#which is very vague but I can't narrow it down beyond that because I start to feel like I'm gonna cry and it's making my head hurt

[thethingything]

anyway since the discord thing just reminded me of it, we genuinely are fine with people taking a while to respond to us, even if you're clearly online and actively posting or whatever.

it's one of those things where like, we will just assume you're tired, busy, having a rough time, not feeling up to having a conversation right now, or you've forgotten (which is completely neutral. you can't control what you remember).

people being online but not responding generally doesn't get to us anymore and even if our social anxiety or other symptoms get bad we can reassure ourselves pretty well with the stuff I listed above.

the whole "recently online" thing, however, fills me with a sense of dread I can't really describe and I don't know what it is about it that causes that, but I also didn't realise it was an issue until I saw that screenshot and imagined seeing that list in the middle of the night or something and started hyperventilating.

I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with social anxiety. it'd be an issue regardless of whether we'd messaged the person and whether they'd responded. I think it's an entirely different issue that I'm probably gonna have to unpack at some point but would have remained blissfully unaware of if not for it being something I'll probably have to deal with regularly at some point

(that being said, the thing on your followers/following lists on Tumblr where it says when a blog was last active has definitely fucked us up when we've looked at it without realising it'd be an issue while we were already having a weird time)

[luckydragon10]

WIP Weds, Last Loves (Sept 21)

Soon, Last Loves will no longer be a WIP. OMG I can't wait to be done.

Meanwhile, I hope folks are looking forward to this weekend, when @daswarschonkaputt and I are going to launch the KinnPorTay ship in STYLE.

I'm a bit shy about sharing large snippets before publishing, but I feel like y'all deserve a bit more because you've been SO encouraging. 💖 So here's the opening section of Last Loves.

~~~

When Time finally leaves him for real, Tay stays in their high-rise condo for three days. 

He hates that he didn’t do the leaving himself. He waits for Time to come home, to talk, to figure out a compromise like they’ve always done. He knows he’s waiting in vain.

He cooks his own meals, watches a drama he’d been meaning to finish, and browses internet videos for promising singers, and meanwhile time slips away from him. 

After those first three zombie-like days of empty home (quite unusual) and empty bed (very normal), Tay goes out. At first he simply drives toward the ramen shop because it’s Thursday, and he and Time always get ramen on Thursdays. But he drives beyond it. Then somehow he’s driving to the outdoor shooting range his family owns, where he and Time used to have competitions while their parents chatted and watched. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps driving, heading to the arcade where they used to go as teenagers, where Tay confessed and Time gave him his first kiss.

Again he doesn’t stop, and this time he keeps driving, driving, driving, with no direction in mind. He drives until the cities fade into suburbs and pavement melts away into grass. The houses retreat farther and farther back from the narrow two-lane highway. 

Tay pulls off the road into a patch of rubble and stops the car. A farmhouse is in view a short ways back from the road.

He hears nothing. 

After a moment, he turns on the car again and rolls down the windows. A thin, hot breeze passes through the car, and he hears the sound of crickets and the occasional bird song. 

He’s been with Time for more than a decade. He’s loved him for longer. He hates Time for not loving him enough and hates himself for hating Time. 

Then the tears finally started coming, the tears that hadn’t surfaced for those three days of aloneness. 

He cries because happiness just seems so hard and impossible and far away. 

It takes an hour to get all the tears out. It’s just long enough for someone at the farmhouse to call for a patrol car, which comes by and parks behind Tay’s blue Bentley. Tay just laughs to himself as the officer gets out of her vehicle and approaches. She takes a look at Tay’s tear-stained face, another look at his license and registration, and apologizes for bothering him. 

Vaguely he thinks back to a scene at Kinn’s home shooting range, when Time talked about Tay’s dad getting him off for crashing his car. 

“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” the rude new bodyguard had said, disdain and insolence dripping off him.

Tay tries to argue the officer into giving him a ticket. She looks horrified. She insists on letting him go, saying he’s obviously not causing trouble. Which, to be fair, he isn’t, but he still wants the ticket. When he realizes he’s putting her in a tough position, he asks her for a verbal warning, and she humors him with pity in her eyes. 

The officer leaves. 

This time the tears alternate with laughter. Sometimes he laughs bitterly, sometimes hysterically, sometimes with snotty little giggles. 

When the tears dry up, Tay heads home.

He picks up fried chicken on the way.

[damienthepious]

If you’re doing commentary for biohc then “arum is being ignored - Lord Arum may be perfectly content to ignore him in turn.” (Also maybe a snapshot of rillas perspective in the last paragraph with arum? please?)

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

ohhhhhh fuck yes oh okay. (cw references to self harm)

[Arum is being ignored. Soundly and surely.

... Why?]

Arum hasn't had much cause to analyze anyone else's actions socially in quite a long time, and he wasn't particularly good at it way back when either, otherwise he might have caught on to this a bit sooner. Regardless, he doesn't trust it.

[If it is out of pity for what happened yesterday then Arum will-]

ahhhh, the main problem. Arum knows that his situation is pathetic, but he REFUSES to be pitied, especially for (what he considers) his absolutely shameful display the day before. He's so fucking embarrassed not only to have broken down like that, but to have done it in front of this pain in the ass. Arum still, in some small way, has a spark of his pride in him.

[(Nothing. Arum can do nothing. A thousand threats in his head and Arum cannot even hurt himself beyond superficially. Arum can do nothing.)]

he's SO angry and has ZERO ability to follow through on it. And he's far, far past the point of admitting it. Yes, he still has his pride, but he knows... he knows that he's beaten. He's biding his time, because that's the ONLY thing that he can do.

[Not that a knight would pity him. Discomfort is more likely.]

Pivot: he can't do anything about his anger, so set it aside. Discomfort from a knight makes him less angry, so it's easier to brush off.

[Well... fine, then. Fine. Ignoring Arum is much better than the last few obnoxious shifts together, isn't it? Arum wanted this miserable creature to shut his mouth and leave Arum be, and miracle of miracles, the rotten thing might actually obey.]

It is so fucking difficult to write around these two not knowing each other's names. Can't tell you how eager I am to get past that point. Also, you can very clearly see Arum talking himself into feeling this way, here.

[Nothing has obeyed Arum in... however long he has been here. Arum should find the change refreshing.]

I'm keeping it very deliberately vague, the ACTUAL amount of time that Arum's been captive. Mostly because there is literally NO way for Arum to know, considering that his prison is deep in the Citadel. He can't even tell day from night, let alone keep track of passing days.. months..... years. I think it's been... more than two years, less than five. I don't know if I'll narrow it down more than that.

[If-

That is, if Arum could find a way to focus on anything else besides the knight ignoring him in his rhythmic circle. He is so wretchedly distracting. Which-]

Alas, he started paying attention to Damien when he was expecting him to start bothering him again, so.... it's difficult to unpin that attention.

[Is strange, because Arum did not find any of his colleagues distracting in the interim. Perpetually ignorable, all the queen's knights and guards. Except- this one. Apparently.]

The difficulty with Damien thus far has been a breach in routine. The other knights may as well be parts of the scenery, for Arum. Damien has been too different to ignore, though. And now, even when he's ostensibly acting like all the others, he's done too much to differentiate himself, and it feels like a veneer. Which... to be fair.... it IS. It IS a veneer. Damien is playing at a lack of care and it is, very likely, driving Damien EXACTLY as crazy as it's driving Arum.

[That little pit of fury kindles brighter at the base of Arum's throat, refreshing heat against the dullness of his surroundings. Of course, even in silence this creature finds a way to torment Arum. Of course he does. He must know that Arum expects further stilted conversational attempts, further interrogation, further annoyance altogether, and instead of providing, he must be ignoring Arum deliberately, in an effort to force yet another outburst from the monster.]

Here, you can see Arum talking himself into something again. Or at least, he's taking a LONG mental walk to justify his instinctive reactions. He's ascribing malice to Damien's actions without any real evidence,

[Either that, or the knight is simply inconstant and unreliable and a menace to Arum's fragile peace of mind in that way, instead.]

This is far more accurate lmao. Damien, ironically, isn't really thinking about how his see-saw reactions might be affecting Arum. He's busy in his OWN head. working out how he feels about Arum's captivity. lololololol.

[Well, Arum thinks with a huff, the knight will certainly not be provoking Arum to any tirades today. If this particular knight wishes to ignore Lord Arum, late of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms, Lord Arum may be perfectly content to ignore him in turn.]

"late of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms" was a phrase that hurt my heart to write. Arum, in his own head, being darkly flippant about it... god..... poor thing.

AND. RILLA SCENE QUICK.. u said last paragraph with arum so i'm assuming you want when they're actually interacting before she bolts off,

[She grins again as she watches him do this, which Arum does not trust. She either does not notice or care about his suspicion, though,]

she cares inasmuch as she completely fucking understands why this monster would not trust her. Not so quickly, and not after everything he's clearly been through.

[because she only nods at him, winks,]

gods i love rilla. she's still in her Investigating What's Going On In Here phase but she STILL needs to really, REALLY cement her solidarity with this creature she barely knows.

[and whispers, "I'll be back sometime, okay? And maybe then you can tell me your name."]

this is like Arum thinking, earlier, about how WEIRD it is that Rilla assumes that Arum is sentient right off the bat. She assumes, without needing to be told, that Arum has a name. That she should call him something besides monster, or even swamp lord. And she's also promising him another chance at this, more "conversation" and more pages like the ones he clearly wanted to devour. Rilla is observant, and she saw him. She wants to figure out what the fuck is going on here, and that means she's coming back. 💖💜💖

[beetlegoose01]

stolen whispers: chapter 1

AN: this fic isn’t a request, it’s a story i’ve been preparing for a lil while and I’m so excited to share this with you all <3

I’ll link it on my Archive if you prefer to read it there. Also warning, there’s quite a few OCs.

Time: 2028 (Scorbus have been married for two years)

Summary: When a new generation of Death Eaters kidnap Scorpius, Albus and Rose put aside their differences to rescue him.

TW: Kidnapping/Language/minor violence

