#there’s too many questions and may ninth is so far away :(

[vigilantejustice]

the bruising + itching has eased up over the last couple days so hopefully that means that whatever was going on was just something funky my body was doing + not a symptom of something else

[empty-pizza]

thoughts on harrow the ninth (actual) chapter one and also chapter two

man i got confused. apparently i read parodos last time, not chapter one. also i hadn't noticed the prologue was the night before the emperor's murder. i promise i am paying attention now. also i accidentally read some of chapter two before chapter one because i mixed up what i had already read.

and as someone paying attention, i am noticing that at the end of the prologue, harrow says three syllables. and i am big time on the train of saying that some timeline (or memory) fuckery has occurred. so i think those syllables may be GI DE ON.

anyway onto chapter one.

lol harrow doesn't get it. you gotta listen to the sword. seems fairly, uh, literal, that she vomits when holding it, though. is the sword magic, or is this some kind of psychological issue?

it's a great sword. the kind gideon used. maybe harrow's body (lowercase b) recognizes gideon on some level and knows something is wrong.

i am also very curious about the line about the body making it so time can be relied to work right. hmmmmm.

now, chapter two.

god has SERIOUS gamer energy. i will not elaborate.

this man is very reasonable and sensitive. too much so. the vibe i get is that he could rationalize anything. he is happy to show his sensitive side because it makes you sympathize with him.

i wonder how many of harrow's secrets are out. we're sending a bunch of new people to her house. does god realize she puppeted her parents? is that water under the bridge?

i can imagine many reasons why the cost of resurrection might be too great. but i have to wonder why the cost of returning to the houses is also too great. that's a funky one.

there's a really interesting paragraph in here where i can't tell if it's just describing things in a fancy way or if it's implying that the Body is harrow's? then is harrow, say, in gideon's body? or does the Body just look the same as harrow? or am i reading the completely wrong thing from this?

this planet stuff is neat. so planets get converted from thalergic to thanergic, which is very confusing. is that why we lack much agriculture here? they turn the planets from something that can sustain life to something they can draw necromantic power from?

so big g resurrected everyone because the planets died and a bunch of Resurrection Beasts spawned. imma be real: this is extremely cool. like extremely fucking cool. incomprehensibly powerful beasts that are near-impossible to kill? fucking baller.

ah so they chase big g. so that's why he can't go to the houses. not even for a day? I mean, how far away are they. hmm.

all of this, however, might not be as true as it seems. that's the thing about this god fellow. he really does not seem like a liar. that makes it extremely dangerous if he is a liar.

okay. that was all fun and games but we're getting to the serious stuff:

what the HELL is with this body shit?

the body of the locked tomb had been with harrow for a long time. again, this really seems like something harrow would have acknowledged back during book one. the more details we get the less i can believe that this was going on all along. there is fuckery about.

the body has not spoken to harrow since the night her parents died. THIS IS NOT TRUE. we just saw the body said "This isn't how it happens" when Harrow was talking to Ortus. i repeat: there is fuckery about.

harrow walked with her? dreamed of her? there's all this history? tf????

what made harrow half a lyctor. she seemed a pretty proper one last time.

they're saying ortus died. like. tf???? that dweeb? he is not the one that made a sacrifice for harrow's lyctorhood. the suggestion that it was ortus makes harrow SICK!

what does mr. god suspect? he said the name a third time, almost like he was experimenting what effect it had on harrow.

there is absolutely fuckery about, of the major variety. the question is whether it's time fuckery, memory fuckery, or extremely clever fuckery i can't suspect. like this could be something like gideon jumped into a hole that makes her retroactively never have existed but the vestiges of her soul push into reality through harrow's perception and try to help her. or it could be that nothing crazy happened and this is just all one giant con that the narrative is somehow cleverly pulling on me. but it's gotta be SOMETHING. if the book tries to gaslight me i'm pushing it away and gaslighting myself.

the body could be gideon in some form, but it could also not be. what the hell would have magically associated gideon with the locked tomb itself, making her the Body of the Locked Tomb? it could be some incarnation of that girl harrow saw inside the locked tomb, too. man who fucking KNOWS what this shit is.

harrow names colors that the body's hair could have once been (she says in death, not in life) and does not mention red as a possibility.

[dc-ocs-200x]

Greed and Mina were playing a game of 21 questions, sitting across from each other on their shared bed, Lux fiddling with one of his various toys specifically for fidgeting.

"Hmm... greatest gift you've ever gotten," Lux stated, leaning his head up to see Mina.

Mina didn't have to think long before smiling a bit, "This year, when you got me a flower made from Poison Ivy herself," she mumbled with a nod, before thinking silently for her question, "worst birthday party?" she hummed. Admittedly, she expected some whining about not getting some toy he wanted seeing how utterly doting Cain and Abel were over their children but upon seeing the blonde boy tense up at the question, she frowned gently in confusion.

Lux hesitated a moment before letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd held it, "It was my ninth birthday..." he started in a mumble.

♡♡♡♡♡♡��♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lux woke with an excited hop up out of his bed. He'd long since forgotten his actual day of birth but that didn't bother him any. The adoption days were just as fun with all it celebrated: a chance of a safe life after being swept away from potential death, becoming immortal and inheriting the title of sin and ring of hell, and joining a family that truly wanted all the kids. As a result, Cain and Abel always went all out for the parties. Buzz still was around for Nyx's adoption party just a month prior, so the everlasting attention was one of many thing he looked forward to. Instantly he raced downstairs after placing a crown atop his head, his favorite crown, the same one he'd had placed on his delicate blonde curls the day he was born.

Normally for his adoption day he got to get by with rules, but instantly he heard Cain calling from the dining room, "No running in the house, Greed! You know that!"

He resisted a pout. Fine, he couldn't expect to always be exempt from rules, he was getting to be a bigger boy. Besides this one tiny thing couldn't put a damper on his special day. Eagerly he skipped in, practically beaming as he took his assigned seat, in the middle of the table, in between Lust and Sloth. He waited patiently for a chorus of happy wishes, until breakfast was revealed.

Immediately, he pulled a little face, brailsk lion, certainly not one of his favorites. He glanced warily between everyone else at the table, getting varying expressions. Some of pity, some full of indifference, but none happy like he expected.

"Echem!" he coughed loudly, crossing his arms, "Aren't we forgetting something?"

"Ah yes," Cain hummed, "Don't forget to clean your room out, Greed," the boy's green eyes lit up excitedly, expecting some comment of all the nice new toys he'd recieve, "it's absolutely filthy. I best never see it get that bad again, or else I may have to take you over my knee to drive the point home. You are getting far too old to be relying on me and Abby for help with that task."

Greed blinked, pout finally surfacing. While a comment was made of him getting older, it wasn't what he expected nor wanted at all. He slunk back in his chair to survive breakfast.

He hoped things would turn around after that, maybe his uncles were just wanting to not rile the other kids up as they were trying to eat. Knowing Abel was easily the one in a better mood--he was always in a better mood-- he opted to follow him around like a lost puppy dog, waiting for any acknowledgement to what the day was, but Abel simply cleaned things, glancing back to Lux as though him following him was an issue.

Eventually Cain caught wind of this behavior earning him a scolding, "I know I gave you orders of what to do today, young man now you best get to it, this moment."

Greed whined, stomping his foot, "I don't want to clean, Uncle Cain! It's my-"

"Now!" Cain roared, pointing up the stairs.

"Cain...!" Abel tried to scold, albeit a little meekly, putting a hand on Lux's shoulder for a few moments. Unfortunately the damage was already done, tears filling up Greed's eyes. Greed pushed the hand off himself and took off running, ignoring the uncles calling for him, turning down a few halls, more to get them off his tail. Once it was silent all around him, he finally wandered out to his favorite side door he liked to leave through. With surprising caution coming from a boy of his attitude, he looked around at his surroundings. Once satisfied and confident that no one was following him, he took off from the large and deary towards anywhere else.

This directionless adventure took him to the park where he sat himself on the swing, mopily moving himself back and forth slightly, finally allowing his tears to spill freely down his cheeks. He'd look up every few minutes just confident that his family would come looking for him, with full apologies for how awful his adoption day had gone. But those minutes quickly turned to half hours, half hours to full hours, until even the sky started to darken signaling it getting later in the day.

Lux was, by now, long past openly wailing, he'd given that up a good two or three hours ago, now he just watched the entrance of the park for anything, anyone. His chest ached as his eyes were focused, aside from a few waves of fresh tears blurring his vision for a few moments at a time, "Th-they really aren't coming..." he mumbled to himself finally, lip trembling beginning anew as the realization dawned on him entirely. Suddenly, he wasn't at all concerned about how downhill the day had gone, about the presents he was supposed to recieve, about the pampering attention, about any of it. Right now, he'd be utterly content in just getting a hug and being promised that he was loved and wanted, but did they want him? They certainly hadn't gone looking very hard.

The little boy debated to go home, but would he even be wanted at home? He'd run out all over an instruction, one that even toddlers could follow. Maybe it was a peaceful relief that he was out of the house. The thought only broke his heart further, stooping to his knees in front of the swing he'd previously occupied, not even minding it lightly hitting his head as it started to stabilize. In attempt to find some kind of comfort , he wrapped his arms around himself. While it proved useless in soothing him, it did at least warm him a little bit in the air slowly chilling. Right when he thought about finding some shelter or something for the night, assuming he didn't eventually swallow his severely bruised pride to go crawling back home, there were footsteps racing into the park entrance, signaled by the creaking of the park's fence.

Greed's head jerked up, a few more tears trickling down his cheeks, and he wasn't sure if he was fearful or relieved in who he saw. There his uncles were rushing into the park, it not taking much scanning at all to notice the crown adorned head.

"Oh darling, we finally found you!" Abel gasped, relief coursing through the shorter and younger brother, rushing towards the little boy, Cain not far behind but obviously much more tensed and angry. Abel immediately picked Lux up, rubbing his back gently, "Please, please don't ever do that again! We were so worried little prince!" Abel mumbled kissing his head a few times.

"You ought to be grateful I'm not tearing you a new ass, young man," Cain growled, "what in all the worlds were you thinking?? No, no, actually, don't answer that because clearly you weren't thinking!" he scolded.

"Cain!" Abel pleaded again, "Please not right now. Lets- let's just be happy our little prince was found safe!"

"Shut your mouth, dirt-for-brains. He was found safe by a goddamn miracle! You could've been hurt or kidnapped! You ever do something like that again and you won't be able to sit for weeks! Have I made myself clear?"

Greed sniffled a bit looking between his uncles trying hard to focus on their words, but there was a nagging in the back of his head that just wouldn't shut up, "....It took you so long... how long were you looking..?"

"Now that doesn't matter! You're lucky we found you at all!" Cain scolded, "Clearly some more time out here was needed, maybe then it'd fix your spoiled little attitude."

Abel gave a gruntish whine, turning from his brother not wanting to engage in a fight with him but also wanting to soothe Lux, "We started looking about a hour or so ago... before that we were setting up for your party, we assumed you'd be back home in time for that!" Abel explained.

"S-so in the time it took me t-to stop wailing... you two started looking for me...?" he whimpered, hesitating, "Did you even want me home..?"

"Oh darling, of course we did! We thought you went into the gardens or the woods to cool down a little bit..! Had we known you strayed so far, we would've looked much earlier," Abel promised, bouncing the child.

Lux didn't feel any comfort in the words, leaning against Abel's shoulder nonetheless, trying to simply bask in the physical comfort he was finally being given. A portion of the explanation finally catching up making him peek his head up a little.

"Y-you didn't forget?"

"Forget?" Cain repeated incredulously, brow arched.

"Forget... my adoption day.. I thought... I thought you all forgot it.."

"How ridiculous!" Cain scoffed, though the tone had an edge of gentleness in it.

Abel immediately picked up on his older brother's statement, voice entirely soothing, "Oh little dear, of course we didn't forget. How could we forget the night we carried in a little 4-year-old boy clinging to us for dear life?" he cooed.

"N-nobody mentioned it... I.... I thought..." Greed hiccupped again. Cain shook his head.

"We were trying to do a surprise party," the redhead offered, crossing his arms.

"I told you not mentioning it at all would upset him," Abel insisted.

Cain sneered, "Yes, let's see how much of a know-it-all you can be in the ground!" he growled slightly, Abel squeaked backing away.

"Uncles..." Lux piped up reminding them fully of his existence, "can.... can we just go home, please?"

Both froze a moment, taken aback by how meek and almost broken the little voice was. After a few moments longer of the stunned silence, Abel responded.

"Yes, that's a good idea, darling. I think some little dear needs to get comfy in pajamas and straight to bed for his belated adoption day party tomorrow..."

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Mina frowned a bit watching Greed, "Did you get your party?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, and it was fun," Lux assured, "it just... I dunno, was an eye opener," he mumbled, "it's why I like that side door so much, and use it... sometimes I go out of it just to... give everyone a break."

Mina paused a moment, only slightly moved by the semi-mature statement offered, in her time with the sin, she had saw more of them than people gave him credit for.

"I just wonder sometimes... if it hadn't been my adoption day.... how long it would've taken them to find me.." he finally added, messing with the fidget toy again.

Mina paused a moment before reaching a hand over, "Well, I enjoy your company a lot... and I'd go looking for you, and wouldn't stop till I found out.... that's assuming you could get me away from your side."

Lux paused briefly before smiling, "And that's why you're my favorite being," he hummed, "anyways," he hummed directing a subject change, "its my turn now... let's see.... if you could travel anywhere, where would you go and do?"

[ask-the-crimson-king]

The sorcerer continues along the tour as he listens to Fabius's questions. It is when he begins questioning his motives that he pauses, his steps coming to a stop. He takes a moment of consideration before responding, continuing on his way.

"He has always been a visionary," he begins. "He has always had the grandest visions of the future for all of us. And, for quite some time, I had felt his ideals were my own." As he turns the final corner, they are greeted by four Rubricae standing guard. Zikar-Sin dips his head to them, stopping before intricately decorated doors, embossed with the ouroboros that painted the pauldrons of all within the Legion. The edges depicted feathers intertwined with twisted and mutated limbs, with nine eyes placed along them, with the ninth eye itself being in the center of the Legion icon.

"I do feel the need to be close to him. Many within the Legion feel so. He is the Crimson King -- our King. To be near to him is to be close to a star itself. There is power there, and an intellect to rival any other found in the galaxy," he said. He let out a sigh, brushing a hand through his sandy-blonde hair.

"But my relationship with him is complicated. I still do hold him in very high regard and esteem, and I am more than blessed indeed to be requested to help with this undertaking, but..." He tilts his head, pursing his lips together. "In a way, you are correct. My time away from the Legion, especially working alongside the likes of the Word Bearers, has taught me the virtue of leaving the past alone. Initially, I thought we were trying to restore Prospero to be as it was. I have since learned the truth of the matter, and I am still not entirely sure how I feel about it."

He turned back on his heel, opening the door and revealing a vast archive, with all manner of shelves filled with tomes and scrolls and artifacts sitting neatly in stasis. They appeared to stretch into infinity both in height and in length, occasionally interspersed with tables holding all manner of strange and esoteric items. Among the shelves, there was the occasional sorcerer riding upon a disc of Tzeentch, or the rare human or daemon also running amok. A few Tzaangors could also be spotted pulling things from shelves, stacking them onto platforms that were unseen to the naked eye.

