#wishing luck to the protesters and sending support from the other side of the world

[ptergwen]

warmer than cuddles

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: may plays matchmaker and makes some suggestive jokes

prompt: you and peter get caught in the rain and have to share an umbrella

a/n: thank youuu to the angel who requested <3 swear this is my favorite trope to write hehe ☔️

-

one of the many things you and peter have in common is being lazy. it’s sort of the basis of your friendship. you’re not the kids who drink or party or get in trouble. you play board games and eat pizza on his ripped up couch. the riskiest thing you’ve ever done is sneak into a movie.

peter was so paranoid you’d get caught, he couldn’t even pay attention. he kept whispering to you about paying the whole time. you had to drag him out by his hand after the movie ended. the next time you went to that theater, he bought an extra ticket to “make it even.”

that about put an end to your trying new things phase. you went right back to your comfy nights in pajamas. tackling each other for the remote, baking terrible cookies that you just throw out, sharing a blanket to stay warm. what also helps is that you cuddle under it.

all the fun you need is you, peter, and your love for doing nothing. may disagrees.

she’s always trying to get you two out of the apartment. in her words, it’s “unhealthy for developing teens to spend so much time cooped up inside.” peter once asked which mother’s facebook group she joined. you snickered at that. may gave you a warning look.

well, you don’t have a choice to stay in today. she’s kicking you and peter out because she has guests coming over.

“it’s girl’s night,” may tells the two of you with a satisfied smirk. she hangs her raincoat on the rack and comes into the living room. peter squints his eyes at her. “you have friends?” he sounds too surprised for your liking. you flick his arm hard enough to make him go “ouch!”

“peter, we only have, like, four friends. that’s counting ourselves,” you inform him with a laugh. peter drops his head onto your shoulder. “and i don’t need any of them but you,” he says sarcastically, rubbing his cheek on your sweatshirt. “aw, i know,” you coo and rest your head on his. may crosses her arms and shrugs.

“you should do a group play date with everyone! i haven’t heard from ned in a while,” she suggests, your eyes flicking over to peter. he’s biting back a grin. “play date?” you try to stifle a laugh when you ask. “you know what i mean. a hang out,” may nods at her better word choice. peter winces in protest.

“eh, ned will probably wanna go out somewhere. we don’t do that,” he tells may, like that’s a completely normal thing for a teenager to say. you raise a finger in agreement. she laughs in disbelief at you and peter. you’re splayed out on the couch, on a saturday, complaining about doing anything else.

“you two make me feel young.” may’s words are a joke, but her tone isn’t. “you are young, may,” you reassure her and smile a little. peter says nothing. his eyes become hooded as he settles into you more. “look at you two, like some old married couple,” may gestures to you from where she’s standing. she smiles this time.

peter’s face gets hot from the mention of you being a couple. your heart skips a couple of beats. you’re pretty sure he can tell from how close he is.

“do whatever you want, just not here,” she gets back to the real conversation. peter hides his entire face in your shoulder as a form of protest. you pat his back. “and not each other. unless you’re safe,” may adds. “may, please. no,” he groans out, positive he’s all red now. you blink at her in horror.

may knows what she’s doing. peter isn’t the most subtle person, especially not about liking someone. she’s learned all the signs that her nephew is falling. he’s falling for you. she sees it in you, too. the way your eyes soften when they meet peter’s, how fast you are to hug him back or beam at the silly things he says.

you two spend so much time apart from your other friends, you basically are a couple. you’re just not old or married. the only thing you need is a push to realize that.

“ok, we’re gonna go now,” peter decides and pulls away from you. “god bless,” you say only so he can hear. he chuckles at that, you getting up from the couch. giving him a knowing smile, you grab one of his hands. he lets you pull him to his feet while exhaling. he’s already exhausted. may watches and shakes her head.

peter walks up to give her a quick hug. “enjoy girl’s night. love you,” he murmurs as she squeezes him tight. even though they tease each other a lot, their relationship is really sweet. it’s very telling how a guy treats his mother. well, aunt in this case. that thought has always been in the back of your mind.

“have fun!” you grin at may when her and peter pull apart. he comes back over to you and tugs on your sleeve. “thanks, kids. we’ll be done around eleven,” she lets you know. you’re already getting your shoes on and ready to leave. eleven is a while from now.

“don’t forget an umbrella! it’s drizzling!” may calls after you two. peter grabs hers that’s leaning against the front door. it’s pink with purple polka dots. you giggle at that. “hey, i like pink,” he defends himself and opens the door, letting you out first. you raise your hands in defense, leaving the apartment.

peter waves at may one last time. “good luck, peter,” she tells him once you reach the stairs. he furrows both eyebrows. “good luck with what?” “you’ll see,” may raises her own eyebrows in a way that’s all too familiar to peter. he calls it her face of wisdom.

still confused, peter heads out. he finds you at the bottom of the stairs. you shove your hands in your pockets and push against the door to open it. peter meets you outside, twirling the umbrella between his fingers.

“is there anywhere you wanna go?” he asks as you start to walk. you’re just going down the block for now. “back upstairs,” you sigh out. “i wish. not an option, though,” peter puffs some air out of his cheeks. you fumble to pull up your hood. he easily reaches over and does it for you.

“thanks,” you say quietly. “you’re welcome,” peter pats the top of your head for emphasis. “we could just walk around.” “until eleven o’clock? that’s five hours from now,” you laugh out, adjusting your hoodie to block your face. disappointment crosses over his features.

“should’ve brought my suit,” he mutters mostly to himself. linking your arm with his, your eyes widen. “i’m not trusting you to swing me around in this weather.” his bicep flexes when your arm wraps around his own. “what? i’ve done it before, y/n/n. on patrol.” you turn your head towards him.

“didn’t you get hurt last time?” you already know the answer. “sprained wrist and a few cuts,” he grumbles, you humming because you’re right. he’d called you in tears when he got home, scared he broke something. you reminded him he would heal soon and stayed on the phone until he calmed down.

that ended up being the whole night. you’re probably the most supportive of peter being spider-man. you of course worry about the toll it takes, but you understand why he does it. the least you can do is be there for him while he navigates the superhero world. not talk him out of it or scold him for making mistakes, be there.

that’s why he loves his lazy days with you so much. they’re his break, his escape from what he lies awake worrying about most nights. you’ve seen what he has to go through, so you respect that. whatever he needs to do to unwind is fine by you. as long as you get to do it with him.

“then you couldn’t patrol for weeks. you could barely hold a pencil.” your other arm sneaks around his. they’re both hugging him now. “you had to be my note taker,” peter reminisces, a smile making its way onto his face. “that sucked, man. you’re such a perfectionist about them,” you breathe out.

peter flips the umbrella around in a show-off kind of way. “you don’t complain when i send them to you.” he sounds so cocky you can’t help but roll your eyes. he isn’t wrong, though. “whatever. seriously, where should we go?” “uh,” peter’s eyes scan the block for inspiration. they land on a man carrying takeout.

“dinner? not at a restaurant since we’re in sweats,” he adds the last part so you don’t have to. “ooh, let’s go to panera,” you happily squeeze his arm. peter quirks an eyebrow at you. “you’re always hungry after.” “so? we can get dessert, too. we have a while.” that makes his heart flutter. a while with you.

“cool, cool, cool,” he sings to you, leaning into your side as you walk. you giggle and push at his shoulder. “i think we can make it there before the rain picks up.” there’s a clap of thunder right after he says that, like something out of a movie. it’s followed by a heavier rain coming down on you two. you pull at the strings of your hoodie to keep it tighter on your head.

“jinxed it,” you remark, both of you stopping so peter can open the umbrella. “ugh,” he grunts out. his lower lip is between his teeth while he undoes the velcro. he pushes down and watches as the umbrella springs open for you two. “here, c’mere,” peter welcomes you under as he holds it above your heads.

it doesn’t quite fit you both since it’s only meant for one person. you forgot he took may’s. the two of you have to squish together so you can avoid the rain, which is pitter pattering down hard on the sidewalk.

you’re comfortable under here with him. the freezing cold weather outside of the umbrella is hardly an issue anymore.

peter turns to face you, letting out a breathless laugh. “you can take off your hood now.” your arms slip from around his. you remove it from your head and give him a toothy grin. it’s one that’s meant to be over exaggerated. “there’s that pretty face,” peter’s voice gets quieter. unlike what you did, that wasn’t a joke.

your pretty face loses its smile. you’re suddenly very aware of how close peter is to you.

you can see the faint scar on his chin from when he banged it into a wall in your living room. he’d ran straight into it during your two person game of hide and seek. yes, you still play that. it was gushing blood for half an hour.

there are also the thousands of freckles dotting his face, the ones you only notice by looking at him super hard. you try to count them whenever you get bored. peter stares back at you while you fall in love with every tiny detail about him.

he takes the time to admire your lips, not just because they look really kissable right now. because of every curious expression they press into when he does something you can’t believe. your eyes, that he feels a sense of safety and honesty and familiarity every time he looks into. he finds them and feels like he’s home.

“peter?” you speak up after a few moments. your tone is hesitant, as if whatever you’re going to ask will change what you have forever. that’s because it might. it’s silent except for the sound of the rain hitting his umbrella. peter finally answers, almost in a whisper. “yeah?”

“i... i think,” you clear your throat before going on. his eyes trail down to your lips again, then back up to your twinkling ones. even on a gloomy day like this, they could light up the whole sky. “i think i love you,” you get out, a hand over your racing heart. peter gives you a small but sure nod. “i think i love you, too.”

he takes a step closer to you, if that’s even possible. his hand without the umbrella comes up to hold your cheek. you watch as he uses his thumb to wipe away a few stray rain droplets. your head tilts to the side, lips parted on instinct. peter leans in until his lips just brush yours, letting you decide what comes next.

you choose to close the space between you two. his eyes squeeze shut, whole face scrunched up when he kisses back. this is a release of all the emotions he’s been holding in that he didn’t even realize he had. you slip into a rhythm, using the angle to move your lips against peter’s.

his hand drops from your cheek to your jaw to support you while you kiss. your own hands grab his biceps, fingers pressing into him, depesrate to have him in your arms. peter lets out a content sigh against your lips before detaching them. it’s not for long. he comes right back in after taking a breath.

you get one long peck from him, then another that’s softer than the last. you give him a short kiss back, lips curving into a smile when this one ends. peter’s thumb smooths over your jawline while he searches for your eyes. he grins at you and tightens his grip on the umbrella handle. he’s surprised it didn’t blow away in the midst of your mini makeout.

“i definitely love you, peter,” you state so genuinely, hands on his shoulders now. that has to be peter’s favorite sentence he’s ever heard. the most beautiful combination of words, said by you to him. “i definitely love you, y/n,” peter agrees, punctuating his statement with one last kiss. you haven’t stopped smiling when his lips meet the corner of yours.

may was right about two things that night. you needed the umbrella for that huge storm, but it did more than protect your from the rain. it also brought you and peter together in a way. the second thing she was right about was that peter loves you, and every feeling he has mirror yours for him.

actually, she was right about three things. you two have to get out of the apartment more often.

[chimchimsauce]

XS (I - Spitfire)

“Give me just a little bit MORE”

Being the son of the largest gang in the country, Kim Taehyung might as well be a prince. He is more powerful than any one man should be and is not afraid to get rid of anything - or anyone that gets in his way.

So when a man is unable to pay back the gigantic loan he owes Taehyung, the heir is all too happy to take his life. Moments away from pulling the trigger, a girl more beautiful than he’s ever seen bursts in and offers her life for her father’s. Taehyung knows right away that he wants her.

And Taehyung gets everything he wants.

Prologue

Chapter One - Spitfire

The house is suspiciously quiet as YN's uber pulls up to her driveway. Usually, her father would be outside gardening or there would be the joyful barking of her childhood dog as she runs around the yard.

But everything is dead silent. Even the air seems still, almost as if Mother Nature herself is holding her breath. No birds chirp and no wind rustles through the leaves.

Pure silence.

"Is everything okay?" the uber driver asks her.

YN's hands grab tightly to the seatbelt as she whips away from the window, startled by the man's voice.

"What?" she asks, "Ah, yeah, everything's fine. It's just a little quiet is all."

YN and her family have never had much, evident by the run-down state of their small house, but her home has always been filled with love and support. Just this morning her mother had called her before her final exam to wish her luck and say how excited she was for her to come home for summer break. YN fully expected her parents to be waiting for her on the doorstep with big smiles and open arms.

A tingle of fear snakes down her body. What if something is wrong?

She opens her purse and pulls out her phone to switch it off of airplane mode. Unfortunately, it dies before she can open her messages. She's received over twenty from her mother which only deepens the feeling that something is truly, incredibly wrong.

Taking a breath and praying that her intuition is wrong, YN steps out of the car and grabs her two suitcases, thanking her driver and sending him on his way.

The sound of wheels on concrete is much louder than it should be. YN ignores the tremble of her hand as she raises a finger to press the doorbell. Her dog barks, but the noise is cut off by a loud bang that scares YN out of her skin.

No one comes to answer the door. YN's heart is beating so quickly that she's afraid that she'll pass out. What should she do? Her phone is dead, so she can't call the authorities or another uber. Maybe she's just being ridiculous. Maybe everything is okay after all.

Clinging onto this tiny shred of hope, YN twists the doorknob, trying not to think about the fact that her parents never leave it unlocked. When she steps inside, luggage in tow, everything is quiet.

"Mom? Dad?" she calls out hesitantly.

"YN!" her mother's voice calls out, "Run!"

Before YN can respond, there's a loud bang - a gunshot and the horrid sound of her mother's screaming. Ignoring her warning, YN drops her bag and books it into the kitchen, heart racing and thoughts scattered.

When she arrives in the small kitchen, YN's voice gets caught in her throat as she looks at the scene before her. The room has been trashed completely. Their pots and pans have been strewn about and the cabinet doors have been ripped from their hinges and tossed away. But worse of all, in the middle of the chaos is her parents, tied to chairs and bruised and bloody. Her mother's hair has been mused into a bird's next and tear tracks streak down her face. Her father is in even worse condition, bleeding from several cuts along his face and body.

Three strangers stand around them, two with emotionless faces and knives. The third stands in front of YN's poor father, shoving a gun between his teeth with a cruel glint in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" YN shrieks, ignoring her mother's panicked expression.

Without thinking, YN launches herself at the man with the gun, taking everyone by surprise.

"Boss!" one of the other criminals calls out.

YN's mother starts screaming again as the man approaches YN, but the college student pays it no mind, too focused on wrestling the gun out of this man's hands. She straddles his hips, trying to use her weight to hold him down long enough for her to grab the weapon.

While desperation and fear pour from every pore of YN's skin, the man under her seems rather amused. YN hasn't looked at his face nor does she care too. Something tells her that if she did, she'd be completely petrified.

YN's efforts prove to be fruitless. After a few moments of struggling, YN is ripped away from the armed man by one of his henchmen, kicking and screaming.

"Well aren't you a little spitfire?" the man she'd been fighting says, rising elegantly and brushing off his suit.

A cocky smile plays on his lips, but there's a hint of something sinister in his gaze that has YN breaking out in a cold sweat. If he wasn't so terrifying, he might have been handsome with this tall stature and long hair, perfectly swept above his brows to reveal a face that belongs on a magazine cover.

"Honestly," he says, turning once more to YN's father, "Why didn't you tell me your daughter was coming home? I would have put together a welcome party better than this."

He chuckles, a deep sound that shows just how bemused he is.

"Ah well," he continues, "But maybe you'll be more cooperative now that your baby girl is here."

He snaps his fingers and the man that's holding her brings a knife to YN's throat, barely a hair's breadth away from cutting her.

"NO!" her parents shout out, fear in their eyes.

The man steps towards YN. his gun seeming to gleam in the light. He taps it against her face in a way that's nearly affectionate, using the cold metal to outline her facial features. YN's eyes are blown wide with fright, her pupils dilated and her breaths short.

"You're rather pretty, aren't you, YN?" he says, his voice sending chills down her spine.

He's stopping his tracing and now holds the gun flush against her forehead, a grin on his face.

"How do you," she says, licking her lips and trying desperately hard not to pee herself, "Know my name?"

The man cocks his head to the side and takes a step back, sticking his gun in the waistband of his shorts and taking a seat in one of the empty kitchen chairs, straddling it backward.

"Oh?" he asks, looking at her father again "You didn't tell her?"

Her father stays silent, refusing to look at the man speaking to him.

YN can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he doesn't like being ignored. Surprisingly, he doesn't blow up. YN fears something worse will happen.

"Well, since your dear old dad won't tell you what he's gotten himself into, I shall illuminate you. You see, he came to me when you got accepted into that stuck up school you attend, crying that he couldn't afford your tuition," he leans forward over the back of the chair to smile at YN, much too happy for the situation they're in, "So, of course I helped him. I am rather benevolent."

"But I got a scholarship!" YN protests, "You've got the wrong people!"

At her outburst, the man laughs loudly, leaning back in his chair and enjoying himself so much that hatred bubbles in YN's stomach, red hot and violent.

"You're adorable," he coos at her when his laughter finally dies down, "you really believe that? Did you even look into the 'scholarship' you received?"

YN stays silent, glaring at him through the tears that threaten to spill out.

"It was all me. I've been the one paying for your tuition and let me tell you, it's not cheap. Your dad was supposed to have all the money to pay me back today and surprise, he doesn't. So here we are," the stranger says, tossing his hands up into the air.

He stands up, retrieving his gun once more and nodding at his backup all three of them exchanging a look YN is terrified to now the meaning of.

"Well, as fun as it's been chatting with you, YN, I'm growing very bored of all of this. Let's just kill them and go."

YN's parents start screaming again but YN shouts over them, desperate to stop what's happening.

"I'll pay it!" she shrieks, "I'll pay it back! Don't hurt them, please!"

The man stops what he's doing, turning to look at her with interest.

"You'll never be able to pay it back," he says, a pitying tone in his voice, "It's better to just let me kill your parents and get it over with."

"No! I will! I'll pay it back! Every cent! I don't care if it takes my entire life!"

YN is in hysterics now, sweat and tears sticking to her skin as she struggles against her captor.

"Jungkook, let her go," the man says.

He does as told and YN collapses onto the floor, her legs unable to support her. The world around her is blurry from her glossed eyes as she cries freely, staring at the grimey floor.

"Please," she pleads, her voice broken.

Two leather shoes come into her sight and a single teardrop falls upon them.

"Look at me," the boss says.

YN raises her head to look at him. He's crouching beside her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Don't do something you'll regret, YN," he says as if he's a friend advising her and not the one ruining her life.

"I'm not," YN says, speaking over the lump in her throat, "I'll never regret saving them."

For a moment, everything in the kitchen is deadly silent. YN's terrified that he'll just kill all of them anyway, turning her offer down entirely and laughing in her face.

"I have a different idea," he says, "You can pay back your parents' debt with your life."

"What," YN gasps out.

She's blotchy and red from all the crying but he swears he's never seen something so beautiful. A sadistic part of himself is dying to see this expression again.

"Marry me."

YN only gapes at him, half expecting him to burst out laughing.

"What?" she parrots.

"Marry me," he repeats, "Pay your family's debt back buy pledging to spend the rest of your life by my side."

YN's teary eyes search his face for a lie, finding none. Wordlessly, she bobs her head up and down, ignoring the protest from her parents.

"Wonderful," this man says, standing up and clapping his hands together, "Let's go YN. Home is quite the way away."

"Can I," she struggles, "At least say goodbye."

"No time. Come now or watch me put a bullet in between your mother's eyes."

YN rises instantly, between this stranger and his guards, refusing to look back even though her parents call out for her. She knows that if she does, she won't be able to walk away.

On their way out, YN sees the still form of her beloved childhood dog, her voice catching in her throat.

"Was it yours?" her soon to be husband asks.

YN nods.

"Use your words, YN," he orders.

"Yes," YN says, the singular word shaky in her throat.

"Sorry," he says half-heartedly, "It wouldn't shut up."

"Okay," is all she can muster, continuing with them out of her childhood home, never to see it or her parents again.

As soon as they step foot out onto the cracked sidewalk, a discreet black vehicle pulls up. The man opens the back door for her, gesturing for her to slide in. She does so mindlessly, barely registering what's happening.

The guards disappear from sight, most likely going to their own car.

"Make sure to use the childlock, Jimin," her to be husband says.

"Yes sir," the man replies.

YN doesn't even try to look at him, too emotionally exhausted to do anything. The car pulls away and the drive is so smooth that YN passes out, the exhaustion getting to her.

As she sleeps dreamlessly, the man sitting next to her looks her over, intrigued. It's been quite a while since he's been so interested in someone.

"Who's that?" the driver asks.

Jimin's always been curious, ever since they met as young children.

"No one. Not yet, at least."

"What did you get yourself into this time?"

"I'm not sure. Something tells me that it's going to be fun, though."

Chapter Two

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@dorerenjun

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[frogtanii]

It’s wind anon! (Imagine me as the screeching seagull meme) just pushing through the week. Getting the test out of my mind—it just sucks because there’s always this one test that I completely mess up on—and as someone who has to deal with all honors classes and my grades tend to be good, every time I fail to meet up to expectations my stress skyrockets. (Imagine a world where grades don’t matter and school is learning based rather than mark based...) Family pressures too—okay, wind anon is done ranting.

The update! The drama—I was there the moment it updated and I saw the comments rush in and I was laughing real hard.

But my reaction to the update!

Osamu POV :0!!! The insecurity... “all it did was remind him that he was alone”— I empathize because gosh, that is so real.

The attachment to Meiko though... his emotional state is on a very unstable tightrope. “Osamu had Meiko and he used to have Daichi and Iwaizumi...” that entire section has all my red flags raised. He’s going to completely break when everything comes out.

The loud clang startled me though. I was like “!!!” But it was our YN! Our kind, wonderful YN!! Trying to get snacks wwwwww.

Osamu thinking YN is cute :0 I be having a lot of thoughts about that but him squishing it down is fair. He considers himself to be in a committed relationship (though Meiko does not reciprocate and I am ready to fight regarding that) but I can respect his devotion (even if it is very misguided).

But. “After all, you were the reason Atsumu hated him now and never spoke to him anymore.” My gosh. What do I even say about this? Because the blame is entirely thrown off. I mean, you mentioned before Atsumu had a specific reason for believing in you over Meiko so I’m still waiting for that but Osamu is thinking something wrong but it’s a human action. It’s so easy to blame people to make yourself feel better. And your brain can do it without you realizing the depths of what has been thought.

Osamu being angry (!!!) and being a complete utter douche. YN literally just wanted a bag of chips and you’re here, crowding them in the pantry and being hostile. I don’t have much to say about it because he realized his mistake but by then he already stressed YN really badly and I am...(long sigh).

Atsumu to the rescue. We appreciate Atsumu very very much in this house. It really sucks that Osamu and Atsumu are confronting like this—I mean, Atsumu has been fighting a bit and Osamu had not really been listening to Atsumu on his own end prior to this confrontation so I’m...exhausted and a bit sad in the “It can’t be helped” kind of way.

“Osamu allowed him to, too in shock and ashamed to protest, much less fight back.” It couldn’t be helped considering how everything developed but...it still hurts my chest a bit, y’know? And then Osamu tries to apologize and I’m ready (so so ready) for them to communicate because they desperately need to—

But then Meiko comes in (I am...ready to throw stuff at her. Lots of stuff. Packing peanuts. All squeaky and annoying and bad for the environment just like she is—or something like that, I dunno, I’m half dead because I’m dealing with cramps rn) and all my wishes for them to finally have that much needed conversation where Osamu can finally break down and cry—all my wishes are turned to ash like.

(Angry Wind anon noises)

Meiko rubbing her makeup all over Osamu’s shirt like he is a rag. What in the... And her 4 inch heels please, I cannot, why, I can’t deal with this, I can’t, don’t make me get close to her because I’m like Yachi (stressed out of my mind). Please don’t do this to me. But yeah, Meiko with her poor makeup that doesn’t stay on her face. What the heck....

And Meiko’s scent... gross. Like, brown sugar, cute, nice, baked goods do smell really nice, (ever add a bunch of vanilla extract to a recipe? It like, perfumes around everywhere, it’s insane and wonderful) but chances are (because it’s Meiko), it’s overbearingly sweet. Chinese food (I do not trust her taste in Chinese food to be frank), I happen to come from a Chinese family, I have Chinese food for dinner like everyday, it would take a lot to be able to get that sort of scent on you. And I do mean a lot. And hairspray??? Chemical? I do not,,, I,,, Osamu, why would you breathe that in? It’s gonna be real bad for your lungs? And we already know Meiko smokes as well��your lung health, please value it—

And then the Suna entrance. Wonderfully done fr0ggy!

Final thoughts, I am very much projecting onto Yachi rn. Yachi has been in the house for less than a week and she already has to deal with this. The company should give her a raise. My gosh.

Anyway, might as well do a thoughts/headcanon thing because it’s been a while and my mind is still on gem/jewel stuff (so hope you don’t mind!)

Okay, so Kenma I think would go with a warm colored gemstone, and citrine would work well with him! “Protection against evil thoughts” because we know Meiko has ramped up is insecurity and lowered his self-esteem.

I mentioned this before last time but Sakusa is definitely onyx. That black is iconic, and “sharpening wit” would make sense with his grace for word play and snark.

Akaashi is an interesting one...I think sapphire. I mean, sapphire can have many colors besides the classic dark blue, so that’s one thing, but it’s known for “loyalty and a pledge of trust” which Akaashi gave. I think it’s suitable for him.

Suga...initially I was thinking pearl would match him in terms of appearance, but actually looking at my reference, turquoise would work really really well with him. “Protect from evil, maintain virtue, bring good luck”. Would work well.

For Atsumu and Osamu I wanted something that could represent their duality. My first thought was gold and silver. I mean, it’d fit in terms of appearance but I’m not sure that would be the best comparison. Gold doesn’t rust so it fits Atsumu who never fell for Meiko’s tricks. Silver has been said to vanquish dark/evil beings (vampires, werewolves, the classic silver bullets and stakes). It would be interesting to see if the comparison will apply to today’s update :D!

I like how my brain shut off and couldn’t remember anyone else for a second—anyway, Oikawa... every time I think of him, I want some hue of blue wwww. I guess Aquamarine “soothing influence” would work. Since he joined YN’s side, he has been able to see the big picture and be a voice of reason. He’s thoughtful and I think aquamarine which encourages long relationships is suitable because that is what he wanted. So yes, aquamarine.

Bokuto...is a tough one. I’m trying to still keep with their color schemes a bit. I think carnelian would work. “Health, luck, bold energy, warmth, joy”—it would represent him fine. It’s a bit more orange than I would prefer but it suits him so I think it’s okay.

Iwaizumi... emerald? I mean, he does suit green tones, and “rebirth, regeneration, new hope” would work just fine for him.

Right now my brain is complete mush and I can’t think of anything for Kuroo and Daichi. Like, Kuroo would be red, sure, but the more famous ruby/garnet I think don’t represent him fully because he is still rather contained. Hmm, would need to think about them more.

But I’d like your thoughts on this too :D!!

I wanna do something suitable for all colors for YN, so opal! YN has many different parts and colors and is overall a very vivid person—if you tilt opal, you see more and more faces and things underneath being brought into your eyes. YN may be seen from many different perspectives, but YN is always beautiful and amazing. So opal is what I think YN would be.

Anyway, I’ll end here :D! Need to eat lunch. Much love towards you fr0ggy! Make sure you eat and rest up too~ drink some water or any other fluid to hydrate! And keep warm too. Much love to all the fans and supporters and ask senders too! It’s really awesome seeing and hearing from all of you and seeing new faces with the old. Love the excitement and points you all bring up—makes my brain happy.