~~~~

Two witches wearing shadowy black robes entered the tavern, finding a table near the back. They ordered their mead, waiting for their third partner impatiently. It was a crowded area, so thankfully there was a small chance they would be overheard.

"We don't want more mead." The first woman growled, tapping her long nails at the table. The bartender, a tall man with a mustache put the drinks down.

"I didn't think so." He lips curled into a grin as he morphed into a younger man with wild dusty brown hair, wearing matching robes. He was handsome, but had an eerie presence to him. Any reasonable person would have at least flinched at the transformation, though neither witch did. "Hello ladies." He grinned cheekily.

"Soren, enough playing games." The second woman said, though she was smirking.

Soren barked out a laugh. "It was funny, Mara. And you know it."

The first woman, Lilith narrowed her eyes. She pulled down her hood, revealing cascading inky black hair down her shoulders. A scar that showed no sign of mending was down her cheek. "Your skills are impressive, but useless if you don't use them for our own gain. Don't forget that." She pulled her hood back.

"Understood." He murmured, taking a seat.

"We have much to discuss," She continued, flicking her wand idly. "Our current plan in action. Our...act of revenge. It's been thirty years since The Tenebris was wrongfully killed. I am sick and tired of his name being tossed around in history like he was some monster. He was on the right side."

"Are you certain we want to call the Dark Lord that?" Mara asked suspiciously.

"Shh! You know if anyone hears us, they'll lock us up for good. For speaking our minds." Lilith said. "It's safer we call him by his code name."

Her companions nodded.

"Because of his loss, we have mudbloods in positions of power. Our siblings that fought for his cause are locked up. Or worse, dead."

Mara and Soren looked grim.

"If we had more allies, perhaps we would have had a chance." Soren noted. "We weren't even alive then but...I have a feeling if we were..."

"Just because we weren't alive then, doesn't mean we don't have opinions over the lives stolen!" Mara argued. "That damn Harry Potter."

"Correct. And Soren is right too. For once. If we had more allies, or better yet...certain allies didn't betray us. The Malfoys for instance." She took a sip of her drink.

"Are you suggesting something?" Mara asked.

"Of course I am, don't be so daft." Lilian said, deadly calm. "I want to make that family suffer for what they did. My uncle Vincent Crabbe died for their selfishness. Draco Malfoy had a chance to save him, and he refused like the coward he is. His mother Narcissa lied to Tenebris' face. They are backstabbing filth that besmirched the Sacred 28. No, it isn't just about their betrayal or avenging those we lost in the war. Think of the big picture. They have the capabilities to join our side. To...respawn a new generation of Death Eaters. But that's not all...

"The Malfoys have lots of gold." She drawled. "Surely, they'll spare a few for us in exchange for something important. Or rather...someone."

"Someone?" Soren paused. "What are you suggesting?"

"Regretfully, Astoria Malfoy has passed on." Mara didn't sound the least bit sympathetic, instead stated it blandly. "So using her as a ransom for Draco is a no go."

"Ah, but there is still someone left." Lillian said, removing a small photograph from her cloak, she slid it across the table.

A young man with platinum hair was pictured, beaming brightly in Healer Robes.

"Scorpius Malfoy."

Soren and Mara exchanged a look of satisfaction.