"I will explain the goals of the project and how the Legion will make use of it soon, but for now, welcome to one wing of our vast library and archival network," Zikar-Sin said, gesturing to the chamber around them. "It is immense and ever-growing, but it hopefully should not be too hard to navigate. The only downside is that you may need the help of someone who has some form of psychic ability or through the use of a Tzaangor or daemonic scribe. All that you see here is only surface perceptions. Allow me to demonstrate."

The sorcerer walked to the nearest shelf, packed with volumes neatly arrayed. He rested one hand on them, looking back to Fabius and his companions. "If you are to look closely at these books, you will notice none have their contents printed upon the cover nor spines. Same goes with the scrolls. This is because these are meant to be placeholders -- they represent the space that the particular tome you are looking for would hold. Follow so far?" he asked.

"However, if you were to say, be looking for an evolutionary history of the fauna of Prospero..." Zikar-Sin plucked a book from the shelf, opening it to reveal a cladistic diagram from one of the random pages within. "You can find it as easily as you wish. It is a manner of exerting a bit of willpower, which is why it's more easily done by one with some form of psychic knowledge." He closed the book. "Once the book is off the shelf, it will retain whatever knowledge you have called upon until it is returned. Does that make sense?"

[The thread was continually being quite long, so I am making a new continuation post; prior reply found here.]

@the-consortium

"Most of the human crew have not exhibited many signs of change or mutation," Zikar-Sin said as he turned to begin leading Fabius and his... allies? Friends? Did Fabius Bile have anyone he called a friend? The sorcerer couldn't tell. Regardless, he began leading them down one of the many winding halls that made the ship seem paradoxically larger than it actually was. "Many of them have been the ones helping to ferry in the psykers from elsewhere in the galaxy to safety. Though there will be substantial mutation found among the mortal populace that will eventually inhabit Tizca, I can assure you."

One of the crewmen saluted Zikar-Sin and his entourage as they went back, a smaller and bonier arm hanging over one ofhis shoulders holding a bag of tools. One of his eyes were missing, the socket now long since scarred over.

"Our first destination will be the ship's internal archive," the sorcerer proclaimed. "So that you are familiar with how to navigate it, at least. It exists as a literal extension of the libraries we keep on Sortiarius. The small library provided for you is paltry in comparison, of course. From there we will go to the observatory where I can give you a more firsthand look at the present climates of Prospero and Sortiarius, along with a look at their pasts for a point of reference. Afterwards, well... We can see what piques your interests."

[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[xeulousluv]

Almost

AN: Hello everyone, I am fairly new to posting on this app, so therefore I am still learning how to use it. Hehe :) Anyways, I hope you are having a great day!

Warning: Nothing really, maybe a little bit of angst? 

Zayn and Y/n broke up and all he’s left with are the videos she took during their senior year of high school.

September 1st, 2010: 

The camera was set up in her hand as she was slightly fixing her hair, a huge smile plastered on her makeup covered face. He always thought she looked better without makeup, but sometimes you couldn’t beat the insecurities. 

“Here we are, the first day of senior year! How are we feeling, Zayn?” 

Next to her stood himself, a much younger version of himself. Two years to be exact. He was almost unrecognizabel, with his usual high school attire adoring his body. A white tee-shirt, black skinny jeans, and not to mention his varsity football jacket hanging off of his shoulders. She looked lovingly at her boyfriend, her eyelashes beating against the softness of her rounded cheeks. 

“I’m ready to get out of here, the last three years were the upmost worst years of my life.” Zayn spoke truthfully, he hadn’t expected to make it past the ninth grade, but with the help of Y/n, he managed to make it all the way to his graduating year. Y/n gave him an offended look before responding, “Hey! If it weren’t for these last three years, you would’ve never met me, let alone had the courage to talk to me. Am I really that bad?” 

She laughed out while speaking, all so he knows that she is joking and would never accuse him of thinking such things. Though, he was already two steps ahead of her and was laughing along at her sad attempt of looking offended. “Of course not, baby. You are what kept me going.” With that, Zayn kissed her temple and she let out a small giggle before stopping the camera. 

September 5th, 2010:

Random small talk was heard on the computer sitting in front of Zayn, before her face showed with a bright glow. She was so beautiful it almost hurt. She was laughing at something her friend Emery said, though it was completely inaudible, he just let the smile take over his face hearing her laugh again. 

“I don’t exactly know why I turned this on, but hello! We successfully made it through the first week of school, and let me just say, it was not fun. The teachers still hate me.” Again, Y/n laughed towards the camera. 

“I remember this one time last year when Mr. Lambert threw me out of class because I wouldn’t stop laughing. In my defence, he was talking about the safety of condoms and Zayn kept mocking him. That was a detention worth going to.” Zayn remembered that day clearly. He sat to the left of Y/n, Mr. Lambert’s first mistake, and would whisper in her ear how he would show her the proper way to wear a condom when they got to her house that night. To say he did end up showing her was an understatement. 

The camera then turned to her friend before she continued on with what she was saying, “Anyways, Emery here, has informed me about this back to school party for seniors at Anthony Stilettos house. So, we are heading to the mall so we can get a nice looking outfit for tonight. I’ll see you guys later!”  And with that the camera switched off.

He thought that was the end of the video, but when she popped back on his screen, he was pleasantly surprised. She wore a black dress that just reached her knees, the end of it rippled and flew each time she took a step. Her hair and makeup was done, and her shoes matched her dress, she really was the most beautiful person he has ever met. 

Without saying anything, Y/n moved the camera to where the view was now on Emery. She wore a simple tight red dress that fit her like a glove, she was placing bobby pins in her hair before realising a camera was watching her every move. Emery turned away from the mirror Y/n had in her room, and started making random poses into the camera. The video finally ended with Y/n facing the camera back to herself while laughing at it. 

October 7th, 2010: 

It was homecoming. Their final homecoming, and of course, Zayn asked her to be his date. He didn’t go all out like the previous years, this particular year was asked right after they finished giving each other their all. They were bunched up together, all sweaty and breathless, and that is when Zayn asked her to go to homecoming with him. He thought it was gross because of their previous activities, but Y/n thought it was sweet, endearing even. It was personal and intimate, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Plus, she was tired of all the attention that comes with getting asked to homecoming. 

Her dress was a beautiful shade of baby yellow, Zayn wore his usual black suit but with a yellow tie and a yellow rose pinned to his coat pocket. The night couldn’t have been anymore magical. 

“Z, are you ready to go? Emmy and Dallas are waiting in the car.” Her soft voice echoed through the speakers, she was worried about being late. But more so, excited about what the night had planned for the couple. Zayn was fixing his hair, like he does any other day, however today, he wanted to look his absolute best. “Just one more second, love. Gotta look perfect before leaving these four secured walls.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes into the camera before another smile took over her face. It only got wider as he finally announced that he was ready. 

“Baby, you look handsome! You don’t need all that hair gel, make one wrong move and we’re calling you Uncle Jesse.” Zayn scoffed, his hands finding their place on her hips, him being pressed up against her back. His chin resting on her shoulder, they looked so in love. They were so in love. 

October 31st, 2010: 

Fall was Y/n’s favorite season, meaning Halloween was by far her favorite holiday. She squealed into the camera when Zayn walked out in his Peter Pan costume. “Baby, you look so fucking adorable!” She cooed, though Zayn was having none of it. “Do we have to go to this party? Can’t we just stay in and watch scary movies, I promise I will protect you if you get too scared!”

He knew it was no use, Y/n had been going on and on about Anthony’s costume party for the past week, so when she started laughing, Zayn internally groaned. “Brave of you to assume I will get scared during a horror movie. How about we go for just an hour, then you and I can come back here and watch whatever movie you want?” 

At that, his ears perked, he could go for an hour. That gives him all the more time alone with his love. “Hocus Pocus? That’s my favorite.” 

“Yes baby, we can watch Hocus Pocus, do this for me, and I’m all yours for the rest of the night.” A grin was stretched across his face as she leaned up and gave a peck to his lips. Adoration shining brightly in her eyes as she looked up at him. “You are so lucky I love you, Y/n.” 

“I love you, Zayn. More than you will ever know.” 

December 31st, 2010:

“Hola, my favorite people! Happy New Years Eve, I hope you guys are having a good day. My family is having a little party to bring in the new year, even though you won’t be watching this until later when I decide to post it, I hope you guys have an amazing holiday. Be safe now. Bye!”

Christmas and New Year’s was hard for Y/n. She had major separation anxiety for everyone she grows close to, so not being able to see the people she loves for a whole two weeks was taking a toll on her. Not to mention, Zayn went back to Bradford for the holidays, so he wasn’t there to keep her calm. All she had was the emails and messages he would send her.  

However, that night was different. She didn’t know what it was, but the air felt more intoxicating. There was something she was missing and the young girl couldn’t put her finger on it. 

Emery got ahold of Y/n’s camera without her noticing, pressing the ‘record’ button and smiling.

“Hi, as many of you may know, my name is Emery White. Before questions start racing through your head about where Y/n is, she is currently in the kitchen talking to one of her neighbors, and she knows nothing about this so, shhh!” Emery held her index finger up to her mouth, even though she is talking to a camera. 

“So, the time is now 11:58, meaning it is almost New Year’s and I got a message from a good friend of mine to get her camera and start recording. Oh wait, she’s coming over! Act normal!” 

“Emmy? Why do you have my camera, wait no, when did you get my camera?” Emery turned her neck to look at Y/n, and smiled while looking at her friends confused face. “It’s almost midnight, I figured we could record the big moment for your journal thing.” 

Y/n looked at her watch and sure enough, it was 12:59, and the people around her were counting down. By the time Y/n looked back at her friend, Emery had switched her position to behind the camera, her smile now stretching to her eyes. She gave a confused smile towards the camera before shaking her head. 

10..

9..

8..

A tap was felt on Y/n’s shoulder making her turn around, not believing her eyes, she had to do a double take. There he was in all of his glory. Zayn stood in front of her with a bouquet of random flowers, her eyes widening in complete shock. 

3..

2..

1!

Before she could fully process his presence, Zayn had planted his lips against hers in what he would call, one of their best kisses. His arms went around her waist while hers were around his neck, keeping him as close as humanly possible. She was the first to pull away from the kiss, tears forming at the bottom of her eyes but never fell. Zayn pulled her back, this time her face went into his neck as he whispered out a small, “Happy New Years, baby.” 

May 22nd, 2011: 

Senior prom, a day Y/n has waited her entire life for. Getting all dolled up for one night of perfection sounded glorious. Unlike most people, her dress doesn’t reach the floor but goes a little ways past her knees. It was a light shade of green, she wasn’t usually one for the cliche pink and blue, and her stomach was laced over showing her belly button peircing. She felt on top of the world, the most gorgeous she has ever felt in her entire life. 

Zayn was in a nude tuxedo, a lightish green tie tucked into the blazer. “It’s prom day, baby, how do you feel?” The now well-known camera placed in front of his face, though he paid no attention to it, but really the girl behind it. “Like I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world. How did I get so lucky, hm?” 

The blush was evident on her face, he could see it perfectly now even with the camera facing him and not herself. He could still see the light in her eyes. Looking back on it, he couldn’t imagine living his life without her, how could he let her go? 

It wasn’t like they got in a fight or anything, Zayn and Y/n were going to different colleges and he didn’t want to do the whole long distance thing. He felt she deserved better than that. So even though the breakup was absolutely not a mutual agreement, Y/n somewhat understood and let him walk away. 

“You’re such the charmer, Zayn. Always got me blushing for no good reason.” 

“I would be a bad boyfriend if I didn’t.” 

Now turning the camera to face both of them, Zayn placed a kiss on her lips before turning off the camera and letting their night go on as best as it could, for it would be one of the last good memories they have. Except at the time, neither of them knew the last time would actually be the last time. 

June 4th, 2011: 

“Hey everyone, I just want to start off by saying congratulations, we made it. Graduating today was the most amazing feelings, and I’m sure you all can agree with me. The past four years have really taught me a lot, I know I sound like the Mallory Barnes, our valedictorian that gave the speech today, but I’m serious, you all have been amazing. Teachers included.” 

Y/n wasn’t in her usual attire. She was in a comfortable baggy hoodie, and that’s all you could see as her camera was propped on the desk in the corner of the room. Her hair was in a messy bun, no makeup, and her glasses were sat perfectly on her nose. What no one could notice was the slight puffiness to her eyes, the way they were red and tired. But Zayn noticed, however. When Y/n first uploaded this to her instagram, Zayn couldn’t bare to watch it, so seeing it now definitely brought back a feeling he tried too hard to push away. 

“In the past four years I have learned about friendships, I learned about love, and I learned about heartbreak. I have got to say, high school brought me some really great friendships that I will cherish forever. I am finding it very difficult to say goodbye, but we are bound to go off and do bigger and better things. The future awaits for us.” 

“I just want to thank you guys for the amazing memories, and I hope you guys make your dreams come true.” Y/n sighed into the camera, she was really bad at saying goodbye, though you would think it would be easier considering no one likes high school. However, Y/n loved every single second of it, maybe not the learning but the memories made.

“Now, I am going to get really sappy for a minute and say a massive thank you to the man who has loved me for the past four years. Zayn, I know we haven’t talked in a few weeks, and you’re probably not even watching this, but just know that I am so proud of you.  I don’t know how I could not be. I really hope you make something wonderful of yourself. You were by far my favorite part of this journey. Thank you for sticking with me and for loving me. And even though we aren’t together anymore, I love you.”

“We almost had it all, didn’t we?” 

AN: Yeah, I don't think I like this babahahah. Love the concept but someone out there could definitely write it better. 

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 7

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - This Venerable One Likes Wontons

The scorching sun was blazing.

The veranda of Life-Death Peak stretched for mile.

As a rising star among immortal cultivators, it was quite different from the other famous clans of the immortal world.

Take the most prosperous Rufeng Sect of Linyi. The main hall of the sect was called the "Six Virtues Hall", which intended to encourage disciples to be "wise, faithful, holy, righteous, benevolent, and loyal" in accordance with the six virtues. The area where the disciples live was called the "Six Behaviours Gate", which warns the disciples to practice "filial piety, friendship, harmony, marriage, responsibility, and compassion." The place where classes were taught was called "Six Arts Platform", which meant that disciples needed to be proficient in the six skills of "ritual, music, archery, riding, calligraphy, and mathematics".

All in all, its elegance was endless.

On the other hand, Life-Death Peak came from a poor background. Its names were hard to explain. "Danxin Hall" and "Platform of Righteousness and Evil" were alright. Perhaps it was because Mo Ran's father and his uncle weren't scholars and couldn't determine any better names. After a while, the names started to get more nonsensical, naming things "Xue Ya" -sounding names left and right.

Therefore, there are many plagiarised names from the underworld on Life-Death Peak. For example, the room where disciples practiced self-reflection was called Yanluo Hall.

The jade bridge connecting the resting area and the teaching area was called Naihe Bridge. The dining hall was called Mengpo Hall, the martial arts field was called Mountain of Daggers and Sea of Flames. The forbidden area of ​​the back of the mountain is called the Ghost Room, and so on.

