#which is a less than ideal start but it will have faded to a slightly less villainous colour by Saturday so there is that

[considerad]

I'll be away from my studies, my applications, and my various little schemes for self-improvement for a whole month :)

[roanofarcc]

PINKY PROMISE

pairing. javi rivera x reader

summary. trapped in a car as a horrifying 'fire-nado' rages towards you sends you into a panic and a fit of memories from the accident 5 years prior.

warnings. inaccurate movie scene. PTSD, mentions of injuries & characters' deaths. hurt/comfort. that fire-nado was crazy crazy.

word count. 1.4k || masterlist

Fear was something you had tried, time and time again, to swallow down and bury deep in hopes of getting rid of it all together. That was why you joined Storm Par under the impression that facing your fears was the only way to get over them; it had started to work too. Each time you faced down a tornado, you felt a little bit braver, and the tight knot of fear loosened just slightly. 

It had been a long time since you felt the overwhelming, all-consuming, kind of fear you had that day underneath the overpass. The day your friends slipped from your grasp, even after you promised not to let them go. It used to come back in nightmares, but they had faded as the years passed. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you had a handle on it all. 

A part of you worried that Kate being back would dredge up your fears and guilt, but it turned out to be more comforting than anything. And even though she was pissed at the less-than-ideal methods of Storm Par as a company, to which you didn’t fully know the ins and outs of, having her back felt like another step in the right direction. 

Javi started Storm Par because of his own guilt, a desperate claw at a fresh start. You joined him on a whim, partly because your love for storms never left you despite the accident and partly because you missed him more than you cared to admit. 

The two of you were on the verge of a relationship when the accident happened, two kids starry-eyed and full of love. Nothing happened afterward, the ties cut rather harshly as you, him, and Kate all tried to grieve on your own. But eventually, Javi found you again, and you didn’t plan on letting him go. You had to build back up to where you were, leading you back to the verge of a relationship but yet to fall into it, yet. But it was okay because you had plenty of time.

At least, you thought you did. 

“Holy shit!” Javi gasped, wide-eyed as he gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled. Your heart beat against your chest, watching the tornado rage through an industrial site, getting swirled up in smoke and flames. You’d encountered a lot of storms, but never have you seen one catch ablaze like that one. The sky was a terrible wall of gray and orange, and even though you were inside the truck, it was hard to breathe. 

With a shaky hand, you tapped on Javi’s shoulder, feeling that knot tighten as the wind picked up around you, beating like fists against the truck. “Get us out of here!” you shouted above the roar of blood in your ears. 

He tried, he really did, but Mother Nature had other plans for you, Javi, and Scott. Before you could take off or even escape the confines of the truck, the entire thing flipped on its side. 

A scream tore from your lips as you closed your eyes tightly, knocking your head against the door. Pain bloomed across the side of your head but what was more painful was the memories that forced their way to the front of your mind. All you could do was think about the accident, holding tight and teary-eyed. You felt your body shaking with sobs, but you felt disconnected. You felt back in college, thinking you were going to die. 

Something brushed against your wrist, clumsily. In the distance, you heard someone call your name. At first, it sounded like Praveen, low and carried by the wind. His hand had reached out for yours as you all ran for the overpass. His fingers brushed your wrist before he was violently pulled away, along with a scream from your throat. But that time, the touch on your wrist didn’t leave. It stayed, frantically searching for your hand. 

You forced your eyes open, half expecting to be back there, but you were still inside the truck with Javi’s arm twisted behind him from the driver’s seat to hold your hand. 

“It’s o-okay,” he said, his voice shaky. 

Scott’s labored breathing was the only noise he made for a long moment as the tornado, burning, raced too close. “We gotta…w-we-” he cut himself off as the noise grew impossibly loud. 

You squeezed Javi’s hand tighter, tears blurring your vision, and braced for the worst. But somehow, the worst never came. The wind pushed on the truck, but it hit it just right, rolling it for a horrible moment before it was pushed back upright. Something mixed between a sob and a sigh left your lips as Javi dropped your hand and booked the dented and damaged truck the hell out of the way of the storm. He drove in the tense silence of the truck for a good while, until the coast was clear. 

Pulling off to the side of the road, the three of you sat with nothing to say. It seemed like you all were fairly unscathed, but the knot inside of your gut was pulled so tightly that you felt like you were going to get sick. 

Scott fumbled around in his pocket for his phone, muttering about calling the rest of their team. You hardly heard the words exchanged between him and Javi before you shoved open the door and stumbled out into the road, trying to get fresh air to reenter your lungs and calm you down. 

A hand grazed your shoulder, and you flinched, spinning around to face Javi. Your body refused to stop shaking. 

“Hey,” he said, softly. “Are you hurt?” You shook your head. You didn’t think you had hurt anything, but the awful feeling running through your veins was the only thing you could feel. 

“That was close,” you whispered, not trusting your voice beyond that. 

“Too close,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead.  

You wiped your cheeks and tried to regain some composure, but when you glanced at your wrist, you caught sight of the bracelet you hadn’t taken off since your first day of college when a bright and smiling Addy appeared in your doorway with a bundle of friendship bracelet she was passing out to other students on the floor. Normally, it filled you with a sweet remembrance of the blonde, even after she died it brought you a strange sense of peace. But looking at it at that moment filled you with something else. The bone-breaking guilt and terror from that day lingered in the back of your mind like an unstable bomb, going off at the slight disturbance. 

It brought more tears to your eyes against your will, causing you to bury your face in your hands. 

Javi was quick, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. You cried into his shoulder, wetting the fabric of his uniform. The two of you stayed like that for a while, until your sobs subsided and the knot in your chest allowed you to breathe more steadily. When you pulled back, he loosened his grip around you but didn’t let you go. One arm stayed hooked around your waist as he used the other to wipe the tears tracked down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, a little embarrassed at your tense emotions. But Javi was quick to shake his head. 

“None of that,” he said, brushing this thumb across the zigzagged scar that decorated your forehead, gained from the accident. 

You raised your hand with the bracelet on it, a frown on your lips. “All I could think of was them.” Maybe you weren’t as healed as you thought you were.

Javi closed his eyes for a brief moment, lost in his own pool of memories for a moment before he looked back at you. “Me too,” he admitted before something flickered in his gaze, like he was trying to snap back into his current self and not the version from five years ago. “But we’re okay.” He raised his pinky finger up, a small smile playing on his lips. “And we still have each other.” 

You hooked your pinky around his, your own little handshake/promise to each other. “Promise?”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, where your scar was, and said, “Promise.”

[falling-star-cygnus]

If you're still doing character analysis could you do Dan Feng? You can see his character design in art or in the HSR animated short Ichor of Two Dragon's

yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes YES -> literally will drop whatever i'm doing whenever i'm doing it to do these, i LOVE character analysis. for literally any character i will do this

things i've noticed about HSR characters bc the lovely messenger-of-stars fueled my frenzy

part five: Mr. Force Fed his Boyfriend Immortality ✨Dan Feng✨

who's next? :D i'm assuming you didn't mean the playable Imbibitor Lunae based on your wording, but if i'm wrong just let me know and i'll redo it

first of all, lighting really does wonders for this man bc how is this the same character- second, he's semi-bioluminescent. In the darker parts of Ichor of Two Dragons: -> the tips of his ears, his eyes, his horns [which you can see take on that glassy quality in the first two pictures, probably bc he feels at ease or in control as opposed to the final picture- where he's losing] and the ends of his limbs take on a glowy, transparent quality that disappears when the lighting shifts

In his first attack, Dan Feng summons 10 swords. In Chinese culture, these 10 swords are symbols of righteousness and ideals to follow- which explains why he uses them to execute Dan Heng [or- tries to] -> his blasts are also lotus shaped, which are symbols of purity and rebirth.

Lotus are called symbols of purity in Chinese cultures because they bloom from mud. If we look at the water that Dan Feng summons, we can it starts off a murky, swampy green and turns into a nice clean blue when Dan Heng finally claims his life as his own

Dan Heng's Imbibitor Lunae form bares a closer resemblance to the dragon than Dan Feng does [i.e.: the red eyeliner, the golden liquid- or ichor- that formed his horns, the eyes] -> this could mean nothing, but it could also mean that Dan Heng has truly taken control now [also look how cute those little gold rings are, Dan Feng doesn't have those]

motherfucker's flabbers are GASTED. this is why Jingliu beat your ass

the entire time he fights Dan Heng, the birds on his sleeves are gone. You could probably chalk this up to the animators not wanting to draw them, which is completely fair, but i'm pretty sure they're depictions of water fowl -> my best guess would be Dalmatian Pelicans, which are symbols of self-sacrifice or introspection. Considering this was battle about Dan Heng freeing himself from Dan Feng, it's pretty fitting.

Also at the very end of the video, it's only after Dan Feng has faded into golden light that pelicans start to appear in the sky -> there's a story about these birds actually; the parent flew into fit of rage and killed her young, but three days later she drove her beak into her side and spilled her blood to bring it back to life

HC for the Road: Dan Heng is incapable of asking or seeking out physical affection. He still wants it though -> [Welt and March are sitting on one of the couches, with the girl on his left side leaning on his shoulder as he reads a story. Dan Heng sits about a half foot away as he listens] Dan Heng: *unconsciously shifting just slightly closer to hear better* Welt: *intentionally lowering his voice until the Vidyadharan is in more or less the same position as March*

-> [Stelle and Caelus stare Dan Heng down as they trade whispers] Dan Heng, pausing in putting away a book: I can hear you two scheming... Caelus: Scheming!? How dare thee- Dan Heng: Thou. Caelus: How dare thou question my good morals! I was- [He aggressively elbows his sister] Caelus: -comforting Stelle! [Stelle bursts into tears on cue] Dan Heng, immediately startled: Uh- Stelle!? What's wrong..? [The girl blubbers incomprehensively as she bullies her way into his outstretched arms] Dan Heng, awkwardly patting her back: Who do I- [Caelus hugs Dan Heng from behind to derail that thought- creating a Vidyadharan sandwich] Dan Heng: Caelus- Caelus: Sh sh sh, it's group hug time. I felt left out! Dan Heng: ....sure, you did..

[kobold-that-bites-people]

dunno if this will get to anyone that it's relevant to, but as a transfem that's had bottom surgery (a rather standard penile inversion vaginoplasty) and is mostly recovered at this point, i'd like to give a few notes on my experience. hopefully it reaches some people who are considering and would be helped by such anecdotes. anyway, in no particular order,

it's major surgery. recovery is gonna suck about the same as other major surgeries. that said, a lot of the discomfort is frontloaded. in my case, i experienced about 2/3 of the pain i could attribute to recovery over the last six months, in the first week. the sheer drop in pain once the catheter came out alone was night and day. the first week was miserable though, you *need* someone, ideally multiple someones, who can look after you through that stage. (if you are in the green lands of not america, or just are well funded, many hospitals will look after you for the first week or so, but as a broke american i was only in hospital for about a day and a half. maybe two days, memory is a little fuzzy from the opiates (which i stopped almost as soon as i got out of the hospital, the brain fog from opiates is real)

it's been said other places, but it is really likely you will experience a lot of emotions during recovery. this can take a lot of forms, but in my case i had to grapple with a lot of "doubts" about if it was even what i wanted, if it was worth it to me, if it even looked natural enough, and so on. part of that is just that it's a major change in your body image, so doubts are normal and expected. part of it is that after major physical trauma like surgery, your body will amplify a lot of emotions intensely. try not to listen to the dysphoria talking when things still need to heal. the difference between a week from the surgery and a couple months later is *massive*.

this might be obvious to a lot of people, but for people like me that have only ever been even slightly intimate with partners that have cocks, pussies come in a *lot* of shapes. the very limited range depicted in a lot of common art and porn and games and so on, is simply not a representative sample of all the shapes that a pussy can be. despite my anxieties over my own, every person that has seen it so far has either had explicit compliments, or at least backhanded ones about how "normal" it looks.

despite how cautious doctors will be about promising function, it is entirely possible you'll have every function you might expect from a natal vagina. i get a not insignificant amount of self lubrication, can feel everything better than i dared hope for, and despite having to completely relearn what motions work for it i can reliably reach orgasms just as well as i could pre-op. that said, i don't self lubricate quite as much as *some* cis women manage. it's usually enough for fingering myself, but if i wanted to use a toy, or be penetrated by a partner, it simply isn't reasonable to go without generous lube. mostly because while i have some self-lubrication, it isn't exactly produced *quickly*, and friction can quickly dry it up, especially outside my entrance.

dilation can be many things, but it's usually mostly just tedious. it hurt *some* at the start, but once the swelling went down it generally only hurt as i went up a size. nowadays i only feel a miniscule amount of pain with the stretch as i work my largest dilator in, and that fades within about 30 seconds. the better you are at getting it done reliably, the less it will hurt. missing a session, especially earlier in recovery, will be *felt* the next time you dilate.

if you are open about your having had bottom surgery, or end up hospitalized from complications thereof, (as i did, i'll spare the medical details) there are a lot of people that will try to justify wanting to see, for motives that i'll leave as an exercise to the reader to deduce. such people will include doctors, nurses, and plenty of people with more spurious motives. i've had more people barge in on me while i was dilating within the last months since i had bottom surgery, than ever barged in on me while i was masturbating in the earlier 26 years of my life. *please* be aware that part of being perceived as "more a woman" is that you will likely experience more such attentions, in the various forms that takes. sometimes positive it is true, but usually not.