"Bring him to me."

~~~~~~~~~~

The best thing about mornings, at least to Albus, was waking up beside his husband. The sun's bright rays peaked through the window of their cream colored bedroom, slowly stirring them both awake. If it was up to him, he would stay in their warm bed, arms wrapped around Scorpius until noon.

Scorpius rolled over, so that they were facing each other. His eyes fluttered open, and Albus felt his heart melt at his sapphire eyes.

"Hi." He yawned. His voice was slightly croaky, no doubt from the morning.

Albus replied by nuzzling his nose, then kissed his cheek. "Hi honey."

Scorpius laughed lightly. "Let's get up then. Start the day? It's a Saturday. We have the whole weekend to spend together."

"I'd rather spend it here with you."

Bathilda mewed from the kitchen.

"But our child is hungry." Scorpius teased, stretching as he slid out of bed. Albus begrudgingly slumped after him, not eager to wake up before ten am. But his own stomach was growling too.

"Speaking of children," Albus said, starting to work on their breakfast as Scorpius poured Bathilda's food. "Iris is pregnant again. James told me through a Howler yesterday."

"Really?" Scorpius' eyes widened. "That's great news!"

"Yeah, not for my ears." He commented dryly, still traumatized by James' excited screeching in his ear. "Baby number three." He whistled. "Do you think they're trying to make an entire quidditch team? With Teddy and Vic's lot included, they're on their way."

Though he was joking, Scorpius noticed that Albus was glowing, happy for his brother and sister in law. That was one of the many reasons he loved Albus. His love for his siblings.

"Perhaps. When are they due?"

"September. Which means...that's where they scurried off to last Christmas party." Albus quipped. "To have a little fun."

"Albus!" Scorpius scolded. "Honestly, only you would make a beautiful moment gross."

"It's life, Scorp!" He chuckled. "You're a Healer, you should know these things."

"We'll have to visit. Maybe bring a gift basket to congratulate them." He mused, smiling fondly. "I can't wait to meet our new niece or nephew." There was a wistful look in his eye that Albus caught.

"You've got that look on your face." He noted, amused. He served the plates of bacon sandwiches on the table.

"What do you mean?"

"That Scorpius 'I want something but I'm not going to spell it out for you' face."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." Albus said, forest green eyes brightening in amusement. "What's up?" He took a seat, tucking into breakfast.

"Well," Scorpius started, staring at his food. "I was thinking..." He stopped himself, hesitant to continue his train of thoughts.

"Yeah?" Albus nudged him gently.

"I want a child." He said, his voice quiet, but firm. "I love my nieces and nephews so much, but they aren't...ours. I want to start a family with you, Albus. Raise a little one of our own to be bright and wonderful and brave and..."

Albus' expression softened. "I do too. You know I do, Scorpius. It's just...difficult right now." He stared at his wedding band. "You know it's harder for us than any hetero couple." He waved his hand vaguely. "Adoption is hard, surrogacy is expensive. Maybe once we settled into our careers more, we can talk about it."

"I think we're ready to go beyond just talking about it, Al."

"We're still young. We've still got time. But...I definitely want to work it out. Somehow, we will. We always do."

Scorpius beamed, reaching to kiss Albus' knuckle. "Thank you." He sat up abruptly. "Oh, I almost forgot- it's the farmer's market today."

Albus snorted. "You're exactly like your dad, you know?"

"Yes yes yes, but we should go!" Scorpius said, levitating the plates to the sink and it automatically was clean due to the floating sponges.

"We? I've got some work to do. I'm not very fond of small talk with old people selling fruit."

"Al, it's really good fruit." Scorpius said seriously. "And it's not all old people. I've seen some of our old schoolmates there."

Albus cringed. "That's even worse."

"Don't be so dramatic. Are you still coming?"

"Mm, but I should really finish this article. Go on without me."

"If you're sure...do you want me to bring anything back?"

Albus thought for a moment. "Those strawberries Ms. Beaker sells. Please? Strawberries and cream sounds so good right now."

"Brilliant, I'm on it." Scorpius did a mock salute.

"Have fun." Al waved as Scorpius appatered, leaving the kitchen empty. Albus went straight to work on his article.

~•~

The market was lively and merry, despite the early hour. Scorpius had stopped by the strawberry stand first, in case he forgot.

Ever since they had moved two years ago, Scorpius had found himself drawn to the quaint farmer's market. Not because of the delicious, fresh food, but to socialize. He made quite a few friends with the muggles who lived around there...mostly old ladies. The early days of their marriage, Albus would join him. Before life got in the way, and work had to be done.

Not that he wasn't busy himself. He only had two days off as a Healer, sometimes less. He didn't know how they would manage childcare, but like Al had said, it was best not to dwell on the future.

"Scorpius? Is that you?"

He turned around, following the voice from behind him. "Polly ...Chapman?" He uttered blandly, praying he wasn't mistaken. He didn't have the best memory- even with old schoolmates who bullied him.

"Yep." Polly said, laughing lightly. "It's me. Been a while."

"It has." Scorpius shifted his weight. "How are things?"

"Great!" She smiled, swishing her blonde ponytail, the same air of confidence from when she was a teenager. "Yann and I are engaged."

"Oh! That's wonderful." Scorpius said, pretending to sound pleased. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I proposed to them last month. It was just as I had dreamed."

"How is...Yann?" Scorpius did not actually care how Yann was.

"They're good! Brilliant actually, since they passed Auror training." Polly looked genuinely proud of them, which he had to admit was adorable. "Are you and Albus still..."

"Yes, yes. We um, er- we've been married almost two years actually." He added.

"Aw, that's very sweet. You two were always very close, yeah?" Polly looked at him, and Scorpius nearly walked backwards, intimidated by her stance. She still was extremely scary, like a lioness but with a great sense of fashion. "I know...Yann, Karl and I weren't the best to you two but perhaps we could..." She trailed off. "I'd like you both to come. To the wedding. If you'd like."

That...wasn't what he was expecting. He half expected her to invite him to another Blood Ball.

"Pardon?" Scorpius asked, dumbfounded. "I mean- yeah, that sounds great! Fun! Yes. That sounds nice. I'll bring it up to Al."

Polly was glowing. "Brill! I've got to go, but we should all hang out sometime. Like old times."

Like old times? Scorpius thought. When did they ever hang out?

Nodding mutely, he walked away from Polly with a puzzled, but cheerful expression. He hadn't completely fucked up the conversation, which was always a plus. It still felt odd that Polly Chapman of all people was talking to him, let alone inviting him to her wedding. It was bizarre.

He passed the final vendor, and was surprised and amused to see a tiny girl, no more than seven standing behind it. She had a Brownie uniform on, bright rosy cheeks and pigtails included.

"Would you like a biscuit?" She squealed.

It had taken him a moment to respond, he was still thinking of Polly being kind to him "Oh erm- of course." It was impossible to say no to an adorable small child. He reached for some muggle money, handing her the pound notes. "Just the one box please."

"Okie dokie!" She said, handing him the box. She waited a moment, pouting. "Go on, try it." She urged.

"I really shouldn't I-"

"Please?" The little girl gave him the most pitiful expression. "It's for a good cause, mister. We're helping orphaned puppies find homes."

"Well, alright. For the puppies." He fumbled open the box, taking a polite bite out of the cookie. It was a classic lemon cookie with powdered sugar, one of his favorites. But the second he swallowed, he felt dizzy all of a sudden. "What..." He stumbled back. "Oh my," He gulped, the entire market swirling around him. Something wasn’t right. "is there something in..." 

He would be damned if he let this happen without some sort of fight. Throwing his basket aside, he collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness.

"We've got him."

[darth-rainbow]

Basically, I have a fanfic going on called 'The Traveler' and it follows Lucie, my main character through the multiverse. At this point, Lucie and Clary have been hiding in Narnia. The rest of the Shadowhunters crew finds them and basically, so does Jonathan & Leith (Lucie's brother, a well trained hunter) and they slaugher them. Do you guys mind reading and giving me some feedback?

WARNING : It's pretty gorey and blood filed.

ps : wooden mallets are because Lucie & Clary were playing croquet before they rejoined with the rest of the gang.