These weren't too bad, but there were other places simply called "This is a mountain", "This is water", "This is a pit", as well as the famous "Ahhhhh" and "Wahhhhhh" cliffs.

The elders’ dormitories naturally did not escape, and each has their own nickname.

Chu Wanning was naturally no exception. He liked peace and didn't want to live near others. His residence was built on the South Peak of Life-Death Peak, hidden in a sea of ​​bamboo. There was a pool in front of the main hall, and the pool was red from lotus petals blocking the sunlight from reflecting off it. Because of its abundance of spiritual power, the lotus flowers were in full bloom all year round in the pool, like red clouds.

The disciples secretly called this beautiful place--

Red Lotus Hell.

When Mo Ran thought of this, he couldn't help but laugh.

Chu Wanning wore a terrifying face every single day, and the disciples who saw him thought he was the devil himself. Therefore, shouldn't the place where the devil stays be called hell?

Xue Meng interrupted his daydream: "You laugh even though you were scolded! Hurry up and eat breakfast. After eating, follow me to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil. Shizun will punish you in public today!"

Mo Ran sighed, and touched the whip mark on his face: "Hss. . . ow."

"You deserved it!"

"Hah, I wonder if Tianwen has been repaired. I hope he doesn't try it out on me again before it's fixed. Who knows what nonsense I might say."

In the face of Mo Ran's sincere concerns, Xue Meng's face flushed, and he angrily said: "If you dare to speak out indecently in public against Shizun, I'll rip your tongue out!"

Mo Ran covered his face and waved his hand faintly: "No need, no need, if Shizun ties me with willow vine again, I will end myself on the spot to prove my innocence."

When the hour came, Mo Ran was brought to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil according to customs. He looked around, and there was a deep blue sea of ​​people below. The disciples of Life-Death Peak all wore the sect uniform; blue so dark it was almost black armour, the lion's head belt, wrist guards and the silver threads gleaming on the hems of robes.

The rising sun, below the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, the sea of armour shone.

Mo Ran kneeled on the raised platform, listening to a chief elder list off a long list of the crimes he'd committed.

"Mo Weiyu, disciple of Elder Yuheng, arrogantly disregarded teachings, disobeyed the rules of the sect, and abandoned morality. You have violated the fourth, ninth, and fifteenth mandates of this sect. As punishment, you will receive 80 strikes, copy the sect rules a hundred times and reflect in solitude for a full month. Mo Weiyu, is there anything you have to say in your defense?"

Mo Ran glanced at the white figure in the distance.

That elder was the only member of Life-Death Peak who wasn't required to wear the standard blue and silver rim robe.

Chu Wanning's robe was made of snow-white satin, an outer robe made of cloud-patterned silver silk, like he was dressed in a heavenly frost, but the person wearing it seemed far more frigid than either snow or frost. He sat quietly, far enough away that Mo Ran couldn't see the expression on his face, but he knew that this person was probably completely unphased.

Mo Ran let out a deep sigh: "I have nothing to argue."

According to customary practice, the chief elder asked the disciples below: "If anyone is dissatisfied with the verdict, or has something else to say, this is the time to make such a statement."

All the disciples began to hesitate and averted their gaze.

None of them expected that the Yuheng Elder Chu Wanning would actually send his disciple to be punished publicly on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil.

To put it nicely, this person was impartial, but to word it differently, was also called a cold-blooded demon.

The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning faintly propped his chin and sat in the position. Suddenly someone shouted with amplifying technique: "Elder Yuheng, this disciple is willing to plead for leniency on behalf of Young Master Mo."

". . . Plead?"

This disciple obviously felt that since Mo Ran was the nephew of Life-Death Peak's lord, even if he had screwed up this time, his future prospects would still be bright, so he decided to take the opportunity to win Mo Ran's favour. He began to talk nonsense: "Although Junior Brother Mo is at fault, he loves his fellow students and helps the weak. Please treat consider being lenient for the sake of his kind nature!"

Obviously, he was not the only one hoping to please Junior Brother Mo.

Gradually, more and more people spoke up for Mo Ran. They threw out all sorts of arguments, it made even Mo Ran embarrassed to hear; when had he ever had "an innocent heart, pure and open-minded"? This was a disciplinary meeting, not a commendation meeting, right?

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me exterminate demons and killed deadly beasts. I would like to beg on Junior Brother Mo's behalf. His merits will offset his demerits, and I hope that Elder will lighten his punishment!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dispel my demons when I experience qi deviation. I believe Junior Brother Mo made a mistake this time and was only momentarily confused. I also ask Elder to please be lenient on Junior Brother!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once gave me an elixir to save my mother. He is a benevolent person. Please, Elder, punish him lightly!"

The last person’s remarks were based on the previous disciples', and he was at a loss for words. Seeing Chu Wanning's frozen eyes sweep over, the anxious disciple didn't hesitate to say: “Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dual cultivate--”

"Pff." Someone couldn't help laughing.

The disciple immediately blushed and retreated.

"Yuheng, calm your anger, calm your anger..." Seeing that the chief elder was not happy, he went to his side and hurriedly persuaded him.

Chu Wanning said coldly: "I have never seen such a shameless person. What is his name? Whose disciple?"

The chief elder hesitated a little, then bit the bullet and said softly, "My disciple, Yao Lian."

Chu Wanning raised his eyebrows: "Your disciple? Save face*?"

(Pronounced the same as Yao Lian's name)

The chief elder couldn't help but feel embarrassed, and his old face tried to change the subject with a red face: "He's talented at singing, and he can be useful when he receives the offerings."

Chu Wanning scoffed and turned away, not wanting to waste time talking nonsense with this shameless chief elder.

There were thousands of people on Life-Death Peak. A couple flatterers were nothing surprising.

Seeing the conviction in the faces of his sect brothers, Mo Ran himself almost trusted their words. Very impressive indeed. It turns out he wasn't the only person in this sect that knew how to concoct wild stories in broad daylight. There were many talented people here.

Chu Wanning, who had heard "Elder Yuheng, please be merciful" countless times, finally spoke to the disciples.

"Pleading for Mo Weiyu?" He paused and said, "Yes, all of you may come up."

Those people didn't know what would happen and went up tremblingly.

A golden light flashed in Chu Wanning's palm. Tianwen appeared as commanded, and wrapped around the dozens of people together with a whistle, and tied them firmly in place.

Not again!!

Mo Ran was beginning to get desperate. Just the sight of Tianwen made his legs weak. He really didn’t know where Chu Wanning got such a perverted weapon. It was a good thing he had never taken a wife in his previous life. The poor girl who would marry him, if she didn't get whipped to death, she would be questioned to death.

Chu Wanning's eyes were quite mocking. He asked one of them: "Mo Ran helped you ward off evil spirits?"

How could the disciple resist the torture of TIanwen? He immediately howled: "No! No!"

He asked another one: "Mo Ran helped you overcome your qi deviation?"

"Ah! Never! Never!"

"Mo Ran gave you an elixir?"

"Ah—! Help! No, no! I made it up! I made it up!"

Chu Wanning loosened the hold, but then raised his hand and waved the weapon fiercely, it crackling and blazing, Tianwen suddenly lashed out and hit the backs of the lying disciples.

There were screams instantly, blood splashing.

Chu Wanning's eyebrows furrowed, and he scolded: "What are you calling? Kneel down! Disciple attendant!"

"Here."

"Deliver the punishment!"

"Understood!"

As a result, instead of reaping the benefits of defending Mo Ran, each of them was beaten with ten strikes each for violating the mandate of deception, plus a bonus willow vine lash gifted by Elder Yuheng.

After nightfall, Mo Ran lay on his bed. Although he had been given medicine, his back was covered with staggered scars. He couldn't even turn himself over without almost crying from the pain. He sniffled.

He had been born, so whimpering like this made him look like a fluffy, abandoned kitten. But it was a pity that his thoughts didn't match that cute kitten image.

He gripped the bedding and bit into the sheets, imagining that this was that bastard Chu Wanning. He bit! Kicked! Stomped! Tore!

The only comfort is that Shi Mei came to visit him with a bowl of wontons. He stared at him with those gentle and pitiful eyes, and Mo Ran's tears fell even more fiercely.

He didn't care whether men were supposed to hold in their tears or not, he loved to act spoiled in front of the person he liked.

"Does it still hurt a lot? Can you sit up?" Shi Mei sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. "Shizun, he. . . he was too cruel. Look at your back. . . there are several wounds. Some are still bleeding."

Mo Ran's heart softened, a warmth gradually rose in his chest. His teary eyes lifted from the bedding and he blinked.

"Since Shi Mei cares about me so much, I, I'm not in too much pain anymore."

"Oh, how can it not hurt if you look like this? You know what Shizun's temperament is like, will you dare do something like this in the future?"

In the candlelight, Shi Mei looked at him a little helplessly and a little distressedly. The amorous eyes were gleaming, like warm spring water.

Mo Ran's heart moved slightly, and he cleverly said: "Never again. I swear.

"Does anyone believe your promises anymore?" Even though he said that, Shi Mei also smiled, "The wontons are getting cold, can you sit up? If you can't get up, just lie on your stomach and I will feed you."

Mo Ran had already climbed up halfway, but immediately collapsed back down when he heard this.

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Whether it was this life or his previous one, Mo Ran's favourite food was Shi Mei's handmade wontons. The dough was as thin as a cloud of smoke, and the filling was tender and moist, melting in his mouth after every bite.

Especially the soup, the milky consistency, sprinkled with green onions, tender yellow egg wisps, and topped with a spoonful of spicy chilli peppers fried with garlic. It made whoever ate it feel so warm that they would never be cold again.

Shi Mei carefully spoonfed him. While feeding him, he said: "I didn't put any chilli oil today. You're badly hurt. Spice isn't good for recovery. Just drink the broth instead."

Mo Ran stared at him and he couldn't look away. He smiled: "Spicy or not, as long as you made it, it's delicious."

"Smooth talker." Shi Mei also smiled, picking up a poached egg lying in the soup, "Here's your reward, I know you like them."

Mo Ran laughed, a small tuft of hair curling on his forehead, like a flower blooming: "Shi Mei."

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name."

". . ."

The hair tuft swayed back and forth.

"Shi Mei."

Shi Mei held back a smile: "Just felt like it again?"

"Hmm, just saying your name makes me happy."

Shi Mei sat silently for a moment then gently touched his forehead: "Silly boy, do you have a fever?"

Mo Ran let out a laugh. He rolled over, looking at him sideways, his eyes bright, as if full of fine stars.

"It would be a dream if I could eat Shi Mei's wontons every day"

He truly meant it.

After Shi Mei died, Mo Ran had always wanted to try the wontons he made again, but it is what it is, and he wasn't coming back.

At that time, Chu Wanning hadn't completely broken off all relations with him. Whether it was out of guilt or something else, he didn't know, but when he saw Mo Ran knelt in front of Shi Mei's coffin in a daze, Chu Wanning went quietly to the kitchen, kneaded dough and minced the fillings, carefully folded a couple wontons. But Mo Ran saw what he was doing before he had finished. With the loss of the love of his life, Mo Ran just couldn't bear it. He felt like Chu Wanning was doing it to mock him, a botched attempt at imitating them, a deliberate insult to injury.

Shi Mei was dead. Chu Wanning could have saved him, but he refused to help. Afterwards, he wanted to replace Shi Mei and make wontons for Mo Ran instead? Did he think that this would make him happy?

He rushed into the kitchen and knocked over all the utensils. The round wontons fell out of his hands and all over the floor.

He screamed at Chu Wanning: "Who the hell do you think you are? You think you're worthy of replacing him? Of making the food he used to? Shi Mei is dead, are you satisfied? Or do you have to torture your disciples until they go mad or die before you're happy? Chu Wanning! No one in this world can make those wontons anymore. You can try but you'll never be him!"

Now he was eating this bowl with such deep joy. He slowly ate them, savouring them. Although he was still smiling, his eyes were a little moist. Fortunately, the candlelight was dim, and Shi Mei couldn't see his subtle expression clearly.

Mo Ran said: "Shi Mei."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Shi Mei froze for a moment, and then smiled gently: "Isn't it just a bowl of wontons? No need to be so formal about it. If you like them, I will always make them for you in the future."

Mo Ran wanted to say, the thanks wasn't just for the wontons.

Thank you also, whether in the last life or in this life, for being the only one to look out for me, not caring about my origins, didn't care about the fourteen years I spent scavenging around.

Thank you, because if it weren't for the sudden thought of you, after being reborn, I'm afraid I would not be able to stop myself from killing Rong Jiu. I would've made a big mistake, and walked the same path I had before.

Fortunately, in this life, I was reborn before you die. I will definitely take good care of you. If you are sick, and that cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning is unwilling to save you, I will.

But how could he have said these words aloud?

In the end, Mo Ran just drank the soup, leaving not even a single green onion behind. He licked his lips unconsciously, his dimples prominent, and he was as cute as a very fluffy little cat.

"Will there be more tomorrow?"

Shi Mei couldn't help but shake his head: "You don't want something else? Won't you get sick of them?"

"I'll never get tired of your wontons, as long as you don't get tired of making them."

Shi Mei shook his head and smiled: "I don't know if there's enough flour left. If there's not enough, I'm afraid I can't make it. If I can't, do you think the eggs in sweet soup are alright instead? They are also one of your favourites."

"Okay, okay. As long as you make it, anything is okay."

Mo Ran's heart surged. He was so happy he could roll around in the blankets.

Look at caring Shi Mei is, Chu Wanning, you go screw yourself! I get to lie in bed with a beauty taking care of me, hehe!

Thinking of Shizun, a rush of anger mixed with the tenderness he had been feeling.

Mo Ran started to dig the bottom of the headboard with resentment again. He cursed, what Yuheng of the Night Sky, what the Beidou Immortal, it's all fucking bullshit!

Chu Wanning, just wait and see!!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 6

@pocketramblr another :)

.

Shouta trudged back to the staff break room. His counseling session with Midoriya had lasted a little over an hour, so while there were still teachers in the building, many of them had left. With the exception of semi-retired heroes like Recovery Girl, everyone working here had two full time jobs. Hizashi, despite his carefree air, had even more than that in the form of his radio show. Hizashi had probably left with the students.

But Hizashi wasn't either of the ones he wanted to talk to. Not today.

He opened the door. Three, no, four teachers were there, but Snipe didn't count, seeing as he was completely passed out on one of the couches with his gas mask half off. He must have had an early shift patrol today, poor sucker.

Nemuri was there, too, with most of her hero outfit on. She was applying her hero-grade makeup (water proof, resistant to three common contact poisons, and guaranteed not to react badly with mace).

More importantly, Kan and Yagi were both there, poring over papers on the same desk, no less. Shouta walked up to the table and looked down at sheets and sheets full of incomprehensible numbers.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"We-"

'Don't tell him!" said Kan, urgently. "This is going to be my class's leg up on Aizawa this time around."

"Haha! Good one!" Yagi slapped Kan's back, and apparently even in his skeletal form he could pack a punch, because Kan had the air knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Yagi continued, "I'm making personalized nutrition plans for his class!"

"What?"

"One of my undergraduate degrees was in nutritional and health sciences, after all!"

Wow, there was a lot to unpack there, but Shouta was more than happy to leave it in its box. He had other fish to fry and topics to interrogate. Small talk requirement fulfilled, he moved on.