[bodybeyondstories]

dicks keep growing around me - 1 (Myron)

(I couldn't get this phrase out of my head and I thought it was funny, so I'm seeing where it leads.)

Until recently, Myron was oblivious to the fact that dicks would get mysteriously bigger the longer someone hung out with him. He begins putting the pieces together as his boss, Miguel, starts going through all too familiar changes below the belt.

2 - Next

“Dicks keep growing around you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Or at least I think. It’s not exactly an airtight theory, but there are some examples.”

“And it just…happens,” responded my supervisor Miguel.

“Apparently.”

“And it’s happening to me?”

“Pretty sure.”

So I have a theory. Maybe just a hunch, I don’t know. And I’m not doing it on purpose, but I’m pretty sure I’m the cause. For lack of a better way of saying, dicks keep growing around me. And I don’t mean chubbing up, I mean literally growing. Like adding on real, tangible inches with no end in sight. It’s very slow, and I think it comes down to how often we’re in close proximity, but if you spend enough time around me, you may end up with more, sometimes much more, below the belt. I don’t have any idea how this works, but I wish I did. I’m still just piecing clues together.

So I guess Exhibit A would be my boss, Miguel. I do a lot of temporary contract work, which isn’t ideal, but allows me to string together rent while working on some of my own creative freelance stuff. I was hired onto this project six months ago to restructure the data management system of a small, local startup and they miscalculated the resultant shift in office space. After a series of awkward corners and at least one broom closet, they decided to just stick me in Miguel’s office. Miguel requested it actually. He figured I would be of more use working in tandem with him than I would blocking everyone’s path to the bathroom. 

I was less than pleased to look like his makeshift corner secretary, and honestly I’ve dealt with much worse, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he seemed to welcome the company. Miguel kept a tight beard and even tighter fade, always perfectly put together in what looked like one-step-below-designer business casual, with the cherry on top being the neon purple and green barefoot shoes he tended to wear to work. I would’ve been annoyed if not for the fact that he was a genuinely nice, thoughtful guy, and more than just a captivating smile. Plus, I came around on his use of a balance ball chair once I was introduced to his tight butt clad in well fitting slacks. Not that I ever really thought about him that way.

So we shared a space and had a congenial enough dynamic. We both had similar tastes in some of the experimental music scene locally and would even go out to some shows together. Also he’s a self professed menswear expert and started systemically giving my wardrobe a much needed overhaul. So I found it odd when his usual form fitting, modern pants began to lose their flair.

At one point, he chalked it up to seasonal shifts, trying out some new, looser looks for the spring. Not to mention baggier, boxier styles had been taking the place of slim fit jeans and tight shirts, at least according to him. A few times he texted me in the morning, saying he was running late because of a ‘wardrobe malfunction,’ which I never thought much of. I had come to expect him cycling through three or four outfit changes before he finally made it out. 

For a while it seemed like he might’ve just been getting the wrong fit, since he developed a habit of adjusting his crotch often, or even wincing slightly when he sat down too hard. And I had had multiple friends and partners with similar issues, so offered some tailoring tips, but he didn’t want to dwell on it.

I got a good idea why when we went to a show together one evening. A DJ we both liked was playing a set at a warehouse on a Thursday night, and we figured we had to go. We’d bring a change of clothes, work late on Thursday, then roll into the office late Friday morning. We could even call it a team meeting or professional development or something. 

The show was euphoric. I felt like I was rising up and outside of myself as our bodies bounced on the packed dance floor, in so small part due to the haze of surprisingly strong drinks and party drugs. While Miguel seemed to be enjoying it, he was still preoccupied with the constant need to readjust his crotch. I had seen him in this pair of skinny leather pants–his ass alone was unforgettable–but they seemed especially constricting. 

“Told you you’d look great in those pants,” came Miguel’s familiar voice in my ear. He never missed an opportunity to brag about being my personal stylist, but I had to admit I looked better than expected. However, I didn’t expect Miguel’s strong hands to linger on my hips, nor did I expect myself to close the rest of the gap between us. I’d been catching guys checking us out all night and I was feeling myself, so I thought Fuck it, as we began grinding to the rhythm. Maybe it was the fantasy of the moment or whatever I was on, but the bulge in Miguel’s pants felt major, and his crotch was radiating heat.  

Suddenly, Miguel’s hands tensed up and he pulled away, his hand trailing against my lower back as he turned to leave. I asked if he was doing alright and he sputtered something about needing to piss, quickly disappearing into the crowd. I didn’t think much of it, and quickly got lost in the crush of moving bodies, and more than a few lingering caresses just below my hips. To say I was getting hot and bothered was an understatement and eventually I realized that I also needed to relieve myself, aiming in the vague direction of the bathroom but quickly getting lost in the crush of the crowd. Eventually I stumbled into a back alley, a rush of chill spring night air hitting my lungs as the party thumped through the wall behind me.

I turned my head at the sound of a deep sigh of visceral relief, looking to the left to see Miguel, eyes closed and head thrown back as he pissed loudly against the side of the wall. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind, and didn’t stop myself from glancing at his cock, which, semisoft, was hanging halfway down to his knees, jiggling comically as he shook off the last drops. It wasn’t just massive, it was beautiful, majestic under the streetlight, draped in shadow by Miguel’s outstretched arm, other hand bracing against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said, making me quickly realize that while my eyes were hyperfocused on his schlong, his were on me watching me hyperfocus on his schlong. “There was a line to the bathroom and it was about to be a photo finish,” a slight smile turning up his lips as he saw me finally draw my eyes away from his stunning dick.

“I, uh, was just about to join you,” I replied, deliberately keeping my eyes on his as he struggled to fit his prodigious cock back into his pants, by some miracle getting the zipper up after a few tries.

The awkwardness must’ve been my own anxious imagination, as the next day at work he actually seemed more relaxed than he had in a while, his bubble butt perched on his exercise ball chair as he sat with a leisurely spread, his bulge plainly visible. I guess the secret’s out, I thought. At least between us.

—

When the summer sun had come to stay, and my contract was wrapping up, he proposed an office hiking trip at one of his favorite trails, a moderately strenuous 3.5 mile track that led to an impressive waterfall tucked away just outside the city. I hadn’t been, but was familiar with it because my roommate, Ty, worked in the kitchen at a bar nearby that was kind of the post-hike spot. My apartment, according to Miguel, was “on the way” to the trailhead. I begged to differ, but he insisted on the kind gesture of giving me a lift, until we reached the compromise of me getting a ride home with Ty when their shift ended. So Miguel picked me up from my place, decked out in hiking boots, thick socks, a breezy short sleeve button down, and some five inch linen shorts with a sizable bulge. I had already caught a glimpse of his dick, so I wasn’t surprised by what looked like rolled up tube socks tucked into his crotch, but this looked bigger than I remembered. 

And I don’t think I was the only one who noticed either. Miguel was certainly the center of attention when we met up with the others at the trailhead, albeit delightfully oblivious in his excitement to take us on this outing. And it looked like I may have missed the memo about the dress code. All the other guys were wearing similar short shorts, showing off their own respectable bulges–though not as impressive as Miguel’s.

As we set off down the trail, Miguel took an early lead, looking like he had no intention of slowing down. As we settled into a rhythm, I found myself consistently a few steps behind him–admiring more than the view of the scenery–with the rest of the group farther back but still within earshot. I began to think that Miguel should’ve stuck to the breezy bottoms he had fallen into wearing, because he was constantly adjusting the hem of his shorts as they dug into his meaty quads. At times, he seemed visibly uncomfortable. 

As we reached a bend in the trail with a makeshift bench, we decided to take a breather and let the others catch up. Miguel’s shirt was glued to the middle of his back by a trail of sweat that ran down to his butt crack. I had trouble noticing anything else as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, pushing his tight butt in my direction as he caught his breath.

From behind, the crotch of his pants looked overstuffed and straining at the seams. I thought it must have been my exhausted brain and overactive imagination until with a soft rip, the crotch of his shorts gave out, his dick gracefully bobbing two thirds of the way to his knees, definitely bigger than before and paired with some proportionately huge nuts. Miguel, his cock now freed of its constraints, let out a sigh of relief before apparently coming to the realization of the cool breeze on his oversized genitals. 

Hearing the others approaching, I sprang into action, pushing him off the trail and just behind a stand of bushes, hoping passers by would assume he was relieving himself and keep moving. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I brought up a backup pair just in case, give me one second.”

“A backup pair?” I asked, wanting to respect his privacy but also betraying my own fascination with this super dick that I had now been introduced to twice.

“Yeah, I thought I wouldn’t have an issue yet with these pants, but wanted to be careful.”

“What do you mean issue?” I asked. “And what do you mean yet?”

“I don’t know, I think I need to see somebody about this, it’s like–” he was cut off by one of their co-workers catching up to them on the trail. He quickly finished changing and stuffed his cock back in his shorts, shooting me a brief look of thanks.

—

Thankfully, the rest of the outing passed without incident. We actually had a great time, and Miguel was certainly correct about the waterfall being worth the aggravation. A few of the guys even waded in to cool off, inadvertently revealing some very heavy bulges through the thin, wet fabric of their shorts. Miguel hung back. 

We got drinks afterward and it was obvious Miguel was a post-hike usual. As the afternoon wore on to evening, everyone fell away slowly, until it was just the two of us. He insisted on hanging around until Ty could take me home, and I would’ve staunchly refused if not for how much I enjoyed his company–and how he would’ve stayed against my wishes anyways.

He hadn’t really been drinking–concerned about everyone else having a good time, in typical Miguel fashion–but I had maybe had more than I should. During a lull in the conversation, he leaned in slightly and said “Thanks for the save back there. Would’ve never lived it down at work.” 

“To be honest, I was not expecting all that,” I said, trying to be careful not to push boundaries too far too fast. 

“Honestly, me neither,” Miguel responded, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced into the distance. “TMI, but I’ve been kind of having a late growth spurt the last six months. Or something.”

And well, this is when the pieces finally started to come together. I had had hunches and musings over the years about my propensity to meet some truly noteworthy cocks, but something deep in my brain felt compelled to ask “When did it start?”  

With a thoughtful look in his eye, he glanced at me and said, “Around when you showed up. You might be my lucky charm.”

This is when it finally clicked.

[hyrtwynwrites]

Yensday #3 - 21 February 2024

Welcome back! Again, apologies for skipping last Wednesday, but it's good to be back and doing things again!

Before we get started, I do want to say that, because of my new schedule, I will be aiming to release Yensdays in the morning rather than around noon, or the afternoon. Ideally, there'll be no hiccups, but I will do my best to let you all know if something comes up!

Without further ado...

<><><> Q&A <><><>

@vivailwrites asked:

For Yensday, what would you say your overarching themes of your story is? A story about Yen, about the world, about politics, about the rigors of being A Heroine and Forced By Greater Powers(tm)?

I think that this is a really interesting corollary to the question asked in the first Yensday a few weeks ago! To quote what I said then, "Yenifer's story is one about diaspora," and I do stand by that. However, diaspora is a very large thing, and just saying that the story is just about that removes a lot of important detail. Like any story involving a mass human tragedy, much less a specific injustice, there are facets that become highlighted depending on where one exists in that tragedy.

I think that the most overarching theme in Light's Falle is a search for identity in the face of the diaspora. Yen uses definitions for herself that erode as circumstances give her new contexts, or as actions and actors rip them out of her hands. Yen trying to find who she is, what broader identity she can wrap herself inside of, is being actively pushed back against by external forces. No one has called her a Warrior of Light yet (much less the Warrior of Light) in the story as released, but those expectations are already pressing down on her. Her original identity, the girl from Quarrymill, is fading away. By the end of Gridanian Prelude, she has adopted the title of lancer, but the titles of "Mad Spearwoman of Ala Mhigo," "Emissary," and "Envoy" are forced upon her. The title she most does not want to be associated with, which is the one that Hydaelyn gave to her unspoken, is the one that has earned her the lethal attention of the Ascians/Paragons, and that has a body count.