"Can you please stop pacing? It's frustrating me." Alec told his parabatai. Jace rolled his eyes but halted his steps, standing arms crossed next to Isabelle. The female was chewing on her nails, apprehension growing in her eyes. She had no idea of when that Clary had been taken from reality. But it was still Clary, her Clary. And knowing that she was safe, would be enough. It had to. Magnus fondly glanced towards his seemingly exasperated lover. Bringing a hand to Alec's face, he gently ran a thumb along the male's cheek. "Thank you." Alec said softly, mustering an exhausted smile. Magnus gave a silent nod, before pressing his lips against Alec's in a short kiss.

Wooden mallets in hand, Lucie and Clary entered the vast castle hall. The redhead instantaneously recognized her friends standing at the center and dropped the possible weapon, rushing into Simon's open arms. Clary tightened her grip around the male's neck as she felt Simon shake a little, recognizing the muffled pants against her neck. He was crying. "Hey, hey, it's okay Si. I swear, I'm okay." The redhead promised, glancing with confusion towards the rest of the group. Clary nodded when Isabelle mouthed the word 'later', holding her best friend just a little tighter.

Lucie stood a couple of meters back, a perplexed expression on her features. The female recognized none of these people, and she knew she wasn't supposed to, since she hadn't met them yet. But there was something disappointing in not being able to recognize a single face. Tightening her grip around her wooden mallet, she watched as the blond took a couple of steps towards her. "You're alive." He said, looking so relieved.

"Huh, yeah." The female replied, uncertainty coloring her voice.

The blond smiled, letting out a breath that visibly moved his chest. It was as if an invisible weight had been removed from it. "You're alive." He repeated, bringing a hand to Lucie's cheek.

"Jace, don't..." Too late. Out of reflex, the Traveler grabbed his wrist and twisted it, forcibly removing his hand. Clary sighed, untangling herself from Simon completely to face the blond. "She's from the past." The redhead finished, belatedly. "A past in which she hasn't met us yet. She's not even a Traveler." The blond rose his eyebrows at the information, eyes flickering from Clary to Lucie. Narrowing them, he took the time to examine the female's features. He saw the subtle shift, the greater roundness of her cheeks, and the missing spark in her gaze.

Lucie blinked at the visibly wounded expression on the male's face, her features loosing the animosity. "I'm sorry." She said softly, letting go of the male's wrist as if she'd been burnt. "Just don't..." She shook her head. "Don't do that."

After a beat, the blond nodded. "I won't." Jace's lips parted as he heaved a soft sigh, taking a couple of steps back. "You're from the," he wet his bottom lip. "the past." He finished, in a whisper. "Okay. I can, I, it's fine." He nodded a few times. The blond cleared his throat, visibly embarrassed. "Sorry. I, I didn't knew."

Lucie pressed her lips together, as she clutched the mallet with the both of her hands, protectively holding it against her chest. "It's fine." She repeated, before swallowing thickly.

Jace furrowed his brows. "No. It's not. It made you visibly uncomfortable. That's not fine. I'm truly sorry for invading your space. It's just that my Lucie, I mean, the one I knew, she—"

"You had a different bond. I get it." The Traveler said. "If anything, I'm sorry for you. But I'm just not your, Lucie."

Jace nodded. "Thank you for being so understanding." The female shrugged as a reply and the blond sighed, turning to face his brother. Alec instinctively grew closer to his parabatai, gently putting a hand on Jace's shoulder. The taller male nodded and the two exhaled in synch. This was fine. A minor set back. Jace could deal with it.

Clary and Isabelle observed one another, uncertainty mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. "Iz, I..." The redhead swallowed thickly, reducing the distance between her and the brunette.

Isabelle's gradually gently curled up, eyes filling with tears. "I thought," she breathed through her nose, trying to stop herself from actually crying. "I thought I'd lost you." She breathed out, as the first tears started to roll down. "I thought I'd never see you again." Clary shook her head, taking ahold of Izzy's hands and gently squeezing them. "Please," The shadowhunter looked down at their hands. "don't interrupt me. I need to say it. I know, you're not," She looked up, smiling. "you're not exactly the Clary I lost. But you're still my Clary, right?" She asked, letting out a short chuckle when the redhead nodded at the words. "I love you Clary. I truly do." She admitted, before squeezing her eyes shut.

Clary slid her fingers between Isabelle's, intertwining them. "Iz," She whispered out, lovingly. "look at me. Please." The brunette let out a long breath before obeying, her eyes meeting with Clary's. "I love you too." She replied. "I've probably loved you since you said 'You have me. And that's not gonna change.' I think." The redhead let out a short laugh. "I wasn't lying at the Seelie Court." Isabelle let out a breath she didn't knew she was holding, smiling at the female.

"Does anyone get a little bit of a gay vibe?" Simon interrupted, earning himself a chuckle from Clary. "Sorry, I had too." The redhead scrunched her nose, fondly shaking her head for a second. "The occasion was too great." Simon went on, seeing the glare Alec shot his way.

The two females focused back on each other. Tentatively, Clary reached out for Isabelle. Cradling the brunette's face in her hands, she wiped away the traces of tears left her cheeks. Isabelle stood, eyes wide and full of vulnerability as the redhead gently ran her thumbs on her cheeks. Clary leant in, smiling when Isabelle gave a short nod and met her halfway. Their first kiss was tentative, a way to translate both fondness and longing. There was no regret in there, no haste. The two had enjoyed their friendship. This made sense. This was the next step. And they'd gotten there very organically.

"I am deeply, deeply touched. Moved beyond measures, really." A male voice interrupted, seemingly coming from nowhere. Lucie stilled as she recognized it, drawing in a loud breath.

"I, personally am disgusted." Another male voice said. This one familiar to everybody in the room. "How could you, sister?" The voice asked, seemingly coming from closer.

Isabelle protectively stood in front of Clary, lifting up her seraph blade. "Magnus?" She called, hoping he'd have a solution to make their opponents visible again.

With a swift kick, Lucie sent the wooden mallet towards Clary feet. The Traveler's stance shifted as she anchored her feet to the ground, protectively holding an arm in front of her as she kept her weapon raised.

"You truly think that little toy of yours will be able to stop me, sister?" Lucie snarled at the voice, wildly swinging the mallet in front of her. He sounded so close, so uncomfortably close.

"You think you could stop us at all?" Jonathan asked, a whisper in Jace's ear. The blond flung his elbow backwards, to be met with nothing but a pleased chuckle having distanced itself.

Eyes shut as power seemed to flow through his ignited hands, the warlock was channeling his powers to create a growing sphere of energy. Being a warlock and not a seelie, the communion with elements, especially when it came to the generation of matter that wasn't there was difficult. But he was, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and soon enough, the blue sphere was elevating itself in the air. Magnus reopened his eyes, the feline part of him in full display as his yellow orbs glowed. With a flick of the wrist, the warlock made the sphere explode, dousing everybody in water. With more ease, he then generated a yellow orb that grew as it elevated itself towards the ceiling, smiling, the warlock made it explode by  lowering his hand towards the ground, covering everyone in the room with sand. "I couldn't think of a visibility spell, I don't know egyptian magic enough." He admitted, panting slightly.

Alec grinned at his boyfriend. "You're a genius, Mags." He told him, before his eyes trailed ahead, searching for masses with no body. "Jace!" He called, nocking an arrow. "Duck." He told the blood, before shooting. Sadly, the arrow went through nothingness, both Jace and their invisible opponent getting out of the way. Isabelle and Clary stood back to back, matching determined expression on their features as they awaited to be attacked. Using his enhanced speed, Simon lunged at one of their opponents, wrapping his arms around them. His teeth sank into what he hoped was a neck to be met with a burning sensation. The male withdrew as soon as possible, spitting out the black, viscous liquid.