"How well do you know Midoriya?"

Yagi blinked and put down his pencil. "Moderately so? We met about this time last year and have been meeting regularly since then."

So, so much to unpack.

"Why?"

"Ah, he... impressed me, I suppose? He was involved in the bodysnatcher incident last year."

That was an understatement.

"He had a lot of heroic spirit!" continued Yagi. "But... not so much in the, ah, body category. I thought it would be a shame, a waste, really, if he wasn't able to pursue his dream, and a hero school prep course wasn't really in the cards for him, considering his quirk status and the timing... And I did have this degree..." He waved his hands vaguely at the table. "I just gave him a little help."

"What brought all this on, anyway?" asked Nemuri. "Midoriya is the little green haired kid, right? One of Chibiida's new friends?"

"If you keep calling him that, I won't be held responsible for when he snaps and attempts murder. But, yes, that's Midoriya."

"So...?"

"He told me I was the best teacher he'd ever had."

Nemuri started laughing.

"Oh," said Yagi. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well."

"I think he's pulling your leg, Shouta," said Nemuri, coming over to pat him on his shoulder. "Man, I didn't think a friend of Chibiida's would have it in him. Such youth!"

"I cannot even begin to tell you how much he wasn't."

Nemuri's laughter died off.

"Judging from some comments he made today," said Shouta, "not to mention the discrepancies between his record and his observed behavior in the classroom, I'd say he's been the target of severe quirkism in the past, particularly from his teachers. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?"

Yagi's face darkened and the mood in the room grew much more somber. "Not in so many words, no. However... some of his comments about his teachers disturbed me enough to bring it to the attention of the Musutafu Educational Services District, but as an unrelated stranger without concrete proof..."

("You can use the acronym, you know," muttered Vlad.)

"You're telling me they ignored the number one hero."

Yagi made a face. "I didn't go to them as All Might. Can you imagine the media frenzy if I did that? I didn't want to paint that kind of target on young Midoriya's back."

That was fair, actually. If largely-anonymous Shouta had enemies, All Might had ten times as many. Not to mention supposed fans.

"Other avenues of inquiry were also fruitless," said All Might, countenance darkening. "I asked some of my police colleagues, but they don't have full discretion over the direction of their investigations, and, again, if I were to use my weight to move them... It would get out, and people would wonder why I was so concerned with an apparently normal middle school."

"Did you try talking to Nezu about it?"

"No? Why?"

Shouta reminded himself that although Yagi was an alumnus, he was also very new as a teacher, and was as of yet unfamiliar with Nezu's more interesting traits.

"I'm going to," said Shouta, "and you're going to come with me." He turned to Kan. "Have you heard anything from Bakugo about quirk discrimination?"

"All I've heard from him are explosions, threats, and some kind of complex I don't have nearly enough psychiatric training to- They're from the same school," he realized.

"Yeah."

Kan pinched his brow. "So, the sweet shy kid you keep gushing about-" Both Shouta and Yagi attempted to reassure Kan they weren't gushing, "-and the demon brat are from the same school."

"That is what their records say," agreed Shouta. "Did you know, Yagi?"

"Oh, that they knew each other? Yes. Actually, I was rather under the impression they were childhood friends, as Midoriya ran out to help him during the bodysnatcher incident."

Shouta grunted. It was possible. He hadn't seen the two of them interact, at any rate.

"I'm going to Nezu with you," said Kan, standing up. "No matter what else this hell school did, they deserve to suffer for inflicting Bakugo Katsuki on me with those recommendations full of lies."

"Why don't you just expell him if he's that bad?"

"Because he's talented, hardworking, and hasn't actually broken any rules except for the swearing. He's just a pain I wasn't prepared to deal with and will probably contribute more to my hearing loss than Yamada by the end of the year."

"Wait, wait," said Yagi. "What exactly are you expecting Nezu to do in this situation?"

"Well," said Nemuri, who still hadn't left yet, "let's just say there's a reason hid name is 'god' in the staff group chat."

.

Terrible did not even begin to describe how Izuku felt when he woke up. His skin was static. His mouth was dry in a way that hurt. It felt like a siren was going off in his brain, and also like it was too quiet. He wanted to both run all the way to the school and hide in his closet.

This, of course, left him paralyzed in bed.

He hadn't felt remotely like this since the first time someone had left spider lilies on his desk at school. What was wrong with him?

No, that was the wrong question. All signs pointed to him having Danger Sense. He was in danger. And also immobile in bed.

With a great deal of effort, he turned to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. The clock in the corner read 4:42. Far too early to call anyone. And yet...

With shaky fingers, he navigated to Mr. Yagi's contact information and pressed dial. To Izuku's surprise, it only rang once.

"Young Midoriya? Is something wrong?"

The sound of his voice loosened the terrible knot under Izuku's breastbone. "I- May-maybe? I don't- I don't know, I think so."

There were sounds of movement on the other side of the line. "What happened?"

"I just- just woke up, and I- I think it's Danger Sense. It- Something bad is going to happen."

"I'm on my way. Is your mother with you?"

"N-no. She's at a- at a tech conference in Tokyo. She won't be back until- until tomorrow. Mr. Yagi, I don't- I don't think it's something here. I think it's later... at the school."

There was a pause. "My boy, are you quite sure?"

Izuku's laugh was just a little hysterical. "I mean, I'm- I'm pretty new to this, but..." he'd like to think his flight or fight reflex would have a more constructive response to am immediate threat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you up, I should have waited-"

"Nonsense! Forewarned is forearmed, and time is one of the most valuable resources a hero can have! I'm still picking you up, I'll just-" Mr. Yagi coughed, "-take the car instead."

"The car? You mean Hercules!?" The excitement was enough to free Izuku from his paralysis and propel him into a sitting position.

"Well, yes, but, my boy, how did you know? I don't think I've ever mentioned the name in my interviews..."

"But you did! In one of your American interviews. It was for a local station and you and Mr. Shield were on together."

"But those were in English."

"I know! When I found out about them, it really motivated me to work on my English! I think I could probably pass the Level Two fluency test..."

"Young Midoriya, have I ever told you how glad I am that you aren't a villain?"

.

"Hikage, did Danger Sense ever make you feel this bad?" asked Nana as Yoichi fussed in the background.

"Super Anxiety made me feel this bad all the time. Sometimes, it made me feel worse. I got used to it."

Nana let out a sigh of relief. It sucked to Ninth right now, but if it was normal for the quirk...

"That's good, then," said En. "Not for Ninth, obviously, but if that's just how the quirk works, he'll be able to figure it out. What did it usually mean, when you felt like this?"

"Generally, that someone was planning on killing me in the next few hours."

Dead(er than usual) silence.

"Ah," said En.

"You know," said Nana, "sometimes the kinds of lives we led slips my mind, but then the universe is always real happy to turn around and slap it back into me."

Yoichi started screeching.

.

"Do you feel any worse now that we're here?" asked Mr. Yagi after shutting Hercules down.

"Not really," said Izuku. He slumped down in his seat and looked away. "I'm sorry, I dragged you out of bed and this is probably just a stupid pointless meaningless panic attack..." He felt tears begin to prick at the edges of his eyes. He was so stupid. And selfish. All Might could be out helping people right now. Or taking care of himself (which, according to Recovery Girl's comments during their training sessions, he didn't do nearly enough of).

"Hey, hey, there's no need to cry, it's alright."

"Because you're here?" asked Izuku with a sniffle.

"Well, yes, but also, even if it was 'just' a panic attack, I'd still want to be here for you." He reached across the central console to pat Izuku on the shoulder. Then his face twisted into something rather sheepish. "But on the subject of panic attacks, something did occur to me on the way here."

Izuku looked back down at his knees. "What is it?"

"This is the anniversary of the day we met."

Izuku... had known that, actually. Waking up as he had had driven it from his mind, but the date was marked on his calendar. He'd even gotten All Might a gift, although he hadn't yet talked himself into being brave enough to give it to him, and with what happened today, it would most likely languish in his desk drawer for an indefinite period of time as the idea of giving it became progressively more awkward.

"My boy? I can't quite make out what you're saying. You're mumbling."

Izuku clapped his hands over his mouth. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. I'm just an old man with hearing problems."

"You're not old! It's... I just- I just don't see how- how that's connected to this." He gestured at himself in all his vaguely-trembling glory.

"Young Midoriya... you almost died three separate times that day. That's traumatic. And sometimes anniversaries are... reminders."

"I only almost died once?"

"The first time with the sludge villain, grabbing on to my leg- and I don't think I ever apologized for telling you to let go, I was just so surprised- and then the sludge villain again."

"But I only almost died the first time..." He trailed off as Mr. Yagi gave him a look. He'd thought his mother was the only one who could give looks like that... "Do you really think this is connected to that?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Yagi. "Do you feel like it might be?"

"I don't know," said Izuku. He bent over and knotted his fingers in his hair.

"Do you think it might help to stay home today?"

"No!" yelped Izuku. "No," he repeated, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Alright, alright. Never fear, my boy." Mr. Yagi gave him another steadying shoulder pat. "In that case, let's go into this with the assumption that this is danger sense, and it is attempting to warn you of a real threat."

"Okay," said Izuku. He rubbed at his eyes. "What do we do first?"

Mr. Yagi tensed and looked up at the top floors of UA. "Well..."

.

"Hm!" said Nezu. "That is something of a conundrum! The extent of your quirk is unclear, and it is not properly registered, so we cannot go through the official routes we normally would for a warning given through a precognitive or clairvoyant quirk, even given that we are aware of One for All and the probable nature of Danger Sense."

Nezu knowing about One for All had been a bit of a surprise. In retrospect, maybe it shouldn't have been. All Might would have had to tell Nezu something so that Izuku was allowed on campus before he was really a student, and seeing as how All Might was originally teaching here to find a successor... well, it made sense. Izuku just wished he'd been told.

How many other people knew was a question for later, however.

"Your inexperience with the quirk and other circumstances further complicates the matter."

"Sorry," said Izuku.

"Whatever for? It isn't your fault." Nezu did not wait for an answer. "Then there is yesterday's incident to consider... You say you felt something with the reporters?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Hm. Yes. Toshinori, I so believe you have a contact who could clear this up much more efficiently."

"I know," said Mr. Yagi. "He isn't picking up his phone."

"You don't think-?" started Izuku.

"No, no, he just hasn't been speaking to me lately."

"Oh? I was under the impression you had been communicating with him regularly since returning to Musutafu."

"He thought I would change my mind about something I didn't change my mind about, apparently. It doesn't matter. What else can we do?"

"A good number of things, luckily. Midoriya, I am going to make a series of phone calls. I would like you to tell me if the sensation you are experiencing changes at all while I make them."

"Yes, sir."

Nezu began methodically going through Izuku's list of teachers, warning them that something 'like yesterday' might happened and going over lesson plans and safety procedures. Nothing really changed. Until Nezu called Thirteen.

(Oh, gosh, they were going to go to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint on a field trip today? That was so cool!)

But after Nezu talked to Thirteen about checking safety systems, a little bit of the tension he'd been holding onto leaked away.

"Interesting," said Nezu. "Perhaps we should reschedule rescue training until-"

Izuku dove for Nezu's garbage bin.

"-or perhaps not," mused Nezu as Izuku expelled the meager contents of his stomach.

It was a good thing he hadn't eaten breakfast.

.

"Hikage," said Banjo. "I'm sorry for calling you a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard with a warped sense of humor if this is what you had to put up with all the time."

"You called me a dead-eyed emotionally stunted bastard?"

"Not to your face, but yes."

"Well. It isn't as if those things aren't all true..."

.

"I'm okay," said Izuku. "That just... felt bad."

"No cancelations in that case," said Nezu as Mr. Yagi hovered.

"Y-yeah. Oh gosh, now I know how Uraraka feels..."

"Perhaps you should stay home-"

"No! I can't! That would be..."

Nezu held up his hands- paws? "It was merely a suggestion. Can I offer you some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Izuku, voice catching uncomfortably on his raw throat.

"I do have a few more calls to make. Do you feel up to staying, or would you prefer to head down to Recovery Girl? Or perhaps even the cafeteria? I imagine you haven't eaten breakfast."

"I'd like to stay."

"Very well." Nezu picked up his phone again. Izuku could just make out the click on the other end when it was picked up. "Am I a mouse? A dog? A bear? One thing's for sure! I'm the principal!" There was laughter on the other end of the line. "No, not at all! I am in fact calling for you, Tensei. Or should I say, Ingenium? I'm aware this is last minute, and you were planning on taking the day off- How do I know? It was quite simple, really- but between the break-in yesterday and a tip I received this morning regarding a threat to the school, I would like a few more hands on deck than usual. Why, yes, you can stay with your brother's class. Do try not to tease Shouta too much. He has a reputation to maintain." After a few more pleasantries, Nezu hung up. "Midoriya?"

"I... think that's better? I'm sorry, it's hard to tell what could be the quirk and what's just me feeling bad."

Nezu nodded. "In that case, I do recommend that you head to Recovery Girl's office. My other calls will be similar, and the other heroes will not be with your class."

"Why not?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Because Midoriya's reaction to the field trip being canceled suggests that the danger may not be limited to himself or his class. Oh! And one more thing. Midoriya, I noticed that you put in some costume alteration requests. Naturally, most of them will not be finished until some time next week, however, some of the support items you mentioned are fairly common. If you have time before the field trip, you should pay a visit to Power Loader."

.

Izuku hadn't expected it, but he did feel much better after eating, despite his continuing sense of impending doom. It was also about half an hour from the beginning of homeroom, so he had the time to go to the support department and check if they had anything he could take.

He hoped they had grappling hooks. Izuku had always wanted a grappling hook.

Mr. Yagi took him most of the way there, but students had started to arrive at this point, and Izuku convinced him to go prepare for classes (and hide in the staff area so that no one would wonder why he, a skeleton man not recognizable as a hero, was at the school). Before too long, Izuku stood in front of a rather sturdy-looking metal door. He hoped this was the right one.

He raised his hand to knock just as something crashed into him. Ah. This was it for sure. The way he would die. The danger he had foreseen.

No. Wait. Never mind. He was fine, just on the ground.

"Oh! There was a person there! You okay?"

"U-um," said Izuku, sitting up and rubbing his head. "I'm fine, just a little startled."

"What're you doing here, anyway?"

"I- I'm here for... support... gear?" He sort of trailed off as he looked up.

It was the intense pink haired girl from the other day. As he watched, her expression changed from one of mild concern to calculating interest.

"Support gear, you say?"

.

Shouta answered his phone as he walked down the hall. "Nezu, I've already done every security check I can think of that'll fit-"

"Not quite why I was calling, although I can see why you would think so. One of your students needs to be rescued from the support department."

Shouta changed direction without missing a beat. "It's Midoriya, isn't it?"

"Why, yes."

"Did you send him down there without warning him?"

"Yes, again. You know me so well!"

Shouta hung up.

[redrobin-detective]

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself. 

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses. 

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand. 

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera. 

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder. 

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully. 

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face. 

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes. 

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them. 

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation. 

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars. 

[saphirered]

Could you do one with essek where S/O is a part of the M9 and is a Eldritch Knight and he is just simping over a strong + smart reader? (Maybe even S/O saving essek?) I hope you have an amazing day!