MAJDKD I NEED TO POST THE NEW CHAPTER BUT I HAD TO RESPOND TO THIS FIRST BESTIE ILY N I LOVE TUIS — I AM OBSESSED W THE CRYSTAL (??) STUFF??? IVE NEVER UNDERSTOOD IT BUT I THINK YOIVE EXPLAINED EACH GEM N WHY SO BEAUTIFULLY I AM IN LOVE W U KITH KITH UR SO LOVELY HAVE AN AMAZING DAY (sending u good vibes n anti-stress love >333)

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 8: TIRELESS

Word Count: 2347 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: E Content Warnings: canon-typical violence, unprotected sex, public sex Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Heist, Heist Baby || Masterlist

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The source of the scream, it turned out, was a young woman a few blocks away, surrounded and being menaced by three local goons. You looked at Diego, who nodded, miming that you should circle around to one side and he would go the other. The pair of you moved in an unpracticed but smooth synchronicity as you circled the would-be attackers and then struck. 

In a blink, Diego had pinned one assailant in a headlock, slowly crushing his windpipe until he passed out and lowering him to the ground. You focused the light you had been gathering into as fine a point as you could, searing the second man and causing him to cry out, doubling over in pain. Turning sharply to face the third man, you watched out of the corner of your eye as the woman looked between the men and you and Diego, gave another short shriek, and ran off.

The last of the ruffians charged at you only to be cut off by Diego stepping into his path and tripping him, sending him sprawling. He rolled deftly back to his feet and swung a wild haymaker at Diego, who dodged. Fairly sure he could handle himself, you turned yourself back to the man you burned, seizing his arm roughly, fingers digging into some of the injuries you’d already caused and making him yelp as you twisted it behind him to keep him from rejoining the fray. 

“Shit luck man,” you mocked as you leaned out of range of the half-hearted thrashing of his head and shoulders. 

“I’ve got a pretty bitch pinning me down,” he sneered. “I’m still in a better position than your friend.”

You rolled your eyes on instinct, before letting your attention turn back to the combat, doubt creeping cold across your neck. Your heart lurched in your throat as you watched the other man not only hold his own against Diego, but actually get in a couple of solid, painful looking hits. Diego stumbled back a couple of steps, movements more sluggish than they should have been. Diego swung, missing wide and opening himself up to a sharp jab to the stomach. He doubled over; his opponent took another swing, catching the side of Diego’s head as he struggled to straighten.

You called on your power again, flickering the lights at the head of the alley, hoping it caught Diego’s attention enough to hint at what you were planning. You watched him only narrowly dodge again and decided that it didn’t matter as much as putting an end to the fight as soon as possible. Quickly you flicked the light forward in a blinding flash, watching Diego duck his head away while his opponent shouted and threw up his hands, rubbing at his eyes. Taking advantage of the moment, Diego swept his legs out from under him and sent him sprawling.

Unfortunately, you were too focused on their fight, and the man you had incapacitated took advantage of the moment and his larger size to throw you off. For a split second he had you pinned to the ground, alcohol-laced breath hot and sour on your face before he thought better of whatever he might do and shoved instead, battering you against the uneven pavement and climbing to his feet. Grabbing his compatriots, the first one just now stirring and the third still blind, he took off running. 

As soon as they had disappeared, you and Diego rushed to each other. He clutched at you, hands and eyes roaming in search of injury. 

“Diego, relax,” you murmured, running a soothing hand over his cheek, careful to avoid the areas that already looked puffy and like they might bruise. “I’m okay. I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?” he asked, frowning, aggravating the small split in his eyebrow. “Why would you be worried about me?”

You gave him a disbelieving look. He chuckled. 

“It takes more than a few hits to hurt me,” he insisted. 

“Right, that’s why I just had to save you before he handed you your ass,” you scoffed. 

He opened his mouth to protest, reconsidering when he caught sight of the slight frown creasing your brow. He pulled you into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around you and pinning you flush against him. You buried your face in his neck, comforted by his hold on you, arms sliding up under his to splay across his back.

“I promise,” he murmured against the top of your head. “I’m alright. Are you?”

You took a deep breath, shuddering slightly as you tried to calm your still racing heart. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good, now.”

Diego slipped one hand under your chin, turning your face up to kiss you. His thumb stroking lightly across your jaw, he slowly deepened the kiss as you gave way before him, giving in to his every touch and action. He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, and you returned it with wholehearted willingness to let him. 

Tugging you gently further into the alleyway, he toyed with the edge of your shirt, making you gasp as the pads of his thumb skimmed over your bare skin. The fire his touch lit drove you with a need for more, to be closer, to surrender further. You needed to feel him, to know that he was there: real and solid and safe and yours.

Shifting your grasp so one hand clung to his shoulder and the other hooked around his neck, you lifted a leg and wrapped it around his hips, dragging your clothed core across the growing bulge in his pants in the process. Smirking, he slid one hand down to your ass, supporting your weight so you could jump up, effectively straddling his waist in this standing position and creating even more friction between you. His free hand found its way into your hair, tugging gently to angle your head in exactly the way he wanted. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, trailing his lips along your jaw, seeking out the point that made you cry out and focusing his attention there.

“I need you, Diego,” you begged, rolling your hips slowly against him. 

He pulled back to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You fell silent for a moment, just trying to focus on what you were feeling. Any hesitation you’d had before was gone, replaced by that overwhelming desire. You wanted this. You wanted him, more than anyone else in your life. 

“Yes,” you murmured, nodding. “Absolutely sure.”

“Right now?”

“It’s not like there’s anyone else around…”

He smiled. “Your wish is my command,” he hummed, leaning in to kiss you again, even more passionately than before, if that were possible. 

Moving steadily, he brought you to rest on the rungs of a fire escape ladder, the metal cold against your back. Your balance more stable against the fixture, Diego’s hand was free to trail across your hip and down between the two of you to deftly open your pants. You gasped as his fingers glided over your skin, lifting your hips to assist him in sliding your jeans down your legs. 

You brushed your lips along his jaw, placing little kisses as you made your way to the sensitive spot behind his ear, sucking and nipping at it to draw out a needy moan. You whined as his hand slipped beneath the cotton of your underwear, quickly finding your clit. Dropping your hands from around his neck you unbuttoned his pants, unceremoniously shoving them, and his boxers with them, downward.

“Shit,” he breathed, continuing lower to tease your folds. “You’re so wet. Is all this for me baby?”

“Diego, please,” you begged, voice muffled against his skin. You bucked against his touch, needing more, needing him. 

“Say it, Y/N,” he growled. “I need you to say it.” 

You bit your lip, leaning in to make sure your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Fuck me, Diego. Please.”

No more words needed to be exchanged. Diego locked eyes with you for a moment, some unfathomable tenderness in his gaze despite the situation. Then, with one hand cupping the back of your neck, he pulled you into a kiss at the same time his other hand moved your panties to the side so he could enter you. 

You keened against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist as he slowly bottomed out inside you. He returned his hands to your ass and lower back, supporting you away from the rusted metal beneath you. Your hands clawed and gripped at his back, arms, shoulders, neck, anywhere you could, desperately seeking purchase as he increased his pace and you met thrust with counterthrust, rutting against each other and chasing your highs. His mouth was hot and insistent on yours, tongues tangling together, hungrily swallowing down gasps and moans. 

As he backed off to breathe, you couldn’t help but stare at him, silhouetted above you in the pink, dawning sky. 

The world felt like it was spinning, hurdling at impossible speeds and only his touch anchored you. 

“Oh fu--,” you mewled, unable to finish the exclamation as your orgasm shattered through you, toes curling in your boots and his name cried out, uncaring of the volume. 

Your body’s reaction, tensing and jerking against him, muscles gripping and fluttering, and the sound of his name screamed that way made him groan. His fingers dug bruisingly into your skin as he gave a few final, sharp thrusts before pulling out completely, spilling himself on the ground. 

You both practically collapsed against the ladder, gasping for breath and trying to pull yourselves back together. 

“That was…” Diego started, trailing off as he looked at you, flushed and panting and disheveled beneath him. 

“Amazing?” you finished, smiling dazedly up at him, running your fingers over his neck and the marks your nails had left there. 

He chuckled, nodding in agreement before heaving himself up and offering you a hand. You shivered, feeling the cool air rush over your heated skin where contact was lost. You let him pull you to your feet and the pair of you quickly dressed, righting yourselves as best you could. 

“We should…get out of here,” he murmured, even as he pulled you close to kiss you softly again. 

“Mhm, probably for the best. We’ve caused quite a bit of chaos in the neighborhood,” you laughed, lacing fingers with his and scooping up your bag. 

You leaned against his arm as you walked, one might even call it strolled, toward where you had left the car. You felt light, like you couldn’t possibly be happier if you tried. For all that the night had started out a mess - and you fully intended to investigate how things in the warehouse had gone so sideways - it was ending better than you could have dreamed.

“Back to yours?” Diego asked when you both climbed into the car. 

A sudden idea flashed in your mind, and you shrugged, deciding to just go for it. You could always play it off as a joke when it didn’t fly.

“We could,” you said, the tone of your voice making him turn to you, catching the mischievous glint in your eye.

“You have something else in mind?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s totally stupid, but I was thinking…”

You took a deep breath and explained your thought process, closing your eyes until you were done so that you couldn’t be stopped short by his reaction. You loved him. You had been in love with him for a while and had just been too scared to say it. You wanted to tell the world. You wanted him, for now, forever, for as long as he’d have you. You trusted him, beyond reason or logic. There was no one else you had ever felt like this about, and you were sure that there never would be. 

“I know it’s nuts, and makes no sense, and we don’t have to do it, I just...it suddenly hit me so I thought I’d say it.” You kept your eyes pinched shut, afraid of what you’d see when you opened them, expecting it to be horror or fear or judgment. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, catching your chin again. “Look at me?”

“I’d rather not. The darkness is much better, easier to wallow in shame for my stupid, impulsive mouth.” You laughed, the sound strangled and bordering on desperate.

“Please, baby?”

The pleading in his tone was too much to resist and slowly you cracked first one eye open and then the other. The total love and devotion and trust in his eyes as he stared back sent your world spinning again. 

“Are you serious about this?” he asked. 

“I…” you opened your mouth, trying to force out a denial so that you could both laugh it off as a joke and go home, never to discuss it. But you couldn’t. Because you were serious, and you were sure. 

“Yes,” you answered sheepishly, cheeks heated in a blush. 

He smiled, slowly creeping across his face until he practically glowed. “Then let’s do it.”

Your heart leapt, dancing wildly in your chest, composing a whole ballet in an instant. You smiled back.

“We’ll need to pick up a few things, and I have to call in a favor,” you said slowly, carefully calculating all of the necessary details, stomach turning giddily.

Diego started the car, slowly driving away from the warehouses and deserted buildings, headed back for the center of the city, one hand still laced in yours as he drove.

“So let’s split up,” he suggested, “and meet back at the park under the gazebo in...how much time do you need?”

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour, if things are open and we don’t have to do any waiting. And if we’ve got spare time, maybe we could find something a little nicer to change into than,” you gestured to what the pair of you were wearing, now looking rather worn from the busy night’s work. 

“Alright,” he said, “what’s my shopping list?”

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Ten: “The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life.”

Day Nine - Masterpost - Day Eleven

“I’m thinking you should have a rest.”

The Crystal Exarch blinked up from his work. His room, covered as it already was in books and papers, was in even more disarray then usual. This was due to him actively researching how to transport the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (and himself, if luck would have him) back into the Source. There was only so much time before their bodies would no longer be able to support the lack of aether that their souls would give them, so he absolutely needed to keep working.

That didn’t seem to be the opinion of Beq Lugg, the brilliant Nu Mou expert on souls. They prodded at the flesh of the Exarch’s non-crystalized arm until he flinched away from the desk he had been working on. “You have been staring at the same several pages for an age. You should rest if you’re stuck.” 

“Begging your pardon, Beq Lugg, but there’s much to do and no way of knowing exactly how much time we have to do it,” The Exarch protested. “My merging with the Crystal Tower has given me the boon of a body that has no need for rest. I can keep at the work.” He flinched again with a startled “Ow!” when the Nu Mou prodded even harder at his arm. 

“I didn’t mean a physical rest but a mental one you young fool.” They snorted. He was too astonished at being called “young” to interrupt. “You have poured blood, sweat and tears into saving the lives of your friends in the most literal of senses. Time is of the essence, but the only result of your inner workings slipping from their proper settings will be mistakes you can ill afford. Go and see to your Crystarium and allow your mind to work at the problem from a different angle.”

Having recovered, the Exarch implored, “But what about your end, Beq Lugg? You have been working for nearly as long with just as little rest!”

They snorted again, this time with something that sounded like amusement. “You need not worry about myself. I can handle the research and testing for the time it will take you to walk your city. Go.” 

“But--” Feeling more and more like a child, his plea fell on deliberately deaf ears.

“Keeper of this tower you may be, but I will not allow you to assist me further unless and until you have been away for at least a half hour.” Beq Lugg made a gesture and one of their familiars was summoned to the room. It hugged itself around the Exarch’s torso and bodily carried him to the main entrance to the tower where it let him go suddenly. 

He was already out the door and several steps down in his shock when he turned back. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was about to do, but the magic seal on the inner side of the door was proof enough that Beq Lugg was as good as their word. In the space of a thought, the Exarch could use the power at his command to break the seal and enter the tower regardless of the orders given to him.

Except, something stopped him. A nudge of a memory so old that it had almost completely faded from his mind. A sense of...familiarity about the situation came to him. Even though he had never once in the hundred years of being the tower’s master been locked out of it.

With a heavy sigh and a quick word to the Crystarium guard who saw to those who entered and left the tower, the Exarch stepped the rest of the way down the stairs. If he was being told to have a break, he might as well spend it seeing how the city fared. Much like he did in the hundred years past, he stood for a moment on the cobblestones and stared around at the courtyard. His ears twitched from their place on top of his head, following the sounds of his people as he tried to gauge the mood. 

Many were in small groups, scattered about and whispering of the visions recently forced upon them by Elidibus. The people affected wouldn’t describe the phenomenon with those words, seeing as they now were declaring themselves Warriors of Light and starting journeys similar to that of the heroes of old. The ones that sacrificed their very lives to prevent the Flood of Light from engulfing the entirety of the First. One of whom’s body was now possessed by Elidibus in some scheme that involved the creation of new heroes. 

The Exarch sighed inwardly. Half a wonder that Beq Lugg demanded he take a mental break. There was far too much for a single mind to worry itself with on top of the complex workings it would take to transport five souls (and his own) back to the Source unscathed. A walk was just what he needed. 

He decided to circle the city in a somewhat widdershins fashion. First he saw to the Spagyrics, listening to the concerns about supplies and wishing a full and quick recovery to those still being treated. Then he went past the Ballistics upstairs to the Amaro Launch to check in on incoming and outbound flights. As he journeyed through the city, passing through or by places such as the Crystalline Mean, the Cabinet of Curiosity and the Rookery, the Exarch allowed himself to spare a word or two to anyone that wished it of him. Raised as they were to trust in him and not question, none of the people had a word to say about his newly unhooded self nor of his race, known in this world as Mystel. All they cared about was his well being and, by extension, that of his friends.

“Seems they keep scattering off to find things these days!” Darlfort laughed. His tavern was one of the last stops on the Exarch’s patrol around the Crystarium. It was well past the half hour away from work that Beq Lugg had demanded of him, but he indulged in conversation in case there was to be any room for doubt in the Nu Mou’s mind. Not that he minded chatting with his people in the first place, of course. “Barely any time to come for a drink, much less a chat!”

The Exarch smiled, perfectly picturing the Scions in miniature while running willy nilly around the city. “Indeed. I feel I must apologize for your lack of patronage, as some of what they have been doing has been on my behalf.”

“Pah, well worth the lack of coin then.” Darlfort grinned as he cleaned a glass. “Although...come to think of it I saw the Warriors of Darkness heading towards the Pendants not so long before you came strolling up to my bar, Exarch.”

He thought back to what Lara and Roger were supposed to be doing in their quest to return the Scions back to the Source. He hadn’t heard that they had completed their mission yet. It was odd that the two of them had returned to the Crystarium so early and with nary a word. He felt his ears flatten a little with concern. “Strange. You’re the first to inform me of their arrival. I’ll have to visit them before I return to the tower.”

Darlfort raised a hand in farewell. “Be seeing you, then.” 

“And I, you.” The Exarch nodded before taking his leave. 

He’d been expecting to need to go to the apartment that the Warriors of Darkness shared. Instead, he discovered Roger laying on his back in one of the patches of grass just outside of the building. He was staring up at (or perhaps through) the glass ceiling that once helped shield the more residential part of the city from the harshness of the Light that pervaded the world until very recently. The weather had been kind, giving way for a clear blue sky with dottings of friendly white clouds. Through the tinted glass, one could even pick out shapes in those clouds. From the way he was lazily using an extended pointer finger to draw in the air, that appeared to be what Roger was doing.

“Well met, Roger!” The Exarch called out as he approached the young man. “How goes the sky watching?” 

Roger blinked several times before sitting up and looking in the Exarch’s direction. It took him a moment or two longer to process the question. “Oh! It’s fine. Sky looks...clear, here.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Just don’t ask me about other parts of Norvrandt. I dunno how the watchers manage to know…”

“‘Tis a trade secret I also have yet to glean.” The Exarch stopped walking when he came within comfortable hearing range, but did not make to stand or sit next to Roger. He refused to do so unless invited, particularly after...well, the reveal of his true identity.

“Oof, then I guess it’s gonna have to stay a mystery.” 

The two lapsed into silence. Despite being the one who was standing, the Exarch felt as if he were small under the scrutinizing gaze of one of the Warriors of Darkness. Or, well, Light as he once knew them. He briefly wondered if the two would adopt the new moniker on the Source when the thought was broken by a sigh from Roger. 

“You’re allowed to sit down next to me, G’raha. We’re still friends, you know.”

The Exarch’s ears perked up at the use of his true name. Even after having it known to the Scions, the use of it, particularly by either Lara or Roger had yet to fade in significance. That he was being reassured of friendship in the same statement also contributed to his upward mood shift. He took the invitation and sat himself down so that he was looking directly at Roger.

“I’m...glad to hear it. You have my thanks and yet another apology for my deception.” There would never be enough apologies for the well intentioned but failed plan of his to save his friends. Nor would there be enough apologies for the series of events that took place because of his actions. It was the best he could do while working on his actual apology gift of sending the Scions back to the Source. 

Roger rolled his eyes, which surprised the Exarch. “You really don’t need to keep apologizing. Sure I wish you would’ve told us who you were earlier, and it’s not like Lara and I were thrilled about finding that out on top of...everything else that was going on at the time…” He gained a faraway look as he trailed off.

Responding to his emotions far faster than his face ever did (one of the main reasons why the hood he wore over most of his face was necessary to his initial plan), the Exarch’s ears flattened against his head in shame. He also looked away from the younger man’s gaze.

Roger shook himself out of his state and continued, “Your plan was stupidly suicidal for how long you had to refine it, but you promised to do everything you can to live from now on and we both forgave you already.” He paused a moment before grinning awkwardly and scratching at the side of his face. “It’d be kinda stupid if we held a grudge about that anyway. Lara and I do a ton of stupidly suicidal things. Some of them we even plan out in advance.” He gave his final sentence a dramatic gravitas and the Exarch could feel himself smiling a half second after his ears had returned to their more neutral state.

“A cautionary tale against such plans indeed. I’ll endeavor to keep it to heart.” He looked around the lawn before settling his gaze back on Roger. “Speaking of your sister, where is she? I’d heard that you both had returned to the Crystarium but I only see you.”

The good cheer that Roger had been showing deflated at the question. “Lara’s...we did the mission and usually violence against things trying to kill us helps her feel better, but she’s still very upset about the Elidibus thing. She needed some time to herself, so I let her have the room for a bit.”

The Exarch nodded. “She and Ardbert were quite close, from what you’ve said. I can’t imagine what she must be going through right now.” 

Roger put a hand to his chest as he nodded in kind. “Close is a way of describing it, yeah. She really wants to tear Elidibus apart for just that. I’m...” He hesitated. 

“Conflicted?” The Exarch filled in.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m angry too. Just because I didn’t ever get to see or hear him doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know him so it hurt when we figured out it wasn’t really Ardbert. But. I’m also kind of...sad for Elidibus? Like, I feel like I might do something big and mean to the people that killed all of my friends, y’know?” 

The two were quiet for a moment.

“I think I do understand.” The Exarch said after a moment. “You’re trying to empathize with him.”

Roger shrugged and looked away. “I guess? It sounds stupid, though. We haven’t gotten anyone on the Ascians’ side to listen to us once.”

In the melancholy lull that was left by the Warrior of Darkness, the Exarch couldn’t help but chuff. “Another addition to your list of bad plans, I see.” 

The younger man blinked at him for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, it is!”

The two chuckled together until the laughter died down again. Instead of letting silence take over, the Exarch took initiative to say, “I actually had a couple of motives other than a need to apologise again.”

“Oh?”

“I wished to thank you and Lara for everything you’ve done.” The Exarch gave a gentle smile to Roger. “I’ve truly been blessed since the day I met you two.”

“What, even after everything??” Roger got to his knees in order to lean closer to the Exarch. “Doga and Unei, the long sleep, the time travel, the sin eaters, Emet-Selch...really?”

“Yes, really.” The Exarch put his living hand on Roger’s shoulder, as much reassurance for his friend as it was for himself. “While I have indeed made many mistakes in the process, I am still quite glad that I was able to save you and Lara both. I was able to discover my destiny, and in turn was able to save you. Whatever the future holds for any of us on the Source, I will be thrilled to join you two in what’s to come.”

Roger’s expression was far more serious than it normally was when he put his own hand on the Exarch’s shoulder. “You better make that a promise. You will live to see the Source again, G’raha Tia, and you will go on adventures with us.” 

Tears started to form in the corners of G’raha Tia’s eyes as he fiercely nodded. “This I swear by all that I am.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it.” Roger’s expression then softened a little. “What was the other motive for coming here?”

“Oh, er,” He sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his living hand. “Beq Lugg insisted I leave the tower for a mental break, so I took a walk around the Crystarium.”

There was barely a second’s pause before Roger snorted into a laugh.

“I know, it’s ridiculous…” 

“Not just that!” The hand that had been on G’raha’s shoulder came to Roger’s mouth, as if to try to contain the mirth spilling out of it. “They made you take a break like Rammbroes did when you hit that wall in your research!”

The familiar feeling from earlier in the day came back in full force as the memory unfolded before him. He’d almost forgotten that moment in his first adventure with Lara and Roger. “And...Lara made candies for the camp, to keep up our spirits. Honey drops she called them, or something similar.”

“Yeah, that’s it! I should ask if she can make more sometime, or teach me how.”

With that memory also came a memory of what had happened when Roger had consumed too many of the candies. “You’d never sleep again if she taught you.”

“It would be worth it! Honey’s the best!” 

“While I don’t deny that, too many candies will…”

The two had chatted a little longer before G’raha finally made his way back towards the tower. He felt more invigorated than he had been in ages. It was a moment that he planned to cherish forever. A moment that would have been denied to him had he gone through with his initial plan. Bolstered by the idea of fostering more moments like the one he just experienced, he stepped into the Crystal Tower with his head held high.

An idea had finally started to take root in his mind. With any luck, it would be the key to everything.

[therealmadblonde]

October 31

And so the day arrived, cloudy, and with a small wind out of the north. I told myself that I was not nervous, that as an old hand at this there were no jitters of anticipation, rushes of anxiety, waves of pure fear. But I had gone down to the basement to begin my rounds when I realized that there were no rounds to make, and I found myself returning to check our assembly of ingredients and tools over and over again.

Finally, I went out and visited Larry’s place. He was gone from his grove and the house seemed empty.

I went looking for Graymalk, and when we met we took a walk together.

We hiked for a long time in silence before she said, “You and Jack will be the only closers there.”

“It looks that way,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Jill and I will be going to a meeting at the vicarage this afternoon. Morris and MacCab will be there, too.”

“Oh? Strategy session?”

“I guess so.”

We climbed to Dog’s Nest and looked around. An altarlike raised area of boulders had been built up before the big stone. Heavy boards lay across it. Some kindling for the banefire was already stacked, farther off.

“Right there,” she said.

“Yes.”

“We’re going to protest the sacrifice part.”

“Good.”

“You think Larry will be able to do what he plans?”

“I don’t know.”

We climbed down a different way than we’d gone up, discovering some fresh misshapen footprints. “I wonder what’ll become of the big fellow now,” she said. “I feel sorry for him. That night he picked me up he didn’t mean to hurt me, I could tell.”

“Another lost one,” I said.

“Yes, sad.”

We walked again in silence, then, “I want to stand near you in the arc,” she said. “I believe the vicar will be at the left end, with Morris and MacCab next to him, Tekela and Nightwind with them, then Jill. I will stand to her right. I will assume a position three paces forward. That would put you and Jack beside us.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve been working for this arrangement. You must be to my right and slightly back— that is, to Jack’s left.”

“Why?”

“Because something bad may happen if you stand to his right.”

“How do you know this?”

“My small wisdom.”

I thought about it. The old cat in the Dreamworld was obviously on her side, and she was an opener. Therefore, he could be setting me up for something. However, his remarks concerning the Elders had almost seemed disparaging, and he had seemed kindly disposed toward me. Reason stopped here. I knew that I had to trust my feelings.

“I’ll do it.”

When we neared our area, I said, “I’m going to walk over again to see whether Larry’s back. Want to come with?”

“No. That meeting…”

“All right. Well — It’s — been good.”

“Yes. I never knew a dog this well before.”

“Same with cats and me. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yes.”

She headed home.

I searched all around Larry’s place again, but there was no sign of his return. On my way home, I heard my name hissed from a clump of weeds.

“Snuff, old boy. Good to see you. I was on my way over. Saved me a trip…”

“Quicklime! What have you been up to?”

“Hanging out in that orchard, eating the hard stuff,” he said. “Just stopped by for a quick one, on the way over.”

“Why were you coming to see me?”

“Learned something. Wanted you to know.”

“What?” I asked.

“I picked up a bad habit from Rastov, I guess. Look at me. I feel like I’m shedding my skin.”

“You’re not.”

“I know. But I really liked him. When I left you, I headed for the orchard and just started eating the old, fermented ones. It was — snug — with him. I felt like somebody needed me. The fruit’s almost gone now. I’ll come around. I’ll be all right. But I’ll miss him. He was a good man. The vicar got him — that’s what Nightwind told me. Wanted to narrow the field. That’s why the Count disposed of Owen — to send the vicar a message. You’ll get the vicar, won’t you?”

“Quick, I think you’ve had too much. Owen was killed after the Count was staked.”

“Clever, isn’t he? That’s what I was coming to tell you about. He fooled us. He’s still around.”

“What? How?”

“When I reached the peak of my indulgence the other night,” he replied, “I suddenly felt terribly lonely. I didn’t want to be alone, so I went looking for someone, something— lights, movement, sounds. I went over to the Gipsy camp, which was perfect. I curled up beneath a wagon, planning to spend the night there and sleep it off. But I overheard parts of a conversation from the wagon which led me to make my way up between its floorboards. I had chosen the wagon, and a pair of guards were in it. Sometimes they’d speak in their own tongue, sometimes in English — the younger one wanted the practice. I spent the night in there instead of below. But I learned the story. I even found an opening that gave me a view of the casket.”

“He’s with the Gipsies?”

“Yes. They guard him by day as he sleeps, guard the casket at night when he’s away.”