"What? Can't handle a little ichor, Downworlder?" Jonathan asked, watching the vampire crouch forward as the acidic blood burnt his lower lip. "It's in your veins now." He pointed on, as Simon fell onto his knees. The male raised his sword, planning to cut off Simon's head when an arrow lodged itself into his wrist. Hurling in pain, Jonathan dropped the blade to pull it out. Working in tandem with his boyfriend, Magnus sent a blast of red magic in the direction of their opponent, sending him flying backwards.

Meanwhile, Lucie was struggling with her own brother. While she was able to distinguish a vague shape thanks to the sand clinging onto him, she couldn't actually see his weapon. Whomever had cloaked the two, had done a pretty darn good job. A hand grabbed her wrist as she flung the wooden mallet forward towards the level of his head. Jace saw an opening, moving forwards to stab the male's side with his blade, but Leith dragged Lucie to him, pivoting his body to face Jace in a swift movement. He watched as horror wrote itself on the blond's features while his blade sank in the female's stomach. The hunter pushed Lucie forwards with an amused chuckle, shoving her into Jace's arms.

"Magnus!" Jace called, catching the Traveler.

"I'm fine." Lucie hissed, applying pressure on her wound. "Finish him." She let out through gritted teeth.

Jace shook his head. "I've already lost you once." He weakly argued, his gaze gaining a certain glaze.

"You don't know me." The female replied, disbelieving. Her lips remained parted, short pants coming out. Jace bit his upper lip at the word, holding onto her still. The female furrowed her brows, wondering what could possibly make her worth any sacrifice? She'd handled much worse pain in her life. Had fought through much worse pain. But there he was, holding her as if she was fragile, as if she was worth protecting. Tears welled in the female's eyes as gently pushed him away. Lucie sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to stand tall. "I'm fine." She repeated.

Clary had rushed to her best friend, gathering Simon's head and gently holding it as she brought her wrist to his lips. "Simon, please..." She whispered, ignoring the burning sensation of ichor on her own skin.

The vampire weakly shook his head. "Protect you. M'fine." He spoke, struggling as the demon blood burnt in him. Tears welled in the redhead's eyes as she pressed her wrist harder, sensing fangs coming out. "No—" Simon's plea was cut short by Clary thrusting her wrist into his mouth, letting out a sigh of relief as teeth sank in. Izzy was hovering over the two in a protective stance, unfurled whip in a hand and seraph in the other. Alec carefully retreated to stand beside his sister as Magnus threw blasts of red energy towards an ever elusive target.

Forgotten to the group, was a certain Shadowhunter, infused with demon blood prior to his birth. After entirely pulling out the arrow out of his arm, Jonathan applied an iratze and forced himself back onto his feet. The male ran to the wooden mallet forgotten by Clary, dodging the arrows sent his way by a particularly skilled Alec. But the Morgenstern son was just as deft when it came to weapons, and with a well-aimed throw, he managed to hit Magnus in the head, temporarily distracting the archer who yelled his partner's name, and ran to him, in order to protect him against any assault of Lucie's brother. Isabelle saw an opportunity, her whip easily wrapping around Jonathan's. The male chuckled, wrapping his two hands around it and tugged the brunette to him. "When will you learn?" He asked, disbelieving and a little amused as he kept dragging her closer, barely affected by the burning sensation on his skin. The female let go of the weapon, laying face first onto the ground, a couple of feet away from him. Unsheathing a dagger, Jonathan chuckled, grabbing the female's hair and harshly tugging. "I wish you could see me, I would I could be the last thing you see before you depart for the after life." He chuckled. "But I guess there's no room for sentiment today." He finished, sinking the blade into the female's throat.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Clary screamed, planning to lung at the male. Simon held her back, firmly wrapping his arms around her as tears formed in the both of them's eyes.

Alec turned at the gut wrenching cry, facing away from his opponent. Just the second Leith needed to sank his blade into the male's back and harshly tug it out. The eldest Lightwood fell onto his knees as blood stared to trickle down his chin and fill his lungs. Tears welled into Alec's eyes as his body fell sideways, next go Magnus' unconscious form.

The air was knocked out of Jace's lungs as the blond faltered, the strength of the pain hitting much harder than he would've anticipated. Tears welled in the blond's eyes as the realization hit him : His parabatai, his brother, was dying. Confused, Lucie kneeled in front of him, forcing herself to him straight even if it meant releasing the pressure on her own wound. Cupping the blond's face with her hands, the female frowned, unexpected tremors moving her chin. "How, how can I help?" She asked. Jace shook his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. Because there was nothing she could do. The blond squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the parabatai rune fade away, taking with it Alec's last breath.

Seeing the shape that moved closer to the two, Simon vamp sped between Jace and Leith, not caring about the blade that sank in his stomach as his fangs pierce skin. Mundane blood, he noticed as a sort of hazy afterthought, as he felt the male go lax into his grip. Simon forced himself to keep drinking, with the intent to drain, with the intent to kill. Despite the blade lodged in him.

Clary had picked up Jonathan's own seraph blade, anger darkening her gaze as a determined snarled settled on her features. "Show yourself." She said.

"I would, if I could. But it's not my magic." The male explained. "It'll make things easier this way. For both of us, sister." He spoke, lunging at Clary with a dagger for sole weapon.

Leith's body soundlessly hit the ground, becoming visible again now that death had claimed him. Tears rolled down Lucie's cheeks as she glanced past Jace's shoulders. Pressing her lips together as Simon turned to face them, she saw the blade lodged there. She saw the despair of the male as his eye shot to Clary. The redhead seemed to be holding her own, anger fueled and driven, but how long would it last? Inhaling deeply, Lucie glanced down at Jace. "I'll buy you time." She said, before wiping away a tear that had rolled down the blond's cheek. "But you have to win." The female finished, before standing up. She marched to Simon, pulling out the blade in his chest and letting it clatter at her feet. "She'll need you. The both of you." She spoke, exposing her neck. "Don't bother fighting it. I'm already bleeding. I'm dead weight." Simon shot a final glance at Clary, seeing the female push forward against a much shorter blade, teeth gritted due to the strain and sank his teeth in Lucie's neck.

Upon hearing the redhead moan in pain, Jace was forced out of his transe, eyes glowing golden. Nostrils flared and teeth gritted, the blond picked up the blade a few feet away and leaped to Clary and Jonathan, every rune on his body possessing a match glow.

Simon gently laid Lucie's body on the floor, nodding as she mouthed 'win', a tired smile on her features. He glanced towards Clary, to see that the female had a cut on her cheek and another, seemingly deeper on her neck. Meanwhile, Jace and Jonathan were fighting each other, matching determination in their belligerent gazes. But Jace was still weakened by the loss of his family, and despite having a much shorter blade, Jonathan seemed to be doing a lot more damage. Simon vamp sped to the two, once again sinking his fangs in their opponent's neck, but with every intent to drain a lot more this time. So Simon kept going, despite the burning sensation filling his veins and sneaking under his skin. Simon kept going until Jace buried the blade he was wielding into the man's chest. He then let go, falling onto his knees as he started to vomit dark ichor, tears of the little good blood left in his rolling down his cheeks. The acidic venom seemed to be spreading everywhere, despite his best attempts to regurgitate it, and soon Simon was crying tears of ichor, the liquid asphyxiating him into he passed out.

Clary glanced around the room, pressing a hand against her mouth as she sobbed. "It's..." She struggled to take in a breath. "It's all my fault..." The female shook her head. "It's all my fault. They're all, they're—" She choked out on sobs. Tears freely rolling down his cheeks, Jace slowly marched towards the female.