I’m sorry this took a while. Work have been hectic so I’ve hardly had time to write. I hope this is to your liking and have a great day yourself 😘

At first glance you definitely fit into the ‘heavy hitters’ category with a physique displaying your strength, on par with Yasha. And while you don’t hide the fact you could crush skulls with your fists you do not live up to the strong-as-a-giant-dumb-as-a-rock stereotype. You are what some may refer to as the perfect balance between ‘jock’ and book nerd; days off spent training during the day while studying well into the wee morning hours. You are a magnet for knowledge and your expertises far surpass the limits of trivial subjects they focus on the arcane. Your roots come from Evocation and Abjuration but you’ve been expanding your knowledge beyond those two schools. The prospect of a ninth school of magic, one you had no access or even knowledge of before brought great promise of broadening your horizons.

When you met Essek for the first time he might have been slightly dismissive. Not disrespectful in any way from first impressions you fell into the same category as Beau and Yasha, presumably just different. He was nothing but friendly and respectful towards you but the moment Caleb asked to learn some Dunamancy and when Essek agreed your request to join in on this lesson surprised him. Regardless, he happily allowed you to join. After your early morning runs you found yourself at Essek’s tower discussing books you had read, things you had encountered and even openly deliberating the ongoing conflict. 

You had lost track of time after a quick sparing session with Beau and got dragged into her next routine with Fjord. You ended up having to correct Beau’s ‘teachings’ at times to the point where you took over ending up into another round of sparring sessions with Fjord.

“Again.” Fjord comes at you again swinging his sword. While he certainly knows how to use a falchion his proper technique could use some improvement. You block, parry, turn left around him, strike with the pommel of your own sword against his back and send him stumbling. 

“Footwork. Again.” You say once he’s recovered. He makes sure his feet are in the right position, blade angled right and takes a deep breath as he swings again. This time more calculated and mindful of where he steps and which foot he moves first. You block his hit.

“Much better.” You praise as you push him back putting some distance between the two of you. This time he does not stumble but instead stays steady on his feet. This time you strike giving him the opportunity to parry. He does but comes in a little too close to properly strike and leaves his defences open, a deadly move in close quarters. You shoulder check and kick his feet from under him. Fjord falls to the ground and you hear Beau snicker from behind. You hold out your hand to help Fjord to his feet but behind you you feel a punch hit your side. Sneaky little�� You take the punch and while Fjord tries to pull you down you instead pull him up, the momentum pushing him in Beauregard behind you and the both of them barely manage to catch each other. 

“This is how we’re gonna play now?” You give a ‘come at me’ motion and with a grin Beau does. Dropping your sword to the side and out of the way deciding when dealing with a monk not wearing any kind of armour or protection, you’re not intending to actually hurt it’s probably best to not use live steel. Hands up defensive you see Fjord dispel his blade into its dimension too. Game on. 

Beau strikes. You take the first hit but counter with a kick at her shins and a punch to her shoulder. Fjord moves in next you prevent him from moving to your back and manage to keep him to your side. With a high kick you kick Fjord back a few feet. Beau takes this opportunity to go for your other leg but you stand strong and turn it to your favour coming back around with a kick to her side. This goes on for a while, a back and forth of Beau and Fjord teaming up against you. They manage to land some good hit but so do you, to the point where Fjord is almost out of the fight. You notice them make eye contact. You call shenanigans. 

Fjords summons his blade swinging down so you summon yours back to your hand, side stepping and blocking the attack with a quick parry sending Fjord to the ground on his ass. This move took you into Beau’s space who took the opportunity to hit you. You could feel your limbs nearly freeze up for a moment but shrug off the stun. If they’re playing dirty so would you. With an open palm you strike against her sternum releasing a shocking grasp. For good measure you use your newly acquired sapping sting spell to knock her prone. You walk over to Fjord kicking the blade away from his grasp, a foot on his chest while you hold the tip of your blade towards Beau. 

“Cheaters don’t win against me.” You grin helping Fjord to his feet and dropping the blade out of offensive mode. You grab Fjords blade and hand it back to him with a pat on his shoulder. You notice Beau is awfully quiet after her defeat. You see her staring at the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a grin as she crosses her arms. 

“Looks like we got an audience to witness our ass whooping.” Your back still turned you expect it to be one of the others. 

“Seems like he’s been paying more attention to our champion than us, though. Let’s leave them be.” Fjord picks up his things and begins to push Beau out of the room. You finally turn around and see who witnessed your little training session and when you see the floating white-haired wizard looking at you in awe you have a minor panic attack.

“Essek, by the Storm Lord. I am so sorry. I must have lost track of time…” You begin apologising as he is taken out of his trance. 

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll get changed and freshen up a bit if you can still spare the time. I’m so sorry. I should have told Caleb to remind me of the time.” You go on and Essek floats over to you. 

“No need for apologies. You were otherwise engaged. Though I would still appreciate your presence in this endeavour.” He reminds you of your appointment later in the day, or rather now. They had caught a spy with a similar skillset to yours and Essek had asked for your expertise in their questioning. 

“Of course yes.” You take him back out of the training room and to your chambers. He waits outside your door while you get changed and make yourself look presentable washing the sweat from your skin and change into your regular clothes. 

After you’re done the two of you make your way to the prison making small talk. Essek seems a bit more awkward than usual to the point you swear you see a slight blush creep onto his cheeks at one point but that might just be the cold. 

“You have learned quickly. Clever use of your newfound spells.” Essek mentally slaps himself for the way the words came out. Meant as a compliment but sounded like a dig at you. 

“I know. I’m sorry. If anyone knows you don’t just use combat spells for fun and games it’s me. It won’t happen again. Believe me, your teachings are much more valuable than to be used for fun and games.” You really didn’t mean to slip up and use Dunamancy for something as trivial as a fun sparring match. You should have known better. 

“No. My apologies. I did not mean to say it like that. You use your spells cleverly. They compliment your skills and your skills are… exceptional.” Was that a direct compliment coming from the Shadowhand himself? You raise an eyebrow at him pretty sure he caught onto your bewildered look. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. If you knew one thing about the man it was he did not just give compliments. Not to anyone and when he did you had not witnessed it. 

“So about this prisoner…” You change the subject as you approach the prison. There seems to be some kind of commotion going on and no guards up front. You both exchange glances before rushing inside. 

There’s a cowering guard in the front room. Essek goes over to him and seems to have some colourful words for the man while you keep an eye out around. The limited light makes it more difficult to see but you can hear just fine. After Essek finishes the guard rushes out of the prison, to get reinforcements you assume. You begin moving towards the hall that leads deeper into the Dungeon of Penance while Essek joins you. You push a finger to your lips before pointing ahead. 

Watching up ahead you see a few unmoving figures. Essek notices too but stays at your side. It’s too quiet and there’s too many hiding places. 

“Any weapons on them?” You whisper as Essek takes a look. 

“All standard equipment accounted for except for one long sword, a dagger and a crossbow.” Essek relays back to you inspecting the bodies. 

“I assume this is your prisoner’s doing.” Right as you say that someone jumps out from the shadows and makes a run for the Shadowhand. You notice before he does and grab Essek by the collar of his mantle pushing him away and to the other side of you as you summon your sword to deflect the attack. A second attack is made but you manage to prevent it from hitting Essek who’s still caught off guard. In your move to grab the blade you take out some gold dust, speak the words and the swinging blade is stuck in the air. The prisoner tries to grab it but is unable to move it, stuck mid-air. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” You retaliate with an attack. Hit. Essek manages to cast a quick magic missile striking the prisoner who puts some distance between you. He takes out a crossbow and aims it at the two of you. 

“You really prepared to die here? Put down your weapons and we can figure this out. No need for more bloodshed.” You try to persuade. From the corner of your eye you watch Essek reach for his components. The movement provokes the prisoner and he releases an arrow. You just in time manage to deflect trajectory of the arrow and prevent it from striking Essek but the second arrow scrapes your arm, the majority of the impact reduced by the edge of your bracer, it still leaves a bit of a scratch. You’ve had far worse. Essek looks at you bewildered, eyes focused only on you.

“I suggest you do what you save the staring for a later moment and help first?” You say in a half joking manner. He snaps out of it. Essek completes his spell and the prisoner is pulled backwards seemingly pulled in by some gravitational pull crushing his bones. The body falls to the ground unmoving. You go over to the body to make sure the prisoner is actually done for. 

“You are… exquisite.” You can barely hear Essek say under his breath. You freeze up for a moment not having seen that one coming. At that moment the cavalry comes in. He makes sure everything is sorted and you can go on your way, leaving them to clean up the mess, currently no use for either of you. 

“Are you hurt?” He breaks the silence while the two of you make your way back. You look at your arm. Nothing but a small scratch. But a fraction lower and it might have cut something vital but you know what you’re doing.

“No. All peachy.” The silence continues, both of you retreating into your own minds as you walk, or well, float in Essek’s case. You take a moment to look back at the past hour, his words repeating in your head and his ‘off’ behaviour. 

“‘You are… exquisite.’? That’s what you said before.” You try to mimic his voice. You may not be the best impressionist but you got the message across. Essek goes to speak but presses his lips back together swallowing whatever he was going to say. 

“Don’t tell me it’s going to take another fight with someone to get answers out of you. I might just have to show off in that case.” You wink jokingly with a half smile. 

“I wouldn’t complain.” That comment leaves your mouth agape and you stop in your tracks for a hot second to recover. 

“I don’t know if that’s sarcasm, a challenge or you actually mean it.” You fall back in line at his side nearing the tower.

“I wouldn’t complain.” Essek repeats once more.

“Well then, perhaps I should find a nice and rowdy tavern or talk to the Aurora Watch to join some training sessions to grant your wish.” You suggest only half serious with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a date.” He returns your expression as you reach his front door. 

“Though, for now I think some reading would be just fine. Would you like to join?” He opens the door and waits for you. You step inside but stop and lean in a little bit.

“It’s a date.” You say with a smug smile and kiss his cheek as you enter looking over your shoulder. You seem to have the ability to make the Shadowhand swoon and boy, could you get used to it. 

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | FIVE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 4,111

warnings: mostly fluff, some angst toward the end, mentions of injury

18+!!! minors stay away!

You didn't get much work done with Peter during the weekend. Following your emotional outburst over the argument between the pair of you, Peter stayed at your house surprisingly late into the night. You both seemed to agree the project could wait for a different day, and instead of working you spent the evening talking. While you didn't have much to talk about, Peter had a seemingly endless supply of subject matter to keep you both entertained.

Already you could tell that you were growing attached to him, probably far too much and far too soon, but there was no stopping it any longer. He made you feel good things and gave you a sense of normalcy you'd been craving for so long; there was no way you were giving that up any time soon. If he hurt you in the end, you'd deal with the pain because at least you got a bit of relief in the present.

That Friday evening had been one of the best nights of your life, regardless of how mundane or even boring it probably would have seemed to your younger self. You learned a lot about Peter, more than he'd already forced you to know in the weeks leading up to that night, and you answered all his random and silly questions about yourself. You learned that his favorite colors were red and blue, totally un-ironically, and that he'd gotten his abilities the summer between the eighth and ninth grades.

You also learned that Peter was just as stubborn and competitive as you used to be, and something about that knowledge sparked some of the old flame back into you. So, chasing after the fire that used to warm you, you made a deal with him. If he could prove to you that the Avengers were not as bad as you thought they were, then you would willingly do your speech in favor of the superheroes.

"You--you what?" Peter sputtered, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach with both hands and gasp for air, "You really cut the hair off of all of your sister's dolls because she beat you at checkers?"

You snorted, a harsh sound that made your nose ache as you laughed along with him, "Yes! She knew how competitive I was, and she took that risk by challenging me. I never lost a game of checkers again after that."

He slipped into another torrent of giggles much to your amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a beautiful smile that made your own chuckling soften as you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of it. Peter Parker was certainly a very breathtaking spectacle to behold, and you had to wonder why he wasn't so much more popular in school. You knew why, everyone could see the relentless torment that Flash Thompson unleashed on him, but it still made no sense to you.

What was there to dislike about Peter? Just days ago you'd been beyond annoyed by him, and weeks before that you'd been entirely uncaring of his existence, but already that all seemed completely nonsensical to you. Now that you'd let him in, given him a chance, it seemed impossible to ever not like him again.

Wheezing breathlessly, Peter chortled, "I can't even judge you. One time, when Ned and I were thirteen, he bet that he could finish a LEGO set before me. He was going to beat me, and I may have accidentally knocked it off the table so he had to start over."

"So," you finally gasped as you stopped laughing, "so, what you're saying is, you're just as stubborn as I am and we're definitely never going to agree on this project?"

His chuckles slowly died out as he nodded, "I guess so."

You knew what he meant to say, and that was the fact that he didn't feel he was being needlessly stubborn in this situation. This wasn't about competition to him. No, this was about him not seeing himself or his colleagues in a negative light; he couldn't fathom the distaste you had for them.

As much as you disagreed, you could understand that. You could understand how he would see the people he worked alongside as good people. It made sense that he would have a different perspective when he was the one out saving civilians from big and small horrors alike, rather than being the one to suffer the consequences of the destruction that happened as a result.

Along with your understanding, you also didn't think that Peter was a bad person. You couldn't possibly imagine him causing harm, intentionally or not, and maybe that was why you said what you did next. Maybe that was why you proposed, "I'll make you a deal. If you can prove to me that the Avengers are not who I think they are, then I'll take your stance for the speech. Give me a reason to speak positively of them, and I will."

Even now, as you made your way toward your locker at school on Monday, you weren't entirely sure what had made you decide to propose such a thing. You were pretty certain that you were setting Peter up for failure. In your eyes, there wasn't much of anything that Peter could say, do, or show you that would change your mind. Nothing would make what had happened to your sister okay or forgivable.

Yet, he clearly did not feel the same way. Peter looked as if he was walking on sunshine that morning as he pranced along beside you, a triumphant grin on his face as he whispered, "I have a plan."

"A plan?"

He grinned wider as you looked at him curiously, "Yes, a plan. To change your mind."

Quirking an eyebrow expectantly, you waited for him to elaborate as you gathered your things from your locker for class. He never did, only continuing to practically vibrate with excitement beside you in silence. "Are you going to tell me what this plan of yours is?" you prodded.

"No." When you looked at him in confusion he continued, "If I tell you what it is, you're not going to have an open mind. You're going to think of all the reasons it won't change your mind, and then it won't."

Suddenly, you were the one chasing after Peter instead of the other way around. All day you found yourself glancing to him suspiciously and following him around much like he had you in all the weeks leading up to your budding friendship, and it was a big change of pace for you. You felt a little pathetic following him like a lost puppy, but you were nosy and wanted to know what his plan was.

No matter how much you pried, though, he didn't budge. In Calculus he ignored your staring and whispers with a far too smug smirk on his face, though you secretly liked the way it looked on him. Who would have guessed that Peter Parker could be arrogant?

In Gym class he teasingly ran faster than you could keep up the moment you asked again, only slowing down once you begrudgingly promised to leave the subject alone. Though he did tell you he wouldn't run faster than you anyways because people would probably get suspicious if he suddenly turned into a track star. He had to play the roll of the un-athletic nerd regardless.