“So he’d faked it,” I said. “Dressed the skeleton we’d found in his garments, put the stake into it himself.”

“Yes, the crumbly skeleton that was already there.”

“…And that’s why the ring wasn’t on it.”

“Yes, and he was safe in that, too. Anybody finding the remains would assume that the staker had taken it.”

I felt a chill.

“Quick, he did make this arrangement after the death of the moon, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Your calculations would be unaffected.”

“Good. But this I don’t understand — the Count killed Owen because the vicar killed Rastov. Owen was an opener. Does that reflect a particular sympathy on the part of the Count? Or was he simply out to check the vicar and keep the violence from spreading?”

“I don’t know. Nothing was said on the matter.” I growled softly.

“This is a complicated one,” I said.

“Agreed. Now you know everything I do.”

“Thanks. Want to come with me?”

“No. I’m really out of the Game. Good luck.”

“’Luck, Quick.”

I heard him slither off.

It rained a little that afternoon, and stopped shortly after sunset. I went outside to look for the moon, and Bubo came with me. The clouds still veiled her, however, and all we could see was the big area of brightness she shed in the east. The wind blew chill.

“So this is it,” Bubo said. “By morning it will all be decided.”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could have been playing all along.”

“A wish on the moon,” I said. “It may be true. You have been playing, in a way. You’ve traded information, you’ve watched things develop, same as the rest of us.”

“Yes, but I didn’t really do important things like the rest of you.”

“It’s mainly the little things — all added up — that give us the final picture, that make the difference.”

“I suppose so,” he said. “Yes, it was fun. Do you think — Could I possibly come with? I’d like to see it happen, however it goes.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We couldn’t be responsible for a civilian, too. I think it’s going to be a rough one.”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’d guessed you’d say that, but I had to ask.”

I left him there after a time, watching the sky. The moon was still hidden. And so…

We left before midnight, of course, Jack and I, he in a warm coat and carrying a satchel containing the equipment. Under his other arm, he bore a few small logs for the fire. We left without bothering to lock the door.

The sky was beginning to clear overhead, though the moon was still masked. There was sufficient light just from its glow-through, however, to show our way clearly. There was a chill, damp breeze at our backs.

Soon, Dog’s Nest was before us, and Jack decided we should circle it and mount its eastern slope.

We did that, and as we came in sight of the top a small glow was already apparent off in the circle toward the stone with the inscription. Moving nearer, we saw that Vicar Roberts and Morris and MacCab were tending a small fire they had obviously just gotten going, nursing it to achieve greater compass. The vicar’s ear was unbandaged now, and light showed through two high perforations in it. The heap of kindling was much larger than when Graymalk and I had been by earlier.

The banefire is a necessary part of our business. It goes all the way back into the misty vastness of our practices. Both sides require it, so in this sense it is a neutral instrument. After midnight, it comes to burn in more than one world, and we may add to it those things which enhance our personal strengths and serve our ends. It attracts otherworldly beings sympathetic to both sides, as well as neutral spirits who may be swayed by the course of the action. Voices and sights may pass through it, and it serves as a secondary, supportive point of manifestation to whatever the opening or closing object may be.

Customarily, we all bring something to feed it, and it interacts with all of us throughout the ritual. I had urinated on one of our sticks, for example, several days earlier. There are times when players have been attacked by its flames; and I can recall an instance when one was defended by a sudden wall of fire it issued. It is also good for disposing of evidence. It comes in handy on particularly cold nights, too.

“Good evening,” Jack said as we approached, and he added his contribution to the woodpile.

“Good evening, Jack,” the vicar said, and Morris and MacCab nodded.

Lynette lay on her back upon the altar, head turned in our direction, eyes closed, breathing slow. Well drugged, of course. She had on a long white garment, and her dark hair hung loose. I looked away. Obviously, the protest had been overridden. I sniffed the air. No sign of Jill or Graymalk yet.

The fire bloomed more brightly. Jack set his bag down and moved to help with it. I decided on a quick patrol of the area, and I made a big circuit. There was nothing unusual to be found. I went and stared at the huge stone. Just then the edge of the moon appeared from behind the clouds. Its light fell upon it. The markings had become visible again — dark, upon the illuminated surface. I went and sat by Jack’s satchel. The vicar had on a dark cloak which made a swishing sound as he moved. It did not conceal the fact that he was a short, slightly fat man, and it neither added to nor detracted from his appearance of menace. That was all in his face, with its intense expression of controlled mania. The moon was doubled in his glasses.

Under their joint ministrations the banefire grew to a respectable size. The vicar was the first to toss something into it, a small parcel which crackled and flared bluely. I took a sniff. It involved herbs I’d encountered before. Morris added two parcels, which I could tell involved bones. Jack added a very small one which produced a green flash. I tossed in one of my own, along with the pissed-on stick. The moon slid completely free of the clouds.

The vicar went and stared at the inscription, not even glancing at his stepdaughter. Then he backed away, turned to his left, took several paces, halted, turned back toward the stone. He adjusted his position slightly, then scuffed at the ground with his bootheel.

“I will position myself here,” he stated, glancing at Jack.

“I have no objection,” Jack said. “Your associates will be to your right, I presume?”

“That was what I had in mind. Morris here, MacCab to his right, then Jill,” he said, gesturing.

Jack nodded, just as a dark shape swept past the face of the moon. Moments later, Nightwind dropped out of the sky, coming to rest atop the woodpile.

“Hello, Snuff,” he observed. “Care to switch?”

“No, thanks. Yourself?”

He did one of those unusual rotations of his head.

“I think not, especially when we outnumber you in all respects.”

Shortly, Tekela swept in with a caw, landing upon the vicar’s left shoulder.

“Greetings, Nightwind,” she said.

“A good Game to you, sister.”

She looked at me and looked away. She said nothing. Neither did I. Everyone added more kindling and more ingredients to the fire. Finally, a pair of fairly large logs were set upon it. Many-colored flames played about them, and soon the logs darkened and the fires danced upon their surfaces. A mixture of odors reached me as powders, bones, herbs, fleshy samples of anatomy — both human and other — were added. A few vials of liquid were also dumped upon it, to smolder and produce heavy, crawling ropes of smoke, to flare brightly, briefly. Within the crackling, I seemed to hear a subliminal whispering begin.

I heard Jill’s footsteps mounting the northern slope long before she appeared. When she did she was hard to distinguish against the night for several moments, as she had on a hooded black cloak over a long black dress. She looked taller, more slim; and she carried Graymalk, though she set her down immediately when she achieved the level area.

“Good evening,” she said, in general. All four men responded.

“Hi, Snuff,” Graymalk said, coming up beside me. “It’s a good fire already.”

“Yes.”

“As you can see…”

“You were overridden.”

“Did you find Larry?”

“No.”

“Oh my.”

“There is a backup plan,” I said, and Nightwind came by just then, to greet Graymalk.

I felt a strong desire to howl at the moon. It was such a howlable moon. But I restrained myself.

The smell of incense reached me. Jill had just begun casting parcels into the banefire. The moon moved nearer to midheaven.

“How will we know when it is time to begin?” Graymalk asked me.

“When we can talk with the people.”

“Of course.”

“How’s your back?”

“It’s all right now. You look fit.”

“I’m fine.”

We watched the fire for a time. Another log was added, and more packets. The smells became a sweetly seductive bouquet. The flames leaped higher now, changing colors regularly, flickering in the wind. Sharp, tinkling musical sounds came sporadically from their midst, and the sounds of voices rose into and out of audibility. Looking away from it, my gaze was attracted by a new light source. The inscription was beginning to glow. Overhead, the moon had reached midheaven.

“Jack, can you hear me?” I called.

“Loud and clear, Snuff. Well-met by moonlight. What’s on your mind?”

“Just checking the time,” I said.

Suddenly Nightwind was talking to Morris and MacCab, Tekela to the vicar.

“I guess it’s time,” Graymalk said, “to take our places.”

“It is,” I replied.

She went off to collect Jill, who was tossing a final packet into the fire. The air was distorted above its colored flames now, as if it were burning in more than one place simultaneously, and in the shimmering area just about it one could catch glimpses of some of those other places. From somewhere to the north, I heard the howl of a wolf.

The vicar went and stood at the spot he had indicated. Morris and MacCab moved to take up their positions to his right; Nightwind stood atop a rock between them. Then Jill moved to stand beside MacCab, Graymalk next to her but three cat-paces forward. I went and stood near her, Jack to my right. The line was bowed, out away from the big stone, with Jack and the vicar across from each other. Lynette dozed on the altar about ten feet in front of me.

From somewhere within his cloak, the vicar removed the pentacle bowl, which he placed on the ground before him. Then he withdrew the Alhazred Icon, which he propped against a rock to his left, facing the glowing stone. Nightwind moved to a new position, back behind the pentacle. The openers always begin things, as the closers’ work is purely reactive.

Jack’s satchel, to his right, was already open, from the removal of various ingredients for the banefire, but he leaned and spread its mouth fully, for easy access.

MacCab knelt and spread a piece of white cloth upon the ground before him. As it was windy, he weighted its corners with small stones. Then, from an ornate sheath which hung from his belt beneath his jacket, he drew a long, thin blade which looked to me like a sacrificial knife, and he placed this upon the cloth, point toward the altar.

Then the moon went out. We all looked upward as a dark shape covered it, descending, rushing toward us. Morris shrieked shrilly as it fell, changing shape as if dark veils swam about it. And then the moon shone again, and the piece of midnight sky which had fallen came to earth beside Jack, and I saw that vision-twisting transformation of which Graymalk had spoken — here, there, a twist, a swirl, a dark bending — and the Count stood at Jack’s side, smiling a totally evil smile. He laid his left hand — the dark ring visible upon it — upon Jack’s right shoulder.

“I stand with him,” he said, “to close you out.” Vicar Roberts stared at him and licked his lips.

“I would think one of your sort more inclined to our view in this matter,” the vicar stated.

“I like the world just the way it is,” said the Count. “Pray, let us begin.” The vicar nodded.

“We shall,” he said, “to its proper conclusion, with the Gate thrown wide.”

The Count tossed a twig and a small parcel into the flames. The fire moved in its colorful dance, crackling and chiming, burning a hole in the night, through which the voices — now chanting — emerged. Shadows constantly moved past us, over the altar, and across the face of the stone. I heard the howl again, much nearer.

I looked at the vicar and saw him flinch. But he straightened and performed an opening gesture. He spoke a word of power, deeply, slowly. It hung in the air and resonated afterwards.

The inscription on the stone began to glow a little more brightly, and now — very faintly — I could discern the formation of the door-like rectangle come to frame it, that configuration which earlier had sucked Graymalk and me through to our Dreamworld adventure.

The vicar repeated the word and the rectangle came clear.

Within the chanting, I could now hear faintly “Iä! Shub-Niggurath!” being repeated, as if in response. Ahead of me, Graymalk had risen to her feet and was standing very stiffly.

The vicar turned then, rather than proceeding to the next phase, and moved slowly to the cloth on which the sacrificial blade rested. To his rear, I noted that the Alhazred Icon had also begun to glow. He knelt and raised the blade with both hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Then he rose and turned toward the altar, Tekela still upon his shoulder.

And there came a movement from my right, beyond Jack and the Count. Another dark shape was moving to join us.

The vicar had taken but a single step ahead when a great, gray wolf moved into the firelight and rushed past him toward the altar. Larry Talbot had arrived, apparently in reasonable control of his faculties.

He seized hold of the girl’s left shoulder with his teeth and dragged her down from the altar. With that rapid backing motion I had seen him employ before, he dragged her quickly before us toward the north, whence he had come, to my right.

The report of a gunshot filled the air and Larry staggered, a dark blot appearing and spreading high upon his left shoulder. The vicar held a smoking revolver, pointed in his direction. Larry continued moving almost immediately, however, and the vicar fired again.

This time there was blood on the top of Larry’s head, and he uttered a moaning sound as his jaws fell open and Lynette dropped to the ground. Larry slumped forward then, and the shiftings of firelight and shadow swam over him. The chanting continued — “Iä!

Shub-Niggurath!” — against the strange music. The vicar pulled the trigger again. There followed a clicking sound from the pistol, but no discharge. Immediately, he drew it near and worked the hammer. Suddenly, as he released it, there was a sharp report and the round kicked up dirt near the south end of the altar. The vicar hurled the weapon to the ground, perhaps having cast only three rounds. Homemade bullets…

“Get her back onto the altar!” the vicar ordered. Morris and MacCab immediately departed their positions and moved toward the supine girl. Larry’s sides were still heaving heavily, and his eyes were closed. There was a lot more blood, on his head, neck, shoulder, now.

“Stop!” the Count said. “Players are forbidden to move a sacrifice once the ceremony is in progress!”

The vicar stared at him. Morris and MacCab halted, looked back and forth from the vicar to the Count.

“I never heard of such a restriction,” the vicar said.

“It is a part of the tradition,” Jack stated. “There must always be a small — even if only symbolic — exit open to a sacrifice in this. They may go as far as they can. They may be stopped. The place where they fall becomes the new altar. Do otherwise and you destroy the pattern we have created. The results could be disastrous.”

The vicar pondered for a moment, then said, “I don’t believe you. You’re outnumbered. It’s a closer’s bluff, to make things more awkward for me. Morris! MacCab! Put her back!”

The Count stepped forward as they advanced.

“In a case such as this,” he said, “the opposing parties are permitted to resist the desecration.”

I heard heavy, clumping footsteps in the distance, but they seemed to be passing the hill rather than approaching it.

Morris and MacCab had hesitated but then they moved forward, reaching for Lynette.

The Count flowed forward. No single limb seemed to stir, but suddenly he was there beside them. Then he raised his arms, out to the sides, his cloak dependent therefrom; and he moved them forward, completely engulfing the men within its folds. He stood thus for only an instant, arms across his chest, before a succession of snapping sounds could be heard.

He opened his arms and they fell to the earth, to lie at odd angles, blood emerging from their ears, noses, and mouths. Their eyes were wide. They did not breathe.

“You dare?” the vicar cried. “You dare to touch my people?”

The Count turned his head slowly, raising his arms again.

“You presume,” he said, “to address me so.”

He flowed toward the vicar, but much more slowly. The music came clearer and clearer, the chanting louder, the inscription brighter. And as he moved, I beheld a silent form in the shadows to my right, whose presence had first reached me in the form of his scent, which I recognized from an encounter in a wood by moonlight. He approached soundlessly, the stranger wolf.

The vicar’s hand snaked out from beneath his cloak, casting something toward the Count. Immediately, the flowing ceased and the Count stiffened. In the meantime, shielded from the vicar’s view by the Count’s body, the stranger wolf entered the firelight, took hold of Lynette’s shoulder and continued what Larry had begun, dragging her back into the darkness.

The Count was suddenly less than graceful. He swayed. He took an awkward step toward the vicar, whose hand dipped beneath his own cloak to emerge and repeat whatever he had done.

“What — is it?” the Count asked, reeling toward the vicar, who retreated before him. Then the Count fell.

“Dirt from one of your own caskets,” the vicar replied, “mixed with pieces of my church’s altar stone relic, left over from more papish times. Fingerbone of St. Hilarian, according to the records. You require your consecrated soil, but overconsecration is like the difference between a therapeutic and a debilitating dose of strychnine. Do you not agree?”

The Count muttered a reply in a foreign language, as the wolf disappeared with Lynette; and I realized that, from all his talks with Larry, plus his knowledge of drugs, and the samples he had obtained, he had succeeded several days ago in developing his own ideal dosage, and I had just witnessed the Great Detective’s greatest disguise yet. I howled a “Well done!” into the night. Later, a “Good luck!” came back to me.

The inscription glowed brilliantly now. Whether the deaths of Morris and MacCab had contributed to this was hard to tell. The vicar looked up and saw that Lynette was gone. He glared at Jill.

“You should have told me,” he said.

“I didn’t notice till now,” she replied.

“Neither did I,” said Nightwind.

The vicar picked up the sacrificial knife which he had dropped, moved back to his position, and drove the blade into the ground at his feet.

He straightened then, repeated the word of power, and said another. Immediately, his face became the snouted, tusked visage of a boar with a shredded ear. This lasted for perhaps a minute before Larry’s eyes opened. He turned his head, saw that Lynette was gone, looked immediately to the altar, saw she was not there either. He tried to rise, failed. I wondered how serious his condition was. True, there was a lot of blood, but head wounds are often that way. Even a silver bullet still has to hit something major.

Larry tried to crawl forward, succeeded in moving perhaps half a foot, paused, and panted.

The vicar spoke another word. Graymalk was suddenly striped like a small tiger. This, too, passed quickly. Tekela was starting to look like a vulture. Suddenly, Jill was an ancient hag, bent far forward, hooked nose almost touching her jutting chin, strands of white hair hanging about her face. I glanced at Jack and saw that he suddenly wore the shaggy head of a great brown bear, yellow eyes staring forward, saliva running from the corners of his mouth. Looking downward, I saw that my fur was blood-red and moist; and I felt as if horns jutted from my brow. I had no idea what I might resemble, but Graymalk drew back in alarm. The boar spoke again, and the word rang like a bell in the chill air. The Count was suddenly a skeleton wrapped in black. Something unseen  passed high overhead, laughing like a demented child. Pale mushrooms sprang up all about us, and a shifting of breezes brought me sulfurous scents from the fire. A green liquid flowed outward from that blaze, spreading in bubbling streams. The chanting now seemed to contain all of our names. MacCab had become a woman whose painted face began to peel off in long strips. Beside him, Morris was now an ape, his long hairy arms reaching to the ground, and he leaned to rest upon his knuckles. His mouth was opened wide, showing an enormous expanse of teeth and gums. Larry was now a bleeding man sprawled upon the ground. The air before us shimmered and became a mirror, giving this entire prospect back to us. Then our reflected heads detached themselves and drifted leftwards. It was a strange feeling, passing out of one and into another, for I seemed unmoved, though I felt the sudden weight of the bear-head, saw the hog’s drift by to settle upon Jack’s shoulders. Graymalk suddenly wore an overlarge one, horned, demonic; Jill, a small striped cat’s head — and so on along our crescent. Then the bodies shifted to the right, and I was a cat with a bear’s head, lying flat because of its weight, my heart thudding like a steam engine. Jack had become a boar-headed demon. Again, the laughter rang from overhead. If I were not my body or my head, what was I — sprawled there amid the mushrooms and the stench, another wave of chanting rolling in my ears? Illusion, it must all be illusion, mustn’t it? I never knew before and I still didn’t know. The mushrooms blackened, shriveled, and fell when the hot green flow reached them. Our images in the mirror wavered, became splashes of our dominant colors, flowed together. I looked downward again, but everything was hazy. Upward then, at some half-noted change. The moon had gone blood-red and was dripping upon us. A shooting star cut past it. Another. Another. Soon multitudes of them rained down the heavens. The mirror cracked, and Jack and I stood alone at our end, our forms returned to us, as a great gust of wind out of the north blew away the haze. The others came clear, also, restored, in their piece of reflection. The starfall lessened. The moon grew pink, then turned back to butter and ivory. I sighed and held my place, felt Graymalk’s gaze pass over me. The green tendrils from the fire began to congeal, lavalike. For a moment, I seemed to hear a collection of animal sounds from within the flames — baas, nickers, whinnies, whimpers, a sharp barking, several varieties of howling, the coughing of a giant cat, a croaking, a mewling cry. There followed a stillness, save for the fire’s own cracking and snapping.

I felt a familiar tingling in the air. The time had come for the opening. I glanced at Jack and could tell that he felt it, too.

Larry dragged himself another foot forward.

I was looking at the vicar as he spoke the final word. I saw the Count’s left hand twitch. But apparently the vicar did, too, and he stooped and raised the pentacle. Something dark fled forth from the Count’s ring, but the vicar caught it in the pentacle bowl and it was reflected off into the night. It was probably too late for killing the man, anyway, for the opening was definitely beginning. The vicar stooped again, raised the icon, and placed it upon the Count’s chest. The ring did not flare again. All in all, as I regarded both Larry and the Count, I was forced to a sort of grudging respect for the fellow. He was much better at his business than I’d have guessed.

“Jill,” he called out, “use the wand now.”

Jill reached inside her cloak, produced the wand, raised it. Oddly, the growing brightness of the stone halted for a moment. Jack had his wand out in an instant, raising it and training it upon the same target. I heard the heavy footsteps again, this time approaching us. The rectangle began to brighten once more, and a great depth occurred within it, swimming with colored lights. The cries from the banefire grew louder and louder: “Iä! Shub-Niggurath! Hail to the Black Goat!” The music also increased in intensity, and the moon blazed like a beacon overhead. Larry began dragging himself farther along. The experiment man came into view off to the right, heading toward us. I glanced at Jack. Beads of perspiration had formed upon his brow. I could tell that he was pouring his will and spirit into the wand, but the opening continued. The experiment man lumbered up to us.

“Pret-ty kit-ty,” he said, pausing in front of Jack, which might have killed anyone else, but he already smelled of death and seemed aware of nothing untoward.

Suddenly, the opening was arrested, the Gateway lost some of its depth. The experiment man stooped and quickly snatched up Graymalk.

“Pret-ty kit-ty,” he repeated. Then he turned and walked away in the direction whence he had come.

“Put me down!” she cried. “I can’t leave now!”

He sat down just beyond the firelight and commenced petting her.

Larry continued his crawl, steady now. Depth returned to the Gateway. I thought I saw a tentacle stir within it. Then something large and amorphous seemed to be drifting our way.

“This isn’t working well,” I heard a small voice say. I sought its source.

Bubo’s head had emerged from the left side pocket of Jack’s coat.

“Bubo, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I had to see it,” he said, “to learn whether what I’d done was right. I’m not too sure now.”

Yes, it was a tentacle, extended from the dark, approaching mass, reaching for the Gateway…

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m a pack rat,” he said. “I thought you were outnumbered and outgunned, and I wanted your side to win. So I did the only thing I know how — ”

“What?” I asked, already beginning to guess.

The dark mass was much nearer, and I smelled a deep reptilian musk. The experiment man had put down Graymalk and risen. He was approaching us again. Larry had moved much farther to my left. A tentacle emerged from the Gateway, groped about, located Morris’s right foot, wrapped about it, dragged him back inside. A moment later, it returned for MacCab. Slurping sounds followed.

“I fixed it so they’d defeat themselves after they’d disposed of you,” Bubo said.

“How?”

There were great masses of tentacles now, all of them writhing toward the Gateway.

“I sneaked about last night,” Bubo said, “and I switched the wands.”

I seemed to hear the odd sounds of a cat’s laughter. It’s so hard to tell when they’re smiling. The old cat hadn’t been telling me to fetch a stick…

Carpe baculum: Seize the wand.

I sprang into the air, catching it in my teeth, twisting it out of Jack’s grip. I could see the astonished expression on his face as I did so.

A terrible wind began to blow past us. I heard the vicar cry “No!” Tekela sprang up from his shoulders, wings beating.

Turning my head, I saw that the Gateway was closing.

There followed a roar Growler would have been proud of as Larry leaped at the vicar. They rolled upon the ground, passing right over the Count, knocking the icon from his breast. Then the mighty wind caught them and they were carried toward the closing Gateway and on through it. Jill looked puzzled as she continued to wield the closing wand, hair and cloak streaming forward. Jack had braced himself. Then his arm moved, hand dipping into the satchel and out, emerging quickly, casting the wine bottle of slitherers into the Gateway, to gunk it up. He grinned at me. “Any port in a storm,” he observed. I felt the wind pushing me forward. Nightwind was trying to get behind a rock.

Then the experiment man came up and halted before us and the pressure was suddenly eased.

“The — Count?” he asked. Had Graymalk sent him after our ally?

“The man on the ground!” I replied. “Take him away!”

He continued past us, swaying but holding his own against the wind. He stooped and caught hold of the supine figure, raised it in his arms. I glanced at the Gateway. It had already grown somewhat darker. The fire, scattered, flamed at a dozen small points, glowed from as many more. A few of these faded and winked out as I watched.

Jill stared at the wand that she held, and I could read the realization coming into her expression.

I heard Graymalk’s voice from the shadows:

“Come on!” she called. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Bubo had already ducked back out of sight into Jack’s pocket as we moved to take her advice.

A single note, as of a crushed crystal goblet, filled the air. The stone was blank again. Abruptly, the wind ceased. The voices had already died away.

We made our way northward toward the slope. Overhead, the moon seemed enormous.

“Let’s go!” Graymalk urged, as we came up beside her. And she was right. The hilltop would remain dangerous till dawn.

I turned and looked back in time to see the experiment man start down the southern slope, carrying the Count.

“Hi, cat,” I said. “I’ll buy you that drink yet.”

“Hi, dog,” she said. “I think I’ll let you.”

Jack and Jill went down the hill. Gray and I ran after.

[skvaderarts]

Chapter Fourteen: Consternation

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Chapter Fourteen: Consternation

Note: I wanted to thank you all again for your support. Seeing each and every one of you come back every week to read my writing makes me smile every time I think about it. It’s the best feeling in the world to know that you’ve created something that appeals to others as much as it appeals to you. Thank you all again.

-~-

The ground rumbled, sending a booming wave of vibration reverberating through the entirety of the first two floors of the castle like thunder shaking a monumental skyscraper. As the doors groaned loudly, protesting their separation, air hissed through from the other side of the door as if an airlock had been opened. It had been an exceedingly long time since anyone had come here, and the bitter cold had practically sealed the place shut. As the door pried itself open, it suddenly came to a stop, leaving just enough space for them to slide through. In a way, it was almost as if the castle had realized that it was being entered and had made an effort to stop its intruders.

Nero considered the risks of stepping through for a moment, still determined to find a way inside. He glanced up at the towering structure that stood before him. There were windows and balconies everywhere he looked, but they’d have to scale several sheer walls to reach them, and that was debatably just as bad of an idea as trying their luck with the front door. The castle had always seemed to possess a strange sort of sentience, doors locking and unlocking with a frightening level of autonomy. And that was to say nothing about the ridiculous amount of wards and spells safeguarding the damn place that were still active. There was no guarantee that it wouldn’t close the doors on them while they were in the process of going through them.

While Nero contemplated the risks associated with either decision, something occurred to him. Most of his life, he could’ve been charitably described as reckless. In high-risk situations that were more likely to end in death than victory, he was normally the first to waltz in, insults and swagger at the ready. But since losing Credo a few years back and more recently his arm (which had thankfully regrown) he had actually started to take the time to consider the risks involved before he enacted one of his plans. At least on occasion. There was no denying the fact that when he chose to do something, it had an effect on the people he was closest to, even if they were not present. If he didn’t come back, they would be worse for it, especially Kyrie and the kids. And in this case, he had agreed to bring V to one of the most fickle and dangerous places possible with only him for protection. Magnolia has said that his abilities would slowly return in the coming days and weeks, but the important thing to note was that they were still dormant as of now. What would V do if he was backed into a corner or they became separated? Nero didn’t really want to think about it. When had V’s fatalistic personality rubbed off on him?

The younger of the two stopped for a moment, trying to rid himself of the possibility of failure. If he went in with that sort of toxic mindset, he was doomed to fail. It was as simple as that. And he utterly refused to allow any harm to come to V. It didn't take a mental giant to come to the conclusion that V didn't’ trust very easily, so the fact that they were here at all spoke volumes to the kind of faith V had placed in his abilities. It was borne partially out of necessity and desperation, but that was still significant. Neither of them were weak or stupid, and they both shared a similar issue with putting their lives in the hands of others, even if they trusted that individual implicitly. Nero had taken on a sort of silent promise the moment he had agreed to this, being that he was the only one present who was capable of defending himself. So long as they were within the walls of this castle, V was his responsibility. The thought made him shudder slightly. 