Yen's search for identity is always one that is going to be in flux, especially as stakes raise and circumstances get crueler. Heavensward will be, in particular, a crucible, but a massive challenge waits for her not too long in the future well before Teledji's plot, and there will be further challenges in Stormblood, Shadowbringers, and Endwalker. Only by the end do I think Yen will have fully, truly found her footing, but the longer she explores the star and herself, the more she finds lodestones to carry with her, identities that she embraces and will not allow anyone to take from her.

The political landscape of Eorzea and of the larger star will be something Yenifer has to navigate. Metaphysics, ancient battles between gods, and secrets bathed black in silence are all going to shape her... but she will shape them back. And, I think, in the end, she will know exactly who she is, and any opponent who crashes against her will fail. She defines herself, and in that definition comes the will to hope and to dream.

<><><> Tidbits & Errata <><><>

Picking a slightly less topic for the second section, I wanted to talk a littttttle bit about some slightly goofy production details!

So, wayyyyyyyy back when I started writing what would become the story we have today, I hadn't actually intended to write something this massive in scope. More fool me! Originally, what it had begun as was a set of little journal entries of my new character that I would upload to friends. I thought it'd be good practice, and I was also trying to tie myself to Yenifer as a player pretty deeply. I wanted to play slow (too slow, in truth: Yenifer, in-game, is currently on Lv.54 MSQ, and has a /ptime of 28 days), and I just didn't... think about it.

Chapters back then were called "Entries," and they were punctuated by snippets of Yenifer's journal (my attempt to adapt the in-game journal sort-of-kind-of). Back then, Yen could read and write - a trait I removed from her (let me tell you, scrubbing references to the journal took more work than I anticipated) during rewrites.

Behold! A snippet of the original! This dates allll the way back to February of 2022, which at this point feels like forever ago. Pretty much all of the first third of Gridanian Prelude was extensively rewritten by me after I had finished drafting it, to bring it in line with the structure that you all are familiar with by now.

I don't exactly know when I realized that Light's Falle was a book, much less a book series, but it was in the spring of 2022, after a few months of having written entry after entry. In the end, the decision was just a recognition of where things were now; I was no longer writing little things for my friends. I had stumbled into a novel, much less a novel series, and I've been etching it out ever since!

I want to thank you all for again stopping by! I apologize for how word-heavy this one was, I hope that it didn't make your heads roll back into your skulls! I'll see you all next week, and until then, may you ever walk in the light of the Crystal!

-H

[branch-wdk53]

Pre-L Corp: Mahason

Most of his memories begin during the Smoke War.

I mean… he does recall that beforehand, he was attending school. Even during that seemingly peaceful time, he was told about the ongoing war. It’s not often Wings fight each other. And given that the school was directly in K Corp, it’s natural that news is constantly circulating.

He knew that many of his classmates were volunteering. They didn’t seem to be happy about it, he observed. Mahason, too, was drafted. Mostly because of his family’s persistence to be honest, and so he didn’t have much of a choice. Something about moving to the Nest.

The boy didn’t know what to think. Was this the best he could do with his life…? Perhaps so, as a Backstreets kid doesn't have much going for him.

There’s an unsettling feeling there, the thoughts about the outcome- if he manages to survive, he did good, right? If not, then he’ll just die, and that’s that. Frankly, at this point, it may seem best to use his life in this way.

He doesn’t see any other option, given the limitations at this age. It was more ideal to think of it as more of a sacrifice than something less. Just as he was told and taught.

“I will do my best in order to die as soon as possible, like falling cherry petals.”

The boy doesn’t remember much after that. Training here. Lessons there. What he remembers more was when he was helping with the daily affairs, such as the barracks and dining halls for the young soldiers. He watched as other groups dranked, yelled, sang, wrote wills… Even though these “volunteers'' were said to be ready to sacrifice themselves… I suppose this is what they really felt in their final nights before death.

Deep down, Mahason already knew that. The painful, unresolved ambiguities of their tragically brief lives.

The rubbery flesh of the pink and white petals really does look and feel like human skin. And like snow, they rapidly cover the ground in a layer of red.

He looked up at the sky. Like many others, the only things he saw were the high rise buildings and smoke.

Unlike his expectations, he survived for a few days. Granted, he didn’t see much troops from his , so it��s most likely that they assumed he died in some horrific fashion.

During that blur of blood and bodies, Mahason went to the edge of conflict to catch his breath. He hears quick footsteps, heading out of the District. Realizing the oddity, he turns a corner and sees someone with a rifle exiting from the battle. Their hand only loosely holds the firearm, which may mean they're out of ammunition.

Stepping out and approaching them, they must’ve heard him, in which even though their pace threatened to quicken, they suddenly paused and swerved around to face Mahason, rifle drawn. The boy paused upon seeing the rifle now being pointed at him. Though, he makes no effort to draw his sword in front of him, leaving it at his side.

There was a moment of standstill, neither side breathing or moving. Watching what the other may do. Mahason examined them closely, recognizing that the clothes they were wearing was that of an opposing force fighting in the war. Though, no one else with that uniform was around this area. They also had a full-face gas mask, so he couldn’t tell their expression.

But if he looked closed enough, he could see the rifle shaking ever so slightly.

“…Are you… deserting?” The boy muttered.

He sees the slightest of movement.

“What of it?” They quietly said.

Mahason’s hold on his sword somewhat loosened. ‘If this is how I die… then I have no regrets.’ The boy looked off to the side, seeing the person harden their grip on their rifle from his peripheral vision. After a moment, he fully turns around.

“There might be others nearby.” He simply said.

He starts walking back towards the action, watching the smoke billowing from the distance. He hears a footstep, then another. Those footsteps quickening in pace, fading away.

When Mahason looked back, no one was there.

It was not long after that he thought, "I shall plunge into the enemy and fall like petals.”

There was a particularly troublesome outpost. A captain was in it, and would be helpful if it was destroyed. The memories of what exactly happened here are blurry. What he does remember was when his sword was knocked away, with a soldier in a headlock, he pulled out a grenade and pulled the pin.

Suddenly, his vision swayed, a high-pitch ringing filling his ears. Immense pain flooded his head- no, his entire body. But in another instance, he finds himself in an inner world filled with airplanes, flowers, friends, and dreams.

In another moment, Mahason finds himself on a hospital bed. Sitting up was slightly painful, but he was able to see that he’s in some room. Not long after, a doctor comes in, shocked to see him.

When Mahason tried to speak, he felt his throat strained, having difficulty in finding his voice. Coughing a bit, when his voice does come to him, it’s low and hoarse. Quietly asking what happened, the doctor said someone dropped him off, even paying for everything. Mahason found it strange, even though he had never heard of their name, and had expected to die.

The main after effect was scars and his damaged vocal cords. Once he no longer feels pain from moving, he’s free to leave. Despite the strange situation he has found himself in, he accepted it, since he literally can’t do anything else. And thus, much time passes. After sufficiently recovering, the staff returned his gear, as apparently the person had also managed to restore what he thought was definitely destroyed.

Leaving the building, Mahason wasn’t really sure if he should even return back to District 11. Considering it’s most likely that his family thinks he’s dead. Mulling over what to do, that’s when I decided to make myself known at last.

[fives-girlfriend]

A/N: New here? Start at First Impressions, part 1!

Unscheduled Maintenance

When the Marauder breaks down in transit, Asha and Tech have some much-needed chatter.

Characters: TBB, OC (Asha Kurr)

Warnings: None, apart from a slight falling scare

Word count: 3,400 (boy, I love rounded numbers!)

———————————————–

Asha awoke with a start, the dream she had been so blissfully enjoying fading away like distant neon and the warmth of a lost touch. She let out a soft groan, sitting up from the flimsy mattress that was padding the floor of the gunner loft, and rubbed her eyes as she peered out the window. The swirls of hyperspace were still rolling by, and the ship was silent. What could have awakened her, she wondered? Everything was still, and after a few moments, she laid back down and turned her gaze out the window, slowly allowing herself to begin drifting off, maybe chasing that distant memory again.

Stillness was shattered with an unsettling CHUNK.

The Marauder buckled, rather uncomfortably for everyone aboard – Asha had to vault out of the loft in a dead sprint just to keep Gonky from falling over. The 99 crew had been in the process of changing hyperspace lanes, dropping out of hyperspace for the briefest of moments, when the whole ship suddenly lurched, sending everyone jolting forward.

"What the hell was that-?!" Wrecker's voice was the first thing calling out, and Asha stood up, making her way towards the cockpit as everyone began emerging from where they'd been sequestering themselves away. She knew the feeling of that jerk all too well, and as Tech swiveled around in the pilot’s seat to address the others, it seemed he did too.

"The hyperdrive-"

"-failsafe kicked in-"

"-I'll run a diagnostic-"

"-but I think the navigation array-"

"-misaligned when we dropped-"

"-we should land so I can work on it."

Asha and Tech's voices rang out in tandem, and the two of them both looked towards each other in quiet bewilderment. Silence fell over the cockpit, before Asha stepped over to claim the copilot seat.

"...good idea," she muttered, not looking up at Tech. His expression betrayed his thoughts, giving her a rather quizzical look before he turned back to the controls. Why did she seem so embarrassed? They simply had the same idea at the same time - a remarkable feat, all things considered.

"There is a habitable moon not far from here," Tech stated plainly, "and preliminary scans show it to be uninhabited."

"I'll get started on the ship diagnostics," Asha continued, sounding slightly more confident. "That way we'll know what's wrong by the time we land. The navigational array is likely misaligned, but if we missed that, then who knows what other problems there might be…"

"Good idea," Tech replied, earning a startled blink from Asha. "I'll run an atmospheric scan when we land."

The words 'good idea' were still ringing in Asha's head as they made their way to the uninhabited moon, orbiting what appeared to be a large gas giant. Tech said she had a good idea. Tech, who was always so painfully indifferent to her, ever since she joined this squad. The very same Tech who never so much as gave her a second glance in… just about any regard, even as she admired his mechanical skill from afar. That Tech, the man designed to be a perfect genius, said that she had a good idea.

A warmth bloomed in Asha's chest, the smallest of smiles on her face as they made their way to the surface.

With difficulty, the ship was brought down planetside – there was sparse flora, more close to a tundra than anything. The atmosphere was quite frigid, and while Asha was wrapping up her diagnostics on the ship, Tech was beginning his atmospheric scans.

“So we were right - the navigation array is out of alignment. And seems like one of the engines has a 32% lower output than the other, which is… less than ideal, to say the least…” she spoke mainly to herself, thinking out loud. She wasn’t expecting Tech to be listening, not since he was working on his scan – but to her surprise, he acknowledged her, even without looking up from his datapad.

“I see. I will begin recalibrating the navigation array, if you would care to assist me,” he stated bluntly, making Asha blink a bit.  When he was met with silence, he looked up and tilted his head. "...you seem surprised."

"Yeah- yeah, sorry, I just… wasn't expecting you to ask for my help." Asha rubbed one of her lekku up and down in an ever-present nervous tic, to which Tech was already standing up to start grabbing his tools.

"Have I given off that impression?"

"...kinda-sorta."

"I can't imagine why. You've shown yourself to be very capable. I believed myself to have adequately expressed this thought already."

"Well-" Asha grimaced, shrugging a little as she was already sorting through her toolbelt to make sure she had everything; her response earned an arched brow from Tech. "You can be a little… blunt, sometimes. I… I'm not great at picking up subtle intonations or gestures or stuff, I guess. Not as well as I used to."

Tech's eyes widened ever so slightly as Asha continued.

"But! It wasn't always like this! I used to be really good at figuring out what people were feeling just by like, a look, or how they carried themselves, when I was a kid. It kinda- it kinda went away as I got older. It's like-" she began to gesticulate with her spanner, "it's like now, unless I'm explicitly told what you're thinking or feeling, I- I don't always get it. And if you've been encouraging me really subtly all this time, then I- I haven't picked it up! I- heh, I… I-I honestly thought you kinda hated me."

"That is… an extremely far leap of judgment," Tech quickly refuted. "However, your explanation is… sound. And… I apologize for having given you that impression. I do not hate you, Asha. Far from it. You've proven yourself to be very capable, both as an engineer, and… as a member of this squad."

