.  also, in general, i’m very wary of assigning gender to the reader, but the lgbt+ themes are important to this story, so annie’s love interest is a fem!reader.  i’m sorry if this excludes anyone, next piece will return to the usual gn!reader.  

very much an au + me experimenting with style.  

At the world’s marge lies a service station—carburant siphoned long ago, insides, bare.  Its skeletal façade abuts a backroad, a display of collapsing substructure succored by gusts of vagrants and drifters, cataracted from history’s view.  At one time, when you entered, the clerk would greet you from the left with a gaze that conveyed a hesitant familiarity—the type of trivial recognition that was unimportant in the moment but retrospectively haunting.  The lights within, garish halogen, were ceaseless, always alight, and only dared to die out once the ceiling caved, and the walls peeled, and the vinyl floor cratered like some artificial topography.  The edifice now no more than a nebulous memory only existing in the minds of those who ever once visited it.  

A memory nonetheless in the mind of the woman who fucks for the first time in a sedan parked behind the station, where the smell of sex and summer air and gasoline is seared into her brain as she breathes hard, lightheaded and high on ecstasy and fear. She feels her own death, a quiet specter which guides the touch of her lover.  Her burning skin; the eroticism of demise, destruction.  The nocturnal breeze gasps with her.

She offers to drive you home.  You—flushed and debauched, breasts exposed.  Eying her intensely.  You refuse.

“I can walk.”

She laughs.  Your name on her lips, a carnal, depraved prayer, “We don’t even know where we are.”

She is corrected. Curt.

“You don’t.”

She is gored, laid open and vulnerable and bare for this stranger who parts without another word. She watches you go, ambling towards the unlit dirt road, swallowed by a beastly darkness.  The vehicle, suffused by an amorous smog, windows opaque.  Her organs all but spill onto the floor, mixing with dust and dog hair and garbage and an old takeaway cup that was always there no matter how many times she threw it away.  

She slinks into the station and asks for a pack of cigarettes.  She pays in coins, a button among them, but the cashier never notices.

At home.

“Mama’s been askin’ ‘bout you.”

“Okay.”

“You’re gonna get an earful tomorrow.”

She’s already halfway up the stairs.  They moan beneath her.  

“She thinks you’ve been spending too much time with that Eren boy.  Is that where you was tonight?”

The stairs sound like you. Everything sounds like you—the gasp of a closing door, the sordid exhale of a creaking bedframe.  The sweat on her face: a lover’s curious tongue.

—

“Pull off here, ya’re low on gas.”

Prick prick pricks of fear smart on her skin.  Mama knows. The station, the unholy consecration. Mama knows.  This car, this place.  Mama knows.  Her brother in the back, resting on the shadow of his sister’s bare figure.  The pop of the fuel door says dyke.  The crack of the gas nozzle trigger says fag. The unseen eyes that bore through her say queer.  She enters the station to pay.  The clerk, a gaze of recognition—the only one who knows of her transgressions.  

—

She is married. Cheers to the happy couple.  She cries on her wedding night, tears staining bedsheets—her own virginal blood.  He touches her, stagnant, pale skin collied by bereft contact.  She only comes when she thinks of the station.

—

She could tell.  She could tell him and free herself, and then the kid’ll wonder why Mommy’s never around and Daddy’s a druggie and a drunk and never leaves the house anymore and the kid’ll make his way through the social services system until he’s beaten and cracked and broken like Mama’s old doll collection smashed against the wall and he puts a bullet in his head before he turns eighteen.  No, she could never tell.

—

Thanksgiving.  She stares at her sister-in-law—a city girl, with heavy lids and blush-dusted cheeks and a pronounced cupid’s bow.  The eyes of a hunter, the lascivious gaze of a she-wolf.  Her husband comments on how well they seem to get along.  

—

A loneliness begotten from her own bones, born from emptiness and the inimitable way she and death caressed all those years ago.  She only has a name to utter, breathless, when thoughts of you tenant her mind.  The first and the only fuck was truly a stranger, all but nameless in memory.  