A detail neglected by the blond, was that the invisibility spell placed on Jonathan hadn't been lifted, like it had been for Leith upon his death. The male had risen to his feet, and before Jace could actually embrace Clary, his head was neatly chopped off, stains of the blood spattering the redhead's face. "I'm truly sorry, sister." Jonathan spoke, seeing the look of utter horror on the female's face as Jace's body fell to the ground. Letting out a soft, satisfied chuckle, Jonathan crossed over it to stand in front of her. He reached out for Clary's face, running his thumb along her cheek. "But you'll be my princess soon." He whispered, to an unmoving Clary, tears freely rolling down her cheeks, the sheer shock paralyzing her. "I promise." He added, sinking the blade in her ribcage. The male's eyes fell shut as he let go of her cheek, watching the exhausted female not even bother to fight for life. "Ave, Atque, Vale." He spoke, tears rolling down.

https://my.w.tt/MnpQQYMAU4

[owletstarlet]

Ooh I can't wait for these! 11 for tanunatsu please??

#11 from this list: “I almost lost you” kiss 

Established relationship because I damn well said so

“Wake up.”

The plea tumbles from Kaname’s lips and it’s soft but it feels manic. His hands are shaking where they hover above Natsume’s chest; he’s barely breathing and his pulse is thready but he’s alive, he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive—

Kaname’s afraid to touch, now; as much as every instinct is telling him to gather Natsume into his arms and never let go, he can’t tell if he’s injured. He doesn’t look it, mostly he just looks cold; the pallor of his face under the clear brightness of a winter moon, lips gone blue, and actual patches of frost spangled across his damp pajamas. But he’s so still, and there’s blackened blood under his nose, trailing halfway down his cheek on one side before it had dried, and Kaname thinks he might be sick.

“I need you to wake up.” His voice splinters halfway through, and he takes Natsume’s face in his hands, so carefully. “Please.” And god, his skin is a temperature that skin should never ever be. His thumbs trace the dark divots below his eyes. He wants to grab his shoulders, shake him, yell and scream until he opens his eyes and calmly tells Kaname the blatant and oft-repeated lie that everything is just fine here.

He can’t see Ponta, he’s not changed back to a visible form but he can feel the wall of warmth at his back. He turns towards that warmth, now, where he can make out a mass of translucent white right in front of his nose, and this close to it he can barely see the trees beyond.

“He won’t wake up,” Kaname says, and it sounds so obvious, childish.

Then, a part of that white mass moves in close just beside his shoulder, where he would more or less imagine Ponta’s head to be. A gust of air, warm and strong, passes over Kaname’s hands and ruffles Natsume’s hair.

He doesn’t stir.

Kaname hears a faint sound, almost like a deep harrumph, before a white burst of smoke erupts around him. Then Ponta is there, a cat once more, just by Kaname’s knee. “No need to be so delicate,” he says, testily. “You won’t break him. He’s just sleeping. Could’ve picked a better place to do it.”

Kaname could’ve sobbed from relief. His hands shift down to Natsume’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Ponta scoffs. “That yuki-onna is what happened.”

“Where—”

“Gone, now, I’d say. And good riddance. Oi,” he adds, waddling up to the side of Natsume’s head and batting him on the nose. “Don’t nap here, moron. Let’s go already.”

Taking Ponta’s lead, Kaname shakes Natsume’s shoulders himself; tentatively, at first, then much harder, because Ponta’s right, he can’t stay out here any longer. But Natsume’s head just lolls back onto the underbrush, and Kaname bites the inside of his cheek. “Come on, come back,” he says, loud as he can through the panic still threatening to snuff out his voice altogether. “You can come sleep in my bed again, okay? It’s so cold out here.”

When that garners no response, Ponta’s eyes narrow. “This is taking too long.” Then, without warning and in a move that should’ve been altogether impossible, he spins right around and launches a sharp kick right at Natsume’s face, with enough force behind it to knock his whole head to one side.

“Don’t—”

But it’s only then Natsume’s eyelids flutter.

“Mnn…ow.”

The noise that escapes Kaname’s throat then is very much like a sob. He cradles Natsume’s face between his hands once more and leans in close, chest constricting. Natsume’s own eyes are half-mast and dull, an uncomprehending gaze drifting over his surroundings and right over Kaname, not focusing on any one thing. That is, until Ponta wriggles in between him and Kaname, putting himself nose-to-nose with Natsume and glaring.

“Idiot,” he snaps. “This is what you get for letting a snow demon possess you. You’re damned lucky Tanuma woke up in time to see you were gone or you’d have been long dead by morning.”

Natsume doesn’t seem to really register a word of that, but his eyes become a little bit clearer at the sound of Ponta’s biting tone. He squints a bit, frowns.

“Sensei…?” And, after a moment, gaze shifting upwards, “…Tanuma?”

Ponta ducks out of the way then, with a huff, and Kaname leans in close. “Yeah.” The single word feels like a burst of relief. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Natsume echoes, vaguely, giving Kaname a tiny smile.

After a moment, his forehead scrunches up, and beside him his fingers twitch in the dirt and shriveled leaves. “What—a-are we outside?”

Kaname just nods, tightly, not at all having it in him to elaborate if Natsume doesn’t remember.

“Oh…you’re crying.” And that vagueness in his voice and eyes is quickly replacing itself with distress when he takes in Kaname’s face.

Kaname just nods again, swallows hard; now is not the time for a breakdown, it’s not, he can do that later when Natsume is warm and safe and not watching it happen.

“Well, of course he is,” Ponta mutters. “A minute ago he thought he just found your corpse.”

“…oh.” The realization in his wide eyes shifts to something more like horror, then shame. “Tanuma, I’m sor—”

But the words are lost because Kaname’s kissing him, then. It’s a fierce, desperate thing, faces mashed together, his fingers curling in Natsume’s hair like he’ll evaporate into the January night if Kaname can’t hold him tight enough, every muscle in his own body rigid with residual terror.

Natsume remains motionless beneath him, cold mouth perfectly still. It feels as though he’s holding his breath.

But it’s just enough like kissing some lifeless thing, that that thought alone is enough to send him reeling back.

When he looks down, though, Natsume’s just watching him, eyes clear and soft and very, very worried.

Kaname blows out a long breath before he can trust himself to speak. “Your lips are freezing,” he says, with a little chuckle that doesn’t at all sound right. “And god, there’s ice in your hair…” His fingers comb back Natsume’s fringe.

“I’m okay,” Natsume starts, and Ponta promptly snorts. “Ah. I mean,” he amends, softly, “I don’t feel cold. Just…sleepy, kind of.”

“No sleeping.” The words come out louder than he’d meant them to, sharp and frightened. “Not until we get you back and warmed up,” he adds, forcing a calmer tone. He bends down, quickly presses his lips to the frigid skin of Natsume’s forehead, then shrugs off his jacket to drape across Natsume’s chest.

When he looks again, some of the trepidation has bled out of Natsume’s eyes, replaced with something a little warmer, drowsier. Trusting.

Kaname cups his cheek, tries to ignore the tremble in his fingers. “Let’s go home.”

***

Natsume’s recollection of the incident, of how he’d ended up half frozen in the forest, comes back to him soon enough. Kaname makes him tell it, in order to keep him awake while he’s getting him into the tub to thaw him out.

The yuki-onna had come to him initially just a few days prior, just as school was ending and the New Year’s break began. She was lost, and very weak, and Ponta had dispassionately noted how odd it was for her to have not vanished altogether. She’d strayed so far south of the more common haunts of yuki-onna, where the winters were so mild and snow so rare. Natsume never found out why she’d come, she claimed to not quite recall, but she hadn’t come alone; her sister had been by her side. But the two had become separated, apparently, on a windy night. She’d been frantic, her sister was hardly stronger than she was, but she’d heard tell from a few of the local youkai that if she were in trouble, she ought to seek out Natsume-sama for help. Ponta hadn’t been especially fond of the idea, given the particular penchant of her whole kind for killing off humans in creative ways, and skeptical about the gaps in her memory—which needless to say had left Kaname nice and anxious, as well as Taki when she’d heard. But Ponta had conceded that she was clearly frail, just on the brink of fading away entirely if she couldn’t find someone or something to possess, and he genuinely hadn’t believed that she could do Natsume any real physical harm by simply hitching a ride in his body until her sister was found. She wouldn’t dare, when endangering him would be endangering herself.