Now it was Asha's turn to be surprised. A bright warmth rose to her cheeks and she found herself immediately moving to slide underneath the console to start working, her first response to such a genuine compliment being to hide just how much it affected her.

"Careful, Tech." Asha jolted a little as Echo's voice came from the doorway. "She's an easy blusher."

"Oh, shut up!" There was a loud clang as in an instant, Asha was sitting up again and her wrench was hucked across the room, colliding with the wall next to the door. For a moment, she wasn't on the Marauder anymore. For a moment, the bustle of the Coruscant hangar was around her, the laughs of troopers, the clatter of her tools against someone's helmet and the brotherly jeers that went along with it, a blooming warmth in her chest despite the teasing. For a moment, Asha was home.

But when she blinked, she was back home, and Echo was standing there in the doorway with wide eyes, jerked to the side as he stared at the miniscule dent in the wall beside him.

"Oh- oh, stars, I'm sorry, Echo, I-I-" Asha began, stumbling over her words. "It was just a gut reaction, I-I swear I-"

Asha's frantic rambling was cut off with a snicker. Echo was… laughing? He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, and in that moment, Asha looked absolutely dumbfounded. Tech glanced back and forth between them, brow raised, observing the interaction like a scientist would with a microscope.

"Alright, now I know you knew my brothers," Echo chuckled. "No one else would elicit that much of a response to some teasing. Relax, Asha, I'm not upset with you. Just be sure to keep your aim a bit off next time, yeah?"

The sigh of relief that left her was enough to make him smile, certainly. Asha gave a grin of her own in return, and after a moment finally went back to sliding underneath the console so she could get to work on tuning the navigation array again. Silence fell over the cockpit, and as Asha began to zone in to the work she was doing, she didn't notice the footsteps beside her - nor was she expecting to feel a second body come wedging in right beside hers. Tech's lanky form slipped in underneath the console directly next to her, the recording module of his goggles casting a small red glint into the darkened crevice.

Asha froze.

"The atmospheric scan is still running," Tech said quietly, seeming at least vaguely aware of the proximity. "It would be unwise to begin work on the engine until we are certain that it is safe to step outside. As such… working in tandem would certainly speed things up. Hand me the spanner, if you wouldn't mind."

When no response came, Tech glanced over - he found himself nearly nose-to-nose with Asha, and her eyes were wide open, jaw slack in shock, and the white markings on her skin had nearly blended in entirely with how much the blood had rushed straight to her face.

"...Asha?"

“H-Huh?” Asha blinked, and she quickly looked back up at the panel they were now both working on. Fumbling a hand around, she passed Tech the tool he needed, and she was now pointedly looking anywhere but him. It was all she could do to try and calm the frantic beating of her heart. “Right, here… come on, let’s… let’s, just…”

Silence fell over the both of them – they worked well in tandem, Asha quickly realized. There was a pounding in her head she couldn’t ignore, but with four hands all working quickly, the two mechanics fell into a steady rhythm of passing tools back and forth, quietly muttered instructions that barely needed to be spoken, and barely passing glances between each other as they finished their repairs in record time. As the last tweak was set into place, Asha let out a small gasp, and a smile spread across her lips as she turned her head to look over at Tech once again.

“We’re done-!” she said brightly, to which Tech nodded in confirmation. However, Asha made no move to exit the alcove – she simply laid there, staring at Tech. The subtle shift of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked back and forth across their handiwork behind his goggles. It was only a moment later that Tech realized he was being observed, and he turned his head to look at Asha, the two of them nose-to-nose.

Neither said anything, for a long moment. It was Asha who broke the silence however, letting out a small chuckle. She kind of shifted slightly, but gasped as her hip bumped into Tech’s – he moved next, only to find his thigh wedged up against her own. The two of them seemed to slowly realize just how close this close-quarters work was, and beyond their slowly reddening faces, neither seemed to notice the footsteps that entered the cockpit that abruptly stopped the moment whoever was making them noticed the two figures wedged underneath the console. At least, not until they spoke up.

“...er… Tech, Asha? There’s, uh…” Echo’s voice came out, unsure of what to say at the moment. Asha gasped, and she quickly tried to remove herself from underneath the console lest she be caught in such a compromising position – but she was a bit late on the draw, as a very familiar, very snarky voice came from the cockpit doorway.

“He means to say that the atmosphere scan is done,” Crosshair spoke up for his brother, a smarmy grin audible in his voice as Asha nearly slammed her head up on the underside of the console. Great, that’s TWO people who saw them like this. When Asha and Tech finally managed to unwedge themselves from underneath the console, the two stared up at a very baffled Echo who was clearly trying not to laugh, and Crosshair standing in the doorway with the smuggest grin imaginable on his face.

“...thank you,” Tech said curtly, quickly getting to his feet and snatching up his datapad. Asha barely caught it, but she could feel the glare that he shot towards his brothers, who were quick to disperse from the cockpit. Asha remained seated, but she glanced up when she heard a small, pleased noise from the man above her.

“Hm?” she hummed out, finally deciding to join him standing, and she had a feeling that it was going to be something good considering his reaction.

“It appears that the atmosphere is breathable,” Tech replied, scrolling through his datapad with a content nod. “I suggest we begin work on the engine immediately. This region is quite frigid, and–”

“–Echo isn’t good with the cold.” Asha finished Tech’s statement with solemn accuracy, making him blink – but it seems they both had the same idea, because he didn’t continue his sentence. With a quick nod, the two of them gathered their toolkits, Asha shrugged on an overshirt, and they made their way outside the ship’s cabin.

He wasn’t kidding, “quite frigid” was an understatement. The moment Asha stepped outside onto the grassy plain, she was met with a gust of freezing wind that chilled her to her core, and she shivered tensely as she and Tech stepped outside. “Geez, you– you weren’t kidding, it’s freezing here…”

“A few degrees below freezing, to be precise,” Tech added without looking up from his datapad, before he finally tucked it away and began making his way to the rear end of the ship. The two of them would really have their work cut out for them repairing the engine, and it looked like they were going to have a long evening ahead otherwise.

—

“...you know, Tech?”

Silence.

“Tech?”

Another beat. Asha knocked on the outer hull of the ship, and after a few moments, she could see Tech’s head poke out from behind the engine thruster.

“Apologies, Asha. With you all the way up there it’s difficult to hear you while I’m working,” Tech stated quickly, before he vanished from view once again. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking,” Asha spoke up from where she was seated atop the Marauder, a panel popped open in front of her that she was working away at. The two had been at it for a couple of hours now, and Asha’s fingers were stiff with the cold. “Earlier, when I said that… that I thought you hated me? I guess I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t really being clear. And I– I didn’t get to elaborate before Echo interrupted us.”

“Really? You sounded quite blunt to me,” Tech responded, not an inkling of irony in his voice. Asha inwardly kicked herself. “Did you mean something else by that comment?”

“I– I guess so,” she mumbled, before realizing he probably didn’t hear that. “I guess I did. What I meant was that… you’re always so absorbed in your work and everything else, and I can kinda… I can count on one hand the amount of times you and I have actually spoken at length. And I told you before that I’m kinda good at reading people–”

“Used to,” Tech corrected. “You said that you used to be good at reading people. I am quite curious as to what changed, however.”

“I… I don’t know,” Asha shrugged. “It just… died down. I stopped trying to focus on how people might feel and more on what they do and what they show. And after I started doing that, my whole… reading-people thing kinda stopped. It’s a lost skill, I guess. But my point is, I guess I just… I thought that… maybe you didn’t want me in this squad.”

“...that is not a baseless assumption,” Tech said, and it startled Asha so much she nearly dropped her wrench. “However. In the first days of you being a part of this squad, you are not wrong in that I was quite indifferent to your presence. I have a particular way of doing things, and having another engineer on our team would prove to be… detrimental to me, somewhat.”

“...you were afraid that I’d replace you,” Asha surmised.

“No,” Tech quickly refuted. “Nothing so brash. I was under the impression that you would get in my way. However, as you’ve become acclimated to this squad, I’ve found you to be… quite helpful.”

Asha blinked, and she slackened slightly from where before she’d been painfully tense. A small smile touched her lips, and she let out a small sigh that huffed into a little cloud in front of her in the frigid evening air. So he was coming around to her after all.

“That’s really sweet of you, Tech–” Asha moved to gesture with her wrench, but it all but flew out of her hand thanks to the cold stiffening her fingers. She gasped sharply as the tool banged loudly against the side of the ship, and on instinct she shot a hand out to catch it – and her whole body shifted.

Asha’s eyes went wide, and all she could manage was a startled yelp before her whole body slid. She didn’t hear Tech calling for her, she didn’t hear the gangplank open up again in response to the loud clatter, she didn’t hear Hunter’s footsteps come thudding out of the ship. No, all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears, as she went sliding off of the Marauder and plummeting towards the ground below. She didn’t know where to reach, what to grab, where to look – her eyes locked on the engine in front of her, and she reached a hand out to grab, but nothing came. She reached and reached, but in those sparse few seconds between when she slipped and when her back would unceremoniously collide with the frosty dirt and rock beneath her, she could only reach. She reached, she gripped–

And she landed.

The impact was startlingly soft, softer than she had expected. Her breath left her in a huff of air so harshly that she was sent into a coughing fit, and she had landed a bit too awkwardly on her rearmost lekku as her head banged against the ground. Her ears rang with the contact, only briefly – but as she glanced over and saw Tech rushing to her side, Hunter skidding ‘round the corner to her, she saw something else that made her blink in confusion, even as the two were helping her sit up, even as Hunter was examining her for injuries, even as Tech was telling her to be more careful. She barely registered any of it.

—

“Engine output looks good–”

Asha sat silently in the copilot’s seat, running diagnostics while Tech spoke.

“And the navigational array is fully realigned. It seems our repair time has been all but cut in half.”

When he fell silent for a beat, Asha looked up – and when she met his eyes, she found herself surprised by how genuinely thankful he looked. It pulled a smile from her, instinctively.

“Thank you for your assistance, Asha. I… will have to work with you again in the future.” Such a genuine admission from Tech was surprising to her, but all Asha could do was offer a warm smile and a nod as she sat back in the copilot’s seat. With the ship fully repaired, and Asha wholly uninjured from her fall, the squad decided to get some sleep here before taking off again in the morning – Asha had offered to take first watch. As Tech lingered for a moment before finally leaving the cockpit, Asha sat back and stared out the window at the rolling tundra valley they had stopped off in, her mind racing.

There was one thing that she couldn’t quite grasp, one thing that was inconsistent. It was a miracle she was unharmed from earlier, and she was chided quite extensively by just about everyone for being so reckless in throwing her tools around like that, or in trying to grab it, or for letting herself fall (Crosshair had earned a whack from Wrecker for that comment). The one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about though as she watched the stars glittering above that frigid plain was what she had seen as she laid on the ground, just after she had fallen.

All she could register in that adrenaline-addled moment was the wrench she had thrown, once again gripped tightly in her hand from the moment she had landed.

[mejomonster]

Hair toning notes for myself:

Roots too gold/warm (7N dye but turned out warm): purple conditioner on just roots for half hour.

Lengths too ashy (platinum blonde with ZERO gold left, cold greyish tint): peach lime crime mixed with conditioner (to a more pastel peach color), left on half hour. Some pieces turn a bit peach, but the overall effect is a neutral/creamy platinum white blonde hair. So it tones the ash color out. Lime crime sushi tint is IDEAL for this, but i couldn’t find any of that color on short notice so I lightened the Peach lime crime with conditioner. (I find lime crime brand pinks in particular are good for toning out blue/green tones from hair, my guess is lime crime uses some gold and orange in the pink formulas, because so far its the only thing i’ve found that can add GOLD tones back into hair after over-toning into an ash color. Colorista conditioners suck for this... I’ve tried several and the blonde/gold ones actually add more ash tones resulting in swamp green, the peach one kind of works but it’s VERY strong and true to color so i was concerned about staining and how long it may take to fade from peach back to golden blonde... in contrast to lime crime peach, which generally fades to a golden blonde in 1 month if pastel and in 2 months if put on at full intensity vibrant peach)

how to do shadow roots (aka an ombre from root application to lighter color on lengths with no hard line): Take hair clips, clip up top layers of hair and start on the lower section (the dye will be left on it longer so the color will be darker). mix root color. use hairdye application brush and brush/tap onto roots as one normally puts on hair dye (1-2 inches or wherever you want dark color to end).Take thin toothed comb, and comb the applied color down slightly another 1-2 inches (where you want the blurred color merge to be). then sweep the comb upward as you pull it out where you want color merge to end (so comb down straight then pull it out in a sweep-up motion where you want color to end). Move onto the next layer, upward until you are done. Watch the ends to make sure they don’t over-absorb color (especially if you have platinum hair ToT) and wash ends out early/asap if they start darkening more than desired (my platinum hair is so porous and mean basically ;-; ). Result: roots will be the color you used, there will be no clear demarcation line. Instead it will look like a balayage with some highlights and lowlights in the color-merge area until it’s all the uncolored hair at the bottom. Options: you can slightly vary how long down your hair you comb the color at each layer, the variation of comb-down-color may make it look less uniform. 

