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hornime · 3 years

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saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now.

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel.

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car.

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her.

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump.

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure.

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.”

she loves you. saeko loves you.

saeko, an angel.

#hq #haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq smut #haikyuu smut #saeko tanaka #saeko x reader #saeko x y/n #saeko smut #saeko fluff #hq saeko #[ 🎞 ] — anihaven

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 3 years

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it would kill me (if you didn't know)

I know. Trust me, I know. But I've been working on my novel, and when this fic slapped me in the face last night, I just went with it. And so should you.

Neverland AU - canon divergence for somewhere in 3a

(Blatant disregard of canon to follow--don't make me rewatch the show, please)

They saved Henry but all got separated in the process, and when they finally made it back to the ship, Emma realized that they were down a man. She's just gonna have to save him.

This features some pretty awesome Emma/David bonding, too.

This is a classic 'Killian's been taken while saving them and now he's being tortured and Emma isn't gonna stand for it' fic. I've read them all, and I just needed more. POV switches 3rd person between Killian and the others.

Thanks in advance for accepting the sidestepping of canon that I love to do.

Rated M for language and violence

length: 5k+

Read it on ao3

In retrospect, it wasn’t the greatest plan he’d ever had. But it also wasn’t the worst. Well, it could hardly even be called a plan, really, given that the consideration for it occurred in approximately three seconds, but he was hardly going to worry about it now. There were other things to worry about.

The thing that Killian Jones, pirate captain of the Jolly Roger and unofficial Neverland guide to Swan (and the others), needed to be worried about was the little demon child Peter fucking Pan who stood over him with that stupid evil smirk on his lips.

“Seems like you’ve finally lost, pirate,” Pan spat, but the amusement in his tone only sharpened the anger in his eyes.

Killian’s gaze flickered from the child to the grove in the distance, and when he saw not a trace of the others, he returned his attention to Pan. “Aye, I suppose so,” he said, his voice rough though calm and certain.

Pan’s brow furrowed. “Really? No witty remark? No promise to skin me alive?” he taunted. “You’ve changed your tune, Hook.”

He resisted rolling his eyes, instead gripping his wounded shoulder a little tighter. The arrow wasn’t poisoned—he’d have felt it working by now—but it wasn’t helping his predicament at all. Neither was the sizeable gash on his abdomen that Felix had been kind enough to gift him when he’d been distracted.

“Have I?” Killian asked. “I wonder what you’ll do with me now,” he added dryly. He knew. Oh, he knew.

Pan’s eyes flashed, and in an instant he was crouching towards Killian, his hand grasping the protruding arrow. “Now, I get to have my fun,” he declared with a cruel twist of his lips and an even crueler twist of the arrow.

But Killian Jones was no stranger to pain. They were intimately acquainted. That’s how he grit his teeth and buried it until nothing but a tiny grunt sounded from deep within his throat. Pan wouldn’t consider his torture much fun if he didn’t scream in agony, so he would keep playing until Killian could fight it no longer. And he’d let him. Because egging him on would make him lash out, and ensuring him of Swan’s victory would put her and the lad in danger. Pan had spent his time since their arrival playing games with them, distracting them from the important things they’d come there to do. It was only fair that Killian would return the favor.

So the demon could pull out all his toys, could whip him and carve into his flesh, could burn him until his skin was blackened ash, but nothing would stop Killian Jones from protecting his loved ones. And gods above, he loved Emma Swan.

All she wanted to know was how the fuck this happened. Their plan had been so perfect that even she couldn’t doubt it, but somehow the winds had shifted or their luck had run out or her luck had run out, and when they returned to the Jolly Rodger and the groups had reunited, they’d been down a man. Down a captain.

Neal, for all his talk of fighting for her, didn’t seem to mind not fighting for something that she actually cared about. He was running for president of the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, and that wasn’t exactly a great way to get into her good graces, though that would’ve been hard enough as it was.

Regina, predictably, prioritized Henry to a fault—Emma was always for prioritizing her son, but not when it came to sacrificing her values or her morals or whatever, fine, she just didn’t want to sacrifice him. Henry was okay, he was safe, and they could take precautions to ensure that he would stay that way, but Regina just didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth it. A good option for Neal’s vice president.

In all her silent canvassing of the group’s feelings regarding Operation Save Hook (Henry was asleep, okay? He could come up with a better name when he woke up), Emma blatantly ignored Gold. For obvious reasons.

Tink was mostly for saving him, but not confident enough in any plan she could offer to make it stick. She’d tried to sway Regina, but that had been less than successful.

Then it was her parents. And, for once, they weren’t in total agreement.

Mary Margaret was sympathetic, to be sure, but not enough. She wasn’t in the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, but she was Queen of Save My Kid and Her Kid Kingdom, so that was that.

But David—that’s what had caught her attention.

When they’d first discovered Hook’s absence and began discussing their options, Emma had held back and held her breath, unwilling to reveal her hand without knowing where the others stood. She’d gone into full Observant Mode, and that’s when she saw David, her father, and his reaction.

His face stiffened, an automatic move to hide his feelings, but Emma saw through it, even when Mary Margaret didn’t (or didn’t want to see it). It was a set jaw, a twitching lip that was almost a frown, tensed shoulders that eventually gave way to firmly crossed arms because apparently, Emma had gotten her Observant Mode from her father, and that’s what he was doing.

A few minutes into the conversation had nothing decided, but Emma shifted her stance, and her father looked her way. Their eyes locked, and while the others continued their pathetic excuse for a rescue discussion, father and daughter exchanged practically imperceptible nods, and then they were allies.

It’s what gave her the strength to step forward at last and disregard whatever half-assed ‘it’s too late’ speech Neal had been giving with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“David and I will go back for him while you guys get the ship ready,” Emma announced. Regina did that haughty half-step back that meant something between ‘I don’t care’ and ‘do whatever you want,’ and Mary Margaret’s only response was to look questioningly at her husband. Tinker Bell gave an enthusiastic nod of approval before busying herself with some bit of the rigging she may or may not have actually understood how to work.

Neal, however, was predictably Neal. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ems,” he said, that stupid nickname that he had no fucking right to use.

Emma’s head turned slowly to her ex, regarding him with the coldest gaze she’d ever offered anyone. Regina had some competition as head of the Looks That Could Kill Committee. “Hm, okay. Well, you don’t have to think it’s a good idea, because you’re staying here.”

“Emma—”

“There’s no discussion, Neal. No discussion from anyone, but especially from you. You have no right to talk, or interfere, and you especially have no right to argue against saving the man who is the reason your own son is alive and safe now.”

Mary Margaret was staring at her when she turned away from him, her eyes wide and openly confused, but she said nothing. David, however, had his eyes cutting into Neal, narrowed and calculating and damn, he was putting pieces together and he wasn’t liking the picture.

“Ready?” Emma asked her father.

He forced himself to look away. “Just have to grab one thing,” he told her, shaking his head at something Mary Margaret had said before he disappeared below.

Neal had huffed away after Emma’s little scolding, and he pouted at the exact opposite end from where his father pouted. Regina looked disinterested and mildly irritated, but when Emma glanced at her, she nodded towards Gold with a raised eyebrow.

Emma’s lips curled in something like a grateful smile, and she passed her bewildered mother on her way to the Dark One.

“You have something,” Emma said as soon as she stood in front of him. “Something to get Pan.”

“I do, Miss Swan,” he replied, that stupid tone that told her he had tricks up those stupid sleeves of his.

She hummed. “No, there’s no deal this time. No price. I’m done with games. So you can either give it to me, or I can take it from you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Take it from me?” he asked, entirely amused by the concept.

“I’m done with your shit, Crocodile. You can play Dark One with me all you want, but we both know it’s just easier to just hand it over.”

He glared at her for a long moment, but eventually he cracked, and he glanced at his son who looked out at the water and away from them both. “Fine. But only because I’ve no use for it anyway.”

She took the box he offered, resisting the urge to mutter, ‘yes, that’s why,’ as he explained how it worked. When he’d finished, she offered him a simple but genuine “thank you,” before joining her father once more.

“Here,” David said, passing her another cutlass, one she hadn’t seen before. “You need a new weapon,” he added.

“And I’m borrowing…”

“Hook’s. An extra,” he said. “Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

“Right,” she mumbled, taking it with a frown and securing it quickly. “Well then, let’s go.”

For all his talk of being intimately acquainted with pain, Killian Jones was doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. The cracks in his resolve were starting to widen, and when hums and grunts became groans and low growls, he knew it was only a matter of time before Pan started to truly have his fun.

He’d been more clever this time around, to be sure. It had to have been at least a century since Killian had gotten cozy with the demon’s knife (or arrowhead, or branding iron, or whatever particular weapon he’d chosen to use that time), but Pan had certainly honed his skills quite a bit since then.

But Killian was sure that Swan had taken her lad and the others far away by now, and the knowledge that he’d helped her, that he’d kept his word, allowed him the strength he needed to keep the screams from coming.

For a while.

Pan, though, had used a trick on him he’d never experienced, and the shock alone was enough to get it working for a little while.

That trick came in the form of her, of Emma Swan, and the name had fallen from his lips like a prayer, hope that he’d never felt before rising like a rushing tide in his chest, and she’d smiled at him, a radiant, lovely thing that he’d never imagined could’ve been gifted solely for him, useless pirate that he was.

But then she’d started talking, and he knew it was a trick (tides always come back, because when there’s a rise, there’s also a fall). Not at first, he’d give Pan that, because it was easy enough to believe that the smile hadn’t been for him, that she resented him, that she hadn’t meant to save him, that they were better off without him. It wasn’t what she said that tipped him off, it was how she said it. Because Killian Jones had studied her since the moment she uncovered his pathetic hide in that pile of bodies, and he knew her—more than she knew herself, to her dismay—and he could read her. She was an open book, after all.

When her eyes didn’t burn like he knew they should’ve when she spoke of anger and hatred, he knew. When her lips didn’t quirk in that one specific way when she mentioned abandoning him, he knew. And then she spoke about her parents and Baelfire, and it was all wrong, because Emma Swan had walls, and even Neverland wasn’t enough to break them down so quickly.

Wherever she was, Emma Swan wasn’t about to run into her parents’ arms and live happily ever after with them and her True Love, because she wasn’t there yet. He knew her. He knew how hard it was for her to open up to him, someone who understood her from such shared experiences, and that wasn’t something she could just overlook as soon as she returned home. They’d hurt her—here, in Neverland, with assumptions and confessions and automatic behaviors, but also before. And if she did wish to ride off into the sunset with Baelfire, Neal, it wasn’t going to happen right away, because Killian had watched her while she shifted away from Neal when he’d moved towards her. He’d seen the way she recoiled at his touch, how she’d narrowed those jade eyes at his words, how she didn’t trust him, not anymore.

No, the Emma Swan that stood before his beaten and bruised body was a copy, and a bad one. When she hadn’t achieved her goal, she disappeared, and Pan took her place, and though he knew the demon was mocking him and prodding him with insults and hoping they’d smash the last of his resolve, he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

Killian Jones was waiting for something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“What’d he do?”

Emma faltered, the blade missing the piece of jungle shit in her path she’d been trying to cut down. “What? Who?”

“Neal,” her father said, clearing the vines for her before they continued on.

“Oh,” she sounded, pulling her lips together as she considered what to say. He’d noticed it before, and she knew that. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he as hope-prone and naive as Mary Margaret could often be. And they had another few miles to go, at least. “He left,” she said.

David stopped, a hand on her arm that was more than just an attempt to stop her from walking, too. “He left you?” he asked, his eyes somehow tight with rage and tender with something she wanted to dub dad-ness, because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Emma huffed, because now was definitely not the time for Feelings, now was the time to rescue a goddamn pirate from whatever the hell Peter fucking Pan was doing to him. “He set me up to take the fall for his crime and let me go to prison instead. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was already in jail.”

David blinked once, twice, and then his expression was consumed by dad-anger (because it was just a different brand of anger that she’d also never seen before). “Emma—”

“It was a long time ago, dad.” They both started at the name, dad, because she’d never really used it before. A few times she’d said it, but it was something she’d had to force, a correction or a pointed joke, sometimes a near-death thing, but this was different. Authentic. Slightly heartbreaking.

“We don’t have time for this,” she muttered as she turned away, but neither was surprised, and even her dad wasn’t hurt, because Emma had her walls, and that was okay, because she’d needed them to survive this long. And if he had to put in a little time and effort to help take them down, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“I was kinda surprised that you wanted to come,” she said after a while, unable to bear the tense atmosphere any longer.

David gave her a half-smile, slicing another thicket (because they’d grown over since they’d returned to the ship. Fuck Neverland, honestly). “He did save my life, you know. And he was saving Henry when an arrow hit him—before your mother and I got separated from the group. I wasn’t about to leave him for dead after he took an arrow for my grandson.”

Emma froze, nearly dropping the cutlass that wasn’t hers. “He saved Henry?”

Her father’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you knew that,” he said. “So why are you so eager to help him? If you didn’t know.”

Her lips parted only to press together firmly, and when she spoke, they both knew it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. “Because I don’t leave people behind. And even without the arrow, he still saved Henry. He brought us here.”

David studied her for a moment, and these pieces were coming together faster now, and quite suddenly, the picture made a lot of sense. “He came back.”

“For Henry. And Neal,” she replied.

“And you.”

She couldn’t deny it, and he knew that. But it surprised him that he didn’t mind it as much as he had before. Emma’s walls, no matter how much he wished he could change it, were in part because of him and Snow. They saved her, yes, but they abandoned her when they did it. And Neal had likely been the cause of the other fortress that surrounded her, because he’d abandoned her, too.

So if the pirate had gained her trust and her respect because he hadn’t abandoned her, then that was good. David had seen plenty of love and devotion in his life, but he’d never seen loyalty like the kind that burned in Captain Hook. Centuries in search of revenge for the one he’d loved and lost. That wasn’t the man who would turn around and abandon her the second the opportunity arose.

No, without him or the pirate realizing it, he’d pretty much gained his blessing. Because David knew damn well that if the roles were reversed, not even if Emma herself were in danger, but if Hook were here in his place and someone she loved was being tortured, there’s no one he would trust more than Captain Hook to help her. Neal had barely batted an eye. But he was apparently quite skilled at leaving people to rot.