And that had seemed to be the truth, at first. The New Year’s season had always necessitated a lot of travel for Dad, and with Natsume having planned to stay over most of the nights that Dad would be away, Kaname had had plenty of time to observe him, to make sure he was as fine as he claimed to be. But he’d looked to be perfectly well, not even a bit pale or fatigued or any of the general red flags Kaname had come to associate with youkai involvement. If anything, he was livelier and better-rested now that school was out and he was free to spend his days doing nothing of consequence, though he had confided that he was worried for the yuki-onna—he could barely sense her presence, he’d said, and most of the time she seemed to be asleep anyhow. Which was going to make tracking down her sister a tall order, if she couldn’t stay awake long enough to help at all, to tell them what they should even be looking for.

Up until tonight, of course. Kaname supposes in retrospect that he should’ve realized something was off when they’d settled in for bed, when he’d pulled Natsume close against his chest and frowned, realizing just how cool his skin felt all over. But Natsume waved it off when he asked, seeming for all the world to be perfectly content and sleepy, merely yawning and burrowing his face deeper against Kaname’s pajama shirt as Kaname tugged an extra blanket over them both.

When Kaname started awake, hours later, it was to a freezing room, an open window and an empty bed. And Ponta, clearly just arrived back from an evening of New Year’s revelry, asking just where the hell Natsume had gotten off to.

None of them are completely sure what changed, the coming-together of factors that finally allowed the yuki-onna to awaken, and to carry Natsume’s body away so deep into the forest that when he finally regained his senses he couldn’t find his way back again. Ponta’s best guess was that it was simply a matter of the temperature dropping in the night, enough for the ground to properly freeze for the first time in weeks. Enough to rouse the missing sister, to draw her out of wherever she had secluded herself to preserve her own strength, to start her back on her own search. And, as Natsume understood it from his own hazy recollection, she’d passed close enough by Kaname’s house in this search that her sister had sensed it, mustered what bit of energy she’d regained from resting within Natsume, and managed to well and truly take him over, enough to leave the house and give chase. The sister had fled, not realizing the possession and fearing that she was being pursued by an exorcist, until her limited strength failed her and Natsume’s body had caught up.

It was a happy ending, for the two of them, as far as Natsume knew, though admittedly they’d said little more to him than their thanks before vanishing into the night together. And in doing so, had left Natsume stranded and barefoot in his pajamas, in an unfamiliar part of the forest.

And to be fair, they wouldn’t necessarily have had any reason to know he was unfamiliar with it, or that he couldn’t just go back the way he came—after all, when they’d found him he hadn’t been that far away, he could only have gotten so far on foot. But Kaname doesn’t feel quite so forgiving on the matter, especially when Natsume told what happened next.

Because he’d scarcely begun to realize just how lost he was when he’d become drowsy, and dizzy. Not cold, he’d said; not really, and in no discernible pain, but after a few minutes he’d ended up on his hands and knees in the underbrush, his head reeling. And the next thing he’d known, Ponta was kicking him in the face.

At the very least, Kaname supposes he’s grateful that Natsume truly didn’t seem to feel the cold. Not until halfway through his bath, anyways, when the shivering set in, but by then he was well on his way to being a normal human temperature once more. And that’s the other thing Kaname can’t quite forgive, that both yuki-onna had been so apparently blind to the fact that they’d nearly frozen him to death. Natsume for his part genuinely hadn’t noticed; he’d been surprised when Kaname pointed out the ice on his clothes and in his hair. And, as Ponta had (reasonably) pointed out, yuki-onna in general were not known for any dealings with a human that a human ever walked away from, so it was likely they had no idea the kind of unintentional damage they’d inflicted. But regardless, if Ponta had found him any later than he had, it unquestionably would’ve been too late.

He’s back in bed, now, bath finished, swaddled up in every extra blanket that Kaname could find. He had been very reluctant to leave the room even for the two or so minutes it took to locate said blankets, the fact that Ponta was literally sitting perched on top of Natsume’s chest when he’d left (and sending Kaname off with a longsuffering “just go already, I won’t let him wander off again”) notwithstanding. He had tried not to visibly rush back to the bed when he returned, but the panic must’ve been a little too obvious in his eyes, because Natsume immediately tried to prop himself up on his elbows, giving him a smile that was surely meant to be reassuring but far too weary around the edges to be so. Kaname had just laid him back down, wordlessly, with a quick kiss to the forehead before he began situating the blankets. Ponta had given up his spot on Natsume’s chest in favor of settling down instead near his thigh.

“Okay,” he says, once he’s finished fussing with the bedding. “How cold are you?” Which might be an idiotic question, if Kaname’s lips on his skin just now were anything to go by, the answer is still very. But he’s learned by now, when asking after Natsume’s wellbeing, to phrase it so as not to allow him the out of merely saying he’s fine when he obviously isn’t, otherwise he’d be claiming he was just fine up to his dying breath.

And to Natsume’s credit, he does try to be more honest about it, nowadays, to Kaname, to their friends and to the Fujiwaras, though it’s so visibly difficult for him to try to relearn every instinct he has just to let on that he’s unwell.

“I’m…it’s not so bad anymore.” His voice is a little muffled; he’s buried up to the nose in soft fleece. “I don’t want to move, though.”

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much anyways, with your feet in that state,” Kaname says, mouth twisting. Natsume hadn’t really been aware of it until they’d gotten back, but taking off through the woods at top speed had torn up his skin pretty thoroughly, cuts and scratches up to the ankle that had bled in the bathwater, and the nail on one foot had been ripped clean off. Kaname had done what he could with a first aid kit, Natsume’s blood on his fingertips enough to set his stomach churning but knowing his aversion to hospital trips.

“Are you gonna just carry me everywhere, then?” Natsume’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“If you need me to,” he says, his returning smile sitting brittle on his lips, sliding his fingers through Natsume’s still-damp hair and wondering if he dried it well enough. “But it’d be better for you to just stay in bed.”

Natsume blinks up at him; he can’t seem to keep his eyes open all the way. “You know…I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it is pretty fun when you carry me.” An honest-to-god delirious giggle, then. “You’re strong.”

“I’m not that strong.” An easy counter. “You’re not that heavy.” He pauses, realizing he’d been hovering in an awkward half-crouch beside the bed that’s making his thighs ache, and sits on the edge of the mattress. Ponta shoots him a brief exasperated look, make up your mind already. “Do your feet hurt a lot? I can find you medicine if it’d help you sleep.”

“Mm…no, they’ll be alright…” he frowns a little, and Kaname feels a movement by his hip, and realizes that Natsume’s trying to work his hand free of the many blankets tucked tight around him. Kaname tugs them loose, only to have pale fingers catch his sleeve.

“Don’t you want to lie down?”

No, Kaname thinks, and if he wasn’t sitting he’s pretty sure he’d be pacing. But there’s a quiet apprehension in Natsume’s words, so Kaname gives a constrained nod instead. “Let me just get the lights.”

It doesn’t actually help his nerves any, lying in the exact same position they’d fallen asleep in earlier that night; the chilly tip of Natsume’s nose brushing against his breastbone and Kaname’s arm draped over his shoulders. When the occasional shiver comes, he rubs Natsume’s back, and Kaname does appreciate that much, it means he can feel him breathing better. Natsume always seems to migrate into this same position; it means he’s comfortable and Kaname’s glad for that but he certainly can’t say the same. Even Ponta keeping a lookout only helps so much with that; every muscle and nerve in him feels like a taut rubber band twisted over and over on itself, acid churning in an empty stomach. He starts at every little sound, every slight creak of the aging house settling around them. There’s no real noise from outside; the night is still, no wind, no forest creatures making any sound this deep into the winter. Objectively that silence should be better; but it’s not, really, it just feels all the more ominous. Kaname’s wound so tightly, ears pricked for every sound, that all it takes is for Ponta to speak out of the blue to startle him so badly that it wakes Natsume back up.