At lunch he didn't sit with you for the first time since he'd started joining you. He'd waved at you from where he sat with his friends, Ned and MJ, but you found yourself leaving the cafeteria rather than joining him. You weren't ready to take that next step yet; being open with Peter was hard enough, and you weren't ready to have to talk to two more people. Still, you tried to pretend it didn't bother you despite the little sinking feeling you felt in your stomach.

He still sat with you in Speech class, which you were relieved by. Ms. Lovell left everyone to work with their partners on their project, warning the class sternly, "You may have until the end of the semester, but don't slack off now. I'm only giving you two other class periods after now to work on this."

Peter quietly joked, "I bet she just forgot to grade our homework from last week."

When the woman sat down at her desk and pulled over a stack of papers, uncapping her favorite red-glitter pen that she always graded with, you both fell into a fit of giggles that you had to work very hard to keep quiet. It only took one glare from the teacher to have you ducking behind your book to hide how red your face turned, both from embarrassment and repressed laughter. You did, however, notice to fleeting expression of shock on her face to see it was you giggling in her class.

Not much work was done during that class, though for you and Peter the work couldn't be started yet. You still hadn't decided on a stance, and until Peter either succeeded with his plan or failed as you expected, a decision wouldn't be made. Instead, you both whispered to each other about whatever random thoughts seemed to pop into your heads in the moment.

"People are staring at me," you acknowledged, glancing around the class timidly at the sight of many students giving you curious stares, "is there something on my face?"

Peter laughed, though he quickly disguised it as a cough, and responded, "No, they're just confused."

Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the boy with the warm brown eyes who was grinning at you proudly. "Why?" you asked, shifting uncomfortably. You were used to people giving you strange looks, but these were different. They weren't looking at you as if they were pitying you, or as if they were waiting for you to finally break down and go crazy. No, now they were looking to you with wonder and interest.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a pensive expression blossoming over his face as he thought of how to say whatever he planned to tell you. For a moment you admired the way his ruffled eyebrows furrowed, his lips pouting slightly as he pursed them in concentration. Only when the strange, old fluttering in your heart and your stomach started to erupt did you look away and wrinkle your nose.

You didn't want to admit it, but you knew exactly what that feeling was. It was a feeling you hadn't encountered since before the incident, and it was a feeling you didn't want to experience now. So, you told yourself it was just nerves over having a friend again, and squashed the stupid butterflies down as hard and as fast as you could.

"Well," Peter finally started, eyes wide and a little nervous as if he expected you to potentially be offended by his words, "you haven't exactly... talked to anyone in awhile."

Suddenly, it clicked. People were staring because you weren't the reclusive, closed-off, depressed girl you had been for the past thirteen months. They were staring because you seemed... happy. "Oh." you nodded, the sound feeble and slightly broken, "I guess that makes sense."

People were staring at you because you were the girl with the dead sister who they'd been waiting to witness implode, and suddenly you were talking, and laughing, and smiling. You were talking, laughing, and smiling with Peter Parker, no less. They were looking at you because you seemed fine.

Were you fine? Peter shot you a few concerned glances as you seemed to slip back into the repression you'd been living in for so long, but you gave him a small smile as if to say, "I'm okay." You were okay.

For the first time since she died, now that you really thought about it, you truly felt okay. You felt good. You felt happy. Sure, you were terrified of the little flutters you felt whenever you stared a little too long at Peter's face, and you still felt all the bad things you'd been feeling, but now you had good things to balance them out.

It would have been so easy to slip back into that cycle of beating yourself up again. That little voice in the back of your head was still there, the one that sounded like your sister but so different at the same time, that told you that you didn't deserve to have friends. You didn't deserve to make new friends, or feel those butterflies that meant something more, not when she couldn't do those things ever again.

It would have been easy, but you didn't want that for yourself anymore. If you did that, if you pushed Peter away because of her, then you would be left with all the bad feelings and more of them. You didn't deserve that. So, you took a deep breath, and gave a more genuine smile, and met the stares head on. She would have wanted you to be happy, and you deserved to be happy.

After school, Peter left you with a swimming mind and a million thoughts of what his plan could be. He didn't mention anything, and you wondered how long you would have to wait for whatever it was to come to fruition. What could it be?

You spent the afternoon in the family room, an action that seemed to startle and befuddle your parents who watched you like hawks. Though they didn't say anything, only greeting you casually as if everything were totally normal, you could practically hear the gears turning in their heads. You could imagine their thoughts of, "Who is this alien that looks like our child?"

As confused as they were, eventually the decided to just go with it. Your mom curled up on the sofa with you, and your father fell into his recliner just like old times, and the three of you watched a movie in a comfortable silence. Well, mostly comfortable. Nobody dared to look at or acknowledge the empty middle cushion on the sofa where she'd always sat, or your mother's empty lap that she mindlessly kept brushing her hands over as if waiting for your sister's head to be laying there waiting for her hair to be played with.

Nobody dared, until you did. You weren't entirely sure what compelled you to do it. It seemed as if you were urged to do lots of things you thought you never would these days. But, after half an hour of watching your mother's twitching hands, you laid your head on her lap and closed your eyes to avoid seeing her face.

After a moment, her fingers brushed through your wind-tangled hair and you felt peace. She had always been the one to do this. She had always been the one to burrow her way into your mother's lap, begging to have her scalp massaged or her back traced delicately, and now you understood why. It was comforting for more than one reason.

On one hand, it was just physically relaxing. But, on a more complex level, it gave you a sense of closeness you hadn't realized you'd been longing for. You felt closer with your mother who worked through the tangles in your hair with her fingers, gently scratching your scalp with her manicured fingernails. You felt closer with your sister, too. It felt as if you had a small piece of her to hold onto in that moment, and it was comforting.

By the time the movie ended, you were nearly asleep and the sun had set some time ago. Your mother was the first to break the silence, softly rousing you, "(Y/N), honey, do you want dinner?"

You did, but before you could answer, your phone rang loudly. Glancing at the screen and seeing it was Peter, you nibbled your lip to hide a smile and stated, "Yeah, I'll be down in a minute." They didn't protest as you raced up to your bedroom to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"(Y/N)! Hey!" Peter practically shouted, though his voice cut out with what sounded like a windstorm. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment the audio cut out and you wondered if the call dropped, but then the crackling wind returned and you questioned, "What are you doing?"

Abruptly the sound ended, and he was breathing a little heavily as he responded, "Sorry, I was swinging--"

"Peter! Are you really on your phone while doing that?"

He laughed, "Calm down! My suit, well, Karen, the AI in my suit, is connected to my phone. Completely hands free--I promise."

Your mind flashed back to that night on the roof, the night he'd stopped you, and you remembered how he'd asked a woman named Karen what he was supposed to do. Now it all made sense. You'd been a little curious about who Karen was ever since that night, and now that you knew it was some sort of artificial intelligence that Peter had given such a human name to, you had to laugh.

"Why are you calling me, Spiderman?" you joked.

There was some quiet rustling, as if he were moving around, and he spoke quieter, "I'm on patrol. I just--maybe this is stupid, but I just thought if maybe I could show you the good things I do you'd see that we don't just destroy stuff."

It went silent for a moment before he continued, "I can't exactly take you with me, because that would be stupid, but you could listen."

You hesitated in responding. A part of you wanted to tell him that it was a stupid idea, for multiple reasons, but you decided against it. How would he ever prove anything to you if you didn't give him the chance?

So, you swallowed your protests, and said, "Okay."

"I'll warn you now it's usually pretty boring. A lot of nights I just swing around for awhile and go home without seeing anyone or anything."

That was strangely relieving. You hoped that tonight would be one of those nights; not because you didn't want him to have the chance to really enact his plan, but because you worried for him. What if having you metaphorically there with him distracted him? What if you distracted him and caused him to get hurt?

For awhile, it was a boring night. You and Peter went back and forth, taking turns telling stupid jokes to see who would crack and laugh first, and inevitably he won. He had an endless supply of disgustingly cheesy science puns that left you in stitches every time, even if you'd already seen the joke before on one of his many t-shirts.

You got him to laugh too, though, with all of the dead-pan anti-jokes you may have been secretly googling as you told them. Sometimes the wind would return, alerting you that he was swinging around the city, and every now and then he'd almost forget you were listening as he gave little exclamations of exhilaration in the moment. It was cute, even if the shouts nearly blew out your ear drum every time.

It was a boring night, until it wasn't. One moment the wind was making your phone speaker cut out, and the next it was eerily quiet and you had to pull your phone away to see if the call had dropped. Putting the device on speaker phone, you questioned quietly, "Peter?"

"I'm still here," he whispered, "I see something. Be quiet for a minute."

You listened and waited with baited breathe, probably panicking more than enough for the both of you, as Peter started speaking to Karen. He asked her to start something he called enhanced reconnaissance mode, and you were bursting with suspense and curiosity. What did he see? What was happening?

It felt like an eternity before he acknowledged you again, "Okay, I see a woman cornered by some guys. I think they're trying to... to attack her."

He didn't have to say the word for you to know what he meant, and you felt your stomach explode with anxiety and fear for a woman you couldn't even see. "What are you going to do?" you asked.

"I'm gonna web 'em up, and wait for the police with her." he stated, "I won't be able to talk for a bit, okay?"

And then, everything changed. One moment the wind was back as he swung down to the scene, and suddenly Peter was in full Spiderman mode and almost unrecognizable to you. He was sassier, playful even, despite how serious you knew he really was as he antagonized the bad guys.

The banter didn't last long. You heard the woman scream in terror as a loud ruckus rang through your phone, and Peter groaned. Was he hurt? Did he get hit? There were more thuds and dull smacking sounds, Peter and the men alike grunting and shouting out loudly as she continued to break the atmosphere with her screaming.

You wanted to call out for him, to make sure he was okay, but you were paralyzed in fear. What if you called his name and it distracted him, causing him to really get hurt? But, what if he already was hurt and forgot you were there to potentially call for help?

The fight lasted awhile, before finally the woman's screaming ceased as Peter told her, "Hey, hey! I got them, I got you. It's okay. Everything's okay."

"Peter?" you whispered.

"Everything's okay. It's going to be alright."

He was speaking to you, though he had to phrase it in a way that it sounded as if he were just speaking to her. You didn't believe him that everything was fine, though. It was easy to hear just how winded he was in the way his voice was strained, weaker than before.

Peter was hurt, and you were terrified. His plan was just as stupid as you'd thought it to be. Not because he didn't prove anything to you, because you were happy he'd saved the woman and he had shown you a good thing he did, but because he'd forced you to witness his pain and suffering yet again. You'd had to witness him actually get hurt this time, and the woman's screams still echoed in your ears.

It brought you back to that day. Her screams reminded you of the chaos following the building's collapse, reminded you of how hoarse and sore your throat had been from screaming just like that. Screams of pure horror and panic.

Only after the police finally left, thanking Spiderman for his help, did Peter drop the faux strength and softly whimper, "Shit, that really hurt."

"My window is open."

With that, you hung up and left him to decide what to do by himself.

Your mother quietly knocked at your door, opening it slowly as she poked her head into your room, "Dinner is done if you still want to eat."

Forcing the best smile you could manage, you muttered, "I'm actually not feeling very good. I think I'll just go to bed." You wished you could say you hadn't seen the disappointment written all over her face, clearly let down by you pulling away again, but she nodded nonetheless and shut the door as she trudged away again.

You laid in bed for hours unable to fall asleep, listening to every noise outside with hitched breathe. Was that little knock Peter? Was he at your window? By the time your phone told you it was nearing sunrise, you gave up. He wasn't coming, and you tried to ignore all the horrible thoughts that consumed you.

What if he was so injured he couldn't make it to you? What if he was out on the street somewhere, hurt badly and in need of help? You cursed yourself for hanging up, but you couldn't bring yourself to call him back. It was a strange battle of worry and anger, with anger winning out in the end and stopping you from reaching out.

You were angry at Peter for his stupid plan, causing you to think of all the awful things he seemed to keep at bay during the daytime. You were angry at those men for hurting him. Mostly, you were angry at yourself for being so stubborn. Why were you being prideful and letting the anger stop you from making sure he was alright?

You: are you alive

Peter Parker: yes

Peter Parker: go to sleep

Peter Parker: see you tomorrow?

You: yes. good night.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony

[lyrabythelake]

Dear Malon

I wrote this short fic a while ago for an LU zine but realised I haven’t posted it anywhere else, so here you go!

Dear Malon,

I can only hope these letters are finding you. Admittedly, I haven’t had much experience with time-travelling postmen before, nor do I know anyone who has, so my faith in his reliability is limited. However, I do like to imagine my words have reached you, that you know I am safe and well and that I am on a wondrous journey with friends by my side. I know how you worry.

It seems like months since I last wrote, though I know it’s been only days. Our ultimate purpose on this quest is still unclear but the boys never lose hope. They fight with a determination unparalleled by anyone I’ve met and every day I become prouder of them still.

Occasionally I am filled with dread at the way they look up to me as their leader. It’s a great honour that they see me that way, but I am terrified I won’t fulfil their expectations of me. I wake in a cold sweat each night, the afterimages of each of them in harm’s way because of my negligence burned into my mind…

“He’s writing again.”

Eight heroes sit under the cherry blossoms in the still afternoon. The trees are in full bloom and the pink petals fall gently into the deeply grassed meadow and the trickling stream, washed away in a rush of fresh silver water.

They look to the ninth at Four’s words, hunched over the paper with his hair falling over his face, shielding him in his concentration towards the words he writes. Petals rest in his hair, on his clothes but their gentle presence doesn’t catch his notice, nor do the other heroes’ muttering only meters away. His sword is within reaching distance, always prepared for an attack, but otherwise he is a picture of peace, one the others dare not disturb for its rareness.

“Where do you think he sends them?” Hyrule asks in innocent curiosity. It is a question -among others- they’ve all asked themselves at one time or another. They have their theories, even discussed them at times when Time himself isn’t around.

“I bet they’re love letters,” Sky muses, his wistful gaze undeterred from the Hero of Time and the scratching of his quill.

“What? No way,” scoffs Wind. He is not quite as versed in love as some of the others, but he is practiced in the art of longing and desire.

Warriors is the first to raise his eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“He’s never talked about anyone before,” Wild argues.

“So?” interjects Legend, “not everyone likes to flaunt their love affairs like the Captain.”

“I don’t flaunt anything!”

“The old man keeps his emotions close to his heart,” murmurs Twilight, drawing the attention of them all despite the softness of his words, “Love is beautiful yet fleeting, like the cherry blossoms in spring. He’s right to treasure it and keep it close.”

“Uh oh, the ranch hand’s off again,” snorts Wild and there is a ripple of laughter in response.

“I think it’s nice he has someone to write to,” states Hyrule and the others agree. They’ve all known the wasteland of loneliness at some point in their lives and it has left its scars on them all.

It is a while before Time, lost in a world of his own, puts his quill down and gets to his feet. He folds the paper neatly into four and slips it into the deepest of his pockets, away from prying eyes and ready to hand over to the postman whenever they might see him next.

His thoughts drift and swirl like the blossom petals that fall around him, content and serene with just an ounce of sorrow like that which comes with the ephemerality of spring. The others’ lighthearted chatter dips and bays as he treads along the bank of the rushing stream.