—

Her mother’s funeral. An apathetic and unfamiliar affair. People she doesn’t know.  Her brother, his wife, their child.  Her husband, her child, her.  She could not be more distant.

Her childhood home smells sweetly of tobacco and cardamom.  

Indifference during the wake mistaken by the others for numbness.  She feels no need to mourn—her mother lived and died uneventfully, and that was it.  

“Mommy, are Grandma’s dolls going away?”

“I don’t know, we’ll see.”

“Do you think I can keep one?”

The boy has his eyes fixed on one in particular, his implicit selection.  The one that has your eyes.  The one whose gaze makes her squirm.  Mama knows.

“I don’t know, we’ll see.”

—

She sneaks away from the house with a pack of her mother’s cigarettes, the box crumpled and stained at the edges and the tubes inside wrinkled and mildewed, emitting a stench that filled her with inexplicable nostalgia.  It brings to mind her unshakable compulsion to eat cigarettes, to feel the flakes of tobacco coat the inside of her mouth like the ground dregs in a cup of cheap coffee.  She lights one instead, pushing the thought aside—if she was to ever eat one, she fears she would not be able to stop.  The low hiss of her inhalations on the ember briefly joins the sonic ambience.  She sits in her car and smokes and occasionally flicks ash outside of her window with shaking hands.  Rancid and familiar aftertaste.  Thick dust clouds kicked up by her car tires coalesce with her hazy exhalations as she drives nowhere.  Not nowhere. She needs gas.

—

The station still stands as it had before, insusceptible to time.  Always seemingly aged.  Covered in an ever-present grime.  She gets out and leans against her car and drags on her cigarette, the virulent inhalations scratching her lungs.  The road on which you disappeared all those years ago looked profoundly unremarkable during the day—just a long, dirt road in a town wholly comprised of long, dirt roads. The heat shimmers above the ground, and the afternoon sun drapes itself across her skin, and the hot breeze drags its fingertips through her hair like a lover you’d meet behind a bar—the same who would abandon that perpetually lit cigarette between her lips in exchange for her mouth on yours.

Her last drag—she drops the butt and crushes it underfoot.  

She sits in her car and smokes the rest of the pack—in her eyes, the final remnants of her mother.

She waits in the parking lot.  As if her presence alone would invoke some bygone wraith.  

Her hand reaches under her dress, between her legs, and she is touching herself to the pervasive miasma of summer breeze and carburant, and the darkness of closed eyes almost feels like the night, and her frantic digital movements are arrant pleasure until they’re not; she stops and is suddenly crying, and her thoughts are occluded by her mother’s pale, dead face, and she realizes that Mama’s death, mundane as it was, represents the furthest she’s been from that singular night years ago which was so verily marked by sin and rapture; the one that has haunted her and will continue to haunt her until she herself dies an uneventful death after an uneventful life, and her child thinks of her passing as she does her own mother’s: a nonevent among nonevents.  

She is met with understanding eyes as she returns to the wake crying.  

—

She moves to the city with husband and child.  Suburbia forgone.  The apartment is small and cramped and reminiscent of her sister-in-law’s.  The adjacent view from the living-room window is an identical high-rise—ten stories of the same brick and dirty-white AC units. She is filled with an ineffable sadness as she stares at the spare greenery in streets below, confined to plots of dry soil surrounded by cracked and potholed pavement.

Her sleeplessness often leads her to the living room long after the apartment falls to silence.  One night, she watches, captivated, as a couple in the adjacent apartment fucks on a couch, curtains wide open and shame forgotten.  The man, hovering above a body obstructed, is suddenly flipped on his back and mounted by his lover, and she swears this woman, breasts bobbing, and face marked by a concentrated intensity and unusually devoid of pleasure, looks like you.  

—

Two years in the city bypass her as if she were already dead.  The tenant who resembled you moved out the year prior.  