David was just beginning to contemplate how to handle that particular situation when the screams started.

He took his daughter’s hand, meeting her huge and watery eyes, and they ran.

He’d held on so long, but it was worth it. It was worth it. No, she was worth it. Emma Swan was worth it.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Her name became a mantra, a song in his head to fill the space between screams.

Killian Jones had loved Milah. He never doubted that, and his love for another didn’t negate it, either. He wasn’t sure what made his love for Emma Swan sharper, deeper, but it was just different. His working theory was that they’d both loved before, both been hurt before, both lingered in something that was slightly less than pure. Whatever had happened with Baelfire couldn’t have been perfect, because it hurt her. And she’d been so young when she’d had Henry. Milah wasn’t faultless, either. Ironically enough, that point was proven by Baelfire.

Killian had spoken to her about it for hours. She’d spun tales of rescuing the lad, taking him from his pathetic father and bringing him aboard, but it never happened. It wasn’t until Henry was taken from Swan that he realized the downfall of his Milah. He’d known it, truly, but nothing would have stopped Swan from getting back her son, and it should’ve been the same with Milah.

For a moment, the pain of his guilt overwhelmed the pain of Pan’s lash that sliced into his back.

But that was what made his love for Emma Swan different.

Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.

Be a part of something.

Too bad he’d never have the chance to explain it all to her.

Emma had seen so much in her life. So much pain, so much ugliness—it had made her start to believe that there was really nothing else. But then Henry showed up at her door, and things changed.

Now, standing in her hiding place with her father, she was forced to watch as the demon child inflicted brutal and unrelenting torture to Captain Hook—no, no, he wasn’t Hook anymore. Not after this. He was Killian Jones, and she was going to save him.

She just couldn’t jump in and do it. Not without a plan.

Once they’d decided who was the distraction and who was taking the box, they were ready, but she wasn’t. Each scream pierced her heart, and by this point, the tears were just a permanent fixture that neither of them acknowledged. You couldn’t listen to that kind of pain and not feel it down to your goddamn soul. And she knew that as much as it hurt to hear it, Killian was hurting a thousand times worse while he endured it.

It had only been hours, maybe, but she’d never seen a person look so broken and not be actually dead, and it felt like her fault. Because maybe if she’d been strong and reasonable enough to let go of Henry’s hand for even a second, she would’ve realized that he wasn’t at her side like he was supposed to be. Sure, they’d all been separated into groups that slowly returned to the ship, but she should’ve known. She should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have been here.

None of that mattered now. It was time to save him, and then she could worry about everything else.

Her father kissed her forehead, brushing her tears with his thumbs and offering her a reassuring nod that said we’ve got this, and then he disappeared to play his part. When she stepped into the clearing, she was much more confident than she had any right to be.

“Pan.”

The kid snapped to attention, whirling around to look at her. “Really? You’ve come to rescue the pirate?”

His words, his face, his stupid grin pissed her the fuck off, but what really sold it, the thing that solidified everything for her was the sight of Killian’s hook tucked into Peter Pan’s pocket like it was a fucking souvenir.

“Well, you know what they say about us hero types,” Emma stalled, keeping herself from glancing at Killian where he lay in the dirt. “We don’t leave anyone behind. We come back for everyone. It’s just in our nature.” She had no idea what she was actually saying, she was just talking, just waiting until her father got into place.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take the pirate, Emma. He’s mine, you see,” Pan told her, and she thought that he’d never looked less than a child with the straight-up evil in his eyes and the weapon in his hand.

She folded her arms across her chest, pulling on strength she didn’t have. “Hm, no, I don’t think he is,” she said, letting some of her anger seep into her voice. “He’s a pirate, sure, but you and I both know that he’s pretty determined about that good form nonsense, and he made me a promise, you know,” Emma continued. “He told me he’d see to it that Henry gets home safely. He can’t do that if he’s here.”

Pan’s shoulders shifted as his chest puffed out, and he wanted something. “How about this,” he said, “the pirate in exchange for your son.”

Emma scoffed. “As I told the Dark One earlier, I’m done playing games. No deals. I’m leaving this island with my son and my pirate and everyone else, and that’s it. You lose, kid.”

Peter Pan grinned, and if she hadn’t just seen David out of the corner of her eye, she would’ve been terrified. “How’s that? I’m not going to let you leave with Henry or the pirate, no matter how much you’re convinced I’m going to,” he said, almost petulant.

“Sorry, I should’ve been clearer,” Emma smiled, “I should’ve mentioned the part about you being captured. Whoops. Too late.”

Emma surged forward, snatching the hook just before Pan was sucked into Pandora’s box from David’s outstretched hand. Neither he nor Emma hesitated for a second before they rushed to Killian where he was no more than a pile of cuts and bruises on the ground, stripped of his coat and his vest and his bravado.

David rolled him onto his side carefully, shooting her a concerned look when he didn’t even flinch.

The hook fell from her grasp and onto the ground beside them. “Killian?” Emma said softly, her hand reaching out to ghost across his sweaty forehead. If she didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest in time with the shuddering breaths he took, she would’ve been certain he was dead, because anyone else would’ve been dead.

“Emma, I have no idea how we’re going to move him when he’s like this,” her father told her, and if he were someone else, that would’ve meant that they’d run out of options, but hope was the family motto.

Emma pushed out a breath, bringing her hands back to her face, running them over her hair and locking a few fingers around her necklace. “Alright, okay, lemme think,” she said, but of course that was when her brain turned to absolute mush.

Time, nonexistent here though it was, was marked with Killian’s shaky breaths, and several minutes passed before David spoke. “Emma…” he began, and when she looked at him, that family motto was shining in his eyes. “Emma, you have magic. You can heal him.”

“I—” I can’t, she wanted to say. But it didn’t matter that she’d never done it, that she had no idea how to, because she’d do it. She’d do anything to save this stupid, ridiculous, insufferable, amazing pirate. He promised that he’d win her heart, and she wasn’t about to lose him right when she finally had a chance to let him.

“How?” she asked, hoping—yes, Emma Swan did things like hope now—he’d know something helpful.

David hesitated, as if he were gathering everything he’d ever learned about magic. “Okay, your magic is about emotion, right?” At her nod, he continued, “Well, that’s good, because you’re feeling a lot of things right now. You want to help him, to heal him, so maybe think about why?”

Emma chuckled, and it was a watery thing, but she wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since…I have no idea when,” she confessed.

David met her gaze, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Use it.”

She took a breath, her eyes slamming shut so she could focus, but her hand didn’t leave her father’s.

Why was she crying now, this much, after everything? She wasn’t a crier (you couldn’t be in the system that long and still be a crier), so what had changed? All at once, she knew.

Captain Hook is what changed. Killian Jones had towered her walls, and now she was crying over him. Because she felt things. Things with a capital ‘t,’ and it was the first time in her life that she was finally, truly letting herself feel Things, the first time she honestly wanted to. There hadn’t really been a choice with Neal. He was just there, and that’s why she’d loved him. She was young, and he offered her this tiny piece of security and she’d latched onto it, and that was it. It wasn’t even about him, not really, not when she broke it down like that. Everything she felt for Killian Jones was about him.

Right from the start, he’d terrified her, because he could see right through her walls like they were made of glass. He read her because he already spoke the fucking language, but she hadn’t let herself understand that piece until later. But how many times had she been standing beside her family (she had that now), knowing that things were off or just not feeling right because they didn’t quite get it—but then she’d looked over and he’d been watching her because he got it. He knew. And he came back.

Killian Jones had never abandoned her. Well, there was that one time he locked her in a cell, but that was only because she’d just chained him up on the top of a beanstalk and it was honestly only fair, so that was different. Every moment when she waited for him to race off while in Neverland, when leaving her to her fate would’ve been the smart and easy thing to do, he’d proven her wrong (but she wasn’t really wrong, because she didn’t really believe it. She’d trusted him right from the start, and each time he didn’t leave her was somehow both totally surprising and totally predictable).

But it wasn’t just that. It was everything she saw in him when he thought no one was looking. The shadows that crossed his face when they ran into something familiar, the hesitance when offered assistance by anyone, the mysteriously filled waterskins that appeared by her bedroll after his watch. Everything he did for her and her family was a promise that he was no longer a villain—that maybe he’d never actually been one—and she could doubt everyone else (except for Henry), but she couldn’t doubt Killian Jones.

She was falling for him. Hard. She probably already would’ve fallen if she’d let herself, especially if she’d gone with her gut at the top of that beanstalk and trusted him, so she wasn’t about to let him die.

Emma raised her free hand, feeling all of her Feelings and thinking all of the Things, and she healed him, because she needed to. She felt the warmth that radiated from her palm, and when her eyes flickered open, there was a brilliant light that washed over his face and followed the path of her hand as she hovered along his body. The cuts shrank, sealing themselves while the blood seeped back into his skin, and when his breaths were no longer labored, she knew he was healed.

Her father gave her a proud smile (it was watery, too), but their attention was quickly brought back to the groaning pirate.

Killian’s eyes took several fluttering blinks before they focused correctly, and when he spoke, it was no more than a disoriented grunt. “Swan?”

“We’re here,” she said, releasing David’s hand to take Killian’s. “We trapped Pan, Henry’s safe on the Jolly Roger, and now all we need is for you to take us home.”

His eyes were stormy when he looked up at her, and his rough palm lined up with her soft one, and for a single, fleeting moment, it was as if he’d never felt pain in his life. The warmth, the ease, the life he felt holding Emma Swan’s hand made him briefly forget the hours of torture from Pan, and for what may have honestly been the first time in his life, Killian Jones felt safe.

There were many questions that he needed to ask, ones he hadn’t had the chance to think of with his present exhaustion, but he pushed them aside, because she was smiling that smile, the one he’d never imagined could be directed and him, and it lacked the tightness that Pan’s version had. Where Pan’s version had pranced around words, the real Swan was straight to the point and not flowery about anything. But what was most comforting about this Swan was that even though her smile was warm and lovely and nothing like he’d ever seen on her lips, he could see her walls hidden in her gaze, that lingering hesitance, and he knew. She’d come back for him.

“Think you can walk?” David asked him, and it almost made the pirate jump (centuries of always being on his guard, always prepared and aware of his surroundings, and Emma Swan gave him one smile and held his only hand and that was enough to block out the rest of the realm).

Killian nodded, and with some careful maneuvering by Swan and her father, he was upright. He wavered slightly—blood loss, he reasoned, because Emma had definitely healed him with her magic, but there was only so much magic could do—but they secured both of his arms without delay.

“Oh,” Emma paused, bending down to grab his hook. “Thought you’d want this back,” she added with a smile that was almost sheepish.

It was the way she held it that made him lightheaded (not at all related to the blood loss). Her hand was wrapped around the metal like it was nothing but also everything. She didn’t fear it, didn’t scrunch her nose at it—the way she held it was like the way she held his hand: a part of him, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of.

“Thank you, Emma,” he murmured, and all three of them knew it wasn’t just for returning the hook. He gestured for her to attach it, and after a glance of confirmation, she did. And he couldn’t help but feel whole.

#once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fic #ao3 #Neverland fic #ouat neverland #this is me avoiding my novel and my other actual wip

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dionysusbisexual · 3 years

Note

torture + geraskier

I really hope you like it, I am not the best at writing straight up whump n torture scenes, though it’s brief and focuses more on Jaskier getting better.

Find it on ao3

____

Jaskier sat in the cold, desolate cell, beaten and bloodied and half gone. He had been captured by Nilfgaard in one of his heart broken, drunk stupers and ever since dragged through hell, they had tried to rip his mind open, tear it apart, but his magic prevented the mage assigned to ruin him to gain access to any of his memories --and barely any of his thoughts in general-- that may endanger Geralt. When that didn’t work they had taken to different tactics, a deep scar across his back, hand bruises on his neck, his fingers cut with bones broken along with too many other wounds to count, covered in his own blood. He was leaning against the wall panting, closer to death than he ever had been when he heard the guards approaching. “Look at the little songbird, trapped and mute, unable to escape.” He said, his voice condescending and mocking. Jaskier rolled his eyes but didn’t speak. He found it wasn’t worth it. By sheer luck -- for them-- they had put Jaskier in partly iron shackles, weakening him significantly. “Nothing to say?” Jaskier didn’t react. The guard didn’t seem like this, hitting hard and knocking him over. “You know… This could aaaall end if you just told us where the Witcher is” the guard said crouching down in front of Jaskier. The bard simply spat blood in his face before saying “Probably fucking your mother.” not his best line but, well, cold you really blame him? The guard growled before pulling Jaskier by his hair and throwing him against a wall. He started to stalk towards Jaskier as he lost consciousness, his last thoughts quite simple. At least he had granted Geralt his blessing.

The last thing he felt was a punch to the stomach and the last thing he heard was the squelch of a sword through a throat.

___

Geralt was carrying Jaskier, desperately trying to wake him up, while not jostling him too much, he made it to where Yennefer was, disposing the last of the guards before opening a portal, Geralt took a deep breath and ran through it, practically sprinting towards Triss to save hi- the bard… He has lost the privilege of calling him his years ago.

They quickly set Jaskier down on the table and Triss got to healing him slowly. Geralt was a mess, had been a mess ever since the mountain. At first he had thought it was because of Yennefer but after finding her, after missing the noise, after growing to despise the silence. He knew he had missed, needed, Jaskier. He has tried to track down Jaskier, tried for three years to no avail until a rumor spread tha a the great Bard, Jaskier, had been kidnapped. And Geralt knew in that moment what had happened and blamed himself. It was not a short healing process, with all the physical damage done, it had taken Jaskier three days to wake up. Three days that Geralt spent by his side, refusing to leave the room to eat, which led Eskel to bringing up his lunch and staring at his brother, usually giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, it led to Lambert not teasing him and Ciri spending time with her new father figure in Jaskiers room, always worried because he had gone completely non verbal. Geralt eventually did fall asleep, something had avoided doing by sharpening his sword and changing Jaskiers bandages. He fell asleep holding Jaskiers unbroken hand softly.

Jaskier awoke to a weight on his uninjured hand, panicked at first until he saw Geralt holding it, fast asleep and looking peaceful, pure confusion bubbling inside him until it was joined by anger and hurt. This seemed to have woken up Geralt, whose first instinct was to hold Jaskiers hand tighter until he realized he was the cause of that smell. He stared at Jaskier, unable to form words, pre relief that Jaskier was awake before noticing the expression on Jaskiers face.