Example result:

Top is before (clear demarcation line), Bottom is after (blended line, looks like highlights go "up" and darker color goes "down" more to blend the color merge area)

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor

He furrowed his brows at first upon hearing her comment, however, his expession softened and gradually disappeared as he realised that she was teasing him. He was about to correct her on her statement and remind her that those three scoops would have been enough for him, but not for the both of them as she ended up stealing every second bite, but she kept on talking and to his luck, she'd ended her thought with a statement he could use to his advantage, to make a point. "See? If only you'd have given me a heads up like this back then, I wouldn't have been pouting after you've ended up eating two of those three scoops after claiming you didn't want any" He replied, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, but bearing a subtle, triumphant smirk all along, not meaning malice nor having any hard feelings on her for that. Failing to realise that she was flirting with him, he advised her to wait with the ice cream to melt a bit, which she ignored for a moment to make another attempt, only this time she was more direct with her words, which made him feel slightly taken aback. Glancing down at the spoon at her question, he blinked in surprisement, then peered up at her with an arched a brow tempted to just grab the spoon, surrender to her and to his sudden-came timidity in order to escape the situation, however, her shining eyes- the twinkle of mischief in them and her hopefulness were enough to discourage him from taking the easy way out. Ideally, he'd have told her that he'd already knowk how she tasted as they'd kissed earlier, yet how he wouldn't mind a reminder regardless, though, he couldn't find the courage within him to speak so boldly, thus he ended up going with something less daring, but still playful, which was a huge leap compared to his former responses. "Honestly... I was hoping you might feed me some if I've ignored the spoon for long enough" He countered, chuckling to take the edge away from his words and to encourage her to take them as a bad joke in case she didn't appreciate them.

Narcissa watched carefully as he claimed he only needed a heads up that she was often hungry too when she would eat ice cream with him. "Sometimes I didn't know I wanted any until the bowl was in front of you. And you never complained about me eating any with you," she smirked, keeping the teasing as light as she could. She knew he could easily make a remark about how he complained about not having enough and therefore, insinuated that if she left what was in the bowl all for him, he would have been just fine. However, hopefully he would not go there and they would laugh it all off. She even hoped he would continue the playful flirting that she started but she was caught off guard when he seemed to practically avoid it. The cheerful grin on her face began to fade as he grasped at what he was wanting to say. When he finally answered her, the smile had gone and she was trying her best not to frown in confusion. Narcissa attempted to chuckle but it came off clear how taken aback she was and she silently dipped the spoon back into the ice cream to collect a bite before offering it to him. "You could have asked," she replied, her voice a bit softer than before as she wasn't sure exactly how to handle the situation. She wasn't exactly sure what to say now too and as she sat there, she began to realize just how tired she felt. After all that she had been through, it was coming to a halt now that she had time to sit and dwell on it. Leaving Nikolas, returning home, returning to Lucius, helping him through an attack..it was all a strain on her mentally.

Skeletons

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 18

Chapter 1     Chapter 17

Mari waved up at Nightwing before turning toward the café.  He grinned and waved back.  No sense of embarrassment at getting caught like Red Robin had the day before.  She didn’t know enough about him to know if it was because he wasn’t hiding, Red Robin had given him a warning that she knew someone would be there, or because he had no sense of embarrassment, or most likely, a combination of all of those.

Adrien looked up and grinned too.  “What time did he take over?”

Marinette shrugged and cut through the café’s outdoor seating.  “Later than yesterday.  When did Dick leave?  It was some time after that.”

Adrien looked at him for a moment and shook his head. He looked back at Marinette before the memory of sleep deprived Marinette hit him.  He grimaced.  It was hit or miss whether she would be funny, emotional, or a danger to herself. If Batman was the same… “I really hope Batman doesn’t have a day job because with all the all-nighters he’s pulling, he would have to be a zombie at work.”

Marinette giggled at the idea.  “Can you imagine Batman with a day job?  What do you think he does?  Like, could you imagine him as a kindergarten teacher?”  Marinette’s giggles grew into full blown laughter. She finally was able to gasp out, “Batman complimenting some little kid’s rainbow and assuring them that making the entire rainbow the same color was extremely creative and beautiful.  Or trying to guess what animal they drew.”

Adrien laughed and patted her arm to get her to stop.  “Wait, wait. Batman crouching next to a toddler and explaining for the eighth time in the last three minutes that Pete the Cat is in fact a cat, not a dog before patting them on the head and walking away to scream into a nap mat.”

Marinette Laughed hard enough she almost missed the door handle.  She jumped when Adrien suddenly grabbed her arm.  She turned to him wide eyed but she immediately relaxed.  He was bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.  “No, no, no.  A PA to some… NO, to M. Wayne!  Batman as M. Wayne’s PA.  Oh my God, can you imagine?”

Marinette giggled and shook her head at him, pushing through the door.  Well, that would certainly explain why the bats seemed so close to the Waynes.  She spotted Duke and waved.  He jumped up and waved them over.  “Hey, Duke.  I hope you don’t mind that I brought Adrien.”

“Not at all,” Duke gave them both a hug.  He looked toward the bathroom with a smile. “Good to see you again, man.  I hope you don’t mind that Cass and I both brought someones too.”  Cass and Stephanie were walking toward them with a red headed woman in a wheelchair. Duke leaned toward them and lowered his voice so the women approaching couldn’t hear him.  “Brought is a really liberal term for what happened.  I am so sorry.  I knew we shouldn’t have mentioned meeting with you in front of Stephanie.”

“Hey Cass,” Marinette called out.  She and Adrien waved at her.  “Good to see you again, Stephanie.”

Cass waved back and nodded with a wide smile. “Marinette!” Stephanie chirped. “I’d say what a coincidence we ran into you guys here…”

“But that would be a lie,” Barbara finished for her. “Hi,” she held out her hand for them, “I’m Barbara.”

Marinette smiled and stepped forward to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well yeah we crashed,” Stephanie rolled her eyes and dropped into a seat across from Marinette.  She sent a playful glare toward Duke.  “You guys have been keeping her all to yourselves all week.  It’s our turn to hang out with her again.  Not to mention I wanted to catch up with the woman who fed the Riddler’s own balls to him for everyone to see.”

“And we wanted to see how you’re doing after it,” Barbara added with a chastising look to Stephanie.  She turned to side eye Duke.  “We tried to check with the boys but they were less than helpful.”

Marinette shrugged and leaned back slightly, not enough for anyone else in the café to notice but everyone else at the table picked up on it.  “I’m fine. It wasn’t bad.  More embarrassed he caught me in the first place.”

Stephanie waved her off.  “Please,” she scoffed.  “He had to knock out like an entire block just to get you.  That’s better than some of the bats.”

“Well, you look like you’re healing well,” Barbara nodded with a supportive smile.

Marinette smiled as naturally as she could and tried to control how much she was shifting in her seat.  She really, really hated talking about the whole thing with not only people who didn’t know she had been a superhero, but with the Waynes after that dinner, so that was two strikes against discussing this right now.

She’d been able to joke about it and moan about how contrived the whole setup with Alya and Nino.  They’d laughed all night about the audacity.  Not only had he thought he could stump her with a question about Chat Noir, he thought he would win against her in a game that relied on luck or rather bad luck not striking.  It was almost enough to make her forget the way the dinner had ended.  It was exactly what she had needed.  But she couldn’t do that here.

“Yeah,” she chuckled anxiously.  “My cheek seems to be doing well.  I’m hoping I can cover it with makeup by next week.”

“How’s your shoulder?” Duke asked motioning toward the shoulder she’d rammed into the doorframe when she was running away.

Marinette blinked at him a few times before she quirked her head to the side, her face scrunching in confusion.  “How did you know about that?”

She could see the rest of the table tense up, Adrien included but for the same reason as her, confusion on how he’d known. She had no idea why the rest were tensing up.  Duke chuckled awkwardly, sending looks over to the women at the table.  “He’s covering for me,” Barbara finally spoke up.

“Why is… what is he covering up for?” Marinette asked cautiously.

“My father is the police commissioner,” she said quietly.  “I may have snuck a look at the police report… slightly illegally… and read about your injuries.”

Marinette shook her head.  “But, I didn’t tell them about that.”

“No,” Barbara acknowledged, “but Signal did.”

Marinette nodded, trying to process that information. “Huh,” was all she managed to eke out. Her mind raced trying to figure out what to say next.  She was saved from trying to figure out how to move the conversation along by the waiter. The topic seemed to fade away naturally as everyone put in their order.

As soon as the waiter left, Duke clapped his hands with a bright smile.  “So, Steph, you said again.  I take it you guys have met before?”

“At the gala,” Adrien nodded.  “Only briefly though.  We,” he motioned between him and Stephanie, “spoke for a little bit, but Marinette only spoke with her for a few seconds.”

Stephanie grimaced at the reminder.  “Yeah… not exactly the ideal meeting.”

Marinette waved her off.  “Not your fault.  Don’t worry about it.”  She sent her a sincere smile.

“No,” Stephanie agreed.  “It’s Bruce’s.”

Cass pulled out a credit card with a wicked grin. “On Bruce.”

Barbara nodded.  “Exactly.  Therefore, this lunch is on Bruce.  Maybe we should go shopping after this too?”  She raised an eyebrow at Marinette.

Marinette giggled and shook her head.  “No, thank you.  That’s okay.  I’m good.”

Stephanie’s eyes lit up.  She leaned closer to Marinette like she was sharing a secret. “Speaking of the gala, how did you get tickets to the gala anyway?  We never figured it out.”  Barbara groaned lightly and smacked her on the shoulder.  They had just changed the subject.  Marinette probably did not want to talk about the gala, where they raved about their family and the newest member, which was not her and did not did not include her.

Instead of freezing up or withdrawing, like Barbara worried she would, Marinette started laughing.  Her eyes were sparkling with mirth.  She leaned closer to them over the table and lowered her voice. “I pimped out my friend,” she confided with a smirk.

The rest of the table froze until Adrien groaned and Stephanie and Duke started laughing loud enough to draw disapproving looks from neighboring tables.  Cass raised an eyebrow, but her lips were quirked up in amusement.  “Say that again,” Barbara prompted.

Marinette shrugged and took a sip of her drink.  “I don’t know if it counts as pimping if he did it willingly.  He was willing to do it for Max.”

“Oh my God, Marinette.”  Adrien ran his hand over his face in exasperation.

“What exactly was he willing to do?” Barbara’s voice was now less amused and more wary.

“That was the worst possible way to say it,” Adrien groaned.

“You know, maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that…” Barbara hedged.  She leaned away from Marinette cautiously.

Marinette laughed at Adrien’s frustration and bumped his shoulder with hers.  “I offered up a date with Luka Coffaine to Audrey Bourgeois’ PA in exchange for the tickets she turned down,” she explained.

There was absolute silence for a few seconds until Stephanie broke the silence.  “You know Luka Coffaine?” she yelled.  

Everyone in the café turned slowly to look at them. Marinette’s eyes widened and looked around at them.  She gave them an awkward smile and a wave before turning back to the table.  Before she could chastise Stephanie, Cass was already on top of it.  She pointed sternly around the restaurant and back at Stephanie.  Stephanie nodded guiltily.  “Yeah, yeah.  Sorry.” She turned back to Marinette excitedly. “I just…” she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Marinette.  “You know Luka Coffaine?”

Marinette rolled her eyes at her excitement.  It was always so bizarre to see people’s reaction to Luka.  It was Luka. Just Luka.  Calm, reserved, laidback Luka.  The hysteria around his name just never seemed to fit.  “Yeah, I mean, we dated for a while so… yeah.”

“You dated Luka Coffaine!” Stephanie yelled again, receiving glares from everyone at the table.  Marinette shrunk down in her chair and gave a strained, apologetic smile to the rest of the café.  Cass slapped Stephanie’s shoulder and shook her head.  Stephanie waved her off and focused back on Marinette.  “Yeah, yeah.  Discretion.  Whatever. She dated Luka freaking Coffaine,” Stephanie insisted, motioning to Marinette.