He thinks of his wife, worlds away, and wonders what she is doing. Wonders if he’ll ever get to see her again.

Dear Malon,

This time of year reminds me of you.

It was around this time, many years ago, that I married you with a promise that the worst of my adventures were over. That from then on, my life would be simple, wrapped in safety with the woman I love. I think you knew back then that it was a promise I could never keep. I could run from it forever, but adventure always seems to find me.

This adventure is different to the others I’ve been on. With the boys here each battle comes with a new terror I never felt when fighting on my own, though I am certain I wouldn’t be alive today without them.

The responsibility I feel for them goes beyond just our age difference and the mutual respect we afford one another. I never called myself a hero. That title has been forced upon me despite my assurances that I couldn’t be further from it. I look at Hyrule and Legend sometimes and the others that have suffered, even if not directly, from my hand and feel all their suffering and sorrow tenfold in the form of heavy guilt…

“I think we should go south.”

Legend’s statement is met with confusion from most and narrowed eyes from Time, an expression missed by all but Legend himself.

“Why south?” asks Warriors curiously. Legend is grateful his words are not dismissed immediately. He supposes it’s not often he makes bold suggestions such as this one without proper reason to do so, so it’s bound to draw their attention. He may have the experience, but he has no qualms in leaving the day-to-day leadership and tactics to Time, Twilight and Warriors.

“I have a good feeling about it,” he replies confidently, like the argument he’s giving isn’t totally redundant.

“You have… a good feeling…”

“Yes. It’s not like we have anywhere we particularly need to be.”

“Don’t you think we should go to the castle?” suggests Twilight, prompting a collective look to Time for the final decision. He knows this land best after all.

Time’s frown has become increasingly more pronounced throughout the brief debate, his eyes fixed on Legend suspiciously.

“Let’s go south,” he decides eventually, his gaze not leaving Legend, missing the way Twilight raises his eyebrows but otherwise holds his tongue. As they set off, Time falls into step beside Legend, his gait revealing nothing of the emotions Legend expects he is feeling.

“You had no right to read it,” he says after a while, and his voice is not angry but rather fiercely neutral.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps I would have believed you if the letter hadn’t mysteriously disappeared from my jacket this morning.”

Legend says nothing. He was sure he had got away with it. His curiosity had momentarily surpassed his guilt long enough to sneak a glance at the heartfelt (and very private) scribbled note before returning it to the old man’s jacket when he was distracted.

It took a simple question to a merchant in the castle town after that to determine the whereabouts of one ‘Lon Lon Ranch’.

Dear Malon, the letter had said, and in his haste to read it, Legend had almost mistaken the scrawled name for someone else’s entirely.

We moved between worlds again last night and the nine of us have found ourselves somewhere very familiar to me. My first thought was to drop any heroic duties and run to you there and then before it struck me how selfish that would be.

You see, homesickness is a perpetual ailment among the boys (and myself) and they have given up so much to embark on this journey with no discernible end. I cannot in good conscience refute that to return to our Lon Lon Ranch. It kills me to do so, particularly as all I can think of is seeing you again…

 The boys are inevitably curious about the purposeful path Time leads them along, but he can’t quite bring himself to answer their inquisitiveness with a succinct answer. He has a one-track mind, all thoughts geared towards the relief of his destination and all other sounds fade into the background to make way for it.

They reach the ranch before nightfall, his companions’ confusion only increasing at the sight of the woman standing outside it. The way he falls into her arms is answer enough; the warmth of her embrace has never felt so inviting.

The others’ voices are a mere echo of disbelief, hilarity and the ending of bets behind him as he focuses on the relief and utter contentment that comes with being home after far too long. The stress of the past weeks, the constant worry for the boys and their respective worlds, melt from him immediately, leaving him as light as a feather.

The Hero of Time has never been one for excessive emotions, but as he clings to the familiarity of his wife, he almost thinks he could cry.

“Did you get them?” he asks, hesitantly, “the letters?”

Her smile is like the sun as she whispers back.

“I treasure every one.”

[onomonopetabread]

Declawing the Cat- Chapter 2

“ Can you believe that nerve of that jerk?”

Marinette was absolutely furious. Tikki watched her from the bed as she paced from wall to wall. It was really getting concerning; she’s been ranting for the past three hours. School ended about five hours ago, but Marinette’s little encounter with Felix never left her mind.

“What, did he think that a few thoughtless compliments would get me to trust him? Who does he think he is, the MaYOR?”

That last part was a particularly loud shriek, and if Tikki had eardrums, they would be completely shattered by now. It was time to stop this madness.

“Mari, I know that you’re upset, and trust me, I am too. But… don’t you think that you should calm down? You’ve been at this for a really long time.”

Marinette hardly heard her. “I really tried. I tried to just leave it alone. But nooo, he just had to go and rock the boat! Can’t the guy take a hint? I mean, if someone didn’t talk to ME after giving the third fakest apology given ever, I would know that they hated MY guts.”

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

The group gathered around Felix. He’d just been introduced to the class by Adrien, and it didn’t seem as though they were very happy to see him. They were making so much noise that no one had noticed the lack of a certain blue-eyed class president. Unbeknownst to them, Marinette was crouched behind a pillar near the courtyard, watching and listening to the entire thing.

She had been uncharacteristically early to school and was chatting with Tikki in the locker room when she heard Adrien’s voice outside. Naturally, she'd begun to walk outside to greet him. The fact that she had decided to try to get over him out of respect for Kagami doesn’t make it illegal for her to talk to him; he is her friend.

When Marinette first stepped out of the room, her first thought was that there were somehow two Adriens. Then she realized that one Adrien looked like...Adrien, and the other looked like a sad old man somehow ended up in a teen’s body. In about 0.2 seconds, she was absolutely seething. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he at his comfortable home in the ninth circle of hell?

“Guys, this is my cousin Felix. He’s going to be attending school with us for now on. I know you guys will take him in with open arms.”

Open arms? This clown? Marinette scoffed. She’d sooner swallow a cup of tacks than let that prick into her life. Her classmates however, aren’t as strong-minded as she was. It’d probably be better if she stayed silent and invisible for this and let them make up their own minds about this, just to see what they would do.

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

Okay, so far so good. Maybe this time around, she wouldn’t be (almost) the only person that didn’t trust a liar. Oh, how great it will be to openly loathe for once! One by one, more and more voices were protesting letting the rat into their friend group. The entirety of the class was hanging Formally-Dressed Draco to dry, and Marinette was in ecstasy.

‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Tear him to pieces!’

Just when things were really starting to escalate, the sound of someone clearing their throats cut through the noise.

“Hello, everyone. As Adrien just told you, my name is Felix Graham de Vanily. To answer your question, Mr. Le Chein, yes, I’m the cousin of Adrien’s that impersonated him and sent you a cruel response to your heartfelt videos. For that, I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse for wha-”

What. In. The. World. If Marinette was furious before, she was positively incandescent now. He really was another Lila! Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even have the decency to make the apology seem even slightly convincing. Anyone with an EQ of 3 could see that those puppy-eyes were rehearsed and don’t even get Mari STARTED on that pout. There was no way that her class would buy this, but by the looks on their faces…

“If you’re really sorry...”

…Of course. Of-freaking-course they would believe him. Marinette sighed and walked into the classroom. Once again, she was left to hold the class’ single brain cell, by herself this time since there was no chance in Adrien distrusting his own cousin. Now how was she going to go about this was the question. If he really is Lila 2.0, then her initial plan to outright hate him will boomerang her right in the eye. No, it’s better to just avoid him at all costs; you can’t hate what you never come into contact with.

“Are you really sure that’s going to work, Marinette?” Tikki asked once they were safe inside the room. “You can’t stay away from him forever, you know. He may be a nuthead, but he’s smart enough to notice when you aren’t fawning over him like the others.”

“I know Tikki, but I think I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I’m going to go above and beyond to make sure our paths never cross.”

“That’s a relief. I thought for a moment there that you were going to do the rational thing for once.”

“Really, Tikki? Sarcasm? That’s beneath you.”

“If you’re looking for a finger to point, blame Plagg. You pick it up after being with him for a few thousand years.”

Marinette stayed true to her word and made it her mission to never be in the same room as the Great Disturbance unless it was class time. Even then, she kept a compact with her so that she could see if he was coming up behind her. Whenever someone began to bring him up into a conversation, she would quickly but subtly change the subject.

After a few days of this, she seemed to really be getting the hang of it. Avoiding him was becoming second nature to Mari. It actually would have been way easier for her if the demon hadn’t kept trying to collect her soul. Like always, Tikki had been right. The little son-of-a caught on to her really quickly and didn’t hesitate to try to reach out to her. In fact, the other classmates would often tell her that he had been looking for her, and she’d had to act as though she didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. That part hadn’t been so easy.

“So, what are you going to make for the big competition, Mari? A dress maybe?” asked Alya.

“Actually, I was thinking about sewing up a pair of suits. I’m not sure what they’ll look like yet, but I really want to try something new this time.”

“Well, I know whatever you’ll make will blow their socks off, girl. Speaking of designers, Felix told me to ask you to meet him after school . He said he wants to talk to you.”

“Is that so?” Marinette asked, feigning surprise (see bane-of-existence, you’re not the only person who can act here).

“Yeah, he really seemed to have taken an interest in you. All he ever asks us is what you're up to. It’s almost an obsession. Do I sense a little romance here? Another blond-haired green-eyed love interest?”

“Not very likely, Alya. Anyways, I guess I’ll have to talk to him later. So, are you going to tell me about your new reporting piece or what?”

What? Don’t give me that face, it’s technically not a lie; Mari did end up talking to him later, didn’t she? Though, to be fair, she wasn’t planning on actually interacting with him until they both passed. No, not passing class. The other pass.

One thing that she had learned about the knock-off Five Hargreeves was that she had greatly overestimated him. For the love, the kid wasn’t fit to kiss Lila’s feet. At least her schemes were clever and thought-through; this amaetur just existed and everything was handed to him on a silver platter. The rest of the class has spoiled him into thinking that it would be easy to capture her attention with a tense grimace of a smile and two ounces of ‘charm’. Unfortunately for him, Marinette Dupain-Cheng wasn’t so easily bought.

So, that’s the way it went for a few weeks; a classic game of cat and mouse. He would try to catch her, and she would slip out of reach at the last minute. If she had to admit it, it was very fun, especially sneaking peeks at the frustrated faces the devil makes when he thinks no one is looking; the coward can’t be emotionally vulnerable for a second.

That’s why she felt so sure that he wouldn’t follow her to the park; the place was way too open for a stand-offish guy like him. She was very safe in the great outdoors with nothing but her sketchpad, a sharpened pencil, and a sleeping Tikki in her purse. She had been working on that design that she was talking about with Alya. Marinette really needed this design to be perfect. Perhaps a double-breasted suit would work? How many buttons would she have to buy? If she was any deeper into her work, she might not have noticed the distinct smell of leather and the tears of the innocents approaching her. She just barely retained her composure.

‘What is he doing here? Whatever, perhaps if I just stay completely still, he’ll go away.”

“Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng! How lovely it is to see you. We never seem to talk, do we? It is quite a shame really.”

‘It would also be a shame if you were to get punched where the sun doesn’t shine, Mr. Pied Piper’, Marinette thought. Alas, no matter how much she wanted to move her hand like so, she couldn’t let him win this fight. No, just silent-treatment it out and pray he either leaves or gets struck with a lightning bolt.

“I must say, that is a lovely suit you’re designing there. I love the use of gold thread on the pants. If I may make a few suggestions-”

Him? Give fashion advice? Marinette would rather NOT learn how to dress like an off-brand Crowly, thank you very much. Good grief, he really wasn’t going to stop trying, was he? Alright, no more Nice Marinette.

That’s when she finally snapped and, well, you know how that went. Had it been ANYbody else, she probably would feel guilty for talking to someone so blatantly, but it turns out that she left that situation with zero regrets. If she didn’t put a stop to this whole ordeal, she’ll probably have to carry around a tiny halberd with her for the rest of her life, and as much as she would like to use it, he really wasn’t worth the trouble. Ugh, he makes her absolutely Sick. He’s so slimy, terrible, arrogant, deceitful-

“MARINETTE JOSEPHINE DUPAIN-CHENG BE QUIET!!!!”

Marinette was so startled she tripped over her chaise and fell onto her bed.

“Geez, Tikki! Couldn’t give a girl a warning before you scream like that?”

“You’re one to talk, Ms. The Mayor. And for the record, I did give you a warning; I’ve been calling your name since for the past hour. Are you really going to get all worked up over this, Mari? You said it yourself, he’s just another Lila.”

“I know Tikki, and I’m sorry I’ve been rambling on for so long. It’s just- yeah, he’s a liar, a fake, and way too stoic to be real, but he’s different from Lila. I don't know what it is about him, but I can’t help but wholeheartedly loathe him. Just the thought of him makes a shiver run down my spine.”

“Loathing. Right. That’s it, totally. Is that why you haven’t said his name this entire time.”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m very happy you noticed, Tikki. I spent a lot of time thinking up all of those insult names.”

“I’m sure you did, Marinette,” Tikki sighed. “You really don’t like this kid, do you?”

“No, I definitely do not, and not a fiber of my being will ever so much as be happy in his presence for as long as I live.”

@ceres-zephyr here u go!

Chapter 3’s up!

https://qualityladybread.tumblr.com/post/632447827994411008/declawing-the-cat-chapter-3

[sbyswgentlemenscigarsociety]

Why can’t the news show stories like this

I couldnt share....but it brought me to tears

Normally people will send me an email with a good old fashioned clean joke, but not this morning. Read this as you won't regret it.

Two Choices,

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning..'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt.. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. Athe pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:

We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.

The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:

Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:

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[sciencespies]

Genetic Study Maps When and How Polynesians Settled the Pacific Islands

https://sciencespies.com/nature/genetic-study-maps-when-and-how-polynesians-settled-the-pacific-islands/

Genetic Study Maps When and How Polynesians Settled the Pacific Islands

Moai statues at the Rano Raraku site on Easter Island Weller / ullstein bild via Getty Images

Gazing across the sea for days on end Polynesian navigators often didn’t look for land, which was hundreds of miles away in any direction. Instead, they watched the stars, clouds, birds, waves and other features of the environment from their open canoes, using them to navigate from one unseen island to the next, repeatedly finding green specks of land in a blue sea that covers one-third of the planet. Eventually these great explorers populated the habitable islands of the vast Pacific and left future generations to wonder exactly how it happened.

The ancient voyagers left behind only faint traces for scientists to reconstruct some of humankind’s most adventurous journeys. Those things include clearly related languages on widely scattered island groups, sweet potatoes, stone tools and even, in a few places, towering human figures. Those stone monoliths have stoically stood for centuries, bearing witness to the skill of their sculptors but offering few clues to who those ancient islanders were, or how they got there. 

But in recent years it has become clear that the Polynesians left something else behind—their genes. Searching the genomes of humans on widely scattered islands and tracking changes has allowed scientists to map their epic journeys in time and space. Now, new research published today in Nature makes the intriguing suggestion that the Polynesians who erected those mysterious stone figures on islands thousands of miles apart were actually descended from the same group of explorers. “The fact that we find genetic connections between very different islands, but the factor that they have in common is the presence of this culture of megalithic statues, I think is a pretty surprising thing that genetics is helping us to discover,” says Andres Moreno-Estrada, with the National Laboratory of Genomics for Biodiversity in Mexico, an author of the new study.