Jaskier snatched his hand away and tried to move away from him on the bed only to be met with pain.

“Please, please don’t move.”

Jaskier looked at him with confusion, Geralt never said please. He was still glaring at Geralt, though, distrustful and weary. After weeks of what he had gone through he wasn’t feeling particularly kind.

“Jaskier” Geralt rasped out. “The mount-”

“Leave it. I’ll be out of your hair when I’m healed. Give you your life's one blessing.” Geralt flinched and pursed his lips. “Get out of my room.” Geralt hesitated, wanting to say something before leaving.

Jaskier lied there, trying his best not to cry when a sorceress and Yennefer entered the room, seemingly to check on him. He tried his best not to be too hostile to Yennefer, he had a feeling she and the other woman saved his life. “Jaskier.”

He didn’t respond, she sighed.

The other mage approached him and gave him a warm smile, she seemed much kinder . She was frankly beautiful, maybe if he was younger and less… Exhausted he might have even tried to woo her. “Hello, my name is Triss, I’m glad to see you finally awake, we were worried that I lost you for a second there. He tried to give her his best smile “Jaskier, but you probably knew that. How long till I can move.” Triss’s smile dropped a little. “I’m afraid you’re going to be bed ridden for a few more days. He frowned. “Ahh, I see. Well, give me the sinopses, doc, will I ever play again?” he said, a bit dramatically. He felt his hand nearly healed and along with his own magic he knew he’d be fine, but reassurance was never bad.

She huffed, “You’ll be fine. You won't play for another week though, I suggest staying here until you can.” “It would be a waste if we spent so much time just for you to ruin it, Bard.”

Jaskier glared at Yennefer but conceded. “In fact… You should stay with us.” Triss said softly. At that Jaskier let out a bitter laugh. “I would rather not. I’ll head back to Oxenfurt, put on a good glamour like I should have in the first place.” Triss frowned. “I’m afraid that that isn’t possible… The safest place is here, in Kaer Morhen.” Jaskier grit his teeth and decided not to argue for the time being, too exhausted to protest.

___

The next few days went as the following, one of Geralt's brothers would come up, talk to Jaskier and get him to eat. Later on Ciri would come in and talk to him, having someone from back home to provide her comfort, him being relieved she made it out alive.

Once he got out of bed… Geralt would give him food, make sure he didn’t strain himself and be a general frustration. Jaskiers hurt over the mountain warring with the love he still had, with the affection brought through Geralt's actions.

He knew what the others were doing, trying to get him to see Geralt was trying to change, but Jaskier kept convincing himself it wasn’t so ntil it reached a boiling point.

“Stop.” His voice was firm, expression stormy. Geralt was currently serving him food, both haven woken up at night from their own, cruel nightmares. Geralt paused before turning to Jaskier. “Jaskier,”

“No. You don’t get to… Fucking take care of me and try to act like nothing happened. I don’t need your fucking pity and I don’t need your family participating in whatever fucking game it is you’re playing.”

“Julek, it isn’t-”

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that! How dare you, how dare you push me away for years and deny our friendship, how dare you tell me I’m the worst thing that happened to you and then-and then save me and act like it never- like you haven’t shattered my heart into a million pieces you absolute bastard!” He was crying at this point, shaking before falling into the chair behind him. Geralt had nothing to say, pausing before he slowly walked towards Jaskier and kneeled before him.

“Jaskier… I- hm. The words I said on the mountain” Jaskier flinched “I didn’t mean them I- Yennefer was gone and it was my fault and you were there and I-I wanted to hurt someone, I wanted to be alone and to push you away. I was wrong, I was so wrong.” he took a deep breath “You’re… You’re my life's blessing, you’re the good choice I’ve made. I’m so sorry. Please, let me prove to you that I’ve changed, that I can treat you better. That… I want to be kinder. I… I am a selfish man, I do not deserve your forgiveness but I want to stay by your side.” Jaskier stared at the man in front of him, sincerity in his voice before taking a deep breath. “And if I don’t want you to prove it? If I want to leave?”

Geralt grimaced “Then I will let you leave.” Jaskier reached out and cupped his cheek.

“I’m still mad but I forgive you. I think I forgave you a while ago.” Geralt gave the smallest smile “But I can’t… I-I love you Geralt. I can’t be by your side while you and Yennefer play h-”

“Yennefer and I aren’t together. She and Triss are in love and I. Hm. I love you too.” he said the last part softly, as if afraid that Jaskier would take back his words with his admission.

Jaskier looked at him shocked before giving him a watery smile “Then I will stay by your side… But I can’t. I need time, I want to take it slow.” Geralt nodded “I will wait. I will make it up to you”

Jaskier pulled Geralt up “Well, you can start with a kiss.”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #whump #febuwhump #hope you like it!!#I am half alseep know that #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #answered #Anonymous #torture scene #violence #briefly #ask to tag #long post

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i-like-plan-m · 3 years

Note

About your LWJ can hear lies AU- I can’t help but wonder how he would react to Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao since they are both known for being expert manipulators, especially since it’s hinted at that Nie Huaisang had a lot to do with the WW and MX thing. So I wondered if Huaisang would find a way around LWJ’s lie detecting or if he even knows about it? Also, I can just imagine the PAIN LWJ would be in if he had to talk to Jin Guangyao

Oops, I forgot to link this on tumblr! My bad! This is chapter 3 of the lies au

The trip to Qinghe was familiar by now.

Years of flight between the sects meant Lan Zhan could make the trip with his eyes closed. He kept them open, because the sight of the Qinghe mountain range always brought a sense of relief that was as sharp as the cold air.

The sight at the gates was becoming a familiar one, too. Nie Huiyin waited for him with all the patience she was capable of, her constant restless energy directed into a small but impeccably crafted blade that she was sharpening like it had done something to offend her.

It was just her way, Lan Zhan had learned. Nie Mingjue’s cousin was as brusque as he was, infinitely more cheerful and possibly the loudest person Lan Zhan had ever met in his life. She was also, however, the most refreshingly honest person in all five of the great sects, save for perhaps Nie Mingjue himself.

“Ah!” She said brightly as he landed before her, stepping gracefully from his sword and sweeping it back into the sheath on his back. “It’s our little Lan Zhan, back again!”

He refused to acknowledge the blush heating his ears and instead nodded in greeting. His composed response did not deter her from tossing a friendly arm around his shoulders and hauling him through the open gates, past the grinning guards and into the towering grasp of the Unclean Realm walls.

“How have you been, shidi?” She asked. The Nie Sect, Lan Zhan had quickly discovered, lived up to their imposing reputation of strength and honor. They were also the friendliest people in the world, once they’d decided you were theirs.

Once Lan Zhan's was unofficially acknowledged as a member of the sect leader’s family-- or at least someone held in high regard by Nie-zongzhu himself, the floodgates had opened. He couldn’t decide whether their open affection was embarrassing or not, but it did fill him with a warmth he was unfamiliar with, one that felt like unconditional acceptance. As though they wanted him here. As though they liked him.

He had never had friends before.

Well. He wasn’t entirely positive that he had any now. But regardless, the Nie Sect disciples treated him with regard. They smiled when they saw him. They welcomed him in their training exercise despite the differences in their sects’ fighting styles.

Some, like Nie Huiyin, treated him as though he was a part of their sect. Another of Nie Mingjue’s little brothers to look out for, to keep tabs on like he was incapable of taking care of himself.

It would be insulting if it hadn’t felt so much like acceptance.

“I have been progressing,” Lan Zhan reported dutifully. “My control has improved further since my last visit.” He didn’t react to lies like someone had stabbed him in the ear the way he once had. With age came control, and a higher pain tolerance, apparently.

Nie Huiyin made a sound of exasperation. “You Lans, I swear. I meant how have you been? Done anything fun lately?” She jostled him to punctuate her questions. He was slightly cheered by the fact that she had to reach higher than usual to rest an arm over his shoulders; he’d finally hit his growth spurt this summer and was nearing his brother’s height.

“I mastered Inquiry,” he offered.

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Is that what you do for fun?”

“I enjoy it, yes.”

“Hm. Acceptable. Though my rock climbing offer still stands if you want real fun. There’s nothing more exhilarating than free-falling from a thousand feet, shidi!” Lan Zhan gave a doubtful noise in response that made her laugh. “We catch ourselves before the bottom and take the rest of the fall on our sabers. And then!”

And then they raced through the most dangerous mountain pass in Qinghe on their sabers, chasing adrenaline with as many death-defying stunts they could manage until the pass ended in a dead-drop of a hundred feet. Most of them followed the waterfall straight into the large lake at the bottom. Most of the Nie disciples were reckless enough to try it at least once.

“Scorpion Alley,” he said, familiar with the sect’s unofficial rite of passage.

“You got it,” she agreed cheerfully. “We still haven’t gotten you out there, have we?”

“You will not,” he assured her, and bit back a smile when her laugh echoed across the training grounds. It was so different here than in his sect. There was little composure in Qinghe, no reason to stifle laughter or keep words hushed.

Composure, he’d learned, was another word for concealment. Disguising one’s truthful feelings to reflect serenity instead. A mask that hid the turmoil beneath for the sake of propriety.

It was a lie all the same.

“I hear your sect is hosting guest disciples next year,” Nie Huiyin said, steering him towards the main hall.

“Yes.” He made a halfhearted attempt to sound neutral. He must have failed, because she snorted a laugh as she shoved open the doors of the main hall where Nie Mingjue sat, sorting through a stack of reports with a cranky expression. A slender, unfamiliar man with a dimpled smile stood beside the desk, holding a massive accounting book and waiting patiently for Nie Mingjue to stop muttering under his breath.

Nie Mingjue looked up as the doors swung open. He brightened almost immediately, standing to welcome Lan Zhan with such genuine delight that Lan Zhan ducked his head, pleased.

“Welcome back,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and leading him to one of the nearby tables, gesturing for a servant to bring tea. He sat across from Lan Zhan while Nie Huiyin leaned against a column behind him. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” Lan Zhan said, and tried not to sound petulant. He was almost sixteen, perfectly capable of making the trip from Gusu to Qinghe without trouble.

“It’s the da-ge instinct, little Lan,” Nie Huiyin said with a laugh, nudging Nie Mingjue with her knee when he scowled up at her. “He can’t help himself.”

The unfamiliar man hovered in the background as though unsure what to do without Nie MIngjue’s attention. Lan Zhan blinked at him, still unclear on who this newcomer was or how he’d climbed to Nie Mingjue’s side so quickly. Lan Zhan visited often enough that he would have noticed a new person in Nie Mingjue’s inner circle before today, surely.

Nie Mingjue noticed his distraction and turned to wave the man over. “Ah. Apologies, you two have not met.” The stranger obediently crossed the room and bowed low to Lan Zhan. “This is Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan. And this is Meng Yao, my new deputy.”

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Lan Zhan nodded politely in response and wondered at the faint whisper of a slipped note that accompanied his words. Not quite a lie, but there was something underlying that sounded… off.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huisang complained, sweeping into the room with a sulking expression. “I already did my saber training today as promised, and Nie Zonghui is trying to make me do more. This is cruel and unjust and-- oh, hi Lan Wangji.”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan murmured.

“Lan Wangji,” Nie Huiasang said brightly, throwing himself down beside them. “Tell me, doesn’t your clan have a rule or twelve about keeping promises?”

“A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Meng Yao hid a smile like he’d witnessed many similar discussions like this one.

Then again, so had Lan Zhan. The Nie’s bickering was as constant as stars in the sky. It had taken some getting used to, but now Lan Zhan let it pass over him as background noise. It was all born from a place of love, and even the small lies (like Nie Huaisang’s mistruth about the duration of his promised saber practice) were easily ignored.

Meng Yao, though. He was odd.

Lan Zhan kept his face carefully neutral whenever Meng Yao’s smiles rang false, which was… often. He smiled like he knew it was expected of him, not because he wanted to. Like he was playing a role, either for the sect leader’s benefit or his own.

It had been a few years since his lessons with Lan Xichen on the reasons why people lie, but most of it was… still hard to understand. So when Meng Yao responded to direction throughout the rest of Lan Zhan’s visit with a demure, “I would be honored, Sect Leader” and it rang discordant every time, Lan Zhan thought it was perhaps time to ask for help.

Only a few years ago, Lan Zhan had accidentally exposed an advisor in Qinghe who had been bought off by merchants in the city. Every bit of his advice and own influence had been manipulated to support the merchants.

Of course, when Lan Zhan was in the room and realized the advisor’s input sounded like a drunkard playing a dizi, he’d signaled to Nie Mingjue, who then rooted out the reason for his lies. Lan Zhan was not capable of doing so himself-- he only knew when people lied, never their reason for it.

Shortly after Nie Mingjue had personally tossed the advisor out of the Unclean Realm’s gates, Lan Zhan had discovered a shadow wandering around on his heels.

“How’d you know he was lying?” Nie Huaisang asked curiously. He continued when Lan Zhan stood frozen in place, unsure how to respond. “I saw your cue to da-ge. The hand signal?”

“I…” He had no idea what to do. Brush him off? Explain his mother’s gift? Deny it entirely?

No. That was dishonest.

He swallowed hard and admitted, “I can hear lies.”

“Really?” Nie Huaisang’s eyes brightened. “So you knew the advisor was corrupt?”

“No. Just that he lied.”

“Hm. Interesting. So just the lie, not the intention?” The ever-present fan fluttered as Nie Huaisang stared thoughtfully at him. He nodded once in agreement. “You hear it?”

Lan Zhan realized he’d been absently following Nie Huaisang’s meandering pace along one of the walls. They were alone, so he reluctantly shared, “It was a gift from my mother, before she died. I hear conversations like music, and lies are…”

“Horrible, mangled sounds?” Nie Huaisang asked dryly. “My music tutors tell me that’s what I sound like when I play, anyway.��

His face did not show the flicker of humor he felt. “Yes.”

“Is there anything other than the curse that tells you when they lie? Like, if their voice sounds nervous or their breathing is too fast?”

Lan Zhan paused. He’d never thought of that, of looking past the sound of the curse to identify the physiological aspects of the liars. Why would he? There was irrefutable proof from the curse.