While he had defeated the very worst that this place had to offer (at least to his knowledge) he still didn’t care for the idea that V was essentially helpless. When they had been in Redgrave City together, V had been surprisingly self-sufficient for a person who walked with a cane. At first glance, the most dangerous thing about him was his wit; the second most intimidating thing being his height. V towered over an average person, even when slumped over on his cane. And despite the fact that he was perhaps the most physically vulnerable out of all of them, he had volunteered to stay behind for the month that Nero had spent away in an effort to find a way to become stronger, trying to hold back the tilde wave of demons that had sought to overtake the city and then the rest of the human world by extension. The fact that V had been capable of doing that with abilities he barely understood and summons that he had only recently acquired from what he could tell astonished him. They seemed to be relatively close in age, after all. Where had this stark contrast in their abilities come from? Were the older members of their bloodline simply born with a disposition towards higher amounts of power? Vergil had been a nightmare to take down, after all. Every fight with Urizen had been totally draining in every way conceivable. The possibility of an opponent stronger than Dante had been unfathomable, but his own twin had been happy to rise to the challenge. Nero couldn’t help but wonder just how strong V had the potential of being if he himself was anything to go by. Without his physical limitations, what was he capable of? Or was that a limitation at all? Just how evenly matched were they?

Nero spent a moment lost in his thoughts while V stood quietly next to him, The eldest of the two admiring the building before them. Yes… there was simply something to this place, wasn’t there? V inched forward, wishing now that he had Shadow at his disposal. He could make short, effortless work of this issue with her present. While he had gotten around just fine on his own two feet for years, the quick burst of speed that the demonic panther had provided never ceased being useful. A part of him wondered what his familiars were up to, despite the fact that he already knew they were no longer a part of this realm. Griffon and Shadow had been in a sorry state when he had decided to make a contract with them. The two of them couldn’t have survived very long without him to anchor them here. In a way, that was the beauty of the situation that they had found themselves in. Their entire union had been born of necessity and co-dependence. Any chance of treachery or falsehoods had evaporated the moment that they had attached their markings to his skin, for without his lifeforce, they would not be long for this world.

V shivered slightly, be it a result of the cold weather or his ever treacherous, thoughts he couldn’t say. He adjusted the coat Nero had allowed him to barrow slightly. It was comfortable and well insulated, especially in combination with the black shirt he was currently wearing underneath it. Somehow he always found himself in black clothing. How that happened, he didn’t know. Something about the color (or lack of color) just spoke to him. And that was to say nothing of the fact that it literally matched everything. After he fixed his clothing, he stepped towards the door, carefully assessing it. In theory, the structure shouldn’t shift as long as he didn’t touch it. There was more than enough room for them to pass through without that becoming an issue.

Nero watched V carefully slip through the gap between the doors, somewhat shocked to see him do so before him. He had figured that V would simply wait for him to come to a conclusion as to whether or not it was safe, but he hadn’t done so. But then again, Nero hadn’t been around to help him make all of his decisions his entire life. V was more than capable of coming to his own conclusions. Nero followed closely behind him, noting that he had made a point not to touch the doors. That made sense to him. Perhaps the door wouldn’t move if he just didn’t touch it?

After nearly snagging his coat on the door, Nero joined him inside of the great hall. While the younger man adjusted his coat, V made his way over to one of the displaced pews that sat up against the wall and sat down, clearly awestruck by the structure they stood within. It seemed that his former strength had yet to return to him. Exhaustion was a powerful force to try and fight against, but at least he wasn’t out of breath. Nero walked over and sat down next to him, casually assessing his situation. Just because he knew what was wrong with him didn’t mean that he didn’t care. 

“You good or do you want to wait a while?” Nero asked, his voice betraying the slight bit of worry that he couldn’t quite suppress.

V exhaled, craning his neck to look over at him. He seemed calm and collected, his condition apparently not adversely affecting him too much. “I simply needed to catch my breath,” he said as he stood up,” It would be wise if we started with the library. Do you know where it is from here?”

Nero stood up to join him and nodded, gesturing towards the large staircase at the far end of the room. The magic barriers that had once cordoned off practically everything in this place were gone for the moment, making traversal much simpler than it had been the first time he had been here. From what he could tell, they activated in response to threats or other unknown sources of stimuli, and with the nearby Hellgate in ruins, there wasn’t much to speak of. Not to mention the fact that if Sparda had in fact lived here and had been the one to place the barriers in the first place, they might simply allow them to traverse the grounds unobstructed. Or, at the very least, not immediately try to kill them.

As the duo made their way over towards the staircase, V couldn’t help but notice the condition of the room. Most of the pews were out of place, there were varying sizes of stone debris littering the ground, as well as what looked to be a ridiculously sized chandelier laying destroyed at the top of the stairs next to a large gaping hole in what looked to be a piece of art or something that had once been attached to the wall. He smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to assume this is your handiwork, Nero?” He said sarcastically, obviously already sure as to who had done this.

He made no effort to suppress the snicker slipped past his lips as he recalled the time he had mounted that gaudy thing and launched it through the painting of the former vicar. That sanctimonious bastard Sanctus (lol, just noticed the meaning of his name!) would have been so thoroughly pissed to know that he had destroyed it. Part of him hoped that he had discovered it before he’d sent him on a one way express trip to hell, but another part of him couldn’t care less about how Sanctus felt. That self-righteous prick had got what was coming to him for what he did to Credo and the rest of Fortuna.

“Yea, I did this a couple of years back. Cre-,” Nero stopped, realizing that he wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet,”... Someone I used to look up to sent me to track down Dante right after we first met and that’s how I found Agnus’s lab. What a shitshow that whole thing was…”

V noticed that Nero had stopped in the middle of saying something, but chose not to dwell on it. The younger man struck him as very genuine. V could only assume that if he didn’t want to talk about something (which he clearly didn’t) that there was a good reason for it. He himself had no small number of secrets and deeply repressed issues that he didn’t want to address. There was no room for him to judge others on their personal decisions when it came to these sorts of things. And besides, walking up the stairs without tripping and falling was enough for him to worry about at the moment.

Nero waited at the top of the stairs for him as he carefully made his way up. He wasn’t going slowly, but then again, he wasn’t going very quickly either. Should he be walking on a flat surface at the moment, this would be more of a stroll. But the height that the balcony sat at made this a rather lengthy staircase to navigate. Thankfully the slope was gentle and the stairs were wide. 

“We seem to have a gift for walking into disasters,” V said as he made his way up the stairs,” I’ve heard precious little about what transpired here a short while ago, but none of it sounded very pleasant. Quite the tragedy.”

Nero nodded in agreement, heading towards the door on the far right of the steps. That was an understatement. So many innocent lives had been lost that day. Although the people here had taken most of his life to warm up to him, most of them were very accommodating towards him, now that the Order had been exposed. And even if they hadn’t been, he couldn’t quite bring himself to despise them. No one deserved to die the way so many of them had during that attack. Well, at least no one he knew of currently. A few of the higher-ups in the Order of the Sword might be exceptions to that. Nico’s useless excuse for a father definitely landed on that list.

A thought occurred to him as he examined the door, remembering that it needed an external mechanism to unlock it that was located on a nearby wall. How would things have been different should they have both ended up in the same orphanage as children? Had V always been this frail? Nero knew so little about his life, and the more he thought about it, the more it surprised him just how out of the loop he was. He glanced back at V as he headed over to the lock. He could only imagine that V probably hated stairs. They seemed to give him no small amount of trouble, at least without his cane. As V reached the top of the stairs, Nero took Red Queen off of his back and swung it several times rapidly, lighting up the nodes built into the enchanted gear. It spun rapidly before the little arrows that stuck out of it slammed back into their proper places, locking into position as it glowed bright blue. The blue glyphs that sealed the door blinked in an unusual pattern before dissipating, a loud click signaling that they could now make their way inside. 

V stepped forward, watching in silent curiosity as the seals dropped. This place became more and more interesting every passing moment that they spent inside of it. How fortunate It was that Nero was here with him. He didn’t currently possess a means of unlocking a ward of this nature. Should he have been alone, this would’ve been the end of his journey.

“Is every door in this castle guarded by arcane spells,” V asked, genuinely curious and slightly wary. He was starting to see the possible dangers that Nero had alluded to.

Nero shrugged absentmindedly. “Yea, kinda. And there are secret doors all over the place that go to the stupidest places. One of them is in the library, but it only works one way. You can’t go through it from both sides.”

Before either of them could say anything further, the sound of creaking metal could be heard from nearby. They both glanced in the direction of the gaping hole in the wall, noting that the chandelier was vibrating. A moment later, shards of metal flew every which way and a sound somewhat similar to a buzz saw rang out, disrupting the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. As soon as a path was cleared, several fin-like extremities made their way into the room, followed by a seemingly endless swarm of flying blade-like contraptions. Nero’s breath caught in his throat. In the span of less than a minute, a few dozen Gladius and Cutlass had entered the room. Agnus might have been dead, but apparently his legacy lived on. The laboratory wasn’t too far below them. Were these leftovers from his experiments that had been left to their own devices since their master was now deceased?

While these particular demons were not too much of a challenge to dispatch, Nero was not keen on dealing with them with V directly in the line of fire. The sheer number of them and the combination of surfaces they could cover in an instant made this a deadly match up. V seemed to clue into this, stepping back carefully to open the door. Seeming the instant that he moved, several of the Cutlass deviated from their current path and dived towards them. Nero cursed, drawing Blue Rose to dispatch them before they could make contact. A few well-placed rounds eliminated any plans that the demons may have had of causing any damage. The sound, however, attracted the attention of almost every other demon in the room. They grouped together, swirling into a cylinder as they sped up, the flying monstrosities clearly building momentum for something more dangerous. Nero spared a glance towards V, who didn’t look frightened so much as he looked perturbed and concerned. The summoner had never seen these artificial demons before and had no idea how to combat them. Not that he could anyhow.

As the door creaked open, the swarm of Cutlass made a sharp left and launched themselves at the duo, clearly intending to harpoon them. Nero took aim and fired off several rounds in rapid succession, not a single one missing due to the sheer number of possible points of impact. About a dozen of the winged menaces lodge themselves in the wall and floor around them, clearly demonstrating that they hadn’t become any duller during his infrequent visits. With one well-placed charge shot, Nero managed to cut a swath through his enemies, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath as they diverted and turned to circle back around for another attack. The Gladius seemed to understand their intentions, as they grouped together and joined them, seemingly preparing to pull off some sort of coordinated attack.

Nero and V had absolutely no intention of sticking around to see what they had planned.

The second they were given an opportunity, Nero shot one last charged shot into the group of demons in an effort to dissipate and slow them and they both bolted through the door. Closing it behind them immediately became problematic as the barrage of demons attempted to follow them through, forcing the door to stay open. Nero and V both braced themselves against the door to try and hold it shut while Nero used his free hand to shower the bladed terrors in hot led, realizing quickly that it was going to do very little against the Gladius if they managed to slip through.

“V, can you make it to the other door,” Nero asked as she quickly gestured towards the balcony exit on the far side of the art gallery,” We can’t hold them off that much longer!”

That depends,” V said almost too calmly as he tried not to slide down towards the floor, his meager frame straining under the effort required to help hold the demons at bay,” are you coming with me?”

Nero didn’t need to ask if V was willing to leave here without him. No. No, he wasn’t. His question implied that simply in the manner that it was asked. Without even needing to say it, he had just told him everything that he needed to know about the extent of their relationship, at least from V’s perspective. Despite their situation, Nero was genuinely touched, if not a bit surprised by how transparent V was being with him. Perhaps he didn’t want to potentially end their relationship on a bad note? Regardless, Nero nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

V paused for a moment, giving him a hesitant but believing look. He didn’t think Nero would lie to him. A second later he bolted towards the door, leaving Nero alone to try to hold them off until he could unlock the second one. The younger of the two immediately felt the difference in the weight he was trying to hold back, somewhat surprised at how much V had actually contributed to keeping the door closed. He slid back for a moment before forcing himself forward, unwilling to let the door open. Just a moment later, V managed to get the door open and Nero rushed towards him, fully aware that they had to get the second door closed before the hoard pursuing them managed to reach them.

He slipped through after V, sliding to a stop at a few Cutlass managed to slip through the cracks before they could close the door. As the door slammed shut, they were both blasted off their feet and into the balcony railing by a barrage of attacks from the demons. V gasped as the air left his lungs when he made impact with the ground and railing while Nero regained his footing quickly and grabbed one of the Cutlass, launching them towards the rest of the group. He noted that V seemed to be struggling slightly to stand up, debating if he should simply snatch him off his feet and carry him to the library door. The sound of screeching metal cut through the air as the Gladius attempted to cut their way through the door holding them at bay. He didn’t doubt for a second that they were capable of doing that as he grabbed his sword and revved the throttle built into the handle, sending smoldering sparks flying through the air as the blade glowed crimson. With one well-placed lunge, the flying pests were eliminated and he turned his attention back to V, noting that he still hadn’t quite made it to his feet. What was going on with him?

Nero extended his hand, more than willing to help him up. “You okay, V?”

V exhaled shakily, betraying his distress as he raised a blood-covered hand to grip his brother’s extended hand. The eldest of the two had been allowing it to rest on his right side in what Nero assumed to be an attempt to stop any further bleeding. Nero did a quick double-take, concerned and unsure as to how harm had managed to come to V during their ordeal. One of the Cutlass must have managed to get between them during their getaway.

“I assure you, I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound,” V said as Nero gently helped him to his feet. He seemed to be out of breath, but otherwise stable,” We should leave this place. I do not think that door will hold them at bay for much longer.”

Nero nodded in agreement as they headed towards the other end of the walk. Once they were somewhere more secure, he would check on him. If they could make it to the library unseen, the demons would more than likely go back to their idle state and stop pursuing them until they passed by again at some point. As they headed towards the door, Nero took notice of the fact that V seemed to be leaning on him slightly, more than likely in need of additional support due to his injury. He wondered to himself for a moment if V healed like the rest of their family and came to the conclusion that he most likely didn’t since he seemed to still be bleeding. That admittedly concerned him.

A moment later they entered the library. Nero carefully led V over to one of the rails, watching as he slid down to a sitting position and exalted in clear discomfort. Much like they had the last time he had been here, the doors sealed shut, the blue emblem that had adorned them on his first trip still active. He could only assume that was a good thing but wasn’t entirely sure. He didn’t really understand how all of this magic bullshit worked. The mechanism that allowed him to break the seal before was still in the room and it was still in its active form, but he wasn’t if he could move it without possessing the device that he had found here previously. His old arm had absorbed the Anima Mercury. There was no way of guaranteeing that he still retained the ability after his run-in with Vergil.

For a moment they just stood there, attempting to catch their breath. The Gladius and Cutlass had seemingly halted their assault for the moment since there was no sound coming from their direction. For the moment, they were safe, if not a bit banged up. And the both needed a moment to collect themselves. Nero hadn’t seen the castle this active in a long time, even when he had come here to help Nico earlier this year. Everything had been dormant at that time.

He suddenly had a very bad feeling about this trip.

They needed to leave as soon as possible.

Thanks again for reading this chapter! I spell-checked everything, but if I missed anything, feel free to let me know. It’s funny how two grammar and spelling problems still can’t get the job done, am I right? Anyway, I’ll see you all on June 17th for chapter FIFTEEN! Gosh, it’s cool to be able to say that! I look forward to reading and answering your comments. Have a great rest of your week!

[ofmythsandmadness]

Hidden Attraction

PAIRING: Diego Hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: It’s all fun and games, until feelings come out and get hurt. WORD COUNT: 4.5k 

WARNINGS: none really?? just fluff. A/N: I’ve never posted one of these before lol I don’t know what I’m doing but I liked this one shot and I want to put it out into the world. I’m a sucker for Diego Hargreeves. He needs more love (and I’m gonna send it his way). Also this is in third pov but it is x reader. Not oc.

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FALLING ASLEEP?"

"Uh...no?"

Her eyes had flown open the second the words began to leave his lips, a sheepish smile beginning to grow as she realised she had been caught. Even while blinking at the bright light - consequences of drifting even just for a few minutes - she could make out his frown, jesting but still masking his own grin at the situation. His eyes were narrowed and the longer she stared at him, attempting to sit back up on the couch in a totally not graceful manner, the harder it got for him to hold a straight face.

At the last second, just before he broke, he gasped out a retort in an ever-dramatic manner he clung to, "Am I really that uninteresting?"

In response, she groaned and tossed a pillow his way, a half-hearted whine leaving her throat during her readjustment on the couch. He blocked the legs and laughed as she groaned, arms supporting her still-sleepy head as she tried to make him 'stop, dude, alright?' because even though it totally was, she would cling to the position that none of this was funny.

Truth was, he could not be further from that, being one of the few people that could talk for legitimately hours about absolutely nothing and keep her attention. However, it had been a long day, trudging through the hours after waking up at a ridiculously early time, and even spending time with the one guy she knew who could make a phone book a riveting conversation piece (were phone books even relevant, anymore?), that was not enough to cure her short-fledged sleepiness, apparently.

It had not helped that she had sat back instead of talking or trying to be entertaining, content with sitting beside him and watching. Her head had been resting against the pillows littering his couch, legs resting just beside his thighs with socked toes curled up. His concentrated hums as he cleaned his knives, followed by quiet curses and mutters, was frankly adorable but the quiet nature was just another method to lull her into a dream world, a smile tickling her lips as she watched with her head propped up.

She was not even tired, per se, there was just a comfortable nature that came with him that allowed for a feeling of safety to wash over and assure her that there were no troubles to be had there. Came with the territory, maybe.

"Sorry," she grumbled, seating herself totally upright and beside him, just a breath away - the space between them a sharp reminder of what exactly they were. Her legs curled up to rest beside and though her body almost naturally inclined, she dared not lean her weight. "I'm the worst company, aren't I?"

At that, Diego let out one of his sharp laughs, a bark that shattered any fragments of sleep still clinging tight. "Shut up."

"Shut up, what?"

"Shut up, and don't say you're the worst company," he chuckled. He shifted on the couch and his arm grazed against hers, skin just barely touching skin in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. Everything felt cold, just for a second, then hot like a burning flame threatening to catch fire all throughout a wooden home. "Because you know what? You're not."

"Oh, so you like having me around? Or you just like free-loading at my apartment?"

"Ha - right. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like you."

"Aw, you like me, Hargreeves?"

To that, he offered no answer, his eyes trained away and body turned slightly so she could not read his expression. Curiosity, sharp and dark bit at her mind, corrupting her thoughts before she could stop her. It was just a joke, and sure it was a bit of an awkward response to ask for a reason why, but she could not stop herself, subconsciously wishing that there was more of an answer - the words you craved - attached to the joke.

However, there was nothing, just his brown eyes shifting back to meet hers. His arm had moved as he turned, sitting with his legs raised up with that silly, stupid grin that drove her absolutely wild. Could he possibly know how much it hurt, to look upon it and not act out of the wild, dangerous feelings heating up her heart like so?

He asked, then, if she wanted him to stay or would just end up falling asleep again - because he promised to buy her pizza, but ‘was there a point if she was going to sleep through the day’? To that, she shrieked and slammed another pillow his way, pretending to cry bloody murder against his slight. Damn him and his jokes, his words always sending a flutter through her system even when it was over something so meaningless as food.

She nodded, wrapping her sweater closer around her as she sat back on the couch. She was not so much cold, just ashamed for her thoughts as he walked away, curious and red-hot with hidden attraction. It was ridiculous, as though she had fallen straight from a teen fiction novel - only with her situation, there was no happy ever after, no grand finale with a sweeping kiss and confession of their love. For one, neither were really into the romantic gestures that made up cliche romance movies, but also she sort of knew her feelings were one-sided, that she sat alone in her boat wishing that he would change his mind on how he felt about her.

She had known him for a while. Felt like forever, but it was more like four years, give or take. After meeting him at a bar, after one of his missions, the pair grew close, very quickly and strong, too. There was no romantic tension for a while, just interest in one another, talking and laughing and spending long nights after his nightly patrols pretending everything was good in the world. It had been hard before to find good, genuine people in a world driven by numbers and climbing over others to hit the top, but the pair of them had bonded over a love for horribly bad movies and stupid jokes that often made no sense to anyone but the pair of them. They played video games when a stack of work lurked in the background, knew each other's coffee orders so that when they stopped by for the evening they had that to offer along with a smile, and could talk about the most random of topics for hours on end. She knew how to make him smile after a long night, and he hugged her close when the stress got too bad and she felt like she was in too over her head. What made their friendship so good, however, was that they could do the complete opposite and find comfort in one another's silent presence, busy with their own tasks but happy for the company.

With him, everything was easy and natural. She never found herself trying to prove herself in any way, she was just herself and he seemed to reflect that back to her. Everything was easy and always made sense. Y/N and Diego - they just worked.

It was just her luck that she fell for him, feelings lurking constantly in the back of their animosity. She hated herself for it. Of course, she had to try and ruin a good friendship, something so rare to come by - she could have been fine with just remaining platonic, but her heart beat in a different direction than her brain and she fell, hard. Even harder, knowing he felt nothing towards her in that way and never would - hating herself for getting angry that he did not. There was no point in frustration towards something so uncontrollable as human emotions, even though she did grew upset time and time again.

The only good thing about the equation was his oblivion, saving her from embarrassment or any further shame.

No matter. She was cool, had been for the three and a half years she had felt that way and could hold on because her friendship with him meant far too much to be sabotaged by a schoolgirl crush.

She grinned as he headed back, simply because she had to - the way he pranced, yes pranced with his phone in hand and a grin on his lips as though he had done a greater deed than just order pizza, it was ridiculously intoxicating. He was so pure, so perfect, sometimes.

He collapsed back onto the couch. His arms went back to stretch across the back and his head went back as well, dark locks falling across his face in an almost perfect spiral. The half-way curls, normally gelled back in some sort of complex nature, were messy and fell all around his head, making him look younger, like a boy seen once in an old photograph that the women would ogle at. A golden boy as the last rays of sunshine pierced his half-drawn curtains, eyes half-shut against the light and his face lax.

He, however, had to ruin the moment with a dramatic sigh and a grumble not quite decipherable, though perhaps a positive as she really was not quite sure if she could take such a perfect image. He mumbled again, dragging his hands down his face and pulling at the skin, causing a grotesque face that she could not help but laugh at. Though, let it be known, her chuckles came from a very different light then he would think as he looked her way.

"Are you laughing at me!?"

"Oh no, totally not," she giggled, swatting away at his hands. She shifted on the couch with a squeal as he attempted to grab at her, swinging her body as far as she could down from him as he tried to tickle. She shoved his arms away while still protesting, though her words grew more and more forced and she found herself leaning into to his half-assed embrace, still giggling even with nothing was funny. She was gravitating into his arms, relishing the close nature. As a sailor, he was her damn siren, his dark eyes and smile luring her back in - because of course that had to be the thought that came to mind, making him only so much more irresistible.

His laughter slowed into soft chuckles as he gave up on the attacks, leaving her to flop back onto his couch still wearing her giddy expression. Only, where she had assumed he would sit back up and refuse such close contact as before, his weight remained hovered over her held up by his arms, muscles flexing actually pretty fucking gloriously in the dim lighting. She shifted casually, licking her lips and watching his actions closely.

She was not sure what to think. All she could remark on was that his presence was intoxicating and how she could make out almost every little mark on his face like she had not before, complete with the tiny scar over his right eyebrow down to the mole beneath his chin that she had never noticed before.

Soon he was closer, closer than he had dared to be before, where her breath had dissipated and her heart was burning in her chest, yearning for the chance to close the distance and her eyes could only fixate on his, even while wanting to look away and save herself before she lost it.

Her eyes fought to send their gaze down to his lips, even just for a second, but she remained frozen. Her smile trembled and fell further with every passing second, replaced with lax lips and a state of confusion swimming in her eyes. Shivers flew down her spine and her right hand moved closer to his, every so often just to the point where her fingers were just grazing his and fuck, how the tension between them was killing her, where everything had stopped and yet was moving so fast, a time-space continuum that made no sense and yet was sending them flying into unknowns never quite reached before.

It seemed he felt that, too, shifting his weight with one arm resting ever so close to her hip and the other supporting himself. His front lock hung down, curling over his face and his lips fell slack slightly. His face grew closer, close enough for her to wonder just what was about to happen if there was a shared feeling between them both that had never been-

-the moment was shattered, within seconds both of them flying away from one another as loud pounding erupting and they were reminded that for some ungodly reason, the pizza man had to have the worst timing known to man, ever. Seriously, it was insane how fast he managed to show, considering it had only been what, five, ten minutes? Not even.

"That was fast."

"Uh-huh," he grumbled, slipping off the couch with a thud and headed for the door. His head was bowed and he seemed grumpy, nay, brooding, almost stomping to the door in a way she would have found cute hours before.

Not another word was said, and she was left to bury her head in her hands and silently scream.

That was a mess. All of that, leading to just a giant pile of crap, awkward moments of reconsideration on what was really felt, if she was insane for ever thinking that the two of them could have that weird rom-com moment and be more than the screw-ups who danced around one another like so.

"Food's in."

She did not respond. She really was not hungry, anymore.

The rest of the night was spent almost entirely in silence. The two of them ate, and he tried to crack a few jokes but they fell on silent ears. There was no laughter slipping from her lips, even when they quivered and debated a chuckle - there was no point. She was shaken up, confused, disappointed and upset, all in a whirlwind erupting in her chest as she tried to finish her slice of pizza.

She was not so sure what to think about that moment. Sure, it could have just been the way events played out, awkwardly slipping from one to another and leading to them too close on the couch, but her infatuated heart wanted it to be more than that. There had never been any sign of attraction before, but who was she to try to explain the logic of love? Simply because, there really was not any when it came to that mystic woman.

She slipped down the tiny hallway of the apartment, mint sucked tight in between her teeth. She called out that she was just going to the washroom, and all that was received back was a dull 'alright' from where she had been before. There was no way to even know if he had even heard her, or just heard noises and acknowledged them without a care.

The water running was a good cover up for her sighs, mutters and frustrated groans as she ran her hands through her hair and tried to think. There was no time for the hopeless romantics, and she was not about to try anything like before - she just wanted to understand, that or just let go of her own feelings and walk out of the tiny room without a care in the world, looking at him once more as a friend.

She could not, it was not a faucet that could just be flicked off, but oh, did she wish it was.

She sighed and wiped her hands off, moving to head out. Without thinking, she flung open the door with more aggression she even knew she possessed and stepped out into him, causing a collision with two identical cries of shock echoing.

Almost immediately, his hands were out to catch her before she could fall, grasping at her waist to prop her back up before a potentially bad fall. One hand slipped to her waist and the other clutched tight at her arm, pulling her back up with a soft 'I've got you' mumbled out. She bit at the inside of her lips and tried not to think about the touch, or the close quarters, or how sweet his whisper sounded - none of that would help, she had to move away, as fast as possible.

She mumbled a quick 'thank you' under her breath and tried to sort herself out. Only, she was failing rather miserably as the hands around her would not sending jolts of electricity through her and causing her brain to freeze up, leaving her to stutter and flinch into the embrace and struggle to move away.

Her gaze lifted to once more meet his, the soft look in his eyes directed her way. She took in the way his lips curved ever so slightly to suggest a smile threatening to break, and how his one hand moved slightly with his fingers rubbing against her bare skin slowly, soothingly. She was on fire.

And she had to get out, afore she got burned.