“You dated Tim Drake,” Duke pointed out.

Stephanie snorted.  “That’s just Tim.  He’s just a big dork.  She dated…”

“Yeah we got it,” Barbara cut her off.

“Really, so is Luka,” Adrien shrugged.  “Probably more so, just about music.”  Marinette cocked her head to the side in thought for a few seconds before nodding in agreement.  He really was.

“Holy shit.  Did he introduce you to his dad?”  Stephanie was bouncing in her seat at the idea and the potential for an inside scoop on Jagged Stone.

“No,” Marinette answered.  She smiled internally at the way all their faces, except for Adrien’s fell, just a bit, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to hide their disappointment.  “I already knew him.”

“You know Jagged Stone?” Stephanie yelled. Marinette cringed as she sent the other patrons another apologetic smile.

Duke leaned over closer to her so he could whisper in her ear, though his voice intentionally carried across the table. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore.”

“No!” Stephanie screeched, before catching what she did and settling down, a mask of composure settling on her face.  “I’m fine now.  I just needed to get that out.  I’m calm.” She stared at them for a few seconds before almost lunging across the table.  Adrien deftly moved his and Marinette’s drinks before she knocked them over in her zeal.  “Please tell me more.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she started laughing.  “You realize you’re basically a daughter to the richest man in the world.  If you wanted to meet Jagged Stone, you could.”

Cass shook her head.  “Different.”

Barbara nodded.  “She’s right it is different.  You dated his son.  That’s a different type of knowing someone.”

“So you met Luka through Jagged?” Stephanie pressed.

Marinette suddenly looked uncomfortable.  She was not really excited to talk about their family dynamic and secrets.  It was a little too close to her own and she really, really wanted to move past that, not dwell on it more.  “No… I met Luka through my friend Juleka, his sister.  We went to school together for ages.  They’re both some of my best friends.”

“And she introduced you to Jagged?” Duke asked curiously.  He could tell something was off about this based on the way Marinette responded, but he wasn’t sure what.

“No… um…” she stuttered.  “I met Jagged through a school project.  Designed some sunglasses for him and we’ve been close ever since.”  Adrien grabbed her hand and squeezed it under the table

Stephanie looked between the two of them and plastered on a bright smile.  “So what I’m hearing is you can hook us up with some tickets next time he comes into town.”

Marinette laughed lightly.  “Either one of us could, yes.”

“Or for Clara Nightengale,” Adrien added in. “She loves Marinette, too.  She wanted her in one of her videos.”

“She wanted you in it too,” Marinette reminded him.

“No,” he corrected her, “Gabriel got me into it. She just had to deal with it.  She didn’t choose me.  She chose you.  She worked to get you in the video.”

Marinette opened her mouth to refute that but snapped it shut quickly as the words resonated in her head.  She meant more because Clara chose her.  He was thrust on Clara.  But it didn’t mean he was unwanted.  She looked down at her food and took a bite, trying to cover her sudden inability to breathe.  Trying to give herself time to process.  She needed to pack that away for later when she could properly unpack that statement, deconstruct it, and then finally reconstruct it in some skewed, perverted version of the original situation.

Adrien immediately froze seeing her reaction. He opened his mouth to say something but Marinette squeezed his hand under the table before he could, a silent message they could talk about it later, when they were alone, or at least not with an audience comprised of Waynes.

“So how did you meet Mons…” she stuttered.  It felt strange to call him M. Wayne when everyone else at the table was calling him Bruce.  Should she call him Bruce too?  Like they did.  Like Dick did?  Or B, like Jason did?  “…M. Wayne?” she finally settled on.

Duke grimaced.  They had a cover story, but was he really going to give Bruce’s daughter the cover story?  The truth involved Batman.  But Bruce hadn’t told her about that part of their lives yet, and even if he had told her, he certainly hadn’t told Adrien.  “It’s a long story…”

Marinette smiled encouragingly at him.  “We have time.” She saw him falter and felt her own smile falter.  She took note of the way the women had frozen up as well.  God, what was she doing?  M. Wayne had said how they met.  Why was she bringing that up now?  What was she thinking?  Even if he was okay discussing that trauma, he probably didn’t want to open up about it with a stranger.  

“You don’t have to tell me,” she assured him.  “It’s… it’s fine.”  She looked around desperately for something else to talk about, a change of topic to make the conversation not so awkward.  “You graduate from school next year, right?”  Duke blinked a few times before he let out a breath and nodded.  She let out a breath as well when the rest of the table seemed to relax at her question.  “Do you have plans for after you graduate?  Are you going to take a gap year or go to university or get a job?”

“I haven’t really decided yet.  Go to Gotham University, I guess,” he shrugged.

Marinette smiled disarmingly at him.  “You don’t have to decide now.  You have time.”

The waiter interrupted Marinette’s response with their food.  They gave their thanks and started eating.  “So what have you missed the most while you’ve been here?” Barbara asked.

“My parents’ cooking definitely,” Marinette grinned as she looked at her food. It didn’t look bad, but compared to her parents’ cooking… well not much compared.  “And the atmosphere.  Gotham is…” she looked around them as she thought of an unoffensive way to end that sentence.

“Dreary as Hell,” Stephanie finished for her.  “Yeah, we know.”

“I swear you guys have more gargoyles than we do though, which is just strange to me,” Adrien added.  “We were supposed to have the market cornered on gothic architecture.”

“Oh, you still do.  We just took the most depressing, dismal, gloomy, nightmare inducing parts and ran with it,” Duke grinned.  “But I would like to see Paris sometime.  Go see the Eiffel Tower… and jump off it.”

Barbara, Stephanie, and Cass all groaned at him.  Barbara gave him a stern look and pointed a warning finger in his face. “Not during the day.”

Duke laughed at her.  “Well I’m not going to do it at night.”

“Do it at sunrise,” Marinette advised.  “Less gendarmerie around then and if you angle it correctly, you get the most gorgeous view of the sunrise.”

“Bring sunglasses if you jump that way though.  I didn’t and I saw spots for hours.  Oh, and stretch first too,” Adrien added.  “You’re going to have to parkour for quite a while to try to ditch the GN.”

The rest of the table stared at them, jaws dropped in shock.  There was absolute silence at the table except for the sounds of Marinette sipping her drink and Adrien chewing his food. “You’ve…” Duke started almost too in awe to be able to finish the sentence.  “You’ve jumped off the Eiffel Tower?”

Marinette nodded and motioned between the two of them.  “Both of us have.  Both during an akuma attack and not.  Not was much preferable to during.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Stephanie asked slowly.  She was like 90% positive it was but during akuma attacks, who knew what was legal anymore and Hell, maybe they had days where they gave exceptions. Stranger things have happened.

Marinette speared a bit of food and pointed it at her.  “Only if you get caught.”  She popped the food in her mouth with a triumphant grin.

Barbara blinked at her a few times and shook her head because dear God, there was another one.  She was going to fit right in.  No wonder she and Duke got along so well.  Both creative, smart, kind, thrill seeking, dumbasses.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works,” she deadpanned.

Adrien shrugged and took a sip of his drink.  “I don’t know.  We didn’t get arrested, so I’m pretty sure it is.”

Duke and Stephanie started laughing hysterically.  They looked over at Cass with raised eyebrows when they settled down. Cass stared intently at Marinette and Adrien for a few seconds, staring into them like she was reading their souls. Marinette and Adrien looked at each other with identical unsure looks and subconsciously leaned back at the same time, shuffling in their seats.  Cass stared at them for just a few more seconds before she nodded.

“Holy shit,” Duke muttered in awe.  “You were telling the truth.”

Marinette looked back over at Adrien for an explanation he clearly didn’t have, judging by the blank look on his face before looking back at Duke.  “Uh… yeah?”

“What just happened?” Adrien asked tentatively.

“Sorry about that,” Barbara sent them a disarming smile.  “Cass is kind of like a human lie detector.  She is exceptionally good at telling if someone is lying.  She just confirmed that you two were not.”

Marinette blinked at Barbara a few times before turning to Cass and blinking at her.  “Huh… good to know,” she nodded slowly.  Her eyes stayed on Cass but it was clear her mind was running a mile a minute behind them.  After a few seconds she spoke up again.  “Can you tell the lies people tell themselves too?”

Cass quirked her head to the side and studied Marinette for a moment and shook her head.  “Have to know.”

Marinette nodded and silently took a bite of her food. “Well, that has to come in handy,” Adrien chirped.  “Remind me to take you with me when I meet people.”

Marinette could feel eyes boring into her.  She looked back over at Cass and raised a curious eyebrow at her.  “Hero,” she finally said.

Marinette coughed for a second and looked back at her with her most convincing blank look.  “I’m sorry.  What?”

Cass nodded toward Marinette.  “Eiffel Tower.”

Marinette chuckled disarmingly and shook her head. “You think I’m a lot more honorable than I am.  You think it’s more likely that I was a hero than that I knowingly, intentionally, purposefully violated the law for fun.”  She leaned closer to Cass with a smirk.  “But I can assure you, I regularly did.”

The others at the table looked to Cass.  She quirked her head to the side and gave a small smile before nodding.  “Truth.”  Cass pointed to herself.  “Next time.”

Marinette grinned and nodded excitedly. “Absolutely.”

Duke cleared his throat.  “And Duke,” Cass added.

Marinette chuckled.  “Of course.  We can make a New Kids Club event out of it.”

“And me!” Stephanie chirped.

Barbara sighed and turned to Adrien.  “Dick said you had a job interview yesterday.  How did it go?”

Marinette beamed at Adrien as he responded. Adrien’s face lit up.  “It went well I think.  I think I’d really enjoy working there!  I met the department chair and other professors.  It looks like a really supportive department and University, very research oriented.”

“Where is it?” Duke asked between bites.

“Metropolis,” Adrien answered, his fondness he’d already developed for the city bleeding into his tone.

“Oooh, Conner lives there.  If you’re still deciding if you want to live there or if you need a tour guide, or recommendations on where to eat, he’d be more than happy to help,” Stephanie offered.

Marinette’s smile turned into a pointed smirk and Adrien groaned quietly.  “Conner, did you say?”

Stephanie looked between them, her brow furrowing in confusion.  “Yeah?”

“That wouldn’t happen to be Tim’s single friend would it?”  Her eyes never left Adrien as she asked, her smirk somehow getting even sharper.

Adrien groaned even louder when he looked over and saw Cass’ smile matched Marinette’s and Duke and Stephanie both had devious, familiar looking glints in their eyes.  This was clearly payback for all his attempts to set Marinette and Chloe up with different people.  “Why yes, yes it is.  How about that,” Duke grinned.

Cass pulled out her phone and moved her finger around the screen for a second then finally looked up with an innocent looking smile.  Adrien groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “I’m not even in this family.  Why am I being punished?”

Barbara laughed and popped a bit of food in her mouth. “That’s funny.  You think just because there’s no paperwork, you haven’t been adopted already.  I made that mistake at first too.”

Chapter 19

Tags:

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[x-pair-o-dice-x]

How about some crimeboys noms?

it has taken. SO LONG to answer this anon i am so sorry.

anyway!!!!! noms time noms time noms time noms-

UPDATE: now on ao3!! please read it on ao3 instead it's got proper casing and also slightly less typos

warnings for: mentioned child neglect, safe vore. if there’s any more please tell me bc it is 11 pm at night i started this at like 8:30 dkndkdmdldk.

any normal kid probably wouldn’t be out in the forest late at night.

tommy isn’t a normal kid — hasn’t been for a while.

normal kids would be in bed, or staying up talking with friends, or maybe having a movie night with their family.

normal kids wouldn’t get locked out of the house because their family forgot they existed — again.

this, unfortunately, wasn’t a completely uncommon occurrence. sometimes he stayed out too late trying to avoid his fosters, and ended up coming home to a locked house.

usually, he would only have to wait only a while before they remembered their source of money — the previous record was over an hour and a half.

this time, however, no one came to his rescue. it had been over three hours before he decided to call it quits, three hours of banging on the door, knocking on windows, kicking the wall — and ouch okay maybe that last one wasn’t a good idea — and.... nothing.

you’d think the family would be more careful about him, considering how much being a foster paid, but you’d be surprised.

and with being locked out, that left him with pretty much no where to go.

except for one place, really. tommy hopes he isn’t asleep.

and that led to now, walking in the forest almost aimlessly.

it’s been about half an hour since he left the house, he can’t exactly check the time — he hasn’t had a phone in a long while, and he never bothered with watches — but the moon is pretty high up, so he guesses it’s around midnight, maybe one in the morning? definitely the ideal time one would wander in the woods. absolutely no one would be asleep at this time.

he’s beginning to think that this trip in the woods was for nothing, when faintly, he could hear a rustling of leaves. it’s far away, he can just barely hear it, but it’s there.

it’s there, and it’s getting closer.

it almost seems like the rest of the forest has gone quiet — and maybe it has, maybe it’s aware of the danger that is approaching, slower and slower, growing louder and louder. tommy can’t quite tell where it’s coming from, it feels like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. closer and closer it comes, it feels like it’s right on to of him-

and suddenly all is quiet. not a bird nor rodent to be seen. just him.

and then-

a chuckle.