But not looking further felt… lazy. Like willful ignorance. That he could not abide.

“I will observe from now on,” he decided.

“Me too!” Nie Huaisang caught his skeptical side-eye, because he sighed like he alone bore the weight of the universe and said, “I’m just saying, it seems like a useful skill. That advisor got past me, too, you know, and I spend a lot of time listening to their incredibly boring conversations.”

“Boring conversations about running the sect.” If the disapproval wasn’t clear on his face, it was evident in his tone.

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “But I learned my lesson, Lan-er-gongzi, all thanks to you! We should practice together, don’t you think? How about just before lunch every day?”

“That is the time of your saber training,” Lan Zhan, who was not an idiot, said.

“Is it?” Nie Huaisang asked, blinking innocently at him. “Ah, well, da-ge can’t complain if I’m busy making our favorite guest feel welcome!”

“We will spar together before lunch,” Lan Zhan decided, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s horrified expression. “And then study during lunch.”

“No,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “How can I learn to read people if I’ve been pummeled into the dirt by the Second Jade of Lan?”

“I would not,” Lan Zhan said, offended. “You are not capable of a legitimate spar--”

“No shit!”

“--so instead I will help with your training.”

“Somehow this turned out very badly for me,” Nie Huaisang muttered, but he was at the training grounds mostly on time later that day all the same.

That was two years ago.

After two years of shared study, they had something that was not quite a friendship. Lan Zhan had never lost the sense of awkwardness around Nie Huaisang-- he was never quite sure how to interact, wasn’t sure what his role was in this relationship.

Nie Huaisang mostly just complained to him about everything under the sun. But every time Lan Zhan visited, he showed up to the training grounds with an expression of utmost suffering. He only remembered his saber half the time, and he tripped over his own feet often enough Lan Zhan feared for his life, but he showed up.

So Lan Zhan knew his concerns would be heard if he took them to Nie Huaisang. Maybe he would have more insight into Meng Yao’s oddities-- Nie Huaisang understood people the way Lan Zhan didn’t. He couldn’t hear lies, but he could see them.

Most of the time, anyway. He’d learned to read faces where Lan Zhan heard the mistruths. It was a training method with guaranteed reliability, and Nie Huaisang’s success had surprised him. Apparently he was highly capable when he actually applied himself. Too bad he didn’t want to.

Still. He would listen to Lan Zhan, and he would help. That much was certain.

#this is late #sorry i forgot to answer the actual prompt lol #featuring my chaotic lesbian oc #nie huiyin #because i wanted more women in it #in the shadow of moonlit flowers #my fics #my writing #the untamed #mdzs #asks #anon #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan wangji #lan zhan #meng yao #prompts

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spacebeyonce · 3 years

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this wip wednesday post is for @ride-the-bifrost specifically. because they asked for a sorikai body art au ages ago, and I’m finally working on it but it’s since went and morphed into a mash up of florist/tattoo parlor au meets urban fantasy. I mentioned it uhhh last week? I think?

but anyway - a snippet! I’m still building it up - duh, obviously, but here’s what I have rn.

Riku never paid much mind to the tattoo parlor across from his grandmother’s shop.

That isn’t to say he’s never seen it before, or anything – he still remembers the day it popped up a few years ago, across the street and two buildings over. Synthesize, with its striking midnight blue bricks and bright red door. A lot of people were skeptical of the business, doubtful that it would be there long – himself included - but despite all their doubts, it’s stuck around so far, highly recommended through word of mouth for the high quality of their work. If you wanted a tattoo or piercing as a magic focus, or for protection, or hell, just for a good night’s sleep – Synthesis would always provide.

It has been a while since the Destiny Islands had any kind of person around who’s spell work was primarily through body art; on the cities inland yeah, sure, there’s plenty – but that’s a two-day trip that many don’t feel like taking, at minimum. Here in their little beach town, folks like the ones at Synthesize were a rarity. It’s not like Riku knows the people that worked there, though; he’s rarely seen them, even after moving back home from the mainland – and that wasn’t planned, either. But life never turns out the way you want, even if you plan every possible turn on your path to the letter.

See, Riku was a witch – a witch like his mother and father, and their foremothers and fathers, on and on and on. He was a witch, and when he was seventeen, he had left home - like all good witches are supposed to do - and traveled inland to try and find a place to settle down and call his own. His plan had been to open his own shop to sell his own magical wares and make a name for himself – though what he wanted to sell, he wasn’t really sure. But he would figure it out on his own time. He had been well on his way to it, too – a few apprenticeships under his belt, a growing number of clients – he was doing it. It had been so close.

But then he got a call from his mother. And he had to come back home in August at twenty-two, to help around the house and care for his father, who had fallen ill. And eight months later he had to hold his mother’s hand as they stared out into the sea, draped in mourning white as his father’s ashes were swept away by the tide.

He hasn’t left home since. He hasn’t felt the urge to. Before, he had been so eager to leave home, so ready to just – grow up. But now, he’s not much of anything – not anymore.

Riku wasn’t resentful about staying in the Destiny Islands, not now; in the earlier years, when grief blinded everything, he was – he snapped and lashed out and quickly gave into the dark, bitter ugliness of his heart. But it was fine in the end; he had family to support him and pull him back when he got too into his head – and a grandmother that put him to work so he could get his head out of his ass, forcing him to try his hand at selling green things and potions – a tincture for better health, a bouquet with flowers placed just so to sharpen the mind or brighten a room, ethers to restore a person’s magic when exhausted. He wasn’t as good as his grandmother at first but now – he was decent enough. It was something that would keep him focused, keep him busy, and deal with the stormy turbulence in his heart in other ways.

And then his grandmother up and left the shop in his name a year and a half later when she finally decided to retire – a little apothecary all his own.

He didn’t think he could handle it by himself – a whole shop, belonging to him and him alone? It was too soon. He still felt so unbalanced – so young. He was only twenty-three. He hadn’t been sure. But his grandmother had put her foot down.

“You need this.” She insisted. “You need this, and it will be good for you. Besides – you think I’d let you run this place by yourself? No, no, I’ll be there to help when needed – but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off!”

Time passed, and he slowly settled. Slowly made the apothecary feel more like his, made a name for himself outside of his family. And then – Synthesize.

All he knows about the people that work there is that the artists are around his age, and the owner was a blue haired woman that he’d seen coming and going now and then. That, and the high compliments of their work, he supposed. But other than those things, he knows nothing about them – and he didn’t really mind all that much. Never really noticed, anyway, too caught up in his own work, his own life, filling in the ragged space his father left behind bit by bit. He didn’t really think his path would ever cross with his mysterious neighbors.

But that all changed one cold winter day – that day, he thinks, was the one that set him onto that long, winding path.

He didn’t really mind it that much, in the end.

-o-

It had been a pretty normal start to the day.

Riku arrives to his shop at eight in the morning, as he has done for the past three years, and then he makes his rounds around the shop to check on the plants that filled buckets to bursting and the state of the potions that lined the shelves, taking note on what needed to be restocked for the day. His grandmother wouldn’t be in until noon, and that was alright – the morning hours were slow, with customers few in number - which meant he could take his time.

After taking care of what needed to be restocked, Riku returned to the back rooms of the store to prepare himself for the day. He pulled his apron on and tied it snugly around his waist, adjusting the straps and making sure they weren’t twisted around his neck. He combed his fingers through his long, platinum hair, pulling his hair tie off his wrist and holding it between his teeth as he braided his hair back, ensuring it wouldn’t get in the way. His movements were slow, meditative, and with the added scent of flowers and dried herbs, Riku felt himself slipping into a calm space, muscles relaxing. As he tied the end off, the soft jingle of the bells over the door rang through the air, and Riku raised an eyebrow.

A customer? At this hour?

“Hello?” A man’s voice called out – bright, chipper, but still relatively deep. “Anyone there?”

“Be with you in a moment!” Riku called back, making a face at his reflection and the way his bangs hung in front of his eyes, futilely blowing the hair out the way. He quickly put it aside and left the back room behind, adjusting his apron one last time as he returned to the front area, wondering who could possibly be coming by this early.

A man around his age was waiting at the counter, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he looked around the shop. He had spiky brown hair, warm brown skin, and strikingly blue eyes, and when Riku stepped up behind the counter, the man gave him a quick once over before giving him a smile so bright it made him squint a little. It felt fine if he only admitted it to himself, but the man was…cute. “Can I help you?”

“Yes! I was wondering if you had any celebration flowers?”

Riku tilted his head, surveying the buckets of flowers around the room. “Probably, yes.” He mused. “What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, my girlfriend – it’s her birthday today, and I wanted to give her some flowers before work.”

Ah. A girlfriend. Well, no big deal.

He shrugged off the slight sting of disappointment with a smile. “That’s nice of you. Do you know what flowers you wanted to give her?”

“Uhh…”

Sheepish, the man shrugged, his grin turning shy as he reached up to scratch at the back of his head. The sleeve of his coat slips down, just enough so that Riku could see a small paopu fruit tattooed on his wrist. “I didn’t – sorry! I just thought, um, that there would be bouquets that were pre-made?”

Riku breathed out a little laugh. “That’s not how it works here, no. It – alright then. Can you tell me about her?”

“Huh?”

“Your girlfriend.” Riku says, beginning to roll up the sleeves of his sweater. “Can you tell me about her? What’s she like?”

He’s still a little new to this, but he’s worked here long enough that he feels like he’s got a good grip on this now.

“Oh! Um. Well –”

The man scratched at his hair again, and his eyes went soft as he thought over his words. “Kairi, well, she’s – she’s really smart, and nice – but don’t let that fool you! Even though she’s sweet, she’s got a real temper, too. And she’s so – she’s so funny, and competitive, and really hard working! And she always tries to make everyone feel good, and is just – she’s really warm, and welcoming, and – um.”

He smiled dopily. “I, uh. I like her a lot.”

Riku couldn’t help but smile. “I can tell. Alright, then. Give me just a second.”

He marinated over what he’d been told, humming in thought as he wandered around the space, staring at the buckets of flowers. It didn’t have to be a huge bouquet, he thinks – nothing too outlandish. He started off with a few pink carnations as the base, thinking for a second before grabbing a few amaryllis flowers. What else…? Jasmines, Riku decides. And larkspur. Maybe forget-me-nots? Riku wasn’t sure yet, but he felt pretty good about the idea.

So far it was looking good – whites and pinks with a little hint of purple. It felt…fitting. He didn’t know this Kairi person, but this looked like it would suit her well enough.

“So…”

“Hm?” Riku hummed absently, looking around the room.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Oh – um.” He tucked some of his wayward bangs behind his ear, even though he knew the act was futile. “About three years. This shop was – it’s family owned.”

“Really? That’s so cool!”

“You think so? It was my grandmother’s and, well. Now it’s mine.”

“Whaaaat?” The man gaped at him, astounded, and Riku felt prickly heat spread down his neck. “You own this place? But you look like – my age!!”

Riku sharply turned away, pressing the back of his hand against his cheek as he looked over the plants. The bouquet still needed a little – something. He decided to go with the forget-me-nots, after all. “That’s because I probably am your age. Really, it - it’s not that impressive.” Riku mumbles quietly, back turned to the man. “I mean – this place isn’t really mine. It’s not something I made on my own. But – that’s nothing you have to worry about. Sorry.”

How unprofessional of him; what is he thinking, starting to unload his problems on a stranger? Get a grip.

He decided to grab a few leaves of a fern plant, thinking that a touch of green would be good. As he started to head back to the counter he felt – something. A light brush against his senses – a magical aura rubbing against his. It made him shiver a little, hair rising at the nape of his neck, and he cut a glance over at the man, only to notice him staring, blue eyes piercing. It felt like – like he was trying to figure him out.

“I still think it’s great.” He said softly, and he sounded so…sincere. Riku tore his eyes away, letting out a soft laugh of disbelief. “If you say so.”

“Can you do magic, too?” The man asked as Riku returned behind the counter, grabbing some lavender tissue paper to wrap the flowers in.

“I can.” Riku’s hands moved fluidly, tucking the flowers together and wrapping them up, turning some of the blooms just so, so the arrangement looks perfect. “I come from a very long line of witches.”

“Really?? That’s amazing!”

The man looked so amazed, eyes sparkling, and Riku actively had to fight back the heat creeping up his neck. “Thanks.” He mumbled bashfully. “Anyway –”

He wrapped the flowers with a nice white ribbon and held out the bouquet. “You’re all set.”

“Oh! Thank you!” The man carefully takes the flowers, a little awed smile on his face. “They look amazing – and they smell so good! And they feel really – bright! Wow, you’re really good at this!”

“I should hope so.” Riku says dryly, and the man makes a face.

“Sorry, sorry. How much do I owe you? Oh, can I also get a couple ethers, as well?”

He grabbed the bottles of ether before munny exchanged hands, and Riku gave the man his change and receipt with a smile. “Have a good one. I hope Kairi likes the birthday flowers.”

“Thanks! I hope so, too!”

The man grinned brightly at him and took a couple steps back, arms laden with his purchases. He’d started to turn to the door but – stopped. Turned back to face him. “Hey…what’s your name?”

Riku tilted his head a little, bemused. “I’m Riku.”

“Riku.” He repeated slowly, like he was testing the sound of his name, and then he gave him a smile. “I’m Sora! It’s nice to meet you – and thanks for all your help! I’ll probably come around more often.”

Sora gave him one more wave before stepping outside, the door quietly swinging shut behind him. The shop felt – much quieter, with Sora’s presence gone; everything about him was very…bright. Loud. But not in a bad way.

He did say he would come around more often, and Riku, well – he guessed that he wouldn’t mind the noise too much.

Riku stepped around the counter and moved towards the large windows, discreetly staring after Sora as he walked down the street and headed –

To Synthesize.

“Oh.” He said aloud, mouth falling open a little as Sora entered the shop, letting that bright red door close behind him.

He guessed – the little glimpse of a tattoo should’ve made it obvious. But that doesn’t mean Sora works there. Maybe his girlfriend works there? That’s probably it.

It slowly started to sink in how Riku must have looked to others, pressed up against the window and staring after someone he only talked to for five minutes.

Why was he thinking so hard about this? What was there to wonder about? He needs to get it together.