She tore out of his arms in a new rush, crying loudly that she had to get out and grab something, back to absolutely nothing but her tears and regret - though that was not shared aloud. She bustled around in search of her backpack, car keys, wherever she could have placed her phone - all the while ignoring him and his soft, almost worried calls of her name from the other sides of the room. She could not stop and allow him to have her attention again, one more slip and she would be drowning in feelings that could not make their move right then or ever, really, but emotions that threatened to-

-he called her name, louder that time, demanding attention.

She stopped, phone clutched in hand, any emotional strength left in the right. She dared not look at him. "What?"

"What is going on? What - what are you doing?"

Maybe it was the regret, the guilt, the disappointment or the sad fantasies drowning inside her head, maybe it was all or none of that that made her react - no matter. What did matter was how fast she could switch from hurt to snappy, walls flung back up in defense of her aching heart. "Excuse me?"

"Where are you going- you live here, Y/N? Why are you tryna leave?"

Oh, so that was how it would be spun. She folded her arms against her chest and glared, unsure just what she was doing but willing to wing it, anyways. "I'm just going to grab something, dunno why you're getting your knickers in a twist."

Normally, one of her signature odd expressions would make him at least chuckle, but he almost entirely ignored what was just said. Instead, he just drew closer, jaw clenched, ticking - he was upset, though not angry as she had seen him before, dealing with a new variation she could not quite decipher. Though his words claimed an upset with her, there seemed to be more than that going through his head, she just could not tell what.

"You're avoiding me."

"Avoiding you? What are you goin' on about? I've been with you all night, I'm not avoiding you."

"You won't even look at me - see, right there, you won't look at me, you're avoiding my eyes right now!"

She bit at her lip and forced herself to gaze up, though not without careful consideration of just flat out bolting out his door without another word. He was just a bit away, at that point, close to almost touching her, and still drawing nearer as their eyes linked. It was nearly impossible to stand her ground while staring him in the eyes, fighting back whatever futile emotions were fighting their way to the top. She was better than whatever her heart said, though, and she was not about to break just because of how adorable he was in that light, with-

"-Hello?"

"-huh?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line, showing how annoyed he was growing, fast and heavy. "I asked a question."

She had not been listening, though the words had been caught - as she forced herself to think back, collect what had been said, her cheeks felt warmer and damn, it was getting harder to not fall into a total puddle, right then and there.

"Look..."

"...d'ya have a problem with me? Is that it?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then why -" he groaned, running his hands through his hair and stepping back, almost immediately unleashing the frustration that was building up in his chest. "I've been trying to understand what you're trying to say but you're so damn confusing, and I don't know - I mean, if I thought you didn't want to kiss me, I wouldn't have tried, it's just-"

"-wait, what? Don't want to--, what the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying if you don't want to -- just say so, let me know that I was reading wrong into this but don't make me feel stupid about it, avoiding me and all that?"

To say she was confused, well she certainly was that, her brain muddling up with a thousand thoughts and all she could do was stare at him, take in everything that was being said and try to comprehend just what it was implying. He thought she did not have an interest, he thought that it was her trying to get out of the bad situation - which, sure she was at that moment, but that did not count in the same sense - and avoid him, when she had been pining and he had made it clear he thought of her as nothing but a friend. She wanted to laugh, and cry, and scream and yell and kiss him, all at once, though maybe not it all, just the last mostly.

"I'm not avoiding you," she muttered, gritting her teeth in an attempt to control her beating heart, "I thought you didn't give a damn about me that way, so I laid off as you wanted. You made it clear you weren't interested in me, and then -- whatever happened before, you just brushed it off! I thought it was a mistake!"

He snorted. "I only did that because you seemed so upset by it, I thought you hated me for trying to make a move!"

"That was you making a move!?"

"YES!? What does that mean?"

Everything was ridiculous about it all, both of them screaming in the middle of his apartment, his face reddened and hers flushed too, heated beyond belief. Her heart threatening to jump right out of her chest and his breathing harsh and heavy, gasping for air after going without for so long. The both of them sounded like teenagers, bickering over the stupidest of things, not twenty-somethings with semi-respectable lives and a whole wack tonne of wasted time between them both.

She was not quite sure just why she laughed, next, but suddenly a gasp of sound was leaving her lips, joined by sharp chuckles echoing about the apartment, loud and bright and clear as day. She had to actually stop for a second and rest her hand against the wall, breathless and dizzy from how hard she was laughing even as he stared on in shock.

"Why are you...what?!"

She took a shaky step forward, confidence bubbling in the same way as her dying laughter. He looked so adorable in that light, still wearing shock and confusion openly on his face as he looked on. Everything just felt so stupid, and dumb, and everything on top of oh-so-right and - wow, she was smitten, just as she had been before, losing her breath and wishing that she could finally just drum up the right words and actions.

And so, she did, at least tried to.

"I...I've been wanting to kiss you for a while," she mumbled, barely a whisper as her confidence drained fast. She was not quite sure what she was saying, what was going to fall from her lips but all she knew was that maybe for once, things were working out, the stars or something aligning and giving her a chance at something good. "I've liked you for...fucking forever, maybe? Just about - and jeez, this is so weird and stupid to say out loud."

At that, he laughed too, though it was soft and more of a recovery mechanism, an attempt to regain control before losing himself entirely. She flinched as one hand found her waist, gentle and tentative, but the touch was not hated. She relished it, leaning into it with a careful smile and stars dancing in her eyes. She then moved too, one hand finding his shoulder and the other clenching and unclenching, digging crescent moons into her palms as if to assure herself that it was not a dream, that it was all very much reality.

Somehow, someway.

He moved his other hand to find her face, moving a tendril of hair back to tuck behind her ear as though their lives had become one of the corniest but beautiful rom-coms out there, and that was their big finale moment.

His face was so close, closer than he had been before, just centimetres away and oh, how both ached to close the distance. The dim light of the TV and the sole light in the kitchen cast careful shadows against his face, but both could make out one another features perfectly, his lips slightly parted and lax and her eyelashes fluttering as her eyes began to slip shut.

"I'm...I'm going to kiss you now," he breathed, still holding his hand carefully up to her face, as though she was a fragile flower threatening to fall apart at any second. "We good on that?"

With that, she was set free and wasted no words on any response, instead choosing to prey on what little confidence she had stored left. She broke the distance between them and pressed her lips gently against his. He responded almost immediately, tilting his head just as she did and holding her close while his thumb rubbed soft circles against her waist. His hand still held her head tenderly but pressed her closer to him, his tongue cheekily swiping across her bottom lip with a smile lurking close behind. She stumbled slightly as they grew closer but with a shared giggle and shift in positions, her back was against the wall and lips back on his and her hands clasped tightly around his neck. Her heart was beating about a million miles a minute and truly, their 'fairy-tale moment' felt a thousand times better than anything she had watched in those cheesy movies of days long past.

Sure, the two of them were standing alone in his apartment in the near-dark with a box of half-eaten pizza open on the table, clock ticking close to nine and the sounds of angry cars and pedestrians echoing outside the cracked-open window, but neither cared. They could be just about anywhere, at that moment, nothing else mattered just then.

[llaevateinn]

Lan Xichen sees someting in Jin Rusong that is very familiar to him. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

The birth of Jin Guangyao's son not even a year after his marriage to Qin Su was celebrated, as much as it caused whispered discussions. Some said that he only took her as wife because she was already pregnant before their betrothal. Some lauded that he took responsibility. Most didn't care and simply showed up for the baby's one-month feast. An excuse to drink too much and eat at the expense of LanlingJin sect.

"What is his name?" Lan Xichen asked, carefully bending over the sleeping child nestled in Qin Su's arms. The mother looked radiant, beaming with love and happiness. Next to her, Lan Xichen's sworn brother also shone with pride.

"Rusong," answered Qin Su.

"A good, strong name."

"Do you wish to hold him?" asked Jin Guangyao.

Lan Xichen could see Qin Su bristle a little, so he was about to refuse. After all, the child was still so young and clearly his mother loved him so very much. But then, to his surprise, Qin Su offered him up anyway. Touched by this show of trust, he held the sleeping baby in the crook of his arm, feeling its weight and warmth.

"You are good with children," said Qin Su.

"A-Su is right. Er-ge, you should also marry and have children soon, it suits you."

Lan Xichen only chuckled and shook his head, gazing at Rusong in his arms instead of replying. In his sleep, the boy drooled a little. Wiping some of it with his sleeve despite Qin Su's protests, he reached into his robes to take out a small piece of jade.

"This is my gift to you, little Rusong," he whispered to the child. "For luck and protection."

He tucked the carved jade into the soft cloth that Rusong was wrapped in, near his body where it could absorb some of his body's warmth.

"Thank you, on his behalf. It is a lovely gift."

Rusong slept on, unaware of the world around him or the troubles ahead. Around him, the adults kept talking, laughing, feeling the warmth of new life and new hope. War was behind them. Now was the time for children to be born and love to bloom.

*

Three years later, their hopes and dreams had not all come to fruition. More loss and grief had caused them to lose families and loved ones, including Jin Zixuan. Due to this, it was now Jin Guangyao who stood to inherit the LanlingJin sect upon their father's passing. Not all were happy with this development, but such were things.

In order to show his support, Lan Xichen often visited Koi Tower to see his sworn brother and his young family. He and Qin Su became very close as well, and he loved to watch as Rusong grew up.

After all that happened, Rusong had also gained a new playmate, though often his cousin Rulan stayed at Lotus Pier with his uncle instead of here. Still, the two boys clearly held affection for each other. Whenever Rulan came to visit Koi Tower, Rusong would wait on the stairs to be the first to spot him coming.

However, on this day, there was a great storm. Surely, Sect Leader Jiang would keep little Rulan with him for one more day instead of sending him out like this. But Rusong insisted to wait on top of the stairs no matter what. When prompted to leave and wait inside, he threw such a tantrum that he was unable to speak anymore.

"Please, A-Song," Qin Su tried to coax him, holding the shaking and screaming boy around the waist so he would not fall. "It is far too cold and wet outside – you will get sick if you stay much longer."

But Rusong could not be reasoned with.

"A-Ling," he cried, breathless and red in the face. "A-Ling!"

Lan Xichen happened upon this scene, feeling his heart break a little for the sweet boy. He was reminded of a similar incident, long ago. In Rusong's place he saw a little boy his age, but in white robes and a white forehead ribbon that fluttered in the cold winter wind as he knelt on the stairs of a house that would forever remain empty.

"Madam Jin," he said softly, approaching the distraught mother and son. "May I?"

Tired, Qin Su shifted to the side, letting Lan Xichen kneel behind Rusong. He replaced her hands around the boy's waist, pulling him gently into his lap.

"A-Song," he muttered quietly. "Would you like it if I waited with you for A-Ling? I will keep you warm, so you don't get sick. And I'll shelter you, in case the rain reaches us. Then your mother can go rest, and your parents won't have to worry about you."

Rusong whined and struggled a little, but when he felt the soft warmth of three layers of white cloth close around him in a cocoon of safety, he settled down. Then, he nodded.

"Thank you." Turning his head to look at Qin Su, Lan Xichen smiled. "Do not worry about Rusong now. I will take care of him."

"This- …" Qin Su bit her lip. "I cannot ask this of you, Zewu-Jun. I'm afraid he will insist on waiting all night."

"I will wait until he falls asleep. Then I will have him brought to you."

"Oh." Qin Su looked at her son. Only his head peeked out from Lan Xichen's robes. He was already visibly exhausted from his earlier crying and kicking. Now that he was wrapped up warmly, his eyes were drooping.

Seeing this, Qin Su thanked him quietly, wiping away her own desperate tears. She excused herself, to rest a little herself, leaving Lan Xichen and Rusong alone, sitting on the stairs.

He thought it was very peaceful, with the boy's familiar warmth nestled to his chest as they listened to the rain and thunder overhead. It did not take long for a little head to lean heavily against his sternum. Lan Xichen huffed affectionately, shifting the boy's weight in his arms so he could carry him more easily.

As he helped his mother tuck him into bed, Lan Xichen thought with a full heart how much Wangji might love to meet this little boy, who was so much like he was. He could even bring along his own son to play with Rusong, and they could all become friends.

*

Qin Su and Jin Guangyao both loved their son very much. It was evident in every interaction they had with the sweet boy, who was growing up fast. Almost five years old, he would be starting training soon to become a cultivator. In a few years he might develop his golden core.

But when Lan Xichen mentioned this to his sworn brother, Jin Guangyao hesitated visibly.

"I don't know if he is ready for it," he said vaguely, smiling all the while.

"You are only worried, as his parent," Lan Xichen waved his words away. "The pressure is higher for you than it is for him. As long as you let him learn at his own pace, everything will be fine."

But he could see that his sworn brother was not yet convinced.

The next time Lan Xichen visited, he brought a guest with him. He introduced him to Rusong, who was sitting on the ground and tugging at the grass in the gardens. Qin Su knelt next to him, clearly desperately trying to get him to stop, yet unable to do so. There were already lines of frustration evident both in the lines of her shoulders and on Rusong's brow.

"Rusong," Lan Xichen said. "I want you to meet someone very special to me. This is my little brother, Lan Wangji."

Rusong only stared. Wangji stared right back, until Rusong squirmed and looked away, starting to tear out more grass. Nobody said anything, watching in strange apprehension – except for Lan Xichen, who smiled – as Lan Wangji sat next to Rusong in the grass, gesturing for Qin Su to let him continue. Clearly put-upon, Qin Su rose to her feet and brushed off her skirts. She joined everyone else in watching, her arms crossed.

After a while, Rusong stopped tearing out more grass. He snuck a quick glance at Lan Wangji before gathering all the harvested grass in his arms and taking it to a nearby pond. On the water, there were a couple of ducks. As soon as he approached, they started quacking loudly, swimming closer.

"He is feeding the ducks?" Qin Su said loudly, watching with wide eyes as Rusong threw the grass in the water for the ducks to snap up. "But I asked him why he was doing that, and he wouldn't answer. I thought he was sulking."

Now they all watched as Lan Wangji drew a pouch of seeds from his sleeve to join Rusong in feeding the ducks. Neither of them ever said a word, but to everyone it was evident that they both enjoyed each other's company.

Later, Lan Xichen drew his sworn brother aside to speak to him about Rusong's education.

"There are different ways how a child like Rusong may express the ways in which he is special," he explained. "It requires a different sort of schooling than what most teachers are experienced with. But he is not the only one. In fact, behavior like his quite frequently emerges in members of the Lan family. If you wish, he could be educated in the Cloud Recesses, where he can be given the proper care and time he needs."

Jin Guangyao looked thoughtful at this, if not a little apprehensive. Of course, any father would be unwilling to part with his son at such a young age. Lan Xichen could see that he was reluctant – clearly, an expression of his great love for Rusong. Though he smiled and said he was going to think about it, Lan Xichen sadly thought that he wasn't going to take the offer.

On their way back home, Wangji said: "Will we take the boy?"

"His parents love him very much. I don't know if they are willing to have him stay with us to be educated, even though it might be best. I don't know if Rusong would be willing to leave his home, either."

"I would take him," said Wangji.

Lan Xichen smiled.

"I know you would. You like him, don't you? He is a sweet boy. He might get along well with Sizhui, too. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Mm."

*

"This is just temporary," Jin Guangyao said, looking haggard and torn. This was as nervous as Lan Xichen had ever seen him, so he poured them some more tea.

"I understand."

"Just to see how he would fit in. If he might like it here. I apologize for the inconvenience, er-ge."

"It is no trouble at all."

With a sigh, Jin Guangyao smiled again, inhaling the vapor rising from the tea.

Outside, Lan Xichen knew, were Rusong and Sizhui, getting acquainted for the first time. The two were not too far apart in age, though Sizhui was a little older. This was very suitable, as they intended for Sizhui to help them guide Rusong and introduce him to the Cloud Recesses and the classes he would be attending here. Lan Xichen was very confident that the two boys would soon become fast friends. Already, there was laughter to be heard, and he could see that Jin Guangyao also relaxed at this.

Apparently, Rusong had not taken well to classes in Koi Tower. He and the teachers had clashed often, and the teachers had declared him unteachable. There were even worse, less honorable words thrown around that Lan Xichen did not care for.

He made his offer again, asking whether Rusong might want to stay in the Cloud Recesses. This time, Jin Guangyao said yes immediately.

"We will take very good care of him," he promised. "Just you see, we will carefully polish and nurture his talents."

"But they said- …" Jin Guangyao hesitated. There was pain his eyes, staining his unsmiling mouth.

"It doesn't matter what they said. Your boy is kind and strong. He is going to be able to help a lot of people in the future."

"Thank you. Er-ge, thank you, so much. You don't know how- …" He paused, dabbing at his eyes. "If it weren't for you, I don't know what I would have done."

"I am sure you would have found a way," Lan Xichen said consolingly, patting his sworn brother's arm. "I know how much you love your son."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

They finished drinking their tea, listening to Sizhui's giggling outside as he played with Rusong. Just as predicted, they had taken an immediate liking to each other. Lan Xichen smiled, content with his work well done.

[emilx311]

The Uchiha clan were well known for taking those with red-eyes to be their "brides", by force if they had to. Senju Tobirama had managed to avoid detection so far, but for the sake of his brother and his clan he willingly committed himself to the lion's den.

Written for MadaTobi week day 4 both prompts: Marriage of convenience and Any Alternate Universe. This is set in the same world as my fic Captured Crimson, except Tobirama was never found by the Uchiha and Indra does not exist (as this is for MaadaTobi week).

Read on AO3 or below the cut. If you enjoyed this please help support me by buying me a coffee

Hashirama was pouting again. There had been another battle with the Uchiha that morning, and Uchiha Madara had once again refused Hashirama’s offers of peace. Hashirama had thought that once their fathers died and they became the heads of their clans they would be able to change things like they had dreamed of as children. But, Madara kept refusing! Hashirama reached out, Madara refused, and the senseless fighting continued on just as it always had. Rarely had Hashirama felt so alone, but Madara had always seemed to be the only other person who understood his dream and now even he seemed to have forgotten it. The dead piled up around them and still the Uchiha kept the fight going, kept the little brothers they so wanted to protect at risk on the field.

His brothers didn’t understand why he cared so much about their enemies. Itama and Kawarama were distrustful of the clan, had been since even before his river meetings with Madara. They saw the Uchiha as monsters who did nothing but kill their kin and put those they loved in danger. Deep inside Hashirama couldn’t even blame them for that, not with how close they were to Tobirama and how much the Uchiha ‘s very existence had hampered his brother’s life. Even Hashirama with his desperate wish for peace had to admit that some things could not be allowed to stand. The Uchiha clan’s kidnapping of those with red-eyes was one such thing. He knew, he’d heard, what his father had thought they would do to his brother if they ever found out about Tobirama. Even if everything Madara had said implied that the “blessed”, as the black-haired boy called them, were treated well, but even so they remained prisoners. He’d wanted to ask more, but had never dated to because he refused to be the reason his brother was caught.

“Anija” the brother he was just thinking about greeted him, holding out a fresh cup of Hashirama’s favourite tea. He beamed gratefully at the eldest of his younger brothers, the only spared the horrors of the battlefield. Hidden away from the world because of eyes the colour of rubies, eyes Tobirama hid from everyone whenever he was allowed out on a mission. The world knew of the second Senju son as a sickly, weak child-a burden on his clan. They knew of the figure wrapped in white to hide his eyes as a ghost, an omen of death who nothing could save you from. The reality of both these figures was a boy forced to hide because of a quirk of birth would have his enemies carry him away from all he’d ever known to a life of imprisonment or worse. Itama and Kawarama dreamed of the day Tobirama could openly stand amongst them without fear, as did Hashirama. He just believed that negotiating peace with the Uchiha and convincing them of the wrongness of their actions was the best way to make that happen.

“Is everything alright?” Tobirama asked, settling himself beside his brother.

“Oh, yes. Everything is fine, just…” Hashirama trailed off with a sigh.

“The Uchiha once again refused your offers of peace” Tobirama finished for him. Hashirama nodded sadly, taking a sip of his tea.

“We can’t continue like this” he says finally after a few moments have passed, “our numbers dwindle each year. Though the child hunting is no more, too few of our generation were able to survive to adulthood. Are we to keep killing each other over those generations dead until both clans are no more?” He fears deeply that this will be the case. The twist of his brother’s mouth echoes his at the thought.

“I have” Tobirama pauses, looking uncharacteristically hesitant, “I have a plan that may work to get the Uchiha to agree to negotiations”. Hashirama brightens, and for a single moment all his dreams seemed possible, before his brother continues. “You won’t like it and neither will Itama or Kawarama. I had hoped we would not need to resort to it, but it has been over a year and the Uchiha shows no signs of reconsidering his position”.

“Okay?” Hashirama asks hesitantly, wary of what Tobirama’s plan would entail that all three of them would disapprove.

“The Uchiha is unmarried still” Tobirama starts off with and Hashirama’s gut lurches. “And everyone knows of their clan’s fascination for those with red eyes”. Hashirama is not stupid, he can tell where this is going all too well.

“Tobirama, no” he protests, “I will not dangle you in front of them like a lure!” He wants peace, wants it desperately, but not, never, at the cost of his brothers. Tobirama just gives him a long, serious, and sad look.

“You may not have a choice” he says bluntly. “Things cannot go on like this and time may be running out. My luck will not hold forever. It’s already amazing that I’ve gone undiscovered as long as I have. Every time I go out, I face more and more ambushes as my reputation grows. Someday, probably soon, someone is going to be smart or lucky and get a glimpse of my eyes, and once that happens everything will be over anyway. I won’t be able to leave the compound again, not with the way the Uchiha will follow any rumour of the ghost. I will be a prisoner, captured or no. At least if we do this I will retain some privileges and have the comfort of knowing that my suffering is for a reason, a cause, and not just because of a chance of birth”.

Hashirama swallows down the protests that rise automatically and takes a moment to truly think about what Tobirama is saying. Annoyingly, his brother’s arguments hold weight (as always). It is a minor miracle that Tobirama had gone undiscovered for as long as he has. No one had ever said anything, but most of the clan had seen Tobirama finally convincing their father to let him run a mission as the beginning of the end. No one resented his brother for it, they could all see how it frustrated him to be left behind even as those younger and weaker than him were allowed out to die. But, to the relief and surprise of many, Tobirama had returned from that first mission, and the ones after. Still, they were shinobi and they knew the reality, one bad day and you were dead, or worse, in Tobirama’s case. Being locked away again after having a taste of freedom, it would destroy his brother as surely as death would. A prisoner of their loving walls or a prisoner of the enemy, it would make no difference.

But, married to Madara…married to Madara there was hope. The Uchiha wouldn’t dare to harm or torture the spouse of their clan head. He could have to, at least, accompany Madara to official functions-they wouldn’t be able to lock Tobirama away to be forgotten. And, if Tobirama proved himself they might even allow him out on missions. Even as it damned him, it could save him. Tobirama would still be lost to the Senju, would still belong to the Uchiha, but maybe not as completely. They would be able to see him, be able to watch for signs mistreatment themselves-even if only from a distance. And it gave them a chance, a real chance, for peace. A way to stop all the senseless death. He hated, hated, what it would cost him, but Tobirama was also correct that nothing else was working. It was an impossible choice, and he knew that he would never forgive himself for this, but if it works…

“Fine” he whispers finally, feeling as though he was selling his soul. He’d sworn to himself as a child that he would not be the reason the Uchiha got his brother and now he’d just agreed to a plan that would send that same brother straight into their very arms. The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Tobirama broke it.

“Hashirama” he said, tone serious. “If I do this, no matter the outcome I need you to swear to me you will push for the Uchiha to stop the kidnappings. No one deserves to grow up in fear the way I did. No child deserves to be born knowing they never had a chance of being free”. Tobirama’s sad red eyes met Hashirama’s serious brown ones.

“I swear Tobirama” Hashirama answered, maintaining eye contact so his brother would be able to see how sincere he was. “I will do all I can to convince them that their traditions are wrong and cruel and should have been done away with long ago”. Tobirama nodded, satisfied, and left his brother to his thoughts. He had a mission to prepare for.

The chance to put Tobirama’s plan into motion came a handful of weeks later. Reports said that Madara had been called by the daimyo to the capital, and so to the capital Tobirama went. Luck seemed to be on his side as he managed to find Madara already in a bar and well on his way to being drunk. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and as he did so he also let out all his doubts about his own plan and his fears of what his future would hold. Instead he forced himself to focus on his objectives as he obtained a drink from the bartender and slid into the booth the Uchiha head had claimed for the night.

“Here all alone?” He filled his voice with promise. He felt oddly naked outside the compound without his usual mission clothes, without his eye coverings, but for the first time they would hinder rather than help.

“I prefer it that way” Madara growled, lifting his head to glare away whatever idiot had decided to disturb him, only for his breath to catch once he caught sight of the other. The man sitting across from him was beautiful. He was tall and lithe with well defined muscles and skin even paler than an Uchiha’s. His hair was silver and seemed to almost glow under the bar’s lights. But all those features paled when compared to his eyes. They were a deep crimson and seemed redder than any rubies Madara had ever seen.

“Amaterasu” he whispered, awed and reverent.

“Tobi, actually” the man, Tobi, corrected. Madara could scarcely believe the other was real, yet a flash of Sharingan proved he was. “You seemed like you could use some cheering up” Tobi added, shooting him a sly smile. Madara could scarcely believe his luck.

“I have had a rather long day” he admitted and gave the other an obvious once over. “And it would be very rude to refuse” he adds, teasingly. Tobi laughed easily.

“I would not wish to force my company on you that you have no desire for” the crimson eyed man countered. Madara felt his heart lurch briefly in panic at the thought of the Blessed leaving his sight.

“I cannot imagine a situation where you could ever be unwanted company” he blurted out, causing the other to laugh once again.

They fell into easy conversation, and the Uchiha, entranced by Tobi’s eyes and smile, didn’t notice how the albino’s cups kept ending up in front of him. Tobirama, for his part, could hardly believe how well this was going. Soon enough it became apparent that he had managed to get the Uchiha clan head well and truly smashed. Any other time Tobirama would have found it hilarious, currently he couldn’t properly appreciate it because he had to focus on the next part of his plan.

“Would you really like more of that?” He asked as the Uchiha reached for his cup, “I’m sure I could provide you with something…better”. His eyes were halfway closed and his tome sultry. Somehow, despite the persona he’d been playing all evening, that managed to make Madara visibly startle and faulter.

“I…you…we?” He stuttered. Tobirama forced himself to let out a husky chuckle instead of rolling his eyes as he usually would.

“That is the general idea, yes” he teased. To his confusion instead of being excited by the idea the Uchiha looked horrified. In fact, he was so shocked it even managed to sober him up, even if only slightly.

“No!” Madara yelled, only to scramble when this caused Tobi to flinch and start to draw away. “No, or, what I meant was I would never dishonour you like that! Amaterasu would strike me down if I dared! Not unless you married me, and allowed me to commit myself only to you!”

Tobirama opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had not been expecting that. He’d been prepared to offer his body to the other, prepared to allow Madara to whisk him away to the Uchiha compound. Prepared to pleasure the Uchiha again, and again, and again until he had weaseled his way into Madara’s life enough that he could safely drop hints about marriage. He had expected it to be the work of months to please the Uchiha enough to even begin contemplating hints, and yet…here was that same Uchiha bringing it up now-after just meeting him!

“A-and if I did agree to that?” He dared to ask, heart hammering in his chest. Madara lit up.

“Then I would say we need a temple” the Uchiha clan head declared. Tobirama was beginning to wonder how the other was still alive, not that he was going to say anything when it was making his life easier. He still made a mental note to deal with it after the marriage and treaty had gone through and he actually wanted the other alive.