“what’s a little morsel like you doing all alone in the woods?”

tommy can’t quite see where the voice could be, it’s musical tilt surrounding him. he looks around, but all he can see is trees.

there’s the rustling again, even closer than before, and he can tell it’s meant to disorientate him, frighten him.

and prime is he tired of this — it’s one in the fucking morning and he just wants to sleep.

another chuckle, fading into a sharp hiss, and-

“wilbur, you dramatic fuck, it’s me.” tommy groans, and suddenly everything stops.

silence for a moment.

“tommy?”

suddenly a figure in the trees move, and a giant creature hidden in plain sight comes into view.

a naga.

normally, the sight of one would scare someone half to death— or, well. no, normally no one knew nagas existed in the first place. but like, if they did, the first instinct would be to run.

not tommy.

“ayup.” he nodded towards the naga.

the naga, wilbur, was confused. rightfully so, if tommy’s really being honest. which, he’s not.

“tommy, why the fuck are you out here in the middle of the night??” wilbur crouched down as low as he could — which, honestly wasn’t that far, but it’s the thought that counts. “it is- it’s the middle of the night.”

“oh really?” tommy raised an eyebrow. “i hadn’t noticed.”

wilbur hissed in frustration, before scooping tommy up in his hands and raising him up closer to his face. tommy, for the record, did not like being manhandled like this at the moment, but he was incredibly tired and didn’t really want to stand anymore, so... he’ll forgive it this time.

“tommy- please explain. now.” wilbur hissed low, and- oh jeez, wil was.. actually pretty worried about this. huh. that.. tommy hasn’t had another person — besides wil — worry about him in.. a long time. not even his case worker gave him the time of day anymore.

...okay, maybe going to wilbur wasn’t the best idea, if it made him worry this much..

oh, wait yeah he was supposed to be. giving an explanation wasn’t he. he shook his head clear.

“uh- sorry big man, fuckin uh. got locked out of the house again, no one was awake to let me in. didn’t- didn’t mean to make you worry, i can go back! don’t know, why my first thought was to come here, but i can get out of your hair.” usually he would try to walk away, but uh. he was currently a ton of feet up in the air, and doing that would be a bad idea, to say the least.

and wilbur- wilbur’s eyes widened in disbelief, and oh shit ah fuck he said something wrong didn’t he. god damnit.

“again-?” wil whispered under his breath(though tommy heard it just as if he were speaking normally), before seemingly registering the last few sentences. “wait- tommy you don’t have to leave!” he paused. “well- if, you really wanted to, i won’t stop you, but.. i’m not gonna make you leave.”

tommy stared at him.

“you’re.... not?” okay voice you didn’t need to make that sound so broken, he’s fine, he’s a big man, he’s-

“of course not, toms..”

and- fuck okay that’s hitting way harder than it really should.

he’s not tearing up, something just. got in his eye or something.

wilbur notices his totally-not-tearing-up, and coos, before nudging a finger over to tommy, who totally doesn’t latch onto it as tight as he can.

and.. if the two sit there while tommy cries his feelings away, well. no one has to know but them.

it takes a while for tommy to finally fall down, but he does eventually. and by then, the exhaustion of the night finally catches up on him. he lets out a big yawn, drawing a chuckle out of wilbur.

“the little gremlin is all tuckered out now, huh?”

“fu-k off....” he mumbles half-heartedly, still clutching the finger.

“you want to go to sleep now, toms?” wilbur cooed.

he’s met with a moment of silence, before a faint nod can be felt on his finger.

and.. wilbur pauses, before looking around.

“huh.. uh, where exactly would you sleep..?”

...oh, yeah, that is a good question. wilbur doesn’t really have a house, he’s way too big for one. he just lives in a cave not too far from here, but that doesn’t really have anywhere good to rest, not for him. and sleeping out in the forest just seems like a bad idea.

wilbur looks deep in thought, almost like he’s debating something. he’s about to question it, but he’s beaten to the punch.

“i.. might have some place for you to sleep in?”

he looks at wilbur, waiting for him to continue.

“i- ...how much do you trust me?”

tommy blinks. not the question he expected, but okay.

“a lot.” he says without hesitation, and it’s true. “why?”

he can tell wil is warmed by that, by the soft smile that appears on his face, before it’s replaced by a much more hesitant look.

“what... if i... put you in my stomach?”

he blinks again. and again. and a few more times.

“what?” did he? hear that right?? surely not.

“what if i put you in my stomach..?” nevermind then.

wilbur rushes to clarify. “well- it’s not quite a stomach, stomach. more like a place you store things in — all nagas have one. it’s completely safe, i promise you, i wouldn’t offer it if i was even a little bit unsure about it-”

“wil.” tommy speaks up, stopping the naga’s rambling. tommy pauses, thinking things over, before- “it’s.. safe?”

“absolutely safe.” wilbur nods.

“then...” another pause. “okay.” a whisper.

“you’re.. sure about this?” wilbur asks, lifting tommy closer to his face.

he nodded. “i trust you, wilbur.”

wil has been better to him than any of his foster families in the recent years. he’s only really had one good foster — and that was because they did the bare minimum, for all of the foster kids under their care. wilbur.. he was doing way more, he felt like he actually cared. and.. if that didn’t deserve trust, he didn’t know what did.

wilbur smiled again, before slowly lifting tommy up again, closer and closer to his mouth, before gently setting him in, being mindful of his fangs.

and- oh jeez this was. a little bit weird, to say the least. everything was humid and wet, and oh so warm — he didn’t expect the cold-blooded naga to be so warm on the inside, but here he is.

and then he was being licked, which. felt even more weird, honestly, but also.. weirdly, comforting?

he was licked all over, getting absolutely soaked, and he could hear wilbur purring — could feel it, too. he didn’t even know nagas could purr.

he is absolutely making fun of wilbur for it when he’s in the mindset of actually making jokes.

soon, he feels himself sliding down, down towards a pathway, and he’s sure that if he weren’t so sleepy, his brain would have the sense to panic, if just a little bit.

but this was tired tommy, and tired tommy did not give a shit where he was going, as long as it was comfy.

as his feet entered the throat, he heard a loud gulp-, and soon he was in some sort of tube thing, which felt both crushing and comforting at the same time.

and then everything relaxed, and he ended up in some sort of pouch — the stomach, he presumed. and, for a stomach, it was oddly comfortable. it felt warm and plush, and leaning into it felt like he was on the world’s best mattress.

wilbur hadn’t stopped purring.

tommy felt himself drifting off, and he let out a faint, “good night, wilby,” before everything went blank.

[go-go-devil]

time after time, two weeks after this fire burning in our brains?

It was the first time in at least two weeks in which Daniil Dankovsky had the opportunity to spend the night with his colleague… No, his friend. He needed to start being more up front about that fact again, like he was during their initial meeting. 

Back then it had felt like a strange, uncanny sort of deja vu; two minds and bodies impossibly split into two only to be reunited under the most dire of circumstances. When the army arrived during the final days of the sand pest his feelings for his former colleague’s son were locked tightly away in favor of utopian ideals made physical, and after watching it be blasted away by a single, ear-piercing cannon strike he turned his back on them entirely. Well, turned his back on everyone that day. He couldn’t afford a single soul seeing him reduced to such a miserable, pathetic, childish state.

Yet only recently he had found, despite his initial resistance, an unyielding desire to start over with the Haruspex.

There were so few left in this town that cared for him, and those in power wouldn’t waste the opportunity to mount his head on a pike were he to return to the Capitol. Why not try his chance with the man who saved his bound, and his life, on their own accord? Was it at all possible to forgive such a powerless fool as he? Could he even communicate these desires like a proper human being, or would his mask fall off and reveal his lack of social graces like it had for every past relationship he’d ever attempted to establish?

But now was not the time to dwell on those past anxieties. 

Today Daniil had spent all of the afternoon and evening with Burakh and his children, feeling content at the fact that he was now able to enjoy the company of both Sticky and little Murky; the latter of whom was all too eager to make him assist in creating an “insect collection.” It was nothing more than an assortment of dried carcasses she’d found in the dirt, pinned with mismatching needles onto a piece of paper as he was tasked with writing out the proper labels for each specimen (with handwriting that became increasingly illegible the less space there was), but still a humble start to a hobby was always better than none!

He now stood by the bureau in his friend’s bedroom as he began unbuttoning his vest. The other man sat on the edge of their bed. The small cluster of candles on the nightstand close to him bathed his face in a pleasant warm glow, which contrasted with the usual cold glare he wore as he cracked the joints in their fingers before scratching the thin hairs of an emerging beard.

“Are you reflecting or plotting?” Daniil joked as he gazed at Artemy through the reflection of the bureau’s slightly cracked (but not broken) mirror. He knew Burakh wasn’t angry. It was just a fact that their face seemed sculpted to have a perpetually disgruntled look to it, not terribly dissimilar to his own in all honesty.

“I would have preferred not to do either these past two weeks,” Artemy looked back up to him and gave a weak smile, which then faded away all too quickly, “But now that you’re here, I’d like to have a talk with you.”

The doctor felt his muscles grow tense at that statement, but he quickly shed the random apprehension as he took off his vest and folded it on top of the chest of drawers, then turned around to face his colleague… his friend.

“Now?” He asked before giving a soft chuckle, “As nostalgic as I am for our nightly debates in the past, I really am far too tired to provide you with any fulfilling answers-”

“Mishka told me what actually happened that day, when you last came to visit.”

Daniil flinched, and instantly a pit began to form in his stomach. He thought he had been explicitly clear with Murky that it was wrong to share that story with anyone.

"We can’t put a spotlight on our faults to others, ‘else they’ll judge us too harshly. It’s those unsavory aspects about us that we must keep to ourselves."

That was what he had told her before they returned home from their insect hunting trip, and it was paramount! For several seconds he stood silently before his body turned around to look at the mirror again, looking for any loose strands of hair to brush back with his gloved hands in an attempt to appear unsurprised by their remark.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean all the details you hid from me and made her promise not to tell,” He continued, “How you were so desperate to get inside my home that you broke in with a lockpick, then succumbed to a terrible crying jag on my bed.” He pressed his palm against the mattress for further emphasis, yet still Dankovsky did not turn to face him. 

“Well…” he spoke calmly despite the sudden dryness of his throat as he began to remove his black leather gloves, “I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be the kind to exaggerate to such a degree. I certainly wasn’t in the best of moods that day, but-”

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever known,” Artemy interrupted, shaking his head disapprovingly before continuing “Why do you still keep concealing so much of yourself from me?”

“Because I have no intention of subjecting you to myself in that state!” 

Daniil paused after that remark and tilted his head down from the mirror glass, focusing on the light and dark swirls of the wood patterns in an attempt to distract from the sudden flush of heat he felt in his face. Now his emotions were failing him again as the recent memories of the horrid meltdown seeped their way back into his brain. All he could do was say nothing and hope that this pain and vulnerability didn’t trigger one of his lesser outbursts; the ones where he becomes rude and vitriol entirely on purpose. Daniil heard the harsh creeks of the mattress springs as Burakh stood up. 

“If that’s so, then why would you come to my home in the first place?” He said as he walked up behind him, placing his hands on his tense shoulders as he began rubbing them, “Never mind. I’m in no mood to interrogate you. I just can’t help but feel a bit dejected that you would keep hiding your pains from me, as if I’m still nothing more than a stranger to you.”

“We’re not close enough yet,” He mumbled as he closed his eyes and straightened his posture, his head and back now touching Artemy’s chest as they held him.

“Coming from the man who said we were ‘two parts of a single whole?’” Artemy teased before then trying to soften his tone, “Really, oynon, did you honestly expect me to throw you out of my life completely because my daughter saw you crying?”

“And biting my wrists, snapping at anyone who dares to comfort me...” 

Peering into the mirror again, Daniil could see just how red his face had become. He wriggled free of the other man’s grasp and nearly walked straight into the wall just to get clear of his reflection as he covered his eyes and massaged his temples with his thumbs.