—

She sits in a booth sequestered in the corner of a dark and begrimed barroom.  Alone for the night.  Her husband no longer questions her bouts of silence and absences from the house and disdain for intimacy; her child, accustomed to fissure.  

She ignites a cigarette, her lukewarm liquor no longer of interest, and no one stops her.  She is indifferent to the other patrons, who were, at this point in the night, nothing more than hazy and incorporeal forms populating the shadows.

The chime of the door—jarring and tangible—cuts through the muted atmosphere and demands the attention of those there to give it.  Another specter drifts to the bar.  A woman shouldering something—a fact elucidated by a hunched posture and a quiet request for three fingers of scotch.  

And then the woman turns, and Annie sees her face.  

And suddenly she is collapsed on the scum-covered tile of the bar’s bathroom floor, hurling upchuck into the toilet.  That woman had your face—she is not you, at least not anymore, as Annie is no longer the girl who fucked and died in that gas station parking lot years ago.  But that woman had your face.  And she looked at Annie with your eyes, melancholic eyes which held no recognition for her, and turned away in the same movement.  Less than a look—a glance.  But that woman had your face.  And Annie had not seen it again before she hied to the bathroom to regurgitate four drinks and years of accrued and bilious agony.  

The bathroom door swings open.  Groaning hinges.  She knows it’s that woman who has callously co-opted your likeness.

She enters the stall next to her and pisses and flushes the toilet whose water drains slowly and weakly, and the sounds of the sink are harsh and cacophonous against the tile walls. Steps towards the exit suddenly pause. A knock on the stall door.  Your voice asks if she is alright—a voice unheard for decades, last encountered in a low, debauched whisper against her skin.

She heaves, again, but nothing is left to expel; she coughs and spits and does not answer.

“Can I at least help you get home?”

The question looms above her, looped and tied like a noose.  

“I can walk.”

A laugh.  Dry, unfamiliar, never heard.  It’s harsh and barking; a warning.  

She is corrected, curt: “You can barely stand.”

She had long been unacquainted with fear, now more often than not consumed by a vacant numbness, and she admittedly did not miss it.  It was ugly and pervasive and bore deep within her with debilitating potency.  She could do nothing but sit on the disgusting tile floor with body supported on yellowed porcelain and wait.  

She imagines she allows herself to believe this woman is you—you, as you were, unchanged—and opens the door. And you, being unchanged, ask if she would like to come home with you.  And she, apparently the same as well, says yes.  And back at your apartment, cluttered and cramped yet simultaneously vacant, you spare no time backing her into the bedroom, lips tethered to hers in lurid predation.  Touches that are lustful and intimate and familiar only to her.  She cannot bring herself to care that you do not remember her—your breath on her neck and your incursive touch efface all thoughts, good or bad.  She wants you on top of her, around her, within her, and you oblige like some prurient altruist.  Her coming is purgative and cathartic, and the pleasure of that night at the station feels archaic and antiquated in the face of this wholly new gratification, heighted by an immense and prolonged yearning.  And this time, after you are both finished, you do not part and neither does she, and she embraces you in a way that feels intrinsic, and you ask her to stay the night. And she does not think of her husband and child as she says yes.  And she does not think of her husband and child as she agrees to spend the next day with you, as she dances with you in your living room, finally and only feeling held and loved.  Finally, finally, finally.  

—

But Annie says nothing. And the woman—not you, but an apparition—softly and finally knocks on the door with the side of her fist, unfazed, and walks out of the bathroom.  And even now, as she slumps further and shuts her eyes and clutches her head, Annie can only think of that fucking gas station.  

—

hi there!  thank you so much for reading; i hope you enjoyed this piece.  it’s a little different than my other stuff, not drastically so, but still different.  i think i like it, though.

thank you to the anon who suggested I write something for annie, i really appreciate the request.  i have another request in the pipeline for reiner, so expect a piece for him soon. 

as always, feedback and criticism are very much appreciated!  feel free to drop in and request something if you want.

taglist: @flam3bird