“I have work to do.” He muttered to himself, pushing away from the windows and retreating into the store’s depths.

#wip wednesday #sorikai

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wolf08 · 4 years

Text

The Art of Seduction

A/N: Surprise! I couldn’t resist taking a break from my other work to participate in SasuSaku Month 2020. I missed fic writing so much and had a blast with this. Hope you enjoy. :)

Prompt: Let’s play pretend (Sorry, I know I’m like 5 days late lol)

Summary: Kakashi Hatake, Sixth Hokage and the mastermind behind the infamous bell test, had just the trick for igniting the inevitable romantic spark between his beloved students: assign Sakura a seduction mission. Blank period. SasuSaku. Available on fanfiction.net and AO3.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan fiction using characters from the NarutoTM world, which is trademarked by Masashi Kishimoto. The story I tell here is created for entertainment only and is not part of the official NarutoTM storyline. I do not profit financially from this story.

Tags: Humour, fluff and humour, mutual pining, attempted seduction, awkwardness

Words: 3463

***

The Art of Seduction

***

“Hey – what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

One sunny afternoon, amidst Sasuke and Sakura’s private travels, while Sakura was rinsing her tired feet and Sasuke was sharpening their weapons after weeks of climbing mountains and hiking through forests, the duo was unexpectedly interrupted.

“That! Flying straight at us!” Sakura shouted and leaping clear out of the rushing brook, over the rocky shore, and onto the surrounding grass.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow and glanced in the direction of the disturbance.

“A bird,” he said simply without budging from his shady spot at the foot of a large oak tree.

Sakura rolled her eyes before breaking out into a grin. “Not just any bird – it’s the Hokage’s messenger hawk!”

This piqued Sasuke’s interest. It had been months since the pair had heard a peep from their home village, after all.

As it happened, the bird was carrying a scroll addressed to Sakura.

“What does Kakashi want?” Sasuke asked, while hopping to his feet and joining his companion by the brook. Sakura was crouched by the rocky shore, eagerly unravelling the scroll.

Sasuke watched her closely– taking in the emotion brimming behind her emerald eyes and her trembling fingers.

She misses home, Sasuke thought, his chest tightening. Though he didn’t blame her, Sasuke just hoped she didn’t miss home too much.

He didn’t express it much, but Sasuke thoroughly enjoyed his lively travelling companion’s company. And he really didn’t want her to leave.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the hopefulness drained from Sakura’s face as she scanned the letter. She pouted and scrunched her eyebrows together (a rather adorable expression, in Sasuke’s opinion, all things considered).

“What, Sakura?” he asked and drawing closer, crouching beside her, and hoping beyond hope this wasn’t bad news.

“It’s… a mission assignment.”

There was confusion written all over her features. Sasuke didn’t blame her.

“But you’re with me. We’re already on a mission,” he mused while reaching for the scroll to have a look himself, but, to his surprise, Sakura tugged the scroll out of his reach, colour rising in her face.

Sasuke blinked. “Sakura..?”

She twisted away from him, her face buried in the scroll and her cheeks a similar hue as her pale, pink hair. “It’s assigned just to me. And it’s a… weird one,” she said quietly, like she couldn’t believe what she was reading.

“What’s the mission?” Sasuke asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

“A seduction mission.”

***

Sakura paced back and forth through the grassy clearing in bare feet, hands clasped behind her back, and feeling stressed out of her mind. Sakura had never been assigned a seduction mission before. She had most certainly fantasized about doing one, back in her early teenage days, as most young kunoichi did. Because there had been a certain thrill in using her sex appeal as a weapon against an unsuspecting opponent. It was the perfect blindside.

But these times were different.

Nowadays, Sakura would much rather spend her time exploring the land with her beloved travelling partner than seduce strangers. And, to boot, Sakura had never been particularly confident in her ability to sway someone romantically (with her ever-so-distant object of affection compounding her self-doubts).

Sasuke’s reaction to her mission had been rather hard to read. He seemed puzzled as he read the letter over a couple of times himself. “Do you do these often?” he asked with raised eyebrows, his voice catching ever so slightly.

“No, never,” she groaned and crossing her arms.

This is going to be terrible, she thought. Failing to make a move on the love of her life even once during their months travelling alone together told her as much. Although she and Sasuke had undoubtedly grown closer and were teetering on the edge of being in a relationship – between their heated looks and gentle touches – nothing outwardly romantic had actually transpired between them.

And now Sakura was expected to leave to seduce someone else?

Some wing man you are, Kakashi-sensei.

“Then why’d he assign you?” Sasuke wondered with narrowed eyes while pocketing the scroll.

Sakura shrugged. “Well, we’re only a few miles away from the village that the… target is currently in. I bet Kakashi-sensei has been tracking our whereabouts and picked me because of proximity. Plus the target isn’t staying there much longer so I’ll need to set out first thing tomorrow.”

According to the mission assignment, the target in question was an important Wind Country delegate who (rumour had it) was involved in a human trafficking scheme. Apparently he was known as being a bit of a ladies man – thus, Sakura presumed, seduction tactics were a straight-forward means of extracting information from him.

“Hm,” Sasuke said.

“But I don’t know the first thing about seducing someone!” Sakura fumed, hands on her hips as she resumed her pacing. “Kakashi-sensei screwed up. It’s gonna be a total flop.”

Sasuke was quiet for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said before returning to the shade of the tree and resuming his task of sharpening their weapons.

Sakura watched as he ran a hand through his black, mused hair and grabbed a kunai and ran the blade along the sharpening stone with determined, aggressive motions. His expression was impassive, with his dark eyes focused on the task and his mouth frowning in concentration.

Sakura turned away, as not to be caught ogling at her handsome companion.

But that was when she was struck with an idea. An embarrassing, yet intriguing idea.

“Hey, Sasuke-kun?” she asked, feeling her face warm in anticipation.

He glanced at her. “What?”

She returned his gaze. “How do you do it?” Sakura asked bravely. “You know, women practically faint in your presence. How do you get their attentions so easily?”

Sakura figured he was a neutral party on the matter, and she was willing to follow any advice she could get her hands on. After all, she could personally attest to the effect her travelling companion had on women, so surely he had some advice.

Sasuke redirected his stare to something on the ground. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and joined him beneath the tree. “Oh sure you don’t,” she teased. She plopped down right in front of him. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t help but smirk because Sasuke looked about as uneasy as she felt, his face tinted pink and his eyebrow twitching as he tried to avoid looking at her. “C’mon. What’s your secret?”

He looked up and there was something almost pleading in his dark eyes. “Sakura, believe me. I have no clue what I’m doing,” he said. He held her gaze and Sakura’s heart skipped a beat for some reason. But she ignored it.

She pouted. Maybe he’s right – he’s just so effortlessly attractive that he doesn’t even have to try.

Sakura felt a dip in her confidence as she was reminded that the two of them weren’t in the same leagues.

But she needed to try anyways.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But I need your help because I don’t know what I’m doing either and I need to complete this mission. And you’re the only person I have to consult.”

Sasuke eyed her apprehensively as she resumed her pacing.

Meanwhile, Sakura’s mind wandered. What on earth was she to wear for this mission? She only had training gear with her and she certainly didn’t have any make-up on hand. With such a tight schedule, a shopping trip was out of the question. Should she just wear her undergarments – her spandex shorts and black band around her chest?

I’ll feel uncomfortable wearing something that revealing, Sakura thought, her heartrate quickening. Did she really have to change her appearance that much, or was it more about her demeanor – how she moved and how her voice sounded, or whatever?

Ugh, I’m so confused!

Sakura gritted her teeth and stopped her pacing. Abruptly, she turned to face Sasuke square on. He was sipping from a water canteen, watching her curiously. “You’re a guy,” she pointed out. “Let’s pretend you’re my target. What would seduce you?”

Sasuke swallowed a mouthful of water with a profound gulp.

He blinked at her after that, eyebrow twitching again. He opened his mouth and closed it, faltering.

Sakura realized perhaps her question was too loaded. Let’s back it up, then. “How about – what are you attracted to in a woman? Let’s start with that.”

She watched him expectedly.

Sasuke seemed particularly fascinated by a knife he was sharpening when he said, “Um. Strength.”

“Strength,” Sakura repeated, a bit flatly. Really?

“And intelligence,” Sasuke added, his head tilted down and his eyes concealed from view behind his hair.

The knife he was sharpening really couldn’t get any sharper.

Sakura folded her arms and reflected on Sasuke’s comments. I wonder if he thinks I’m strong and smart enough to be attractive? Despite her generally low self-esteem, Sakura was fairly confident that she excelled in both of those areas, especially now.

She felt the tiniest tinge of hope. If that’s what he’s into, maybe I’ve got a shot?

But that was besides the point. She had a mission to focus on.

Did other men look for strength and intelligence in women? She wasn’t sure. Either way, it would be hard to show off those qualities to her target, unless she challenged him to an arm wrestling contest or a game of cards.

Sakura suspected there were more straight-forward ways to seduce a stranger.

She sighed. “This would be so much easier if I were talking to Naruto,” she groaned while leaning against a protruding rock between the brook and the tree. Sakura had a feeling that said Hokage-in-the-making had an arsenal of strategies for seducing men – given his experience using those very strategies in the guise of his Sexy Jutsu.

Sasuke turned to her, a trace of competitiveness in his eyes, before he seemed to remember what they were talking about and turned away.

It seemed he was willing to accept defeat from his rival on this particular matter.

“Okay, how about looks? You must have thoughts about looks, at least?” Sakura tried.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “What are you asking?”

She felt her heartrate quicken again, for some reason. “I mean, what do you find seductive about a woman’s appearance?” she clarified.

I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

As anticipated, Sasuke looked dumbfounded by her question. But he at least seemed to be thinking about it, given his thoughtful stare into the distance with his eyebrows furrowed.

It was kind of him to play along and try to help – despite his clear discomfort. Sakura felt a stab of empathy and decided to ask what she felt was an easier question.

Thinking back to their Genin days, and Ino’s insistence that Sasuke preferred certain hairstyles on girls, Sakura asked, “For instance – should I change my hair?”

There wasn’t much she could do about its length or colour – unless she got her hands on a wig, somehow. But maybe she could style it differently, by tying it up or braiding it?

“No,” Sasuke replied curtly.

“Okay… what about make-up?”

Sasuke shook his head before getting up with the water canteen in hand. “No. You’re fine,” he said, and making his way towards the brook.

Sakura looked up, her heart fluttering slightly because maybe that meant he liked the way she looked.

Or maybe he was just trying to end the conversation.

Sasuke crouched on the rocky shore of the brook, dipping the canteen beneath its surface for a top-up.

Sakura’s eyes roamed skyward to the tuffs of clouds, her mind running astray. She didn’t mean to torment Sasuke with this awkward conversation, but she really did need all the help she could get. She imagined herself entering a darkened pub to execute her mission. She just had to pull this off, somehow, because if her enemies caught onto her, it could turn into a dangerous situation – not for her personally, for surely she could pummel her enemy if she needed to, but there could be larger international strain if she was caught spying.

Sakura closed her eyes as she imagined approaching her target at the bar. She would introduce herself, start some small talk… and then…?

“Maybe I should touch him… suggestively. But not too inappropriately, you know?” she mused.

“No, I have no clue what you mean,” Sasuke chimed in. He was now sitting on the shore with his shoes discarded and pants rolled up, his feet resting in the cool, rushing stream as he replenished their supply of drinking water.

Sakura carried on. “You know – like running my fingers along his hands, caressing his face, or something. Maybe that would work?”

Once again, Sasuke seemed very fixated on his task. “Maybe,” he said.

But Sakura wasn’t really paying attention to him. She was in her own world now, talking through a scenario she was playing out in her head.

She imagined Tsunade or Ino – two of the most sought-after woman that Sakura knew – walking into a bar and harnessing the attention of most men they passed.

What was their secret?

“I know – maybe it’s just a confidence thing,” Sakura realized. “Maybe it’s more about how I say things.”

She stood up with vigour, facing the general direction of the tree, paced forward deliberately, swaying her hips and imagining that her target was before her. She ran a hand through her hair in a way she imagined must be at least somewhat attractive, and said, “Like what if I walk right up and whisper in his ear –” (Sakura cleared her throat and tried out a low and husky tone) “- I want you. You want me. Let’s get naked. And… And…”

Sakura faltered. I can’t do it, she thought while dropping to her knees.

Then she remembered her silent audience and peered in Sasuke’s direction nervously. To her horror, he was indeed watching her, his eyes wide and his lips pursed – like he was supressing a smirk.

He thinks I’m ridiculous. Sakura put her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing. I’m so bad at this.”

Sasuke shook his head and stood up, capping the water canteen.

“I’m such a lost cause,” Sakura continued. “I don’t even have a nice outfit to wear.” She fiddled with the zipper at the front of her dress absent-mindedly. “But maybe if I just remove my training clothes slowly enough, it’ll distract him from the stupid things I’m saying. Then I’ll just have to hope that –”

Sakura was interrupted by Sasuke grabbing her wrist, squeezing just hard enough to force her to release the zipper.

She turned to him, startled. “Sasuke-kun?”

He looked a little conflicted – perhaps over being amused and angry – and there was a bit of colour on his face again. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a blood vessel was about to burst in his temple. “That might work,” he said. “Don’t do it.” He gave her a pointed look and stalked back towards the tree.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” Sakura asked his retreating figure, feeling more confused than ever.

“You’ll do fine, Sakura,” Sasuke mumbled with a dismissive air.

Sakura folded her arms and watched him pace away, not quite sure what to make of his comment.

She sighed again and muttered, “I wish I could just kick the guy’s ass.”

***

Sakura woke abruptly to the sounds of scuffling and snapping twigs.

Wasting no time, she grabbed a kunai from her weapon pouch and sprang to her feet in one fluid motion.

Damn it, Sakura thought. She was planning to set out for the seduction mission today – and how untimely it would be to get ambushed now.

That was when she realized that Sasuke, who had fallen asleep beside her under the looming oak tree, was missing.

Sakura felt a swell of panic as her eyes darted around. And then she heard more scuffling, and this time, a male voice yelling (though muffled slightly) from somewhere through the trees ahead.

Sakura inhaled sharply and raced through the trees, knife in hand, towards the source of the disturbance. And then, moments later, Sakura arrived on a perplexing scene.