Somehow, and Tobirama didn’t know whether to blame it on the alcohol or general Uchiha craziness, Madara managed to find an open temple that was willing to perform a quick marriage. Tobirama was willing to admit to being in a state of shock. He felt as if he was watching from outside his body as Madara wove a tale of how he’d stumbled upon a blessing given form who had agreed to marry him and return with him to his clan. Evidently, they found it a very romantic tale of true love instead of drunken drivel. It didn’t feel anymore real to him as everything was set up, or as the ceremony was performed. It was simply surreal. Then the ceremony was done and he was, officially, an Uchiha. Something he’d feared all his life, and yet now that it was a reality, he couldn’t summon any emotion. He signed the certificate after Madara and tucked it away himself for “safe keeping” as he told his husband. He then followed Madara back to his hotel room where the other proceeded to pull him down unto the bed, curl around him, and fall asleep. Tobirama, figuring he might as well, followed his husband’s example.

Madara woke the next morning with his arms curled around something warm and with a pounding headache. He groaned slightly. How much had he drunk last night that he’d actually brought someone home with him? And to have imagined it was one of the Blessed…True, every Uchiha dreamed and wished for the honour of espousing one of those blessed by their goddess, but very few ever got to. The Blessed were rare, and many chose to never wed at all, as was their right. There were even tales of two Blessed choosing each other instead of an Uchiha (any children of such a union were all but revered by the clan).

It had been a nice dream he supposed, but the stirring figure at his side told him he must now deal with his reality. He, for the first time that morning, turned to look at the figure by his side. The man was as lean and pale as he’d been in Madara’s dreams, then he opened his eyes and all of Madara’s thoughts crashed. It had not been a dream! The pale man’s (To-something?) eyes were a brilliant crimson.

“They’re real” Madara whispered scarcely able to believe it. “You’re real. It wasn’t just a dream!” A giddy sort of joy was beginning to bubble up inside him. He had actually found and been chosen by one of the Blessed! His husband (His husband!) snorted slightly at the reaction before sitting up himself.  

“Yes, I am very real. No, last night was not a dream. If I swear not to harm you will you allow me to heal the headache you undoubtedly have so we can talk about what happens now?” The Blessed asked, and Madara could do nothing but nod dumbly. He would agree to whatever his husband wanted, how could he do less? He was so entranced that he didn’t even flinch when glowing green hands reached out to grab his head. And then he was entranced for an entirely different reason as smooth, cool, chakra washed away the pounding in his temples that he’d been trying to ignore. He had to bite back a protest when those hands drew away, but the pain did not come rushing back as he had feared it would, plus the other man did have a point when he’d said they needed to talk.

“Thank you” he started with because he did actually have manners no matter what Izuna said. “I’m afraid my memory of last night is rather hazy. Just to be certain, we did actually get married?”

“Yes, we did” the other replies and, damn it, Madara still can’t remember his name.

“This is terrible of me, husband, but I can’t seem to recall your name” he forced himself to admit. He’s not surprised when this makes the pale beauty he married wrinkle his nose. Forgetting your own spouse’s name was the height of idiocy after all.

“That is, well, to be frank that is where this gets complicated. I told you last night that my name is Tobi. That was only a partial truth, my full name is Tobirama” his husband says. He looks sheepish but Madara does not see why, giving only a nickname to start with seems a wise precaution to him. ‘Tobirama’ he mouths, just to get a feel for it. Perhaps it is only wishful thinking, but the name feels right on his tongue, as if it had been meant for him to say.

“Uchiha Tobirama” Madara says aloud, relishing in it. Uchiha Tobirama, honoured Blessed of Amaterasu and his husband. He all but puffs up in pride.

“I suppose it is now” his lovely spouse agrees, “though until last night it was Senju Tobirama”. Madara freezes. A quick glance tells him that Tobirama is tense and ready to block an attack or flee. The other is not here to kill him, that much is obvious since he is still alive, and anyway Madara would never raise a hand to the Blessed. He forces himself to relax. This was clearly a trap, and yet by admitting to his name the other had trapped himself just as much.

“Senju?” He questions, forcing himself to keep his tone even.

“Yes” Tobirama agrees and then, with slow, carefully telegraphed movements, he pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it over to Madara. He took it; a quick glance showed it to be the certificate of their marriage. He’s about to ask why Tobirama was showing him this when he spots it. Carefully signed beside his own rather messy signature is the name Senju Tobirama. He gapes. The other had used his true name! Before the gods and the priests, he had vowed himself to Madara. Had he used a false name this paper would mean nothing, but he had not. He had used his true name so the gods would know exactly who he was when he made his oath. Their marriage is official and binding in all ways, Tobirama had most definitely trapped himself just as much as he’d trapped Madara.

“Why?” He asks the red-eyed man. He’s not sure exactly what he’s asking, likely a myriad of things. Whey have the Uchiha never heard of you? Why did you approach me?  Why did you not kill me when you had the chance? Why did you marry me? Why did you use your true name when you did? Why here? Why now? Why me? Somehow, Tobirama seemed to understand all that he is actually asking.

“I was born with red eyes. The moment my father saw them my fate was sealed. He could not bring himself to kill me, but he also knew that no one outside the clan could know lest you and yours steal me away. So, I was not allowed out to battle like my brothers. No one would speak of me, not truly. Even during your meetings at the river Hashirama held back most information on me” Tobirama starts.

“The sickly brother!” Madara interrupts in realization.

“In a way” Tobirama admits, a secret smile playing on his face. “After Hashirama told you about his three brothers the clan realized we would need some sort of explanation for why no one had seen me or heard of me. The rumours of me being a sickly child, too frail for much, were my idea and they worked well. What do other clans care about a child too useless to ever be a threat? So, the clans went back to not caring once the mystery was solved”. Madara was entranced despite himself. It was a clever plan, a play no one had ever seen through!

“Of course, my health was perfectly fine and I exceled in my training. I begged my father to allow me to fight, but he was haunted by images of me as the prisoner of our clan’s most ancient enemies. Hashirama, after he took over, agreed and neither would ever allow me into the field. But, Hashirama has always wanted peace, wanted it more than almost anything.” Madara is starting to see where this was going, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “He tried to broker with you, but you turned him down every time, so I offered to try and convince you from the inside. Originally, I was going to allow you to take me back to your compound, not knowing I was a Senju, and to try to seduce you. Once you married me, I would have told you the truth. However, you rather surprised me by jumping ahead last night” Tobirama chuckled. “It fit in fine with my plans though, so I went along with it. And, as I always intended, I am telling you the truth after we were bound. So, I beg of you, my husband, to consider peace with the family of my birth. I am here, and am yours, as proof of their goodwill. I willingly and knowingly bound myself to you before the gods and I will honour the promises I made then. I will be faithful to you and will serve you as a loyal husband should for as long as we both live”. By the time he’d finished, Tobirama had lowered himself so he was formally bowing before Madara.

“Please sit up” Madara asked. Tobirama obeyed and allowed his husband to look him in the eyes. Madara saw nothing but sincerity there. He could tell that all the other had said was true. Madara was stunned. It seemed as though the gods were handing him everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter. He had a gorgeous husband blessed by his patron goddess, and not only that but his husband came with the chance to actually have the peace he had always wanted with his best friend. The Senju had given them a son of their main family, making the Senju now family in turn. The elders would be honour bound to at least agree to allow them to meet for talks now. And, with this gesture, no one would be able to argue that the Senju were not showing the Uchiha their goodwill and respect. The giddy happiness he’d felt upon realizing that last night had not been a dream was returning even stronger than before. He pulled his confused, but willing husband to his feet and could no longer resist kidding his plush lips.

“You are a wonder” he whispered against them moments later. “Yes, there will be peace between the Uchiha and the Senju. This war has gone on for far too long and has hurt too many already. And you will be my husband, and I will honour you and my vows as well. I will be faithful to you alone and you will be my equal in all things”. A tentative smile started working its way onto Tobirama’s face, but he has one last concern (for now).

“And I will be allowed to see them? My family?” He asked, barely daring to breath.

“Yes, of course! Whenever you like” Madara assured him, puffing up in pride at the brilliant smile that bloomed on his husband’s face.

Tobirama almost laughed at the giddy relief he felt. He was an Uchiha now yes, but his husband had promised to treat him fairly and to allow him to see his family. There would soon be peace and he would no longer have to fear and dread the day he was discovered or one of his brothers did not return. Needing to express his emotions somehow, he pulled his husband into another kiss, full of thankfulness. Madara was quite happy to kiss him back. Later they would go make the world better, but for now both were happy to spend some time getting to know the man they’d married.

[hyliastoria]

Ineffable, Chapter Four

Hosted on Archive of Our Own by divinince.

Three times when Link couldn’t speak and the one time he did.

Chapter Four

He shouldn’t sit on the bed of the Queen of Hyrule. He shouldn’t even be in her private chamber, especially when her stomach is heavily swollen with her unborn child, but he knows his privileges extend far beyond those of the other knights and soldiers.

She stands in front of her mirror; she has spent most of her adolescence obsessed with her appearance, an obsession never observed in the previous timeline. Link wants to believe that he simply never noticed; however, one timeline ago, she had no reason to be so occupied with the curvature of her waist, the rise of her breasts, or the daintiness of her legs.

Outside of the castle, the chanting protesters have diminished into a dull chatter. They spend their days grinding the sufferings of the Gerudo women into Zelda’s skull, begging -- no, demanding -- for the end of the war. They frequent phrases such as ‘genocide’ and ‘anarchy,’ and Link can’t help but agree with their words.

But, to no one’s surprise, their words make Zelda ill; she hasn’t made a public appearance since she announced her pregnancy, aware that her words will forever be overshadowed until she declares the end of the war.

The queen observes her profile with a critical eye. Her gaze lingers on her stomach, as does Link’s, and he can’t help but wonder if she should be bigger.

(Her new nursemaid scolded her at dinner for not eating enough; she reasoned that stress had taken her appetite.)

“Link.” Dropping her hands from her stomach, Zelda turns towards her former hero and sighs, slow and deep. “I don’t want to be a mother.”

Of course, Link already knows this. She’s seventeen, still a child in every definition of the word, and when she told him of her pregnancy in the safety of a broom closet, teary-eyed and hyperventilating, Link wanted to be angry. He wanted to storm up to Sergeant Kilian, promoted to a prince in his marriage to Zelda, and knock every last tooth out of his smart mouth.

He was still disoriented from his recent injury, however, and figured throwing a punch would end him up on the ground, not to mention that the queen begged him not to, grabbed onto his sleeve and sobbed until he promised not to storm her husband’s (her dirty, no-good husband’s) study.

The bed sinks underneath Zelda’s weight as she sits beside Link, hands folded in her lap. He knows she’s yearning for the seventeen of timelines prior, when she and Link were too busy saving Hyrule to concern themselves with the happenings of a monarchy. Back then, their war was one against a true evil, one with a common cause.

In the previous timelines, they were allies, united by justice. Now, though he will never tell her, Link isn’t sure where he stands, but he knows it isn’t with her and her war. Physically, though he may be a part of her army, he is mentally far, far away from her cause.

“I don’t want to do any of this anymore,” the queen admits, gnawing on one of her fingernails. Link flashes back to when he first met Sheik, first watched the young man gnaw away at his fingernails as he surveyed the beast in their wake. He was handsome then, and Zelda is beautiful now, though her visage, nails stubby and bloody, hair thin, skin pale, hardly reflects the person she once was.

“Going back,” she tells Link, biting her nail too deep, “was the worst decision I ever made for both of us. I… I wish I had one more chance to fix this.”

Link nods slowly; going back absolutely was terrible for the both of them, but he’ll never tell her that. At the time, she thought she was making the right decision, and Link would forever support Zelda in her pursuit of fixing the brokenness in the world.

When she locks eyes with him, blue eyes desperate and hungry, he knows what she’s going to say. When she grasps his hands tight, he turns his head, refusing to give into her yearning stare.

When she speaks, her voices cracks, and she says everything Link predicted, word for word.

“Link, we should run away together.”

She’s seventeen and desperate. She’s seventeen, desperate, and yearning for the solace of a dream, coping with all the wrong mechanisms. Link understands it. He understands the desperation in her voice when he’s rattled with nightmares and flashbacks, when an arrow pierces the skin of an imagined enemy -- for Din’s sake, he, too, looks in the mirror and wants to exit his body, scarred and eyeless and hardly the hero he once knew.

But he knows. He knows he can’t leave, not yet, not when his battalion and Epona and Malon, his beloved Malon, wait for him on the other side.

Link’s lack of an answer speaks clearly to Zelda, tears welling in her eyes as he slowly looks back towards her. The way she says his name, crack in her voice, breaks his heart, but he doesn’t change his mind.

“I can’t do this,” she pleads, grabbing for his calloused hand. “Link, my life is a lie! I’m fighting a war started by my own idiocy under the guise of protecting my country! It was so selfish of me to…”

To preserve Link’s childhood, or so he thinks she wants to say.

“It’s my own fault that I’m suffering.” A hand retreats to her stomach, the other hand still caressing one of his. “I’m not happy. I’m married to a man I don’t love, fighting a war I don’t want, carrying a child I’m scared I’ll never love… Link?”

He silently begs he won’t ask again, but his luck as of recent has been virtually nonexistent.

“Run away with me, please. I’m in love with you, and we can start over, no queens or heroes or anything. Please, we would be hap--”

“No, Zelda.”

His voice is raspy but sharp, rusty and deadly, and it’s enough to command silence in the queen herself. He immediately retreats into himself, ashamed to have snapped at her, both as a subject and a friend.

Her silence (or was it fear? Does Zelda fear him?) lasts only a minute. “Link, why not? I’m in love with you, and I don’t know…”

“Because, Zelda.” He speaks softly but intently, because he needs her to listen. “I love you, sure, but I’m not in love with you.” The hurt in her eyes reflects sadness, not anger, but he doesn’t care how she looks at him: the guilt will devour him regardless.

“I got a life here, Zelda,” he explains, slowly reaching for her hand. She doesn’t fight him. “I got a job, a good gig…” He glosses over Malon, but Zelda knows. Zelda knows every detail of her, knows how dearly Link loves her.

“And I know it’s awful Zel… shucks, you and I are the only ones who know how awful it is. But, Zel, listen, look at me, please.” A squeeze of her hand sends electricity up his spine, more supernatural than romantic, a union of holy essences as opposed to a union of lovers. “It’ll get better.”

Images of dying fathers, of dark beasts, of skull kids and hurling moons and Gerudo chiefs swarm his mind. He knows the both of them have suffered greatly, but somehow, they’ve landed on the right timeline, the timeline where they survive into adulthood.

“It sucks, don’t it?” he asks her, the faintest of laughs escaping his throat. He takes the sleeve of his tunic and wipes away one of the queen’s tears. “We got a second chance and still weren’t allowed to have a childhood.”

“Cruel trick of the Goddesses,” she scorns, but the slightest smile graces her lips as she buries her head in Link’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it is.” Wrapping an arm around the queen, Link sighs. If they had landed on any other timeline, perhaps he would’ve fallen in love with her. Perhaps they would’ve married on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday, silver crown and silken veil hiding her beauty. Perhaps the ring hugging her finger would have been a product of the best Goron jewellers, forged of lava and the best gemstones rupees could buy.

Somehow, Link is grateful that the timeline that they stumbled upon wasn’t that one.

“Life is strange, ain’t it?”

Zelda giggles into his shoulder; she’s always eaten his accent up.

“Strange,” she echoes, “and terrible.”

“I know,” admits Link, giving Zelda a gentle squeeze.

He allows her to fall asleep on her shoulder, very aware of the safety his presence grants her (in fact, it’s the same safety he feels when wrapped in Malon’s arms). When her husband returns from the stately duties Link couldn’t possibly care less about, he almost screams. He almost makes a heinous accusation against Link, but Link silences him with half a glare, though twice as powerful.

Two years ago, Link bested Kilian at swords. Link almost didn’t feel guilty that he bested him in winning Zelda’s affection, too.

When he returns home the next evening, Malon is preparing for bed, singing to herself as she waltzes across the room, a goddess in a nightgown. She giggles when Link sweeps her into his arms, kissing her face and curling her hair around his fingers. He falls into bed with her and listens as she talks about the happenings of the ranch, the happy little horses and chirpy little cuccos more interesting than any journey Link had experienced.

He loves her, loves the mundane and beautiful life which she lives. He loves when she sings to the horses and when she scolds a freeloading cucco, and he loves how she sways with each step, a product of the Goddesses themselves.

Whilst snuggled up in bed, Malon asks him if he’d ever marry her. He chuckles, honey in his voice, and says he’ll consider it. When he falls asleep with his face buried in her burning red curls, he does not have a nightmare.

Link marries her on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday, flower crown adorning the red curls that frame her beautiful face. The ring he slides on her finger is the product of the finest Goron jeweller, forged from scalding lava and glittering emerald reminiscent of his youth.

The queen attends the ceremony, and she and Link tease one another endlessly, a memory of youth almost abandoned. Link loves her, loves her smile and her laugh, loves the fleeting moment when she isn’t haunted by the war at her feet, but he knows there is no romance in his feelings for her.

Planting a chaste kiss on Malon’s lips after swearing on Hylia’s name to love her forever, Link knows he has landed on the right timeline, the most dreadful and insufferable yet beautiful timeline.

[kivaember]

Plot: In a politcal plot to remove Aymeric from power, the house of lords votes to change his job title to traveling diplomat and sends him to kugane.

(okay i just wrote something for it instead uuuuuuuuuuh no regrets??? man tempted to do a few oneshots of WoL/Aym in Kugane and see how that goes)

“By majority vote,” Artoirel said in a quietly apologetictone, “You have been nominated as Ishgard’s official ambassador to Kugane. Youare expected to report to your new posting by the end of this month, sailingschedules permitting.”

Lucia drew in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth.Aymeric ignored it. He did not flinch, kept his expression one of cool neutralityas he quietly absorbed the blow Artoirel had delivered him. He should begrateful that this had been done in the privacy of his office, and not in thevery public space of the House of Lords session he was meant to be attending inthe next hour. Artoirel himself looked rumpled, as if he had ran here themoment he heard Aymeric had returned from his inspection of Dzaemel Darkhold.

He shouldn’t be surprised. There had been many debates onwho to send as part of the contribution to diplomatic mission in Kugane. TheEorzean Alliance had established an embassy there, eager to try and secure afoothold there to allow better communication and diplomacy with their new Domanally, and sent the call for each City State to contribute. Various names hadbeen drawn up in both Houses, but Aymeric’s had been bandied about the most.

Logically, it made sense: he was charismatic and well knownfor his political acumen. He also had a genuine interest in expanding Ishgard’sforeign ties, was friendly and culturally sensitive to foreigners, and was oneof the loudest supporters for the Eorzean Alliance – and had several enemies inboth Houses that would enjoy neutralising him by sending him as far away asphysically possible without launching him into space. He had already provenhimself too troublesome to cleanly assassinate.

Aymeric folded his hands on his desk, very carefullycompartmentalising his personal feelings on the matter and forced himself toregard it with cold calculation. In all honesty he was impressed at the cunningof this plan – he had been aware there was a voting session whilst he was oninspection, but as it didn’t pertain to any high-profile proposals orlegislation, hadn’t paid much mind to it. If he had known…

Well, what could he have done? From the sounds of it thishad been a plan long in the making and the votes already decided before thedebate had even begun. The majority of Ishgard’s MPs wanted him out of Ishgardand causing trouble for other people. He should, in fact, look at this as anopportunity. He was already coming to the end of his term as Speaker – he hadbeen elected twice, already, and their constitution stated that one could onlydo two consecutive terms at a time – and he had been considering whether to revertto being mainly the Lord Commander or becoming a full-time politician.

It was a prestigious position, on paper. He should behonoured that he was chosen to represent Ishgard and strengthen their ties withtheir allies.

He should be.

(he wasn’t)

“I see,” Aymeric finally said, when three full minutes ofsilence stretched between them, “Thank you for informing me, Lord Artoirel.Should I assume that my presence is therefore not needed in the upcomingsession?”

Artoirel dipped his head, “Correct. It has been decided thatI will carry out the remainder of your duties until the next Speaker is chosenin the upcoming month.”

Aymeric relaxed a fraction at that. At least his exile hadn’twrenched a hole open for the likes of Lord Dounon to slither into, “Am I ableto nominate a successor for Lord Commander, or has that too been decidedwithout me?”

Artoirel winced slightly at that, “If you are able tonominate a successor that meets the Houses’ approval in the next week-”

“Lucia,” Aymeric said instantly.

“Sir,” Luciaprotested, “I am-”

“More than acceptable,” Aymeric said shortly, “LordArtoirel, if the Houses’ have a complaint on my successor, feel free to directthem to myself. Notwithstanding her origins, she has proven herself time andagain as a loyal soldier of Ishgard, unflinching in her service and diligent inher duties. I will accept none other as my successor, if only because she hasbeen carrying out the Lord Commander duties on my behalf for the past few yearsso I know she can do it. She has proven herself.”

A grim kind of humour flickered across Artoirel’s face asLucia stood in stunned silence, “I am sure no one will protest, sir.”

“I will protest,”Lucia said immediately, “Sir, my place is at your side.”

“You would be better served here, Lucia,” Aymeric said, “Irefuse to relinquish this seat to someone who would abuse it. I know I cantrust you with Ishgard and the Temple Knight’s best interests.”

Lucia wavered, but after a pause where Aymeric met her gaze evenly,her shoulders slumped and she inclined her head with a soft, unhappy, “Understood,sir.”

“I shall leave you to your preparations, Lord Commander,”Artoirel said, rising from his seat, “I wish you luck in your new position.”

The door that clicked shut behind the departing Artoirelsounded damningly final. Silence reigned again, until slowly, Aymeric pushedhis seat back and stood up.

Lucia watched him with wary eyes, “Sir?”

“Pardon me, Lucia,” he said with a strange, unsteady sort ofcalm, “I need a moment to collect my thoughts. Please take over my duties untilI return.”

“… yes, sir.”

Aymeric barely remembered the walk back to his home. Hismind was too busy spinning over how he had been exiled from a home he had shed sweat, blood and tears over for all hislife. Should he be surprised, though? From the moment Lord Borel had raised himup from one of the many unwanted, faceless orphans that clogged up the Brume,Aymeric had always had to viciously fight and defend his place in a world thatwas determined to shut him out, had always had to dig his heels in so he wasn’ttossed aside. No one had believed he would amount to anything more than alow-rank knight – and even then, that had been considered too good for a bastardlike him. But he had proven them wrong – had forced them to look at him and admit he was better than his peers who came from good stock.

That did not come from being passive and earnest. Aymerichad to be more ruthless, more calculating and smarter and stronger and moreskilled to achieve his goals. He had crushed more than a few noble hopefulsunder his heel to claw his way into the position of Lord Commander, and while hewas eventually, grudgingly,acknowledged… he was never accepted.

He’d gotten complacent, he realised. He thought things hadchanged enough that he could relax into a position he made himself and not worry about having to continuously prove hisworth to remain there. He was elected! They wanted him there! They wanted him there!

Hah. What a lie he told himself.

When he reached home, he stood in the front hallway for along while, feeling adrift. He should start getting his affairs in order. Heneeded to see if he could transfer his funds from the Ishgardian bank to whateverthe equivalent was in Kugane, he needed to find which ports directly travelledto Kugane, he needed to pack and whatwas he going to do with this house? Should he place everything in storage? Lasthe heard the diplomatic mission in Kugane was a three year posting, but what ifthey just continuously renewed his place there? He’d never come home and thenwhat? There was so much to consider in so short a time – transporting hisbelongings would have to be done the slow way, by ship, even if he possessedjust enough anima and aetherical control to teleport to Kugane. Though it tooka lot out of him and he had to take a day to sleep it off and-

Aymeric closed his eyes and stopped his thoughts, taking adeep, long breath.

…

He couldn’t believe he had been exiled.

Realising he wasn’t going to get anything done, Aymeric satdown on the bottom step of his stairwell and stared at his hands. If this hadhappened differently, if this had been a choiceof his, he knew he would be excited and eager to carry out a diplomatic missionin a foreign country. But it wasn’t his choice. It was a thinly veiledrejection, of the Houses coming together and saying ‘thanks for everything butwe don’t want you here anymore so go be someone else’s problem’, and that…

That really hurt.

Aymeric gently prodded that hurt for a moment and sighed. Itsounded childish even to him. No doubt there were more than a few who genuinelythought he was the best man for the job, who probably thought he’d be overjoyedat such a posting, but emotions rarely took logic into consideration, so he wasleft with a throat-clenching, chest-tightening ache that he had to breathe throughslowly.

He’d get over it, he told himself as he rubbed roughly athis face. He always got over it. He just needed to think how this would be adelightful change of pace, and how it opened so many new opportunities andexperiences for him. He would enjoyit, the initial pain of sorting his admin out aside, and it might, potentially,mean more time with Aza-

-shit. Aza. Aza hated Kugane.

It felt like a stone had dropped hard into the bottom of hisstomach. Aza refused to go to Kuganeunless it was absolutely vital for work or to fulfil a favour for a friend. IfAymeric was trapped there full time, would Aza go against his understandableand visceral hatred of the place to visit him? Even if he did, would Aymericeven ask him of that? It seemed cruel, and he couldn’t force Aza to besomewhere he hated. He would hate it, Aza would hate it, and they’d be equallymiserable.

For a very brief, desperate moment, Aymeric was actuallytempted to do something drastic like commit political suicide and force theHouses to elect someone more ‘proper’… only to realise that they’d probablysend him anyways as punishment for whatever he did. He anxiously stood up,paced the width of his front hallway, and sat down again, feeling a caged animal.

He should call Aza.

Forcing himself to push away his unsettled emotions andfocus, he tapped at his linkpearl, reaching for his partner’s frequency. He wasat Camp Dragonhead today, helping Lord Emmanellain with some task or other, sothe connection should be stable enough without enduring static-

“Hello?”

“Aza,” Aymeric murmured, feeling his stomach do somethingvery weird and potentially medically unhealthy, like it couldn’t decide whetherto twist or sink, “Hello, love.”

“Aym?” Aza’s surprisewas understandable. Aymeric only tended to call his linkpearl for long absencesor emergencies, “What’s wrong? Are youokay?”

“I’m-” he found himself incapable of finishing. He was fine, but also not. He also feltinexplicably foolish. Aza was supposed to be back by dusk, and it seemedridiculous to call him in the middle of work simply because Aymeric’s feelingswere hurt over a reassignment. It wasn’t pressing, or an emergency, and couldvery easily wait for that evening when Aymeric didn’t feel so raw about it.

“It’s nothing,” he said instead, “I’m sorry if I distractedyou. I’ll speak to you to-”

“Bullshit,” Aza interruptedsharply, “Aym, you sound really fucking upset. What happened? Do I have tokill someone?”

“I- do not sound upset,” Aymeric said unconvincingly, becausehe sounded strained even to his own ears, “No one needs to be killed either.”Unless Aza was willing to eliminate the entirety of Ishgard’s government, thatis.

(Terrifyingly, Aymeric knew Aza would do that, for him, but it was best not to dwell on those things)

“You sure?” Aza’stone gentled, “C’mon, tell me what’swrong. I’m just sitting here watching people fail at mining, so I can talk. Youwon’t be bothering me.”

Fail at mining? “How can you fail at mining?”

“Easily, if you’re a CampDragonhead knight, apparently. They keep fucking up the extraction ofdarksteel,” Aza sighed, “Amateurs,honestly. I’m gonna wait for a few hours before putting them out of theirmisery.”