Some of the same facts that made settlement of the Pacific such a challenge also created an unusual genetic history that has proven ideal for recreating Polynesian ancestries, and thus charting their voyages generally eastward across the ocean. Pacific islands are so widely scattered that humans lived on them in genetic isolation, and travel between islands by canoe was necessarily undertaken by small groups of perhaps 30 to 200 individuals, who formed a very small founding population on each new island that they reached.

Moreno-Estrada and colleagues tracked Polynesian ancestry by gathering genome wide data from 430 modern individuals in 21 key Pacific island populations from Samoa to Easter Island. Then they used computational analyses on these large numbers of modern genomes to track genetic variants down through the generations. Most rare genetic variants found in each settled island’s population weren’t carried by any of the individuals who made trips to future islands, and thus don’t appear in the genome of the new island’s population. Scientists can track the loss of these variants. And occasionally a few rare variations did move along to each new island, by chance, with an individual in that small founding population. Once on the new island those previously rare variants were soon acquired by all descendants of the small founding population and became extremely common, providing another genetic marker.

Tracking these key ancestral signals allowed the team to map human movement across the Pacific islands, and produce date estimates for settlement journeys by calculating the number of generations between genetic divergences.

“The genetic method used takes advantage of the serial bottlenecks that population experienced while settling subsequent Eastern Polynesian islands,” says Cosimo Posth, an expert in archaeogenetics at the University of Tübingen who wasn’t involved in the research. “This provides very good evidence for the order of the expansion.”

Modern genetic influences from Europeans, Africans and others exist on some islands but the team was able to use machine learning techniques to mask these pieces of the genome and compare only the Polynesian parts of the ancestry evidenced in the genetic code.

And on islands for which ancient DNA samples exist, the team compared them to modern genomes and learned that individuals living on those islands remain most closely related to ancient samples from the same island, confirming that the original population hasn’t been largely replaced by some later migration of different groups.

The findings chart a Polynesian settlement of the vast Pacific that began in the western Pacific, in Samoa. With their distinctive double canoes Polynesians then reached the Cook Islands (Rarotonga) in the ninth century, the Society Islands (Tōtaiete mā) by the 11th century and the western Austral (Tuha’a Pae) Islands and Tuāmotu Archipelago in the 12th century.

Illustrated above are distinctive monolithic sculptures crafted by the inhabitants of the Marquesas Islands (top), Mangareva (center), Raivavae (bottom left) and Rapa Nui (bottom right)

Zaira Zamudio López

Patrick Kirch, a historical anthropologist at the University of Hawai’i, Manoa, says the study is a good example of how evidence from linguistics, archaeological dating of habitation sites and artifacts and genetics are converging to paint a similar picture of Polynesian settlement. “They’re giving pretty precise estimates of colonization dates and in general those are fitting quite nicely with our new radiocarbon dating [of habitation sites] of the last 10 or 15 years,” says Kirch, who wasn’t affiliated with the research.

Most intriguingly, the authors suggest that the Tuāmotu Archipelago, a group of low-lying, sandy atolls that hasn’t yielded much in the way of archaeological sites, may have been home to populations of long-distance seafarers who went on to settle the Marquesas Islands (Te Henua ‘Enana) in the north, Raivavae in the south and Easter Island (Rapa Nui) by about 1200 A.D. On each of these extremely distant islands someone, settlers who shared the same ancestors according to the study, left behind a similar culture of remarkable stone monoliths. Those human images have stoically and mutely stood as testament to the humans who erected them—and perplexed later visitors searching for their origin.

Co-author Alexander Ioannidis, who studies genomics and population genetics at Stanford University, wasn’t even aware that Raivavae had stone figures like those on Easter Island. “We found the genetic connection first,” he says. “I was really shocked that this island we had found was genetically connected, but isn’t really well known, [and] also turns out to also have these huge statues.”

Patrick Kirch says the theory that one group of closely related Polynesians took monolith culture with them to far-flung islands over several centuries, will likely prove more controversial. Only a handful of islands host large stone monoliths but many others, like Hawaii, feature similar human images carved in wood, he notes.

“In my view it’s more a matter of carving human images, for various religious purposes or ancestor worship. So it’s a widespread cultural practice in East Polynesia, and just because some of them are in stone I don’t think we should necessarily make too much of that.”

Previous genetic research by the study’s authors concluded that Polynesians and Native Americans first met around the year 1200 in the remote South Marquesas, and the new research suggests that voyagers from the Tuāmotu Archipelago were the ones who settled those same islands during that same era.

It’s not known whether Native Americans ventured into East Polynesia, where the two groups met, or whether the settlers of South Marquesas already carried Native American genes circa 1200 because they’d first reached that distant continent. That raises the interesting possibility that Polynesians extended their eastward travels from Tuāmotu to the very end of the ocean.

The tale of Polynesian voyaging isn’t a simple linear progression in which settlers advanced across the Pacific from one island to the next. For example, they likely passed by Raivavae on their general eastward migration, and settled it some three centuries later by heading back to the west from Mangareva.

Polynesians also didn’t immediately give up long distance seafaring just because they had found and settled plentiful new islands. The study of language evolution suggests that there was considerable inter-island contact during the era when Eastern Polynesia was settled.

And some more concrete facts have also emerged as archaeologists have developed new techniques. X-ray fluorescence traces the stone tools found on numerous islands to specific query sources in the Marquesas and Austral Islands, showing that adzes and other tools were taken to far flung islands on long canoe voyages. “The archaeological evidence for inter-island contact now is very strong and people were moving around between these islands after they were settled,” Kirch says.

The question is how much those post-settlement voyages might have contributed to the genetic makeup of the individuals living on the islands today, and thus impacted the study conclusions inferred from their DNA.

The authors acknowledge that subsequent voyages between the islands occurred, but believe that in most cases they didn’t have significant impacts on genetics because of exponential population growth. When small groups of 30 to 200 individuals reached new islands stocked with nesting seabird colonies and unfished reefs, their populations likely boomed to thousands of closely related individuals sharing similar genetics. When a few double canoes later occasionally traveled thousands of ocean miles, carrying perhaps a few dozen individuals, they would likely have had little impact on the genetic frequencies of islands where they landed.

The picture drawn by Polynesian genetics doesn’t always agree perfectly with archaeological evidence. Estimates for the settlement of Marquesas, for example, are a few hundred years later than the earliest radiocarbon dating evidence of charcoal samples found at habitations in the Northern Marquesas.

For the most part, however independent lines of genetic, linguistic and archaeological evidence are generally converging to tell a similar story of what’s called the ‘short chronology’ of Eastern Polynesia. And there are more chapters to write. The Pacific is vast, and even genetic exploration of its islands and their settlers takes a lot of time and effort.

Moreno-Estrada’s team is next turning their attention to a group of islands with a high profile. “Who were the first settlers of Hawaii and where did those people come from,” he wonders. “That’s an open question we are going to explore.”

Explorers

Genetics

Indigenous Peoples

Pacific Ocean

Ships

#Nature

[elisela]

your name like honey on my lips stiles x derek, g, fluff & softness, 1.6k (ao3) for @tylerhunklin‘s prompt: “okay but like…what happens when derek gets too drunk at the bar and stiles has to drag him home…” -- lauren my sweetest love this is likely not what you were expecting but guess what, neither was i so.

--

It’s a bit of a surprise that the bar Stiles was called to abruptly in the middle of the night wasn’t terrible. Stiles had, when he’d finished stumbling into his jeans and made it outside, assumed that any place Scott would choose to get plastered in would be run down and disgusting, lacking appeal in everything except for cheap booze. Scott’s lucky to have a friend like Stiles, honestly, someone who’s willing to drag themselves out of their warm, comfortable bed at half past one in the morning and brave the frigid streets to go pick his drunk ass up. It makes him feel better to tell himself that, to dwell on his response to this situation instead of giving in to the irritation that Scott didn’t even have the decency to tell Stiles he was going out that night.

It was supposed to be Stiles’ night to celebrate; he’s got a brand new master’s degree in hand (okay, he’ll have it when they mail it to him in four to six weeks), he’s got two weeks to do nothing but laze around playing video games in his underwear until he starts his new job, and said job will finally afford him the chance to move out of his ninth-floor walk-up and hopefully into a building where the hallways don’t smell like three week old garbage that’s been left out in the summer heat despite it being January.

He loves Scott. Scott is his best friend in the entire world, the person who’d packed up everything he had and left his hometown just because Stiles had admitted to being lonely in New York; Scott is the person who makes Stiles believe there’s still good in the world. Scott is—

Not at this bar.

There’s hardly anyone in the place, not that he’s surprised—it’s Tuesday, a cold front has swept the city, and anyone with an ounce of sense is home. In bed. He mutters a curse under his breath and steps up to the bar. “Hey man, sorry—I’m Stiles? Someone called, said I needed to come get my buddy?”

The bartender jerks a thumb towards the end of the bar, and Stiles opens his mouth, ready to ask what the hell is going on because that’s not Scott, Scott’s got adorable wavy hair that stills flops down in front of his eyes sometimes, and he’s not nearly as built as this guy is; the guy may be slumped over the bar, head burrowed in his folded arms, but he’s got more muscle on him than Stiles and Scott combined. Whoever this guy is, Stiles doesn’t know him, doesn’t know why he asked the bartender to call Stiles to pick him up or how he even has his number, because Stiles only knows one person with a body like that and there’s no way that—

“You said adorable,” he hisses as the bartender, pointing wildly in Derek’s direction, because of course it’s the guy he regularly makes a fool of himself in front of over there, the one who he’s pretty sure can’t stand him even though Stiles has tried at least seventy-eight different ways to get his attention. “You said talkative. You said—”

He stops.

She holds up her hands and shrugs. “Look, we’re closing. If you don’t want to deal with him—”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, staring at the back of Derek’s head. He wonders how many drinks it took Derek to turn talkative; Stiles had, until this moment, seriously wondered if Derek had some sort of curse placed on him that only allotted him a few dozen words a day. He says more in ten minutes than Derek says all day, something he knows due to a combination of spending long days in the library writing his thesis and strategically choosing tables that offered him a view of the reference desk.

For easy research access, of course.

“You want me to call a cab for you two?”

He should stop staring. When he’d answered the phone—the Sheriff’s kid never, ever lets an unknown number become a missed call in the early hours of the morning—and she’d asked him to come get his adorable, talkative friend who wouldn’t shut up about him, he never expected this. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” he says. He hopes Derek doesn’t live far, he’s still got a month before his first paycheck will hit his bank account and his take-out budget is going to get a serious chunk taken out of it if it turns out Derek lives out in Brooklyn or some shit.

He makes his way over until he’s on Derek’s other side and can see his face, eyes closed and resting peacefully. Stiles kicks at his foot gently; when that does nothing, and wraps his hand around Derek’s bicep—oh sweet Jesus—and shakes him a little, shoving his hands into his pockets when Derek’s eyes flutter open. “Hey, big guy,” he says, and Derek blinks up at him for a moment before smiling. Stiles draws in a breath and pastes a smile on his face because no, he is not affected by this. So what if he hasn’t ever seen a smile grace Derek Hale, permanently grumpy research librarian, before? There’s no reason why such a sight should make him want to melt into the floor right there. “Need some help getting home?”

Derek, it seems, has passed the point of happy, talkative drunk and has fallen straight into sleepy and silent. Stiles can’t decide if that’s better or worse, and when Derek finally slides off the barstool and straight into Stiles’ arms like he belongs there, nuzzling his face into Stiles’ neck with a sigh that bleeds contentment, Stiles starts calculating the odds that he actually died earlier in the day and this is his own personal heaven.

Or, more likely, a dream, because even though he’s got ten fingers and the cab waiting for them outside smells like vomit and greasy pizza, Derek shrugs helplessly when Stiles asks where he lives and his license lists somewhere upstate as his address, which means that his only real choice is to take Derek home with him, back to his shoebox of an apartment that’s barely big enough for a bed and a table, where he may have just enough room to sleep on the floor but certainly doesn’t have enough extra blankets to ensure he won’t freeze to death.

So he gives his own address to the cab driver, even though it’s only six blocks away, and stays pressed too close to Derek’s side, comfortably numb over the way Derek’s hand rests against his wrist, pinky and ring finger pressed against Stiles’ pulse point as they sit in silence. There’s so much he can’t wrap his head around that he doesn’t even try, because what good would it do to ask questions when Derek’s not said a single word to him so far? It’s startlingly familiar, just a different setting, a different hour, a different look on Derek’s face when Stiles helps him out of the cab and into his building.

By the time they’re up the stairs—a not insignificant feat—Derek is staring at him openly, mouth soft at the corners and eyes wide, fingers walking slowly up Stiles’ arm as he wedges his key into the lock and coaxes it back and forth until the deadbolt finally gives in and slides open.

“It’s not much,” Stiles says, curling his arm back around Derek’s waist and pulling him in, “and uh, I hope you don’t mind sharing the bed, I’ve got some—well, no, I don’t have any pants for you, sorry, but I have a shirt that might fit. It gets a little cold in here.”

He digs around in his dresser, pulling out of one the long sleeved shirts he wears to bed—it’ll be tight on Derek but it’s better than nothing—and tosses it at him while he pulls his own clothes off for the second time that night and looks around for the sweatpants he’d abandoned on the floor in his haste to leave. Derek’s still sitting on the edge of the bed when he’s done, looking down at his hands, and Stiles kneels in front of him without thinking, working at the laces of Derek’s shoes until he can pull them off.

“You’d be more comfortable without these,” he says, rubbing his palm against the jeans Derek’s still wearing. “You can leave them on if you want, but—it wouldn’t bother me if you took them off. If you’re comfortable with that.” Derek nods after a moment, leans into Stiles as he strips, keeps his hand on Stiles’ arm even as they crawl into the bed. He lays closer than Stiles thought he would, knees coming to rest together as they turn on their sides.

He’s almost asleep when Derek finally says his name. The light from the street below falls across Derek’s face at an angle, casting most of his face into shadow, but Stiles can see how Derek’s eyes sweep over his face, can feel the feather-light pressure of Derek’s thumb coming to rest against the corner of his mouth. “Is this real?”

There’s a slight slur to his words, a drunken lisp, and he can’t help but smile, Derek’s thumb tracing the line of his bottom lip. “You think this is a dream?” Maybe he shouldn’t touch—Derek’s still drunk, can’t really consent to anything and has never even remotely indicated that he would be interested in being in Stiles’ bed before this, but Derek’s touching him like he matters, so Stiles brings up his arm to rest around Derek’s waist and scoots a little closer.

“Yes,” Derek says quietly. “I won’t see you anymore. You’re—gone. I didn’t want you to be gone.”

“You can see me anytime you want,” Stiles says, tilting his head in, releasing a breath when Derek does the same, foreheads pressed together.

“Tomorrow?”

Stiles yawns, tugging Derek closer. “Every tomorrow,” he murmurs as he closes his eyes, and he falls asleep slowly to the sweep of Derek’s thumb across his cheek.