“Sasuke-kun?” she asked and slowly lowering her knife.

Her travelling companion was standing there, wearing his usual black travelling cloak, with his back facing her. Evidently, he was just fine.

It was the man bound to the tree who didn’t look fine.

Sasuke turned towards her. He seemed a little surprised by her presence. “Good morning,” he said evenly.

“Good… what the heck is going on?!” Sakura exclaimed as she approached the pair of them, studying the bound man carefully. She didn’t recognize the guy whatsoever. But Sasuke wasn’t the type of person to capture strangers for no reason, so surely he had an explanation for this. “I’ve got a mission to complete today, so this had better be important!”

Sasuke turned to her, his expression calm. “There’s no need for you to go anywhere – this is your guy,” he said simply, and gesturing towards the bound man like he was presenting a gift.

Sakura’s jaw dropped. “So… you’re telling me that you abducted the man I was supposed to seduce?” Sakura asked and massaging her temples, the puzzle pieces coming together. She felt a tinge of relief come over her because normal interrogations were much more up her alley than seduction missions.

But something still didn’t add up. “Why?” she asked.

The man bound to the tree nodded stiffly and mumbled against his mouth restraints – apparently just as keen to find out what Sasuke was planning. He had a long, straight nose, grey streaks through his black hair, and expensive-looking pyjamas.

Yep, looks like an important delegate to me, Sakura thought.

Sasuke folded his arms, closed his eyes, and turned away slightly. “I knew you were stressed about the mission so I helped,” he explained. “I figure you can just ask him your questions here and I’ll wipe his memory with my Sharingan when you’re finished.”

He didn’t seem terribly concerned that the target could hear all of his.

Sakura frowned. Sure, it was nice of Sasuke to lend a hand, but Sakura found herself feeling angry. “So you didn’t think I was capable of doing the mission so you decided to intervene,” she snapped, rounding on him.

Sasuke turned to face her fully, eyes wide. “No, you’re capable..”

Sakura raised her eyebrows. “So you just didn’t want me to go on the mission.” Boldly, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I didn’t,” he finally admitted. And then, yet another surprise, Sasuke brought a hand to Sakura’s face, tracing her temple, cheek bone, and jaw with the tips of his fingers.

That’s a caress to the face if I ever saw one! she thought as a shiver raced down her spine. She was unable to look away. “Because you don’t want me seducing men,” she added with a smirk while she gazed at Sasuke’s face. Her heart was in her throat for being this close to him.

Sasuke’s fingers paused around her chin. His face was very close to hers now. “Because I don’t want you seducing other men,” he corrected quietly.

Sakura stared at him, processing the implications of his words as her face grew hot, and he leaned in closer. His nose was mere inches from hers, his breath warm on her face. Sakura’s eyes fluttered closed.

It’s happening! It’s finally happening!

“Ahem.”

Sakura startled and jumped about ten feet away from Sasuke. Enraged, she whirled in the direction of the disturbance and found that their captive, still tied to the tree, had chewed through his mouth binds and was glaring at them.

“Not that this isn’t fun, but if it’s not too late to change plans, I much prefer the one where this girl seduces me.”

Sakura rolled her eyes, her face still burning, as she smoothed out her hair.

That’s when she heard a familiar chirping sound. A sideways glance confirmed the Chidori in Sasuke’s palm. But even more menacing was the glare he was directing at their target.

“Sasuke-kun – wait! Just let me interrogate him first, okay? Then we can get back to… where we left off?”

Sasuke shot her a calculating look, eyes narrowed. He swallowed. It seemed he was quite torn between doing as Sakura asked or immediately murdering the guy tied to the tree. But in the end he caved, sitting on the ground with a humph, waiting impatiently for Sakura to finish her questioning.

Sakura hoped Kakashi wouldn’t be too disappointed that she’d failed to follow the instructions for the mission.

Then again, another part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the outcome Kakashi planned for all along.

#ssm20 #ssm20d8 #sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku month #mutual pining #wolf08fic

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cryysiswritesthings · 3 years

Text

The Multi-verse Theory || UFC

Series: Inuyasha, Modern AU Rating: Mature Warnings: N/A Status: On-going Pairing: KogKag Summary:

Something caught his opponent’s attention. Gold eyes flicked to the side once, twice, before lighting up with recognition. Split lips lifted in a smirk, a single fang glinting in the overhead lights. His stance shifted, newfound resolve strengthening overworked muscles.

Kouga knew that look. When it was genuine, he’d watched winning contenders get slaughtered by their opponents. But you always knew when it was faked. The loser would put on a show, try to get in a few jabs, and then lose their false confidence at the knockout. But for a guy like this…

The scent hit him then. Subtle and hard to make out through pounds of sweat-soaked bodies. Vanilla and sandalwood.

Damn it all. She’d shown up.

Find it On: AO3

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #multiverse #ufc fighting

His coaches were yelling in the background, but he couldn’t hear them over the crowd’s roar and the blood rushing in his ears. The half-breed was breathing hard, spitting blood to the floor. He was a flagging; a few more hits and he’d be down for the count. Bastard put up a better fight than he’d expected, but it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.

The scent hit him then. Subtle and hard to make out through pounds of sweat-soaked bodies. Vanilla and sandalwood.

Damn it all. She’d shown up.

Kouga wiped at the sweat dripping down his head, using the motion to hide his grimace of annoyance. Somehow, her presence had a way of screwing him over every time. Just like now. A moment ago, he’d had this fight in the bag.

Looked like he was wrong.

–

Kouga sat alone, head hanging in gloved hands while the crowd cheered outside. He’d been so close. So damn fucking close. It was almost laughable.

Three combos and an uppercut. That’s all it had taken. Total knockout. And it was all her fucking fault.

Metal hinges creaked, telling him someone had come to witness his defeat. Likely one of the coaches coming to give him another ‘pep talk--’

He caught the scent of dog. He bared his teeth, the expression hidden in his gloves.

Dog, sandalwood, and vanilla.

Her heels clacked against the concrete floor, but Kouga didn’t lift his head. It was the scrape of a metal chair against the concrete that finally made him look at her, glacial eyes brimming with a mixture of amusement and rage.

Raven black hair fell against her back in waves, storm grey eyes lined with kohl. Her shirt was navy satin; her black skirt stopped above her knees, showing off creamy skin and smooth legs. In her manicured hands was a small tape recorder, its red light shining power. Glitter pink lips lifted in a smile.

Kagome Higurashi. Reporter for the Sports Radar.

He’d been a goner the second he laid eyes on her.

“Kouga, the self-proclaimed Wolf of the ring. Three-time tournament champion, tonight’s victory will send him on a one-way trip to the national semi-finals. Or at least,” Kagome’s smile shifted, becoming an amused grin. He had to fight not to return it. “It was supposed to.”

“Nice to see you too, Higurashi,” Kouga growled crossly, finally letting his hands drop..

“Tell us Kouga, after that… sudden, epic defeat, how are you feeling? It has to be tough, knowing you were so close, and then seconds later having it all ripped away from you.”

His gaze flicked between her face and the glowing light on the recorder. His coaches hated it when he fucked up interviews. Too bad he didn’t really care.

He straightened on the bench with a tired sigh. “You here supporting my opponents now? Thought I was your favorite.”

Pleased, she mimicked the motion. “I don’t come to offer my personal support. I just do interviews with contenders.” Her grin sharpened. “And write glowing reviews of the winners.”

‘Glowing reviews.’ Yeah, all that white hair had nearly blinded him at the start of the match. “And when this is over, how long is it going to take you to ask his opinion about my answers?”

She tapped her chin, thoughtful. “I suppose that depends. Sports fans always like hearing about their favorites losing to the underdog.” He wondered if she’d be able to hear her smile when she listened to the recording later. “Even if it is just to scream about the match being rigged.”

“If you’re there it may as well be,” he groused. He glowered at the recorder. “Turn that fucking thing off, unless you want those sports fans to hear something they shouldn’t.”

She laughed and rose. “Why Kouga,” with practiced ease, she flicked the switch and pocketed the recorder. Finally. “Whatever could you mean?”

Kouga growled and tugged her into his lap. “Woman…”

Kagome smiled and brushed the tip of her nose against his. “Problem, champ?”

“Ex-champ,” he said sourly, then nipped her chin sharply. “So thanks for that.”

She snickered, unashamed, and ran slim fingers through his sweat-soaked bangs. “I’d say I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t really be true.”

“Mh-hm.” He let his eyes close and savored the feeling of her nails dragging over his scalp. “How much longer are you here for?“

She shrugged, tugging at the tie in his hair until it came free. The hand not in his hair cupped the back of his neck and scratched at the soft skin. “Could be a while. Managers want me to cozy up with the new champ.”

Kouga’s lips lifted in a snarl, his peace momentarily shattered. Clawed fingers pulled her satin shirt from beneath her skirt, his large hand a brand of heat against her side. “Yeah, I know. I hate it.”

He didn’t see Kagome’s smile, but the kiss she pressed to his lips was meant to soothe. His chest rumbled; he didn’t appreciate the placation, but let her do it anyway. He liked her feisty, but she tasted that much sweeter when he played at understanding.

She brushed her cheek over his jaw, her breath warm against his ear. “You know no matter what they ask me to do,” she whispered, “you’re the one I come home to. That’s not going to change.”

He bit his tongue to cut off his immediate response. Instead, he wrapped his free hand in her hair and directed her face to his. He returned her earlier gesture, a soft brush of the tip of his nose against hers. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.“

Satisfied, Kagome hummed and dripped kisses over his lips and jaw. “I wouldn’t ask you too. There is one good thing about this though.” She paused. “Well, two things, if you want to think about it.”

Kouga’s snort was all the answer he needed. Rather than keep talking, he pressed kisses over her neck and nipped gently at the delicate skin. Her soft gasp encouraged him, but it didn’t erase the burn of his jealousy. The dark bruises he sucked on her neck helped.

“Kouga…”

He released her, but only to hike the edge of her skirt up to her thighs. “Problem, Kagome?”

Her whimper answered him. His smile was wicked; he kept his mouth busy at her neck to hear more of those sounds, the scent of her arousal hovering in his nose. When her skirt was high enough, she straddled his lap of her own volition. His hands covered the tops of her thighs and pulled her closer. There was just enough space between them for her to undo the first buttons of her blouse and reveal fine black lace, peppered with shining crystals, over the white silk of her bra.

Kouga growled low, and in his anger he drug his fangs over her throat. “This had better not be for him. Tell me that isn’t for him.”

Kagome gasped in surprise and shook her head. “It’s not,” she tugged his face from her neck with his hair. Blue eyes locked, firm with intent. “I didn’t wear this for him. It’s a present. I got it for you.”

His anger subsided, soothed by the admission. Kouga slid his fingers higher under her skirt. “Matching set?”

She bit her lip and nodded, sliding the fabric up to her waist. The sides were black ribbon, neat bows keeping the fabric in place. There was a column of black lace over the center of white silk, and more black ribbon sitting atop it, a double-cross lacing that stretched from one end of the lace to the other.

But the pièce de résistance of her lingerie took shape in the large tear-drop crystal at its center, a beacon to draw the eye and keep it there.

Kouga’s smirk was all predator, his rumble of pleasure vibrating in her chest. The sound set off sparks of heat everywhere in her body. One place in particular.

The scent of her arousal filled his nose, and he swelled with pride. He nibbled her ears' outer shell, making the woman in his arms shiver. “You want me.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, and bit her lip when he pulled at the ties. “Kouga, wait…”

“Why?” His jealousy flared again; he rocked his hips upwards and his erection against her slowly dripping core. “Your new friend waiting for you?”

“Yes,” she snapped back, growing tired of the game, “he is.” That had always been a part of the deal, no matter how much he disliked it. He wasn’t allowed to interfere with her work. But she didn’t want to fight, so she tried to soften her tone.

“I have to finish my interview,” she tilted her head back and rose to her knees, putting herself above him. “And we both know how you get. Once we get started, you can’t stop.”

Kouga narrowed his eyes. “I don’t ever hear you complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” she laughed, kissing the bridge of his nose. “I would just rather not start a sex marathon in the locker room when I have to be somewhere.”

The wolf snorted. “I don’t see the problem.”

Kagome rolled her eyes. “The problem, champ,” she teased, finding her feet so she could stand, “is that you don’t like being interrupted. And I don’t want to have to worry about my responsibilities when you’re pounding into me.”

She laughed at his scowl, but the wolf didn’t mind. Not really. Instead, he watched her set her clothes to rights. “You said he’s not seeing those?” She hummed an affirmative while she fumbled with a button. Kouga stood and took over for her. “Then we compromise.”

His reporter raised a brow. “I’m listening.”

He backed her into a wall, trapping her with his body. “I let you finish your interview with… minimal complaints,” he ignored her snicker. “But I only got to see part of this new set.”

“Mm, that’s true.” She tilted her head to the side to give him access to her throat. He accepted the offer and set his teeth against his previous marks. “And I did spend so long picking it out.”

“Exactly. It should be properly appreciated.” It was hard to resist the urge to pick up her and wrap her legs around his waist, but he managed it. “So you go finish your interview, and I let the assholes yell at me for a bit. But when I get home…” he drew a claw down her side. “I want you laid out in my bed. With just my present.”

Just the idea made her quiver; heat pooled low in her belly. “I think I can manage something.”

His smile showed glinting fangs.

“I thought you’d say that.”

#kogkag #inuyasha #multiverse #ufc fighting

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littlemisslol-fic · 3 years

Text

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: It's the beginning of the end.

Varian’s feet were glued to the floor. The absolute shock of seeing Merrick— if he was here, where was Arianna?— standing in front of him— how had he gotten here so quickly?— was more than enough to leave Varian stunned. His brain was trying to parcel through too many questions at once, he couldn’t keep track; his mind was firing on so many synapses at once that it wasn’t registering any of them.

Eugene and Rapunzel were already reaching for their weapons, frying pan and sword ready. Varian stuttered to life enough to begin grabbing for his alchemy belt, only to realize that he didn’t have anything left. He’d used the last of it against Cerise. The feeling of dread in his guts only multiplied at that, especially when Merrick began to move.