Aymeric was half-tempted to ask about how one exactly ‘fuckedup the extraction of darksteel’, but that would be procrastinating and both ofthem knew it. Aza would indulge him, but Aymeric really shouldn’t try talkingcircles about this. He took a moment.

Aza patiently waited. On his end he could hear the softcrackle of the aether connection, distant, muffled shouts and the howl of astrong wind.

“… I’m… I’m no longer the Speaker of the House of Lords,” Aymericfinally said, surprised at how much it hurt to say that aloud. It was more realwhen he actually said and acknowledged it.

“You’re… how?” Azagasped, “I thought you had another twomonths!”

“It seems,” Aymeric muttered, his voice brittle, “That theHouses unanimously agreed that I would be better served in Kugane as Ishgard’srepresentative in the Eorzean Alliance’s embassy.”

“They’re kicking youout of Ishgard!?” Aza hissed,understanding immediately, “They can’t dothat! You’re the reason their government isn’t a steaming pile of shit rightnow! You single-handedly-”

“I cannot claim all the credit for Ishgard’s recentsuccesses,” Aymeric said tiredly, “I’m not that arrogant to think the governmentrevolves around me. No, I…” he paused and then continued with a conviction hedidn’t feel, “I have fulfilled my purpose here, and can… do more in Kugane. It’sfine. It’s a prestigious position to have and they clearly think I can do wellin it. It… it will go well.”

“…” Aza sighed, “Aym, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Aymeric felt awful. He wanted this conversationface-to-face. He should have waited, “I’m not lying.”

“You are,” Azasaid firmly, “You’re upset, so be upset.Why else did you call me? C’mon.”

“To give you the good news?” Aymeric croaked out.

“You didn’t even tryto sound sincere then,” Aza said, unimpressed, “Look, I’ll come home right now-”

“You hate Kugane,” Aymeric blurted.

“What?”

“You hate Kugane,” Aymeric repeated, “So, if I’m there… you-”

“Gods, Aym,” Azasounded like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell at him, “Yeah, I hate it, but… shit. I won’t letthat stop me from visiting you or hogging your blankets. You’ll have to pry meout of your bed almost every morning, same as usual.”

“But,” Aymeric began and… faltered, because that part of Aza’spast was always a taboo subject, “Your history…”

“Was over twenty yearsago,” Aza murmured so quietly Aymeric almost didn’t hear him, “I… I’ll be okay. For you, I’ll be okay. Imean, try to have your living quarters as Eorzean as possible and don’t startdressing like a Doman, but… yeah, it’ll be fine.”

Aymeric wavered, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Aza soundedlike he was smiling, “You’re totallyworth a bit of discomfort, handsome. You just gotta be extra distracting whenever I visit, okay?”

“Easily done,” Aymeric said with unspeakable relief. Thatwas one burden eased from hisshoulders, at least.

“Was that the onlything that was upsetting you?”

Aymeric hesitated, but confessed, “No. I’m… there is more.”

“Okay,” Aza’svoice was gentle, “Let me show these guyshow to mine, and I’ll be home within the hour so we can talk properly, alright?”

“Alright,” Aymeric almost whispered, “Don’t needlessly rush.I can wait.”

“Pfft. No, you can’t. You’remore important to me than a bunch of stupid rocks. Go make your birch tea shitand go relax. I’ll be with you soon.”

“It’s not ‘birch tea shit’,” Aymeric grumbled, “It’s-”

“Love you, handsome!”Aza cut over him cheerily, and made a noisy kissing noise down the line, “Talk to you soon!”

“Aza-”

‘Click!’

Aymeric lowered his fingers from the linkpearl at thatrather rude hang up and sat there for a moment. He felt, surprisingly, a littlebetter. The hurt was beginning to slowly give way to simmering, ugly resentmentand indignation, but Aymeric put a lid on that for when Aza came home and stoodup.

He still felt adrift. He still felt as stunned as if he’djust taken a knife to the back, but… at least he knew Aza would still be withhim, every step of the way. And he’d recover from this. He always bounced backfrom shit like this, from people determined to declaw him and render himharmless. He just needed to brush the dust off his more… ruthless tendencies.

Deep breath. Exhale.

Good.

With his head lifted high, Aymeric made for the kitchens to makehis ‘birch tea shit’, to prepare for his new political battlefield.  

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Hearts of Steel (ch. 1 of 3)

Len heads back to his Earth, temporarily, with Sara by his side. But fixing what he'd left behind won't be easy, and sometimes the idea of "home" is more complicated than it seems.

This will be the last story in this series, with this version of Leonard Snart, for a while. I hope you've enjoyed it. I have!

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. There will be three parts, but all three are already done and beta'd. Can also be read here at AO3.

Now he’s stronger than you know A heart of steel starts to grow

(“Superheroes,” The Script)

“Are you sure I need to wear this?” Sara stares into the mirror, inspecting the white domino mask that covers part of her face. It’s simple and fits perfectly, just like her White Canary outfit, but she hasn’t worn a mask since…well, before she died. The first time.

Len appears besides her, and they both regard their reflections. He’s in his full uniform, the one he’d been wearing way back when they’d found him, the sleeveless black jumpsuit and the white and blue hooded, sleeveless jacket over it. He also has a metallic blue mask much like her white one, and two pairs of blue eyes met in the mirror in silent understanding.

“You can do away with it if you want,” Len tells her, earning a yelp of protest from Cisco Ramon, who’d designed said mask and is waiting nearby for the right moment to use his breaching talents and send them over to Len’s Earth. “But just because I’m not aware of a doppelgänger of you on my Earth doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And if she’s a civilian…”

“Yeah. Let’s not mess things up for her. If she exists.” Sara eyes him. “People pay that much attention?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Len steps away from the mirror with a sigh. “Especially with the Justice League, there are people who devote waaayyyy too much time and effort to following the usual slate of heroes. Blogs, social media, the whole nine yards. They see a newcomer, ‘specially one as…ah, notable as you, your pic’s gonna end up out there.”

He shrugs, adjusting his own mask. “It draws attention, but it’s protective coloration, in a way. People don’t look past the outfit. And once you’ve…hmm…changed your narrative, people tend to buy into it. They look at you as a story, not a person.”

He sounds almost unsettled, despite the assurances, and Sara draws closer again, thinking about what she knows about his life on his Earth.

“Aw, Len, do you have Cold groupies?” she teases gently, trying to draw him out of the mood. “Girls wearing goggles and trying to take selfies with you?”

That earns her a smirk. “And guys,” he drawls. “I’m an equal opportunity hero.”

Sara snorts. “I bet.”

“All right, people.” They’re interrupted by Wells, who strides into the room with Caitlin and Barry. “We’re good to go here. Mr. Snart? Let me fill you in on these.”

Len sets his shoulders and turns to face the trio as Cisco moves over to join them. Sara, turning with him, studies them too.

Caitlin winks at her, but Wells is already proceeding, reaching into his pocket to pull out…an ordinary pharmaceutical bottle.

Len frowns at it. “This is…”

“I told you we were working on using nanites to target the alien—by which I mean, strange, not extraterrestrial—parts of the DNA,” Caitlin tells him.

“The tech is in these capsules.” Wells gives the bottle a shake. It rattles. “They just need to swallow one. It will take a little time—not too long, but not immediate—and there may be unpleasant side effects while it works, but it will work.”

Len stares at the bottle, then lets out a gusty sigh, reaching out to take it with a muttered and fervent “thank you.” Wells lets go, an understanding look very briefly flickering over his face as he nods.

“There are three in there,” he tells Len. “I know you said you didn’t want one. But…just in case.”

Len regards the bottle another moment, then nods, pocketing it. Then he glances at Sara. “So. I guess it’s time to go.”

Sara nods, turning to look around, as if the team had somehow managed to sneak in behind them. “It seems weird not to have the others here. I thought they’d…well.”

She’d actually declared a vacation for the Legends while they’d waited for Wells and Caitlin to work out the puzzle, and the team had scattered, at least somewhat. (Sara and Len had mostly stayed on the ship, except for working with Team Flash and meeting up with Sara’s mother, which had been memorable.) Sara knows that Ray and Nate had gone back to Star City for at least a few days, and Jax and Martin are with their families here. Mick and Amaya had hung around with Len and Sara, for a bit—Sara, amused, doesn’t mention the words “double-date”—but they’ve vanished too.

She hoped they’d be back in time for this. She’d called the team’s phones, with no luck, but they hadn’t had a ton of notice, and there’s no point in waiting. Still…

“Boss!”

Both Sara and Len turn, then give each other wry smiles as they notice the other’s reaction. Then they watch Mick as he saunters into the room, Amaya with him.

“Were you talking to me or him?” Sara asks her unofficial second with amusement as he stops in front of her.

“Yes.” Mick smirks at her, then looks at Len. “Sorry. Rest of the team, they didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. So. Said I’d, uh…what’d Haircut say? Yeah, ‘convey their well-wishes.” He nods, looking satisfied, then glancing at Amaya and back at Len.

“Won’t say ‘be careful,’ ‘cause I know you won’t, but…” He hesitates. “Eh. Don’t let me…him…oh hell, whatever, you get it. Don’t let him shove you around. From what you said, he’s pretty much me at a… certain part of my life. Angry at the world.” He glances at Amaya again. “Doesn’t know there’s…more. Doesn’t think it’s for him if he does. Hope you can tell ‘im otherwise.”

It’s incredibly eloquent for Mick, who Len knows struggles with words sometimes even though he’s far smarter than most people give him credit for. He nods, then reaches out to grasp the other man’s arm, a brief gesture that’s still a departure for them. Micks nods back, once, then turns to Sara.

Len eyes Amaya, who smiles back at him. He likes her, this woman out of time, though he’s neglected to tell her that he’s also met (and flirted with) her granddaughter from his Earth.

“Godspeed,” she tells him. “And come back soon and safe.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Mick and Sara have now finished saying whatever they had to say to each other, and Sara and Len lock eyes, then turn, taking in the sight of the bemused Team Flash watching them all.

“This,” Cisco breathes, “is weird.”

Barry’s grinning, though. “You guys be safe,” he adds. “Say hi to my doppelgänger.”

“He ain’t much like you. But if I see him…” Len’s more likely to snark and sass, and they both know it. “Well. Something like that.”

Cisco claps his hands together briskly then. “OK, well, as utterly bizarre—and weirdly entertaining--as it is to witness all these…feelings…from people who once tried to kill me, sort of, I think it’s time to get this show on the road. Ready?”

“Sorry, Nerd Boy,” Mick rumbles at him, even at Len and Sara glance at each other again.

“Let’s go,” Len says with a sigh, then scans the room. “Ah. I don’t…I’m not…just…” He shrugs again. “Thank you all.”

Among the murmured chorus of “welcomes,” Cisco raises his hands and the air…splits.

“I’ll open it again in 12 hours,” he tells them. “And then every hour on the hour after until it hits a full day.”

“After that,” Mick informs them then, arms crossed and an expression that says he won’t be countermanded on this, not by either “boss,” “we come looking for you.”

Sara and Len exchange a look—presumably both imaging the kind of chaos that could cause—but don’t argue. If it goes that long, Len knows, they’ll need the help.

When the breach is big enough to admit two people, Cisco nods to them, and Len takes a deep breath, looking at Sara. He thinks about reaching out to take her hand, but something stops him. It’s one thing to kiss her in front of the massed teams here, but he doesn’t know precisely where they’ll be breaching into on his Earth, and he doesn’t want to make her a target…

So, instead, he just nods to her, and heads for the breach, not looking back.

The first thing Sara thinks about Len’s Earth is that the light looks different. The light and the colors; they seem somehow brighter, and for the first few minutes, everything seems a little…flat. But she blinks and it’s back to her normal, and her eyes quickly grow accustomed to the light.

They’ve emerged in what seems to be an ordinary alley, and there’s no one else around. Sara glances at Len and sees him staring up at the sky, just visible through the taller buildings around them.

As if feeling her gaze upon him, the man in question lowers his own gaze and regards her. He looks unsettled…a strange mix of glad and worried. Sara holds the gaze, trying to convey support, then speaks.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” she asks quietly.

Len visibly shakes his distraction off. “Not precisely. Will, though. All I need is a better look.” He squares his shoulders, then heads for the place where the alley opens to the street. Sara follows.

Not so far from city center. It seems vaguely odd to just about see the city map unfolding in his head, given that the other Central City is different in so many ways big and small, and Len takes a deep breath, reminding himself that although so many things about this place feel like home, he’s leaving. He’s going back to Sara’s Earth. He’s…

He’s home?

It’s in his blood and his bones, apparently, and won’t be shaken as easily as he’d thought. Len takes another deep and shaky breath, hoping Sara doesn’t notice (let’s be honest, Sara almost certainly notices) and bends his brain to their best plan of attack.

Not that they’ll attack. They’ll almost certainly be defending.

Oh, holy hell, he doesn’t want to face Lisa.

“We’re actually in the right quadrant of the city,” he tells Sara, who’s studying her surroundings with an intent expression and letting him struggle with his thoughts. “Up for a walk? I’m sure my bike is long gone anyway and though we could take public transportation, I’d rather not deal with the hassle.”

Sara’s lips twitch as if at the thought. “Certainly. We should probably check the date.” She hesitates, studying him. “Cisco did say time runs differently on some Earths.”

He’s been trying not to think about that. Ramon had also said he didn’t think this was one of them, but…

“We’ll find a newsstand. Otherwise, best to stick to the back streets, the alleys…”

“The rooftops?” Sara’s voice is wry. She knows he’s not fond of heights, and they’ve squabbled good-naturedly about the value of the heights for either heroes or villains…or Rogues.

“Yeah, yeah.” Len takes another deep breath and nods. “OK, if we somehow get separated…get directions for the intersection of Samuel Street and James Place. There’s a diner there called the Ice Box; I’ll find you.”

“Let’s go.”

A newspaper honor box gives them proof that time here runs just the same as time back on Earth-1. Sara can see Len sigh in relief as he scans the headlines, then glance at her before turning away.

She’s pretty sure he’s finding it more difficult to reconcile his feelings about being back here with his desire to leave than he expected. She gets it, really. Like her and Nanda Parbat, sometimes a place calls to you even though you know it’s not the best thing for you, especially when it was home for years.

She just hopes he doesn’t have second thoughts.

It’s a little surreal to see Len stalking along in his full Earth-52 Captain Cold get-up, but he’d been completely correct. People turn to watch him—them—go, some pulling out cell phones and snapping photos, talking eagerly, loudly enough that Sara can hear their surprise and excitement, if not the precise words beyond “Captain Cold”… and “woman in white.”

She’s an unknown quantity—and probably a valuable one in the currency of information. She ignores the peanut gallery, staying at Len’s side, and eventually he looks at her with a speaking glance, one she returns in understanding.

Time to go underground—figuratively, anyway.

In unison, they both turn off the main roadway into an alleyway, Len leading the way around a corner before their interested audience can follow. He ducks into an alcove with Sara at his heels, and they wait there for a few moments to shake any civilian pursuers before Len steps back out and over to a door across the way.

Well, he can pick locks just as well as Earth-1 Snart. Sara smirks as Len eases the door open in the span of a minute, then follows him into the dark space within, scanning the room as he shuts and locks the door behind them.

Abandoned office building, she guesses. The windows are boarded up, but the dark shapes of desks are still visible in the gloom, a classic cubicle farm redolent of boredom and irritation.

“Len,” she whispers. “What’s up with the ‘Office Space’ set here?”

He sighs, eyeing her as he turns away from the door. “To the right,” is all he says. “Up the stairs.”

“Ahhhh. Rooftops after all.”

“Something like.”

Precisely like, actually. Len’s no roof-runner, not like some heroes he knows, but he also knows the value of changing up their location—whether or not he’ll admit that to Sara since it became a sort of longstanding joke between them.

Not long later, they emerge on the top of the building. Len relocks the door behind them and leads Sara toward the edge. Fortunately for him, though, the buildings in this particular block are so close together that there’s no leaping from site to site…just a bit of climbing and careful navigation. They traverse that set of buildings, then move kitty-corner to another, continuing for another bit until Len drops onto a fire escape, making his way toward the ground.

It’s not nearly so nice an area now. They’re more on the outskirts of the city, not so far from a mostly defunct industrial complex near the river, a complex gradually abandoned as water traffic became less important to the movement of goods throughout the country. Although it’s nearing noon now, there aren’t many people around, and the ones that are minding their own business.

It’s just that kind of area.

Len looks swiftly around once he alights, then ducks over to hug the wall, walking quickly toward the industrial area. Sara is at his heels, and he knows she’s watching his back as he skirts the complex, gradually moving inward, building to building, following the map in his memory.

If they’ve abandoned this safehouse/base…well, Len has more options in mind, a mental list of places he himself set up over the years. He’s relatively sure Mick and Lisa would stick together, united in their challenges—and their hatred of him.

And beyond that, he knows them well enough that he can, he thinks, put together the puzzle and track them down, especially if he deigns to ask for help. But that will take longer, and Sara needs to go back to her Earth and her home, and he…he doesn’t really want to be without her, even briefly.

Startling thought. They’re not joined at the hip, or anything. That's silly. But together, they’re stronger, better, more balanced, a team within a team in so many aspects. Enough so that's he even speculated on...well, seeing if she'd like to formalize that partnership someday, which is even more startling a thought.

But there's no time for such thoughts now. They're approaching the warehouse/safehouse he's deemed the most likely to be Lisa and Mick's base. And the greeting is not likely to be friendly.

Sara can feel the rising tension in Len as they move farther into the complex. Well…it’s understandable, and frankly, she’s not immune. This Earth’s Mick Rory and Lisa Snart have some truly scary abilities, and they won’t look kindly on Len or, she’s pretty sure, anyone with him. At least, not until he tells them his news.

Maybe not even then. Sara might not have a college degree, but she’s been around enough to learn a thing or two about human nature.

The area is deserted, now, silent except for the faint sweep of the breeze and the cries of gulls and sounds of boat engines from the waterfront not so far away. Sara can smell water both moving and standing, that indefinable mix of something crisp and fresh and something ever so slightly rotten, and the whiff of oil and other industrial material once used here. The colors around her flicker and go flat, bright, again briefly as she tails Len through the light and shadow, and she shakes her head, frowning.

After pausing in the shadow of the entry to another cluster of buildings, Len sighs nearly inaudibly and glances at her. He doesn’t have to speak aloud to tell her they may be close. High alert.

Sara nods. They’ve discussed plans already, but they both know that plans rarely survive the first engagement with the…the enemy.

She watches his back as Len pops the massive lock on a door fairly easily (while shaking his head in disapproval) and follows as he moves silently into the building, closing the heavy door behind them. The doorway isn’t the main entry to whatever business had once been housed here, just a rear entrance that leads to what seems to be a small receiving room, and the windows are boarded up, leaving the space in shadow.

But…Sara takes a breath, then a deeper one. There’s not as much dust in the air as she’d think.

Len studies the room but ignores the two closed doors that seems to lead deeper into the complex on this floor. Instead, he steps toward one labeled as a stairwell, looking back to catch Sara’s eye.

She’s in this for better or worse. She nods back, falling into step with him, as they quietly head through the door and then downward, stepping carefully on the dark stairs.

The stairwell goes down two flights, and Len ignores the doorway at the first sublevel and carefully opens the door at the second. The space is now truly dark. Sara’s eyes have become accustomed to the darkness, but it’s still hard to see and she’s not comfortable with the lack of information. She pauses a moment, watching Len, trying to convey that.

He pauses, too, then breathes, “Gotta pass through one more space before I can hit some lights—used to be a cubicle farm for some of the office types. No windows equals less distraction, I guess.” He shakes his head. “And people wonder why I became a crook.”

Sara smirks as she studies him, then nods. Len pushes open the door, and they step through.

It’s not the maze of desks and dividers she expects, though. She gets the impression of a large open space without much cluttering it, even darker than she expected. Len takes another step, then stops.

“Different,” he mutters, and Sara can hear the frown in his voice. He takes another step, then another, and Sara moves closer so they can watch each other’s backs. She draws in a breath, frowning too, then another, swearing she smells the faintest trace of cooking meat.

And a whiff of…

Smoke.

Everything happens at once, then, in the roar of flame and the crackle of ice. Sara gets one good look at this Earth’s Mick Rory as the flames surge and Len steps up, raising his hands to send a responding wave of ice to meet them—but then she drops to the ground and rolls away as the men start yelling at each other, indistinct profanity and deprecations from Mick, attempts at explanation from Len.

Len can handle himself. But if Mick’s here, there’s likely to be someone else as well, and someone needs to watch for her or this whole thing might end quickly, and very badly indeed.

As fire meets ice, steam roils out, and the room gets even harder to see in than before. Sara, glad for her newer boots (which offer improved footing on more than just ice), moves farther away from the elemental battle, listening intently, shaking her collapsed bo out of her sleeve, extending it and then separating it into the two shorter staffs.

Then she closes her eyes, holds her breath and…

There.

Sara ducks, whirls, and brings up a staff to block rather than attack. The steamy air churns around her, and she hears, under everything, a whisper of female laughter, a sound that’s, well, none too sane.

Is there a way of getting through? Sara takes another deep breath, putting her back toward the wall again, lowering the staff a little.

“Lisa,” she says in an intense tone, pitching her voice to be heard even through the chaos. “We’re here to help you. Your brother…he…”

But those words are apparently not the right ones. The whisper of laughter rises into a howl of anger, and Sara ducks and whirls and moves again, blocking, and this time there’s a metallic noise as something connects with her staff.

There are words, in the howl. They might be: “He did this!” They might not.

Sara responds, however, like they were. “He didn’t mean what happened!’ she cries, moving into a guard position again. “He screwed up. Big time. But he’s been looking and looking for a way to help you and…”

Duck, move, block.

“…and we have one. We have one, Lisa. We can help.”

But then the noises behind her change, the rush of ice and the rage of fire muting, and it’s a stupid move, a rookie move, but Sara glances back to make sure Len’s OK, then back in the fraction of a second, long enough for a hand to emerge from the seething, fading steam, heading straight for her.

And then Len’s there, in front of her, and the golden fingers stop a millimeter, no more, from his face. Their owner steps forward.

And Sara gets her first clear look at what’s become of Lisa Snart.

Who calls herself, now and on this Earth, Lady Midas.

[dawnoftime21]

Word on the Street (Jerome Valeska x reader) smut

Summary: You and Jerome had been best friends and inseparable ever since you two had been in Arkham, you two had both been taken out of the Asylum by Theo Galavan. You didn’t trust him and warned Jerome to be careful but he didn’t, resulting in his death but you find out through word on the street that Jerome is back.

Warnings: smut,oral (Jerome receiving), Daddy kink, Dom! reader, Sub!Jerome

You walked down the cold, dark streets of Gotham, heading down an alleyway to get home as quickly as possible. No one really recognized you as an Arkham escapee, you never murdered anyone but you sure as hell were crazy and violent, very capable of murder but never having to do it. Making your way toward the end of the alley you hear to people talking.

“He’s returned! The king has returned!”

“Jerome will change the world! They’ll be down at our feet soon enough”

You stopped dead in your tracks.. Jerome?…Jerome was back?… No no no, he’s dead he can’t be back that’s just crazy!

You rushed toward the men, eager to find out more, you stopped in front of them and they gave you a glare that just screamed insanity.. you couldn’t but smile softly at it knowing Jerome had that same fire in his eyes.

“Excuse me, you said that Jerome was back..are you speaking of Jerome…Valeska?” You said hesitantly, not wanting to say his name. They instantly brightened up and smiled wide.