“Calm down, brat.” He pokes at Kaname’s ankle with a single paw. “I was just going to say it’s actually safe for you to go to sleep, hard as that is for you to believe, apparently.”

“I know,” Kaname murmurs, watching Natsume’s forehead scrunch up as his awareness returns. “Sorry. I’m trying.”

“Are you, though?” Ponta drawls, and Kaname sends a tired glare in his general direction.

“Hm…mm?” Natsume frowns, eyes sliding slowly into focus, reflecting the light of the single lamp Kaname had left on beside the bed.

Kaname smooths back his hair with one hand. “It’s alright.” He tries to sound surer than he feels, on that point. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’s…” His frown deepens, both his hands sliding up to the sides of Kaname’s chest under the covers. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“That’s because been busy picturing all the different ways you could possibly prance off and die the second he takes his eyes off you,” Ponta says flatly, and Kaname winces.

“…Oh.” He lets out a slow breath. Then, looking resolute, he inches himself upward, wriggling out from under the mass of bedclothes piled on top of him until he’s nose-to-nose with Kaname, his cheek squashed against the pillow. He’s panting a little from the effort, gripping Kaname’s shirt with both hands, but his eyes are steady. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.” Kaname reaches up, traces the pad of his thumb across Natsume’s cheekbone, the skin cool but no longer cold to the touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being kind, not reckless. You even talked to me about it first.” The significance of that had not been lost on Kaname, either, that Natsume had come to him with this before coming to a decision, even when all evidence pointed to it being a fairly benign situation to involve himself in. At the time Kaname thought his heart might just have grown too full to ever fit properly in his chest again. And yet here Natsume is now, trying to apologize for it. “We didn’t know this would happen,” Kaname adds, gently. He’s not certain he can be reassuring when his pulse is still hammering away like it is under Natsume’s hands, when there’s a current of nausea beneath the tight smile he offers. But he can try, because Natsume deserves as much.

But then it’s Natsume who’s taking Kaname’s face into his own hands, and closing the distance between their lips. It’s as tender as it is deliberate, Natsume cupping his face and holding him there, as if Kaname’s the one that’s ephemeral, precious, who might slip away so easily. His lips are still rough and cracked from the cold, but his lashes tickle Kaname’s skin like moths’ wings.

“No, we didn’t know,” Natsume breathes, eventually, into the scant space between them. Their foreheads are pressed together still; his fingers have slid up and back into Kaname’s hair. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you, too.” He pulls back a little, then, eyes searching. But Kaname doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, his chest tight.

“Thank you,” Natsume says. “For finding me.”

I didn’t find you, Kaname thinks, Ponta found you. But those words don’t come. What he says, instead, half-blurted, half-choked, is: “I love you.”

…oh.

“Oh,” Natsume echoes, softly, eyes widening into twin moons in the lamplight, and Kaname fleetingly thinks of sinking through the mattress and vanishing then and there. That…he had not meant to say that, just now. But he can’t (won’t) take it back, either. He forces himself to meet Natsume’s eyes, hopes to god he says something more because Kaname’s words are utterly spent.

“You’ve never said that, before,” Natsume adds, at long last. He chuckles, the sound of it breathy and stilted. “I guess I should get lost in the woods more often, huh.”

But Kaname can only stare, tongue-tied, through eyes that have begun to sting. Natsume pauses, taking in Kaname’s face before his brows scrunch together in apparent distress. “I’m sorry, that was a cruel thing to say, wasn’t it.” Gentle thumbs brush below Kaname’s eyes, swiping away the building moisture. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

It’s too late for that, Kaname thinks with some distant degree of frustration at himself. Natsume should definitely, definitely be resting right now. Not dealing with Kaname’s apparent inability to get a handle on himself, or some ill-timed confession. But here they are, and now Kaname’s the one clinging onto Natsume’s pajamas like a terrified child, face buried deep in his shoulder and shaking. And Natsume’s rubbing his back, so gently, kissing his hair and whispering to him to breathe, it’s alright, just breathe.

It’s ridiculous, really, that he can’t calm himself down until he’s practically cried himself inside out. His chest hurts, his head is buzzing and he’s soaked through the flannel on Natsume’s shoulder with tears and snot and spit—but the words I thought you were dead, I saw you and I thought you were dead have been playing on some awful loop in his brain for the past two hours and it’s all he can do not to repeat them now—if he does he’ll just lose it again.

Once his breathing has evened out to a semi-reasonable pace, the warm weight near his ankle shifts a bit, and he hears a sardonic, “Are you finished?”

“Sensei.” Natsume angles a slight kick in the cat’s general direction, but between Kaname’s own legs in the way and the swathes of bandages and blankets packed around them it doesn’t make it very far. “He does care,” Natsume mutters, and Kaname raises his head to see Natsume scowling at the foot of the bed. “He’s just being rude.”

“Of course I care.” Ponta blinks back at them, wholly unbothered. “He promised to make gratin tomorrow. He can’t do that if he’s cried himself to death, now can he.”

Natsume pointedly ignores that, before propping himself up on a trembling elbow just far enough to reach for the water bottle on Kaname’s dresser. “Here,” he says, his gentle smile incongruent with the way he almost drops the bottle between them. “You’ll get a headache.”

And Kaname can’t contest that, really. He can already feel the pressure mounting between his temples. He accepts it and winds up downing about half of it in two gulps. When he offers it back to Natsume to take his own drink he keeps his own hands over Natsume’s unsteady ones, but Kaname’s the one whose fingers have grown cold now.

“Better?” Natsume asks afterwards, voice still infinitely kind and patient but Kaname can practically see the fatigue etched into his face. Kaname just nods, sheepish. He should never have woken him.

“Um,” Natsume continues, less sure, “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it right now, but…”

“N-no, thank you.” His voice comes out low and wrecked, and clearing his throat doesn’t make it any better. “You should rest.”

“Okay.” A pause, and Natsume gives him a long look, making no move to get settled back down under the covers just yet.

“What’s wrong?” Kaname asks, with some trepidation. Natsume’s eyes are wide, solemn but luminous.

“I love you too.”

…oh.

“Oh.” Kaname’s mouth feels very dry, suddenly. There’s a bubble of unbelievable warmth, of hope, rising in his chest, but anxiety follows fast behind. Natsume’s face looks so open right now, the kind of transparent expression that doesn’t often come easily for him and he’s waiting, waiting and Kaname has to say something and—

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cause I said it,” is what comes out, eventually. His voice still sounds rather like he swallowed a toad, and he clears his throat in vain, gaze dropping to some spot on the rumpled coverlet between them. “You don’t owe it to me or anything. You might not even remember any of this in the morning, anyways.”

He raises his eyes again when he feels cool fingers light on his chin. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s true, and you should know it.” Exhaustion notwithstanding, his voice is clear, and his eyes are so warm Kaname couldn’t look away again if he tried. “I love you, okay? I love you.”

Kaname just nods, he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry again or hyperventilate or possibly all three but then Natsume’s reaching for him and kissing him and kissing him, lips, forehead, eyelids, nose and cheeks, and Kaname doesn’t have to say anything at all. It’s all slow, feather-light and lingering; Natsume’s too tired for anything more but Kaname’s content to lie there and let himself be kissed, his mind resonating with it: I love you too, I love you, I love you…

“Sorry I scared you,” Natsume murmurs, eventually. His fingertips skim a lazy circle on Kaname’s shoulder, their noses nearly touching still. “I’ll do my best to not get lost again.”

“Not without me.”

Natsume’s lips twitch. “Okay. Not without you.”

***

Thanks for reading! I’ll take one more prompt from this list before starting the next part of Never Felt Like Any Blessing if anyone would like to submit one!