The mage pushed himself off the wall, casual and calm in a direct contrast to the Coronians in front of him. Merrick paced outside the threshold of the door, eying the invisible line between the rooms. Varian was reminded of a prowling animal, like Hector’s bearcats. With a small, testing motion Merrick stuck a boot out, smirking when it crossed the barrier with no trouble. Merrick did a little hop over the barrier, as if expecting to be stopped, and delighting when he wasn’t.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” he asked them. When none of the Coronians replied, he continued on his own. “Because it’s been a hot minute, let me tell you. Ol’ Geldam had this place locked tight for centuries, trying to keep me and mine out.”

He shrugged, looking around the room with a sense of smug satisfaction. When his eyes landed on Varian, his grin sharpened.

“Good thing his descendant turned out to be a bit of an idiot, huh?”

Rapunzel scowled, pointing at Merrick with her frying pan. “You leave him alone!” she demanded.

Merrick paused at his place at the top of the stairs. He focused on her frying pan, like one would stare down the barrel of a gun. He pursed his lips, arching a brow.

“Hm, right,” he said, “You two are still here. I’ll be real I was hoping it would just be the crow alone, but I can make this work.”

He brought up a hand, waving flippantly. On cue, a group of people appeared from thin air, the room shuddering with the series of loud pops that rang through the air. Varian flinched at the loud noise, whirling around and tensing up when he saw they were surrounded. He turned back, letting out a shout when he saw figures sneaking up on his friends.

“Look out!” he yelped, a second too late. Rapunzel and Eugene let out twin cries when they were grabbed from behind, their arms drawn back. The clatter of sword and pan against marble were damning, rattling around in Varian’s skull and finally shaking him to action. He ran for the closest weapon— Rapunzel’s pan— only to feel a hand on his wrist jerking him to a halt.

Merrick held quick, even when Varian tried to pull away. The alchemist hadn’t even noticed him moving, when had he even—

“Ah-ha, nope,” Merrick chided him, “None of that, thank you. You’ve got a job to do.”

“Let go!” Varian demanded, trying to yank his arm out of Merrick’s metal grasp. “Let go!”

The man scoffed, shaking Varian’s wrist roughly. “Let go,” he mocked, “Sheesh, get something original maybe. At this rate it’s not even fun, just pathetic.”

He dragged Varian back toward the tomb, rough and uncaring when Varian nearly fell over. Instead, Merrick merely wrapped an oppressive arm around the alchemist’s shoulders, keeping him in place. Varian cringed, unable to keep from tensing under the deceptively casual touch. Merrick may have been playing like things were fine, but Varian could see the underlying danger.

“Don’t touch him!” Eugene shouted; his cry cut off when the man holding his arms yanked him back. The brunet yelped at the feeling of his arms being drawn too far, stressing his shoulders and forcing him to be quiet. Merrick snickered, turning back to Varian.

“Do you know why we led you here?” he asked. “Because I assume you’ve figured out that mommy dearest isn’t around, hm?”

Varian swallowed the knot in his throat, shuddering. All of this had been for nothing. He’d lead Rapunzel and Eugene across the map and directly into a trap, gods he was so stupid—

“Why?” is all he was able to choke out, tears starting to well up. He’d wanted so badly for it to be her, been blind to everything, Eugene and Rapunzel had both tried to warn him and he’d just ignored it, and now they were all paying for it. The crushing feeling of failure, an old friend by now, sprung to life in Varian’s chest, cloying and overwhelming. He’d been such an idiot. Merrick, uncaring of the crisis he’d just sparked in Varian, only snorted, gesturing to the coffin.

“Because of your blood, of course,” he said, as if that explained anything. When Varian remained quiet, Merrick continued. “Geldam was a tricky old rat, I’ll give him that. He stolefrom my family, and to protect his ill gotten gains, he created this place.”

He gestured around the tomb, and to the center dais. “We’ve been trying to break into here for yearsto get our property back. But once it was locked down, only one of his heirs could open it with blood, willingly given. He knew exactly what he was doing, that bastard. Knew that no one from his family would open the tomb, or his coffin.”

Varian shuddered, leaning away from the podium. Merrick seemed delighted with his fear, patting Varian on the shoulder in sarcastic comfort.

“Cerise thought if we forged a letter, it would have drawn you out,” the mage admitted. “But after a few months the trap was still there, and you were still locked up tight in your pretty castle— so we elected to go with my more… direct approach.” The mage sighed, huffing a laugh. “I guess her plan ended up working, in the long run; she’s probably laughing at me right now.”

Varian’s eyes squeezed shut, trying to force the tears back. He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now— this was all his fault, who was he to cry about it? He shook his head roughly, trying to dispel the despair. He was such an idiot.

“Aw, jeeze, you’re not gunna cry already, are you?” Merrick patted Varian’s shoulder in false comfort, “We’ve barely gotten started!”

Varian shoved at him; strategy be damned, he couldn’t help but lash out. That got Merrick to let him go, a win, but Varian’s arms were immediately caught by two masked adults, a new problem. Merrick danced out of the way of Varian’s blow, snickering. Once Varian was contained he drew close again, taunting.

“What?” he leaned close to Varian’s face, tilting his head. “Did you reallythink Queen Crow was still alive after all this time? That she’d survived in a place like this—” he gestured around the tomb, his voice echoing, “—just for the hell of it?”

He leaned closer to Varian, so their noses were nearly touching. Varian couldn’t help but flinch away, squirming back for as much space between them as possible. Merrick seemed to revel in Varian’s discomfort, leaning all the closer.

“You didn’t really, right?” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve heard of you; you’re supposed to be smart. So why did you come?”

Varian remained quiet. He tasted salt on his cheeks. Merrick’s eyebrows furrowed, almost confused. “You wanted her to be alive that badly, hm? Wanted mommy to come make things better?”

“Shut up,” Varian choked out, shaking his head. “I- you don’t know anything.” His voice was barely over a whine, he couldn’t muster up anything beyond that. Merrick’s confusion flipped again, back to the smug mockery.

“Ha, there he is!” Varian got a pat to the head for his trouble. “Thought you’d forgotten how to talk for a second there.”

“Leave him alone!” Rapunzel demanded from behind them, kicking a bare foot at the mage in front of her. Merrick paused, attention shifting from Varian and onto the older woman. Merrick seemed annoyed at the interruption.

“Wanna knock it off, princess?” he asked, “I don’t really have the patience for you right now.”

“You are going to let us go.” Rapunzel’s voice was strong, regal. Commanding. Like a proper queen.

Merrick only let out a loud laugh at that, popping a hip and leaning against Geldam’s coffin with a casual air. Rapunzel held strong, spine straight and her eyes set in a glare. The mage seemed unhappy with how she refused to be scared by him, but Merrick only played it off with a flippant shrug.

“Am I now?” he asked her. “Because something tells me you’re in no place to be making demands, no ma’am. In fact, I’d say that if you don’t want me to just kill the Crow and drain him like a pig over that coffin, you’d do best to hold your tongue.”

Varian flinched at the threat, a shudder inadvertently crawling up his spine. Willingly given, he repeated to himself in a twisted attempt at comfort. The blood has to be willingly given. He can’t kill me until he gets what he wants.

Rapunzel seemed to figure the same, as she kept pushing. “You’ve committed crimes against Corona and her people,” she spat the words like the insult they were. “No matter what you think you’ve won by tricking us here, it won’t mean anything when you’re put on trial—“

Merrick only laughed, shrugging. “I’d loveto see them try and make a prison that could keep me in,” he challenged. “Let alone meet the person you send to try and catch me. That’s the thing with magic, you see. Makes us a pain in the ass, for people like you.”

“Like me?”

“Perfectionists,” Merrick said blandly, “Goodie-two-shoes. Boot lickers. Whatever you want to call it. You and yours sit up there in your perfectcastles, living your perfect lives, and you don’t ever notice that the people on the ground level are suffering. Aldred was the same.”

“Aldred was a monster—“

“And you all were bloody aware of that!” Merrick actually raised his voice for the first time. Varian flinched again, rattling the armor of the Bayan who held him in place. That seemed to divert Merrick’s attention from Rapunzel and back onto the boy, who shook as the older teenager approached.

“Your father caused so much suffering,” he hissed, getting into Varian’s face once more. “And for so long, the only people who were willing to do anything about it were my family. We sacrificed so much to see him dead, all while the other nations stood by and let it happen. And now we find out that he left one last little stain on the world. It’s my duty to wash it away. Hell, you could even call it my destiny.”

Merrick straightened, taking a breath. He forced himself to relax, the tenseness in his spine slowly uncurling. When he turned back to Rapunzel, it was back to the strange, flippant calm he’d had before.

“You and your family only cared when Aldred took something that you thought was yours,” he flatly accused. “Bayangor had been in a spiral for centuries before then, but you didn’t care to do a thing until it directly affected you. Corona may pretend to be innocent, but there’s a special type of evil in people who are willing to stand by and let others suffer.”

Rapunzel seemed at a loss for words, shaking her head quietly. “You can’t blame us for things that happened before we were even born!” She seemed truly confused by it. “Corona is helping Bayangor now, Aldred is dead now, isn’t that exactly what you wanted?”

“I want my birthright.” Merrick said. “And if I have to break a few spines to get it, then so be it.”

He looked back to Varian, arching a brow. “I really didn’t think luring you here was going to work,” he admitted. “I thought for sure I’d have to drag you here kicking and screaming. That was the plan, you know.” He scratched his chin in thought. “To grab you at the coronation. Bring you here, force you into this. If I’d known it was going to be this easy I would have just dangled a turkey leg on a string or something.”

He shrugged, gesturing to his men with a wave. “Ah, such is life. Search them,” he said, approaching the coffin with more interest. It seemed to rumble with a hazy kind of energy when he got too close, the stone lid rattling. It was obvious that the enchantment was reacting negatively to Merrick’s presence. Varian couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by it, the intricacies that would have been needed, but his attention was drawn away by the feeling of hands patting him down.

Varian scowled as one of the Bayans holding his arms began to root through his pockets. From the sounds Eugene and Rapunzel were making, they were getting the same rough treatment; clattering noises echoed around the tomb as miscellaneous objects were tossed to the ground. Varian aimed a kick at one of his captors, only for the woman to avoid it and smack him for his trouble.

The woman ripped the note and adder stone from Varian’s pocket, holding them up to the light.

“Sir.” Merrick turned, taking the items from her. Varian scowled; even if the note was fake, made by Cerise and Merrick, the stone was something that had been given to him. It was his—

“Where did you get this?” Merrick’s voice was strained. He held the adder stone up in the torchlight, gaze intense on the little runes. They shone bright gold, much too bright to be a reflection of the torches. Varian could just see through the hole in the middle, the desaturated gray of the stone, before Merrick brought his attention back with a snap of his fingers. The boy scowled, playing petulant.

“Found it,” Varian immediately shot back. He wasn’t about to give up Ori, even if the man seemed to have a trick or two up his sleeve. The man was hiding for a reason, even if it had nothing to do with the tomb. Varian had thought that Ori had meant to help in the search for Aisha, but if this place was where he meant, then the adder stone truly had been the best thing to give Varian. When they met again, he’d have to thank the mage for his help.

If they ever met again.

The man in front of him wasn’t pleased with the answer Varian gave, if the pissy expression on his face was any indication. It made Varian feel a pulse of pride; he still had the ability to get under people’s skin when it mattered, apparently.

“Try again,” Merrick snapped. “I recognize the handwriting. Next wrong answer loses you a finger. Where. Did you. Get this?”

“A friend,” Varian shrugged. Merrick’s face only got darker. The man turned to the room at large, holding up the adder stone. It shone brightly, distractingly so. Merrick held it like it was trash, loose and delicate like he couldn’t bear to have contact with it for longer than necessary.

“Lookie what the crow found.” Merrick showed the stone to his men, dangling it between two fingers. “Looks like one of my siblings has swapped sides.”

The Bayans all made the appropriate noises of disgust or anger; Varian almost rolled his eyes from the theatrics of it. Gods it seemed that whole family was made of showmen.

“Guess that lunatic isn’t as dead as I thought.” Merrick mused. “Great to know he turned traitor; it’ll make hunting him down easy enough. I am going to need a hobby once this is done.”

He flicked the stone up into the air, like one would a coin, but instead of catching it Merrick let it drop to the floor. It hit with a crack, the adder stone shattering like glass. Shards scattered everywhere, disappearing around the room. Varian winced when it did— he’d liked the little stone, it had been a small comfort in the darkness of the tomb.

Merrick watched it smash, uncaring.

“Anything else?” he asked his men, who all responded with a negative. “Wonderful. Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”

The soldiers holding Varian pulled him closer to the coffin. The boy struggled, trying to dig the heels of his boots into the floor, but the polished marble offered no purchase. They dragged him up on top of the small platform, holding him tight as Varian tried one last yank of his arms. Their grip was like steel, Quirin’s cloak nearly tearing under their fingers. Varian found himself face to face with their attacker and tried to keep the shaking in his hands hidden.

“So, Varian.” Merrick’s voice was nearly a purr. Varian stilled when he felt gloved fingers grab at his chin, his whole body tensing at the horribly familiar act.

He was trapped, entombed in stone and dark oak wood. A thousand portraits stared down at him, glaring, watching, examining, like a bug under a microscope. Father, right in front of him, holding him in place and keeping him under the rushing waves, suffocating him, drowning him—

“I have a little job for you.” Merrick’s voice cut through the haze of memories. Not father, though someone who proved just as much of a threat. “Just a favor, if you don’t mind.”

“Go to hell,” Varian tried to force himself to stand straight. If not for his family, then at least for himself. Merrick seemed taken aback for a second, blinking, before letting his hand drop from Varian’s chin.

“Oh, ho, so the crows got some iron, after all.” Merrick snorted, a rough rush of air. “Cute. No, okay, I know I phrased it like a request, but you really don’t get a choice here.”

“Blood has to be willingly given, right?” Varian kept his chin high. His hands shook behind his back. “I don’t care why you want in there. You get in that coffin over my dead body.”

Merrick pursed his lips, considering. “Hm, we’re growing a spine now, are we? Final hour show of bravery?”

Varian didn’t reply, keeping the scowl firmly on his face. Just like old times, something cynical in him whispered. Rapunzel definitely would be able to tell this was a fear response. A choice of fight from fight or flight. She knew him well enough to see the false bravado, though hopefully Merrick would fall for it, just as Frederick did, all those years ago.