“I don’t know what I was expecting when I came here,” He cautiously uncovered his face and focused on Artemy’s mouth, for at this point he couldn’t even attempt to look them in the eyes, “I can never think straight under those spells! You haven’t the faintest idea how much it pains me that I can’t control these meltdowns when they happen! All the progress I’ve made since childhood, and those damn things always render me so…. so…. immature. I still can’t figure what else to do but hide.”

“I see,” Artemy spoke plainly, “If there’s nothing else you can do about it, then hide. Just know that this house can always be your escape, whether we’re in it or not.”

For a moment, Daniil thought he may have misheard him. Such blind acceptance… it was certainly what he would want to hear, but reality simply wasn’t kind to freaks like him. People don’t tolerate that sort of behavior so easily, especially as an adult. That’s why it was important to always have a way of either placating or counteracting their points against you, which his mind was already working towards as it began planning how he should explain every intricate detail of how his disorder affected him.

Yet not a single word fell from Dankovsky’s lips as he watched his colleague walk up to him and take him into a strong hug. The strength of their grip, their heavy body and earthly scent embraced his entire being in a tight, calming pressure, and without hesitation Daniil stood on the very tips of his toes to reach up and press his forehead hard against Artemy’s own. They knew how much comfort that brought him. They knew because he had felt safe enough to confess such a fact to them.

“You have no reason to be ashamed of your autism,” Artemy Burakh spoke as the two of their bodies swayed ever-so-slightly, “Even the unsavory parts. In just these last two weeks you’ve done more for helping little Mishka discover herself than I have in the past year!”

He gave Daniil one last squeeze before letting him go and moving back toward the bed and laid down on his back, hands on his head as he closed his eyes and sighed, “Besides, you two are lucky to have a term for your minds. Some people’s brains are just plain fucked with nothing to be done about it.”

“Oh don’t assume such things,” Daniil chastised as he joined his dear friend, stepping up to the nightstand to blow out the candle flames before laying down on his side next to them, “I’m no psychologist, but I’m sure some of them out there have figured out a diagnosis for how your brain works.”

“Perhaps…” In a less intimate moment this could have lead to an argument about how much “worse” his intrusive thoughts are compared to Daniil’s and other stubborn excuses that came from someone who also grappled with the fear of being unable to “cure” their disorder, but thankfully Artemy was in no mood for such a thing.

He turned over to face them in the darkness, then leaned forward and kissed the side of his lips, “Either way, I am glad that our souls are so entwined.”

“As am I, my darling.”

That was all it took for Artemy to pull him close once more, and as they embraced Daniil, for once, felt completely free of his lifelong insecurities. Here was a place he could always come to escape from the world if need be, but also one where he did not need to hide.

[bubblegumbeech]

The Losing Move

Day two Ectoberhaunt:  Scream vs Laugh

AO3

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

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

Not even them. 

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

“Did you hesitate?” he asked. 

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

“No.”

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

It wasn’t long before the others appeared. 

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

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

“It has.”

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

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

Clockwork sighed. “Not long.”

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

“I know.”

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

He knew that too. 

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

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

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

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

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

Clockwork hadn’t looked. He looked now. 

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

Nocturn smiled, “How fitting.”

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

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

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

It would come to nothing once more. 

Soon.

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

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

Or at least, he’d given half of it. 

The Observants, of course, were furious. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take that under consideration.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone would really. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He held the Thermos in his hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the direction of the Observants. 

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

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

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

“ You-! ”

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

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

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

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

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

“You must deal with this.”

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

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

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

“Nocturn, you’re early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he would be free. 

Finally, finally free. 

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

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

  When Daniel finally visited again Clockwork had made cookies. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daniel just blinked. “Oh.”

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

He felt a tug on his sleeve. 

“Clockwork…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

They didn’t meet at the Clocktower this time. 

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

“Have you found her yet?” Misery asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

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

Nocturn nodded and took a sip of his tea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It began. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fire went out.

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

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

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

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

There was only silence. 

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

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

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

And he knew who was behind it. 

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

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

What had he placed on Clockwork’s neck?

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

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

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

No…

The necklace…

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

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

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

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

A trap.

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

Clockwork froze time.

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

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

Pariah kept moving though. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

So that was all it took…

Pariah was right, it had been a miscalculation indeed. 

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

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

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

“Fuck you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Pity.”

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

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

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

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

“You were going to leave.” 

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

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

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

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

“I figured it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Clockwork was distraught that he did not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just enough. 

He sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had certainly survived. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had truly lost, hadn’t he?

[therenlover]

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee​! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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                                    The University of Novi Grad

                                                 Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.  

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.  

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”  

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee​ because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ 

[bored-storyteller]

Warning: toxic relationship, mention of drugs

(sorry, but it's not really NSFW)

53- Genshin Impact, YANDERE!Diluc x Reader

“The time has come”

Your gentle hands and your worried face are imprinted on his heart as if they were a glowing mark on the living, pulsating flesh of that muscle that lies in his chest.

You, who took care of him without any pretensions, offering him only your good heart, what spell did you cast on him to make him so slave to you? For you the Darknight Hero had been nothing more than a human being in distress at the time. You have neither condemned nor blessed, you simply healed with all the delicacy you were capable of.

You were that person for whom Diluc would destroy the world, that world that threatened so much to hurt you, every minute and every second. He would destroy what he protected, just to keep you safe, and that thought that was taking root more and more in his mind seemed natural, pure and sincere.

And you smiled happily at him as you told him about your day, you confided in confidence and he was so happy with that trust you placed in him. When he smiled at you you lit up, and he was so happy about it.

Initially, the fact that Kaeya sat next to you so languidly wasn't really a problem. Or rather, he was, but the mixed feelings he had for the Captain made him let his guard down. Diluc trusted you, and he knew that the Knight had that unbearable way of dealing more or less with everyone. So he had swallowed the boulder and set you free. It wasn't unreasonable enough to keep you from living, smiling at Albedo or chatting with Jean. Not as long as you always came back to him, like a faithful little dog looking for his master. He was more important to you than them, right? He was as important to you as you were to him, wasn't he?

If someone had dared to make you suffer it would have turned to ashes that same night, you knew that. You should have known.

There was nothing strange, it was normal that he wanted so much to protect you. Yet that evening, laughing, you agreed to a meal with the Captain with the same lightness and the same smile with which you would accept a drink offered by him.

How could you? You knew how Diluc thought about that man, you knew how much the presence of him near you burned inside him. But you, despite necessarily having to be aware of it, had accepted that invitation.

"Why did you say yes?"

He had asked you without a particular intonation, while his skilled fingers polished the glass still wet with droplets of hot water.

He didn't look different than usual, in the eyes of others, but you felt a thrill when he spoke to you. You knew him well enough to sense that slight hatred you had directed at him.

"Do you mind?" Your question was spontaneous and surprised. Why did you have to be so amazed? You knew how dangerous Kaeya was, he had warned you many times. But even more, you knew how much he couldn't stand that blue-haired boy, so why was it so surprising that it bothered him to allow even just an hour of your time alone with him? How did it come to your mind to give yourself to him without asking his permission?

His lack of response made you just sigh. Your sweet hand had slipped silently into his, reassuring. You held it so tenderly that it had suddenly calmed Diluc's troubled soul.

No, you didn't do it nastily, it was just naivety. You didn't want to hurt him and betray him, you just didn't know how to protect yourself from the dangers that surrounded you.

"Listen to me ..." your voice was sweet, light, consoling, and Diluc listened to it. His precious cherry-colored eyes set attentively on you.

"Listen ... I know it bothers you ... I probably don't know him as well as you do, but if I don't give him a chance I'd be in the wrong, right?" Your smile was not right for Diluc at that moment "You are my dearest friend Diluc, nothing will ever change that.

Yet without your realizing it, you had suddenly changed everything.

You grabbed a poisoned sword and stuck it in his chest.

A dear friend. How long have you two been just dear friends? You never have been.

He was yours, completely yours. And you were his. Of him forever, of him in eternity.

"Diluc?" Your uncertain voice made him tremble inside, but he didn't show it. He pushed his flat expression away from you, returning to his work.

It wasn't your fault, your heart was too kind to resist all those tempters around you. They wanted to bribe you too, didn't they? They wanted to take you away from him, they wanted to keep you for them. That was why they told you that you two were just friends. Only dear friends.

The very thought made his stomach turn, the bile in his throat that made him burn it.

It was his fault. He had to realize before the danger you were running, he had to protect you right away.

He hadn't said anything to you as you walked back to the winery with him that same evening. It wasn't too strange that you were going back with him. In fact, it was almost routine - it would have become routine, since it was obvious to Diluc that sooner or later you were going to live there.

He could hear you talking to Adelinde, laughing softly as if you had no problem in the world.

For a moment a flash of clarity enveloped him. What if he was wrong? What if he had never been to you what he thought he was?

No, it wasn't like that. He couldn't have been so wrong. It was just the cruel world that wanted to take you away from him. As he protected his beloved Mondstadt, he would protect you too. You would not have understood at first, but then over time you would both be calmer.

It was only the first step, swallowing the bitter pill, then over time you would have been able to understand how much all this was aimed at your good, how much he was the only one who really loved you, whom you could trust.

And then he would have known that all the smiles you would have given to others would never have been like those given to him. Yes, he would be sure that no one could ever take you away again. You weren't going to leave like his father and Kaeya did.

He had to play the part of the villain only at the beginning, and then you would understand.

Diluch closed his eyes, calmed his heart beating too hard in his chest, swallowed, and then he was ready.

He turned to you, in his hands two glasses full of scarlet grape juice shone wrapped in the warm lights of the house.

"Can you follow me, please?"

You had never been in his room, he had never thought he needed to take you there before the due time, but it seemed that time had already passed.

"I had never been ... here." Your smile was troubled, but you trusted him, so your agitation was quieted by curiosity.

Surely there was a serious reason why he had brought you there, and there really was.

Your glasses rose slightly in gratitude, and you smiled in amusement, commenting on how much you looked like two children drinking a sweet soft drink together imitating grown-ups.

Sitting like this, next to each other on his bed, in the soft lights of the evening, it could be considered an extremely romantic situation. But apparently not for you. It would have been enough a hand that leaned gently on his thigh, your head on his shoulder, on his chest, it was enough your reddened face that languidly approached him in search of his love for you. It would have taken so little and you would have spared both him and you so much pain, but you were too busy laughing and enjoying your friendship.

"Diluc ... I ... I don't feel too good."

Your broken voice breaks his heart, but this had to be done. The help from him you were waiting for will never come, while your head was starting to spin and your strengths were slowly waning.

"Diluc ..." your goblet shatters on the floor and the din covers the click of the key in the lock.

Someone outside the room asked if everything was fine but the landlord was ready to reassure that there was nothing to worry about - on the other hand, what was strange? To them you two were such a perfect couple.

You should have asked for help, but the more you realized the situation, the more your power to act was fading.

"Why…?" You didn't ask it with your voice, but with your eyes. Those eyes of yours that he had always loved, that now looked at him clouded and frightened.

"You'll be fine." His cold voice reached you like a red-hot arrow as he sat down beside you again. Your dear Diluc, your dear friend. What did you do to him to make you deserve this? You were laughing together. What happened?

"This is your fault." He was so authoritarian, and at the same time so natural. You couldn't really believe Diluc was capable of hurting you, it wasn't like him. You were right, but at the same time, the one who bent over you and stroked your cheek so terribly tenderly was undoubtedly him.

"But that's okay ... I'll take care of it, it's normal for someone as nice as you to be so naive." His lips were hot and cold at the same time on the skin of your forehead.

“I'll protect you from everything, don't worry, you'll be fine. You'll be fine, and I'll be fine too ... no one ... no one will take you away. " The kisses on your neck were like blades, betrayal, despair, and he repeated them and repeated them. Oh when would you wake up ... when would you wake up? What could you ever do?

“You are so naive… but you will understand. I'm here. "

He continued kissing you even as your silent body lay unconscious on his bed. He was so beautiful, so composed too as he covered your flesh with poisonous love. Diluc would not change tomorrow, nothing in him had been affected, neither his ideals, nor his attitude ... only, now he had you.

He loved you, and he respected you. Even as his teeth left their hallmarks on your neck, his grace was unquenchable. Was it fair to brand you right? Even if you wouldn't see beyond that wall tomorrow, it was right.

And as his thoughts slowly wandered the young man lay beside you, finally enjoying your warmth next to his body. Yes, the times were definitely ripe.