“Of course! Who else?!” One of them yelled I’m utter excitement,

“He’s having a carnival at the South end of town! I heard he’s going to kill Bruce Wayne” he says softly not wanting anyone walking by to hear anything of this. You quickly thanked the men and quickly ran off toward the South side of town, that had to be the longest you’ve ever ran it had to have been a good 45 minutes or maybe even longer but you knew you needed to see Jerome.

~~~~~

You rushed into the carnival scenery around you, people with makeup resembling that of a clown only way more darker and unsettling. Citizens of Gotham being used for twisted games like getting shot with guns, and getting darts thrown at them as they were surrounded by balloons. It was quite impressive actually, how something so family friendly could be twisted into a game of murder and revenge.

Exploring deeper into the madness around you, you come across a crowd surrounding a stage, with a cannon and beside it…there he was, your other half… Your best friend, Jerome Valeska, you had always wanted the title of being more than his best friend but Jerome had always protested saying he wanted you safe from those out to get him.. hmm, who knew he had a soft spot. You focused on him, barley even realizing that Bruce Wayne, his greatest enemy was right there handcuffed to a pole, you couldn’t help but giggle, he wanted him dead more than anything in the world, you never understood why but you’d support him. He was different, you were far in the back but, you couldn’t help but notice that he has small pieces of metal in his face… Staples?, Did he have his face stapled back on? What the fuck went down?

You were brought out of your trance by gunshots, causing you to jump and look around frantically, your eyes landing on Detective James Gordon and Harvey Bullock, well this is just my luck huh, you look back at the stage to see that not only is Jerome gone but so is Bruce Wayne. You look around to see Bruce run into the House of Mirrors, you quickly go after him.

“Bruuuuuce?” You coo softly, cautiously walking and looking at the mirrors around, spotting Bruce in every reflection, you turn around and see the real one right in front of you. “I’ll distract him while you run, alright? I have some business to take care of with him” You tilted your head as you heard a new pair of foot steps enter the maze, Bruce notices and runs out, breathing a quick thank you before doing so. Oh no need to thank me Brucey, next time I’ll let him kill you, you think to yourself walking deeper into the maze.

“I know you’re in here Bruce!” Jerome growls, soon coming into your view through the mirror, you smirk wildly. Let the fun begin!

“I’m sorry sweetheart but Bruce can’t come right now, he’s long gone,” you purr, causing Jerome to grow angry at the news Bruce had escaped, but also amazed to hear your voice again after so long.

“You let him go?!” Jerome shouts, not phasing you.. God you loved it when he got angry. You bite your lip as you feel a heat stir up between your legs.

“Indeed I did, I needed to talk to you, you left me Jerome!” You pout trying to sound as innocent as possible. Jerome looks around trying to find the real you and not one of your many reflections.

“I was so lonely without you… Daddy,” These words stunned him, he’d never been very intimate with you but boy did he wish he had, you hear his breath hitch a bit as he feels himself harden and his pants tighten.

“Where are you?” He growls, causing a giggle to escape your lips. Brushing off his question, you continue on.

“I spent so many nights thinking about you, deep inside of my while I touched myself,” you reach a hand between your legs and up your skirt, sliding your fingers of and down your folds, teasing yourself as you make eye contact with his reflection, “thinking about you fucking me raw, using me however you ever so please.” You moan out as you spot his eyes cloud over with lust.

“______. Get over here. NOW!” He roars as he sees you playing with your clit, moaning and whimpering at your own touch. You walk to face him, slowly bringing your fingers to his lips.

“Suck.” You demand coldly, he didn’t hesitate and placed your fingers between his lips, sucking and licking them like he had wanted to taste you all his life. You remove your fingers and smirk. “Sadly that’s the only taste you’ll be getting of me” you purr, getting on your knees and palming him through his white ring master pants, you hear a deep moan, almost a growl escape his mouth, causing you to palm him harder.

“D-Don’t tease me” he manages to get out through his shaky breaths. “Hmm, what’s the magic word Daddy?” You coo as you undo his pants ever so slowly, loving to see him wrapped around your finger.

“Oh God please _____!” His voice raises slightly, sounding desperate. You giggle and swirl your tongue around his head, causing him to shudder at the sudden contact.

“Good boy” you quickly take him into your mouth needy for him, bobbing your head at a fast pace and hollowing your cheeks to suck him harder.

“S-Shit, oh my god _____. Just like that fuck!” He moans, running his fingers through your hair, gripping it tightly and gently pulling, earning a moan from you. You continue on and massage his sack, looking up at him and seeing his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“I-Im gonna cum baby, fuck!” His thoughts get interrupted as cums down your throat, you smirk in satisfaction and swallow him.

“Mmm yummy” you giggle, standing and kissing him hungrily, he kisses back more forcefully and pushing you back into one of the mirrors causing it to shatter around the two of you. Fuck you needed him all of him, mind, body and soul.

“Fuck me Daddy, take me… All of me” you moan out softly as your lips separate. He doesn’t hesitate and wraps your leg around his waist, ripping your panties off and shoving himself inside of you…all of him. You cry out loudly, not only at how much he was filling you and stretching your neglected cunt but because of how long you’ve wanted this and you’ve finally got your wish.

“fuck you’re so tight baby” he mumbles against your neck, as he pounds in out of you. You take your arms out your shirt and bra, pulling them down your stomach, exposing your breasts. With no hesitation he attacks them, sucking your nipple and massaging the other breast, “Daddy o-oh fuck” you whimper out as his teeth sink into your sensitive nipple, causing them to harden even more. He moves his hand down to your clit, rubbing it in small circles.

“H-Harder, fuck me harder” you whimper so much need in your voice, he couldn’t help but give you what you wanted. He quickened his pace, fucking you like an animal. His lips meet yours and your mouth opens without any second thought, allowing his tongue to explore. You gasp as he hits your g-spot, “Right there daddy! Oh fuck I’m gonna cum!” You cry out, tugging on his hair roughly, “Hold it baby girl, I’m almost there” he grunts at the pain of you tugging at his ginger locks. He had wanted this for so long, he wanted you, he wanted you by his side through all the chaos but he pushed you away, he wasn’t going to let you go this time, not ever again. “I-I can’t hold it, you feel so fucking good” you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening to a point where you can’t stand it, “Cum for me baby, cum for Daddy” his purrs into your ear, picking up his pace, this sends you over the edge, you felt like you were exploding. “Jerome!!” You scream out in pure ecstasy, tightening around his dick like you never wanted it to leave, you soon feel his warm cum inside of you as grunts your name into your ear, your tight cunt milking him dry. You rest your forehead against his as you two pant.

“Don’t you ever leave me again Jerome Valeska, or so help me you will be my first murder victim” you pant out, seriousness in your voice as your hand makes its way up to his cheek, allowing your thumb to caress it softly.

“And if you ever let Bruce Wayne get away again, I’ll have no choice but to kill you too” he pants back, kissing you softly.

You kiss back and giggle, “You have yourself a deal Mr.Valeska”

You guys get torn out of your thoughts by the shouts James Gordon “Come out Jerome! We have the place surrounded!” He calls out, you smirk and get dressed.

“I got this baby” you kiss his lips and take one of the glass shards, cutting your cheek softly but enough to need stitches, he looks at you confused and you stumble out toward Gordon, faking cries.

“He…He went that way,” you cry between sobs pointing toward a patch of woods near by, “I tried to stop him from hurting Bruce but he attacked me and…and cut me, then ran” you sniffle as they all make a run for the woods. You walk back into the House of Mirrors and grabs Jerome’s hand “We gotta get out of here before they come back, I told them you went to the wood,” you state running with him towards the exit, he stops and kissing you softly.

“What would I do without you, doll??

[ugh-supersoldiers]

1+1=3

MASTERLIST

Part two

“It’s suits you.” “What does?” “Fatherhood.”

Characters: Steve x reader, Clint Barton, Laura Barton, smol child Barton

Summary: You knew what you were getting into when you married Steve Rogers. While spending time with Laura Barton, you become in tune with how badly you want children but long weeks spent apart and worried nights alone made it hard to do the things a normal married couple might do. Steve returns home from a mission, but is now the right time for ‘the’ conversation?

Warnings: A little angst, kinda suggestive at parts, cuteness at the end thoooo

Words: 2521

A/N:  So this cute little thing was based off of the prompt above that made my heart melt when I came up with it. If you guys want to send me requests based off of gif sets and stuff like that two please please don’t even hesitate, my requests are wiiiiiide open.

You and Laura Barton had gotten pretty close over the last few years. Since your marriage to Steve Rogers last fall, you’d found yourself spending more and more time together whenever the avengers were on a mission. 

‘Girls night’ was sacred between the two of you. It was a time in which neither one of you could stand being without your husband, so you got together instead. Laura had her children to keep her busy at least, but you on the other hand, had an empty house to go back to whenever Steve was out saving the world for days, sometimes even weeks on end.

You would wait patiently by the phone during the hours after the Avengers’ departure for two calls; a brief one from Steve telling you the quinjet had landed safely, and one from Laura arranging your one of many nights at her house while the men were away.

Both calls came soon after. You wished Steve luck, told him to stay safe and come home in one piece, as you always did when you tried to mask your heartache. You exchanged an ‘I love you’ with each other and that was the end of the one guaranteed phone call you got from him. 

Laura’s call was much more lighthearted, and you quickly arranged for several meetings over the next few weeks, even though each of you hoped that your husbands came back before then.

It had been about two weeks when you came over to Laura’s for the fourth time, sick with worry after having no correspondence with Steve since his first phone call. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen. Sometimes as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t call because he knew that there was a chance of that call being traced by the enemy back to his location or worse; back to yours. And you knew he would never risk putting the team or you in danger like that.

But still, you would lie awake at night wondering where he was, if he was safe, if he was going to make it home okay. You missed him so terribly that you couldn’t even bare to sleep in your shared bed when his side was cold and empty, you opted to sleep on the couch in the living room instead.so 

And you told Laura all of this late one night after she’d put the kids to bed. You stared at the ring on your left hand, remembering when he’d first asked you to marry him. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes, you knew very well that it meant long stints of not seeing each other, it meant nights of worry... But it also meant getting to spend the rest of your life with the person you loved most in the world, and you knew that no matter how much Steve warned you prior, if given the chance to choose again, you would say yes every time.

“How do you do it?” You asked Laura.

“I don’t really,” She said, sitting across from you on the sofa as she poured herself a glass of wine, “I don’t let myself stew in it all, that’s when my mind goes crazy. The kids keep me busy most of the time, so if we’re going to credit it anyone; it’s them.”

Children 

Your heart broke at the thought of them. You knew that there wasn’t room in yours and Steve’s life for them right now, not with him away so much, but you couldn’t help but want them. Babies were what happened when married people loved each other so much that they needed to make another person just to share that love with, that’s what you’d always believed. You were ready for that step, but the manner in which you and Steve operated was no grounds for children.

You’d find yourself day dreaming about raising a family with Steve at almost every spare moment of the day when you weren’t caught up with grief over his absence. 

Laura must’ve seen your vacant stare and known what you were thinking of.

“You know, you could just talk to him about it.” She said, snapping you back into reality.

“I wish it were that simple,” You sighed, “He’s away so much, Laura.”

“So is Clint, but you learn how to make it work.” She reached out for your glass, pouring you another few ounces of red.

“I don’t think it’s what either of us want. What you do is amazing but if Steve and I are going to start a family, he needs to be there. I can’t do it by myself.” You smiled sadly at her and she nodded her head in understanding.

A sharp cry interrupted your conversation, baby Nathaniel must have awoken. Laura got up, but you stopped her.

“You do this all day, I’ll get it.”

She smiled brightly at you and thanked you as you made your way up the stairs and into Nathaniel’s room, standing over his crib for a moment.

The infant was squirming around, clearly very unhappy with being woken from his sleep. You picked him up, making sure to support his head and cradled him in your arms, rocking him gently.

“Shh,” You soothed, “Waking up is the worst of it all, but you’re through that now.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead as his cries slowly faded into nothing. The baby stared at you with wide eyes as he reached out with his tiny hand to grab a piece of your hair that had fallen from behind your ear.

“See? Not so bad, is it?” You asked him.

A loud rustle of trees outside of the window made you glance out the glass. Clutching Nathaniel tight against your chest, you bent lower to get a look at what the noise came from. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the quinjet landing in the field behind Laura’s house.

“(Y/N)!” Laura called, but you were already on your way down the stairs still holding the baby.

When you reached the bottom you looked at Laura and asked her, “What are they doing back?”

“Clint called me telling me he’d be home in the next few minutes while you were upstairs, typical him calling me so last minute- Oh! I told him to bring Steve.”

Your heart fluttered at the mention of his name. Your husband had finally returned home and you couldn’t be more excited.

“Laura!” You heart Clint call out from outside as the sound of the quinjet taking off again made the trees rustle loudly in the night outside.

Laura ushered you out of her front door and into the summer air outside, still holding Nathaniel close. 

“Here, I’m sure Clint wants to see him.” You said, passing the baby off to Laura, who smiled widely at you before walking down the steps of the porch.

As the jet took off into the sky, your eyes landed on Steve. Still in his stealth suit and carrying a small bag with him, he and Clint were talking and laughing about something until they heard yours and Laura’s footsteps approach.

Laura made her way over to Clint, handing him Nathaniel, whereas you stood still, unable to move as you stared at your husband. He dropped the bag he was carrying on his shoulder and sighed as he gazed at you, completely at a loss for words at how beautiful you looked.

“(Y/N).” He breathed out.

Your name passing his lips was like music to your ears, you couldn’t believe you’d survived so long without hearing his voice.

You smiled so wide that you were sure your cheeks would hurt the next day as you ran at him. He opened his arms and allowed you to jump into them, holding you up by the waist as you embraced him tightly, kissing any part of his face that you could get at.

He laughed and set you down, tilting your chin up and pressing a long awaited kiss onto your lips. Your head spun at the contact, you’d missed his lips against yours.

“You’re home.” You said when he pulled away.

“I’m home.” He said and kissed you again, wrapping his arms securely around your waist to keep you impossibly close to him.

“We’re going back in for some more wine! You two are welcome to come back in when you’re... done.” Clint hollered as her and Laura walked back in to their house.

“I love you.” You whispered to him as he pinned his forehead against yours. 

“I love you too.”

You took his hand a pulled him back into the house against his protests.

“C’mon, (Y/N)! Can’t we just head back home?”

“I’m going to stay with Laura for a bit more. Plus I never see Clint anyways, it might be a good time for the four of us to spend time together.”

“I just spent two weeks with Barton, I don’t need anymore, trust me. And besides, I have a few other things in mind that can keep us busy.” You felt a swat at your ass and you turned back around with a disapproving look.

“Keep it in your pants for a few more hours and we can do whatever you want.”

His eyes widened and a devilish smirk crossed his lips, but your focus was shifted elsewhere as you walked back up the stairs of the porch and into the house again.

“Rogers, I got some clothes you can borrow.” Clint tossed some sweats and a t shirt at Steve who caught them with one hand as he thanked him.

Laura woke the other kids up, who were overjoyed to see their father home again. You felt your heart wrench again at the sight, so when Nathaniel began to fuss, you offered to put him to sleep.

“You guys have your hands full, I can handle the little one.” You said, scooping him back into your arms and letting Clint catch up with his kids again. 

You felt tears prickle against your waterline but you blinked them away furiously as you walked up the stairs and back into Nathaniel’s room.

You placed him back in his crib and zipped up his sleeper, making sure everything was in order as you watched over him as his eyes blinked slowly until he fell asleep.

You felt a tear run down your face, you wiped it away as you heard footsteps behind you, footsteps that you instantly recognized as Steve’s.

You felt his hands rub up your arms that were crossed over your chest and you keened at his touch, leaning into his front with your head on his shoulder. He had changed out of his suit and into the t shirt and sweats, he beamed with a much more comfortable presence than before. He kissed your temple and cheek and you hummed.

“I missed you.” You sighed.

“You have no idea.” He said, wrapping his arms around you in a hug from behind. 

You looked down at the baby again, wondering if Steve was going to pick up on anything that you were feeling. You hoped to God he didn’t.

“He’s so small.” Steve remarked.

“Yeah.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

As if on cue, Nate woke up again and started to cry. You reached down to pick up up, but Steve stopped you.

“I can do it.” He said.

You watched in awe as Steve let go of you and picked up the baby in his arms, gingerly rocking him back and forth in an attempt to stop him from crying. When this didn’t work, Steve held him upright.

“Not in the mood to sleep, huh?” Steve asked the child whose cries had now calmed as he stared at Steve’s face.

“That’s alright, kiddo.” He tapped Nathaniel’s nose, “I won’t tell anyone if you’re awake for a little while longer.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you nor could you stop yourself from imagining Steve with a baby of your own. 

You wanted to surprise Steve with the news of you being pregnant and go about telling all of the avengers. You wanted to shop for cribs and blankets and little tiny ‘my daddy’s an avenger’ onesies. You wanted to paint the baby’s room with Steve. You wanted to feel the baby kick for the first time and wake him up in the middle of the night just to feel it. You wanted to cry when you saw Steve holding the baby for the first time. You wanted to bring the baby home from the first time and know in your heart that your life would change forever.

It seemed that Nathaniel had changed his mind about stay awake, so Steve set him back in the crib and stroked his cheek gently to make sure he was comfortable.

You looked down at the floor, unable to look at him anymore. Your wedding ring caught a glint of the beams shining from Nathaniel’s nightlight. The band seemed to weigh heavier at this moment.

“It suits you.” You choked out.

“What does?” Steve asked, still marveling at the baby.

“Fatherhood.” 

He turned back to you with a frown on his face, knowing the sound of your voice when you were about to cry.

“I wanted to talk to you about that actually.” He said, reaching his hand out to hold yours.

“Please, Steve I can’t hear this, not now.” You said, looking up at the ceiling to avoid spilling tears down your cheeks.

“(Y/N), I’ve been thinking a lot about it-”

“Steve, don’t.”

“-And I talked to the team about some things-”

“-I know what you’re going to say already, please I don’t think that I can handle hearing it.”

“-Raising a baby takes a lot of time, darlin’, and I know how much you want one but I’m always on missions-”

“Steve for the love of God.”

“-So I’m gonna take a backseat for a while with the team so we can try.”

You stopped trying to shut him up and stared at him, mouth hung open.

“Wh-what?” You asked.

“I’ll do more paperwork, be more of an adviser than a field agent. I want this just as bad as you do.”

You couldn’t stop your tears now, each one flowing freely down your face.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You said.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re not asking.” He laughed.

“Oh, Steve.” You cried, a hand flying over your mouth.

He pulled you into his arms tightly as you cried.

“Thank you.” You said into his chest, completely overwhelmed by the news.

He smiled and kissed your hair gently, “Of course.”

He swayed you back and forth to the beat of music that didn’t exist in the room, but you swooned just the same. The man you loved most was giving up a part of his life to start a family with you, and you knew in your heart that Steve Rogers was the best husband, and he was going to make an even better father.

[generalmajorlieutenant]

Another Trespasser Pavellan vent fic

Title: ??? Unnamed right now Words: 2.4k Part: 1/??? (Maybe more? I’ll leave it open for more in case I want to)

Basically I finally started playing Trespasser and, as a Dorian-mancer, of course I was upset with the turn out. So I’ve taken the romance into my own hands, a year or so late lmao. No structure or goal to what I’ve written, I just let it happen for once without ripping my hair out of my head. The roughest of rough drafts.

“I was going to tell you—”

Were you?

“—I’ve been dreading this conversation. I would not have had you find out this way given the choice—”

You had the choice. What stopped you?

On and on the excuses went. Would have, wanted to, I, I, I; Dorian, Dorian, Dorian. Arahaelon could only stare, hearing Dorian’s voice tinged with desperation but unable to comprehend. He’d been stabbed in the gut with a blade doused in salt and vinegar, soured by lemons.

His father is dead, Arahaelon told himself. Assassinated. Family.

Who cares?

Not a charitable thought. Not fair.

Why now?

The threat of the Inquisition’s erasure had been no concern of Arahaelon’s. His time, its time, was long over. Corypheus and the Breach were defeated, a Titan soothed, Gods appeased. Arahaelon had nurtured and grown his burden and now stood ready to be rid of it.

But this firm resolve had only been firm because Dorian stood by his side. He’d have a place with Dorian if he didn’t have the Inquisition, if he didn’t have Skyhold.

Now… Arahaelon wasn’t so sure. He stared at the face of a man who, a month ago, he’d known so well—like the back of his hand—but now seemed distorted in its sorrow and desperation. Like Arahaelon was the cause of such emotions.

Anger is deserved.

“Say something,” Dorian pleaded, reached out to place a hand on Arahaelon’s arm. Arahaelon shied away just slightly, avoiding the contact. He couldn’t even take a moments pleasure in the stricken look that put on his lover’s face.

“I can go with you.” The words came unbidden and entirely too desperate, and he knew it showed on his face as well. If he were any other man, and how he wished he were any other man right then, he’d be really and truly angry, throwing wine in Dorian’s face and remaining strong in the face of future solitude.

He remembered the first time Dorian had mentioned leaving to reform Tevinter—almost four years ago. The mere idea of Dorian really leaving seemed impossible, even with Dorian’s visits to his homeland increasing in frequency and length in the last two years. Arahaelon remembered being told his position and power as Inquisitor would stand in the way.

Soon he wouldn’t be Inquisitor. The realization eased him, somewhat. Until Dorian responded.

“Not this time, Amatus.”

“You’ll need help.” Arahaelon pushed, pointlessly. He could see Dorian’s own resolve in his eyes, no matter how pained the expression.

A wry smile that cut Arahaelon to the bone. “I’ll have Maevaris—and she’s gathered a whole slew of junior magisters crying for reform. I’ll get to teach them manners, take them shopping, and soon enough they won’t be nugs crying incoherently, but as fierce as wyverns.”

“And will your idealistic junior magisters be by your side when someone sends assassins for you in the middle of the night?”

Arahaelon put another step of space between them. He knew his emotions showed too plainly on his face when Dorian hurried to close the distance and placed his hands on his neck, firmly enough so Arahaelon couldn’t shrug them away.

“Now, now, don’t pout. They’ll put that face on a statue and then you’ll really be sorry.” Dorian wielded humor and sarcasm as a defense mechanism, making light of the situation to ease the cruel reality.

Arahaelon had been forgiving and understanding of this part of Dorian’s nature, but now it stoked a growing, raging, fire he couldn’t ignore.

“You think this is funny?” he hissed the words and batted Dorian’s hands away, enforcing the larger space between them now with a glare when Dorian sought to follow.

The twisted humor dropped, replaced again by sorrow and apologetic preening. “No, nothing about this is funny. I am sorry… for what its worth.”

It’s worth nothing.

Arahaelon swallowed the mounting scream and worked to patch up the growing hole in his chest. He was not prone to outbursts, to pointless anger, to responses and emotions that solved or served nothing.

“I wish you luck and safe travels then,” he said, exercising no small amount of control over a voice that wanted so badly to shake, and school a strong, fearless, expression that needed to fall and shatter.

And in ten minutes he’d have to face a crowd of self-serving politicians seeking to exile or destroy the very thing they’d forced upon him. No time to recover or process.

As he turned to leave, Dorian caught his hand and pulled him back, simultaneously pushing something hard and jagged into his palm as they stood chest to chest.

He tried for happy, for lighthearted, hopeful and reckless abandon. “I don’t plan on leaving you wanting, of course. A gift, a sending crystal. For when I’m in over my head and you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for missing my velvety voice—” Dorian leaned down so that their noses were mere inches apart, “—Magic.”

Arahaelon wasn’t allowed another word. Dorian moved to kiss him, and kiss him he did. Without the energy to fight and with the blasted sending crystal burning in his palm, Arahaelon could only give into this effort to distract with minimal protest.

Dorian kissed him with the urgency of a man trying to erase what had just transpired between them, as if he could remove Arahaelon’s memory and kiss away his despair.

Or maybe, he’s just as heartbroken. Arahaelon was not inclined to give life to more logical thoughts.

Despite himself, Arahaelon clung to Dorian, but quickly averted his gaze when Dorian pulled away and said, “You are the man I love—there will always be an us, Amatus. We’ll just be… farther apart, for a time.”

Arahaelon closed his eyes tight against a promise that was inherently contradictory. “And when will that time be over? You cannot reform an entire nation within the span of a year, or two, or several. If you are unwilling to have me now, you will be unwilling to have me in time.”

Dorian pulled away as if the accusation had been a blow. Though it surely paled in comparison to the one he’d dealt Arahaelon.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a cause to disband.” He’d barely managed to speak the words above a whisper and still couldn’t bare to meet Dorian’s eyes, though he felt Dorian’s hurt give way to surprise.

“You’re letting the Inquisition go?” The shock and surprise, maybe even disappointment, Arahaelon detected in his voice forced the anger out of him—only a little.

“The Inquisition is long past its due, Dorian! I have an army, spies and agents as large as Orlais and Fereldan’s combined, splitting at the seams, with nothing apocalyptic to excuse it any longer. Corypheus is gone and the Breach is sealed and yet I still wield and exercise a title I never wanted!” Arahaelon inhaled sharply and turned to glare, realizing that these were feelings he’d been harboring for years now and had neglected to tell Dorian.

Though it seemed just another omission that could be added to Dorian’s growing pile.

Lowering his voice, Arahaelon said, “The Inquisition is over. Now, if you will excuse me, I must begin a week-long argument that, in reality, should last no more than ten minutes. I’ll strive to speed things up so that you may return to your cause as quickly as possible.”

“Arahaelon, please—“

Though he pleaded, Dorian did not follow as Arahaelon made his way to the council, and he didn’t throw a teasing remark to drag things out so that they may spend more time together.

Arahaelon would need time so that he could begin to make plans for any and all possibilities before he could speak to Dorian more calmly. With a new job in line, a new purpose, the prospect of meeting with Dorian infrequently for the foreseeable future would be more palatable. Ideally.

He recalled Cassandra’s words, her awkward encouragement and support, and snarled as his eyes burned with the threat of tears. How foolish he had been to even think of marriage. Vivienne’s gallantly veiled care and concern seemed more pointed now—had she known Dorian’s plans?

Arahaelon wondered how quickly his entire life could fall apart. Surely no faster than the week.

He sat among frozen Qunari, the pain in his arm unbearable but the ache in his chest consuming. Sweat or blood, most likely both, plastered knotted hair to his face, but the irritation that should cause, and the movement to be rid of it, was beyond him.

Another war. Stopped. He had a knack for it.

Arahaelon felt movement next to him, he didn’t turn to watch Solas sit beside him.

“You know.” Spoken as fact, though it seemed like it should have been phrased as a question.

“Did you know that I have technically stopped a war for every year I’ve been Inquisitor?” Arahaelon winced as his voice seemed to rip from his throat. Shredded, maybe, because of screaming. He couldn’t remember.

“You have been thanked poorly,” Solas responded. “With a mark that is killing you, and nations that would sooner see you leashed or exiled.”

“A dead clan, and friends who have lives separate from my own though I have nothing separate from them.” He choked the words out and finally turned to meet Solas’ bleak gaze. “I know the entire foundation of my faith, my culture, is a lie. I know that I wear the markings of a slave, and once a point of pride, now every time I look in a mirror I will be reminded of this day and what I’m not. I know I have no energy to prevent you from destroying the world.”

“I am sure if anyone could stop me, it would be you.”

Arahaelon supposed Solas meant the words to be comforting. Instead, it was mildly condescending.

“Just this morning, I wondered how quickly my life could fall apart. I thought it would take the week. I didn’t realize it would be completely destroyed within twelve hours.”

“I hoped to give you some years in peace, lethallin.”

“I will return to the Emerald Graves to clans so isolated I can only hope they don’t know who I am, who I have been friends with, and who I have loved.” He paused, watching shame and sorrow play across Solas’ sharp features. “But if they do, I will be shot down on sight. And they likely do, for news of my clan’s involvement with the Conclave spread very, very, quickly and is the reason they ended up dead in Wycome. I never should have left the Graves.”

“Dorian—”

“Is returning to Tevinter and insists I remain. And if you tell me you are sorry, I will likely kill you right here. God or fake, mortal or not, I will drive my blades into your chest.”

As Solas stood and took Arahaelon’s hand, he was at least unable to hear the whispered apology over his own agonizing screams.

His arm didn’t hurt anymore, the amputation had been clean, but everything else hurt. Aches and pains from battle; several wounds from relentless Qunari had required stitching, while some self-inflicted wounds would scar. Another lifelong reminder of the day—of the look on Dorian’s face when he realized Arahaelon had never specialized three years ago because he’d already made a deal with his blood.

The overall resolution, successful despite Arahaelon’s feelings, allowed him the time to reflect. On how resilient and irritating Qunari were, how Dorian still hadn’t shown any sign of changing his mind, and how Sera and Bull seemed to have retracted their offers to join the Chargers and Red Jennys, respectively.

Arahaelon knew what they were thinking. What use could he be with one arm. No more daggers, no more staves. At least, not with the previous ease he’d had just days before. Hours before. Sera had assured him Dagna would work on a prosthetic, but without Inquisition resources he wasn’t optimistic.

He nearly threw up when he felt the straw filled mattress dip beneath Dorian’s weight and his hand fell between his shoulder blades. There would have been nothing to lose this time, however, only bile and acid.

“I’m leaving tomorrow… Maevaris needs—” Dorian’s teeth clicked together as he halted the words, feeling Arahaelon tense beneath his hand. But then he found some resolve, hand moving to clench around his shoulder and force Arahaelon onto his back, demanding his attention with a glare he didn’t really mean. “I will not leave us like this, Amatus.”

A frustrated shout escaped Arahaelon as he realized he needed both arms to successfully knock Dorian away. He only had the strength of one, and it worked uselessly against Dorian’s chest. Solid and larger than Arahaelon by at least half, and now he was at a true disadvantage, pinned by his shoulders against the thin mattress.

“You keep saying us,” Arahaelon hissed, nearly baring teeth, and felt the familiar sting of tears he refused to let fall. “But you’re leaving me. You say Maevaris needs. Here I am without family, clan, a home. Bull and Sera’s offers retracted now that I am without use. Could Maevaris at least not postpone her needs?”

“You seem to have forgotten you are a Comte now. Varric’s offer is as strong as ever.”

Humor. Again.

“You would have me waste away in Kirkwall?” Arahaelon’s voice came out louder than he’d hoped, nearly shrill in his outrage. Dorian’s surprise was understandable; Arahaelon had a long fuse to his temper, but while it had blown several times before he hadn’t been half mad and delirious as it had exploded.

Dorian seemed stronger than before, though Arahaelon’s balance was shot and movements flailing and awkward as he tried to work free with an arm and a half.

“I’d rather you waste in Kirkwall knowing where you are, safe, than lose you in Tevinter so long as slavery exists!”

Arahaelon froze, jaw working and forcing himself to swallow around the lump in his throat. The vallaslin seemed to burn across his face. “But if I were human…?”

“Human, dwarf, Qunari—you would be, you are, a weakness I cannot allow my enemies to have such easy access to, Amatus,” Dorian answered, expression and grip softening though suspicion kept his hold on Arahaelon firm. “Go to Kirkwall with Varric. Enjoy your retirement.”

Arahaelon responded only by instinct when Dorian pressed a kiss to his lips—his mind was miles away, remembering old trails and recalling Graves protocol.

I only need to survive the hunters to make it to the Keeper...

“I’ll visit as often as I can,” Dorian whispered against his cheek. His smile wavered slightly as he teased, “We can have a blood magic argument on my third visit.”

Later that night, curled against Dorian’s side as he slept, Arahaelon pressed a kiss to his shoulder before moving away as he did in battle; silent and quick.

He was a mile away from the Winter Palace by midnight.