Merrick tilted his head, appraising. He seemed to pause in thought, thick eyebrows knitting together. Varian held his stare, locking down his emotions and trying to hold himself together under the fear. Merrick suddenly straightened, seemingly finding his silent answer. He looked over Varian’s head, toward where Rapunzel and Eugene were.

“Kill Fitzherbert.”

Varian let out a wordless shout, kicking his feet out and pulling against the people holding him still.

“No!” he screamed, falling on deaf ears. Panic flare up his spine, desperate and cloying. He couldn’t focus on anything other than where a man was taking Eugene’s sword off the ground and unsheathing it. He yelled again, a garbled mix of curses and rage as he aimed another kick at Merrick in an attempt to stop what was happening.

Rapunzel was frantic, panicking, the woman forcibly dragged back from her husband and grabbed by the hair. Varian winced when her head was yanked back, obviously painful from the way she yelped. The men pushed Eugene so he was nearly bent over, the third one raising the sword high. It gleamed in the torchlight, shiny and dreadful. Varian screamed again, choking it out through the knot in his throat.

“Wait!” he shrieked, voice going squeaky, “Wait, wait! I’ll do it! WAIT!”

Merrick, still next to Varian, held up a hand. The man with the sword paused, the blade held high over Eugene’s prone neck.

“Care to repeat?” Merrick’s voice was smug. Varian scowled, tugging his arms out of the grip of the soldiers behind him. They let him go, surprisingly, letting Varian get into Merrick’s face for once. Even if he was shorter, it was more than enough to give Varian his voice back.

“I’ll do it,” he spat. “If you let them go.”

Merrick arched a brow. “Really?” he asked, “What, do they owe you money?”

Varian’s glare only intensified. “Let them go.” He took a small step back. “Or neither of us get what we want.”

Merrick’s grin sharpened. “Open it,” he ordered. “And they’ll walk away. We both know I’m not here for them.” The man held out a knife, holding it by the blade. “I assume you know what to do.”

Varian’s world focused down to the knife in front of him. He could hear Rapunzel and Eugene behind him, telling him not to do it, that they would be fine, but he couldn’t find it within himself to believe it.

He’d gotten them into this. It was his responsibility to get them out.

He took the knife from Merrick, holding it in a shaking grip. The blade glittered in the firelight. It looked razor sharp, with an ornate handle of carved bone. Obviously old, but well cared for. Interesting. Varian had barely touched the thing when he heard his sister speak up behind him.

“Varian,” Rapunzel’s voice was shaky. “Look at me.”

He turned to her, trying to keep his breathing even. Her chest heaved, the princess tugging at the restraining grip on her arms; Rapunzel shook her head frantically, her hair swinging every direction.

“Don’t.”

Her voice was strong, but her eyes were blown wide in fear. Eugene, to her left, looked pale, spooked. It was obvious how he felt about the whole situation. Varian shot them what he hoped was an easy smile, pushing down the fear. He must have failed, from the way she refused to look away.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I promise.”

Rapunzel’s expression got even more horrified, struggling again. “Varian!” she shrieked, her volume only getting louder when he turned away from her. “Varian!”

He stepped toward the coffin, breathing deeply. He held the knife so tightly it nearly dug into the leather of his glove. He could sense Merrick looming behind him, making absolutely clear that he wasn’t trusted to keep his word. Varian shook the feeling of eyes on his back— he quietly took his left glove off, looking down at the wound he’d made before to get the door open. With a grimace he pushed the blade into the cut, breaking into the skin once again and drawing a well of blood to the surface.

The wound had barely had time to close, so he didn’t have to press hard, but it still sent a sharp sting rattling up his arm. He stood before the coffin, sucking in a deep breath before he held his hand out over the chalice in the statue’s hand. With a damning plip, blood began to drip from his cut and into the cup. Varian wasn’t positive that was where he was supposed to bleed on the creepy statue, but it seemed as good a place as any.

Everyone held their breath. Even Merrick and his men seemed frozen, waiting for something to happen. The mage was impatient, stepping up to Varian’s side and eying the statue.

“What’s it going to do?” he asked, eyes following another drop of blood as it fell into the cup.

“You think I know?” Varian shot back, “You’re the one who wanted to be here.”

Merrick pulled a face, sneering. He opened his mouth, probably to make another threat, when both teenagers were startled when the statue in front of them began to move.

Varian stumbled back out of instinct, well versed in magical bullshit by this point. He watched with a twisted sense of fascination as, with the grinding noise of stone on stone, the statue slowly rumbled to life. It sat up, much like a human would. Its face was static, unmoving, unblinking. It was creepy, to be honest, the way it turned its unwavering gaze around them all. It seemed to linger on Varian, making him take another step back; he didn’t much appreciate being watched by a creepy carving, thank you.

The statue of Geldam slowly raised the cup up, bringing it to its lips and tipping it back. Varian nearly gagged once he realized what it was doing.

It was drinking his blood.

Disgusting.

The statue seemed content with the offering. It slowly lowered the cup from its face and took one last look around the tomb before settling back down to lay on the top of the coffin once more. Once it was back in place, the whole lid began to shift, moving to the side and exposing the interior of the coffin at last.

Varian shuffled forward, unable to help it. He briefly heard Rapunzel and Eugene telling him to get away from it, but he couldn’t resist leaning over and taking a peek inside. His nose wrinkled at the sight within, the disgusting view rolling his stomach a little.

As one would expect, a skeleton lay within the coffin. It wasn’t… clean, however. A few patches of hair, and even a small area of dried, flaky skin on the face was still attached. Varian swallowed the bile wallowing up, instead opting to look away from the dead eyes of the skull. Geldam’s skeleton was clothed in fineries, think velvet and golden jewelry fit for any king. A tarnished crown sat upon his head, multiple amulets and necklaces lay across his chest, and even rings, gold and silver both, were still on boney fingers.

The centerpiece of it all, however, was a thick Staff, clutched tightly by the dead man’s hands.

It was ornate, carved silver, a twisting design made to mimic vines or the gnarled roots of a tree. They all curved up into a delicate top, where they held a large, clear crystal in their grasp. It was beautiful, seemingly mythical, even. It held the same kind of aura as the rest of the tomb did. Varian’s mouth went dry at the sight of it, the feeling of pure energy surrounding it setting off alarm bells of every kind in his mind. Stay away, his instincts whispered, dangerous.

“There it is.”

Ah, right. Merrick.

The mage looked nearly shell-shocked, eyes wide with wonder. Varian felt himself tense when the older teenager drew closer, so they were shoulder to shoulder.

“The Novis Staff.” It was said so quietly that Varian almost missed it. The name was familiar, Ori had mentioned it. He looked back down to the grave, eyes locking on the silver. This was why all this had happened? Caused the feud?

All this, for a stick?

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled Varian. Merrick drew him close, smirking when Varian tried to push away.

“Congrats, Crow,” he said. “You just destroyed your family legacy. Your daddy’s about to be realpissed in whatever layer of hell he would up in.”

Varian shuddered at the closeness, shoving at Merrick’s chest. Being so close to the other teenager made him feel nauseous, a rolling, ugly feeling that was a mix of disgust and fear.

“You got what you wanted,” Varian muttered. He was sick of all of this, he wanted to go home. “Let us go.”

Merrick pursed his lips, not looking away from the Staff. “A deal’s a deal, I suppose.” He brought up a hand and waved it over his shoulder. “Let the princess and her boy-toy go, I guess. Their use is over.”

Varian felt a weight lift when he saw his family being released, only for it to come right back when he felt Merrick’s arm wrap around his shoulder once more. A binding bar of iron to keep him in place.

“He did what you said,” Eugene spoke up, at last. “Hands off the kid.”

Merrick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I said you two get to go,” he clarified. “I didn’t say shit about the Crow.”

Varian’s stomach sank. He knew this was coming, he’d heard the specifications when Merrick had said it, expected this, but it still made his guts roll with dread. He couldn’t even feel disappointed, more of a resigned acceptance. If there was anyone who was to blame, it was him—maybe it was best for them to leave him behind to be buried here with the ruins of his bloodline.

Eugene took a step forward, looking ready to throttle the mage, only to be stopped by a sword blocking his path. One of the Bayans stood between him and Varian, keeping the distance between them. Varian winced when the grip on his shoulder tightened to the point of pain.

The coffin in front of them may as well have been a chasm. Varian had never felt more separated from his friends in years. His hands shook, and the side of his body that was pressed up against Merrick felt uncomfortably warm. He could see the way Eugene scowled, how Rapunzel was pale. It made the dread in his stomach only grow.

The mage to his side snickered at his own joke, peering in to stare at Geldam’s coffin. Varian saw the gears turning in Merrick’s brain, in the way his eyes focusing on the Novis Staff. He flinched when the green-eyed man moved, leaning forward and bringing the arm not holding Varian up.

“Wait,” The alchemist blurted, before he could think. “There’s been traps-”

Merrick paused, eying Varian. His fingers were only a hair away from connecting with the silver of the Staff, ghosting just above its surface. Merrick twitched pulling his hand back and arching a brow.

“Good point,” he acquiesced. There was a solid second of silence before he gave Varian a nudge, jostling him. “You grab it.”

Varian scowled, glaring at the man, before reaching in and, hesitantly, grazing the tips of his fingers on the surface. He grit his teeth, bracing, before allowing his fingers to curl around the handle. Varian’s eyes closed in preparation— for an explosion, for a trap, for something— but after a solid second of peace, he peeked one eye back open.

The Staff was freezing cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been; it was like touching something made of pure ice. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, he could feel the way the cold permeated everything around the Novis Staff. Stranger though, was the feeling of… rightness, that came when he touched it. Something in him felt the energy coming from the thing, surely magical in nature, and he could feel it reaching to him, beckoning him; it called to him in the depths of his chest, like a magnet. Holding it, having its power connected to him… it felt right.

Varian was so caught up in the feeling that he missed Merrick grabbing for the Staff until it was too late.

“Yoink,” the mage laughed, snatching it from Varian’s lax grip with a harsh tug. “Mine now, thank you.”

Varian blinked, shocked, as the connection severed. He tried desperately to cling to the tattered remains of it, but they slipped from his proverbial fingers quicker than he could react. His hands twitched, the feeling of cold leaving just as quickly and leaving his fingers dreadfully numb.

Merrick smirked inspecting the Staff for a moment, before frowning. The large crystal in the top, once glowing a light blue, darkened, instead looking almost midnight navy.

“What the hell did you do?” he demanded, shaking the thing in Varian’s face. The alchemist staggered back, surprised when Merrick actually let him go.

“I didn’t do anything,” that he knew of, “How could I have—”

Varian cut off as the room around them suddenly shifted, the ground beginning to rumble. The alchemist was nearly knocked off his feet by the rough shaking; like the tomb was tearing itself apart at the seams and would surely crumble with them all inside. Varian fell into Geldam’s coffin, sending a pulse of pain up his ribs and making it hard to breathe for a second. He heard the others, Coronian and Bayan alike, scream as they too were bowled over by the harsh earthquake.

The way he’d fallen, catching himself on the lip, meant he was face to face with the skull of his ancestor. Varian cringed back, starting to push himself up and away, only to stop as a bright blue light began to overtake the dusty old bones. He watched with abject horror as the corpse began to rattle, not in sync with the earth and stone, but instead under its own power.

Varian shrieked, flailing back and falling on his ass on the stone before the coffin. He felt his mouth go dry when, over the lip of the stone, he saw a skeletal hand lift up and grab onto the edge. His breath left him when the fingers moved, flexing, and clinging like they would if they still had muscle and skin attached to them. The fingers twitched, and Varian felt the sudden urge to vomit when the rest of the skeleton began to pull itself up into a seated position.

His attention was pulled away from the horror show in front of him when the others in the room began to scream again, accompanied by a bone shattering BANGthat echoed around the chamber. The alchemist watched in slack jawed horror as the coffins surrounding the circular tomb, all eighteen of them, burst open at once, sending shards of stone and dust into the air.

He caught sight of Eugene covering Rapunzel, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw they were both okay. At least someone was doing alright. Merrick’s men all had their weapons drawn, the Coronians forgotten for the time being as they stood with their backs to each other, a formation to cover every angle. Merrick was still holding the Staff, looking furious at this sudden chain of events.

A ghostly howl filled the room, a cacophony of voices filling the air and screaming in utter agony; everyone alive covered their ears from the volume of it, voices of every type screeching in a horrible harmony loud enough to make the ribs rattle in Varian’s chest. The boy managed to finally flip onto his knees, staring in horror at one of the closest coffins.

Stumbling from within was the figure of a young woman, draped in heavy armor and dragging a massive war hammer behind her. Everything about her was a ghostly blue, and her ghostly figure was slightly transparent. The worst thing of all, however, was the sight of her head being split in twain, a horrible cleave right down the center of her face. There was no blood, the wound looking strangely clean, however everything was visible in excruciating detail.

Varian gagged at the sight of the inside of her skull. The woman stepped forward, sluggish and odd, her gait almost drunk as she stepped into the room. Her one eye scanned the room, focusing on each person in turn, before she opened her mouth and began to scream.

She rushed forward, a blue mist following her every footstep. As she drew close Varian realized with startling terror that he recognized her. She was one of the women who had glared at him in the hall of portraits, bitter and angry looking. Aldred had never mentioned her, too wrapped up in the more impressive names from their line, but Varian could tell from the bridge of her nose and the stripe of teal in her hair.

The woman lifted her hammer, descending on the Bayans with a lethal speed. One of the humans, a man, tried to raise his shield but was too slow, the ghost bringing her hammer down and slamming it onto his skull. All of them screamed when it immediately crushed his skull, the man dropping like a stone in a spray of blood and bone fragment. The other Bayans all began to panic, one of them taking a swing with her sword only for it to pass through the ghost without a prayer of damage.

The spirit paused, snarling at the humans in front of her like a feral animal; it sounded nearly demonic, nothing close to a human voice. Her screams were met with the collective of voices ringing out once more. Varian felt the urge to wail along with them, something in his chest tugging and commanding him to join the oppressive opera surrounding them.

From the other graves came a sudden wave of spirits, descending on the humans like a deadly flood. There were too many to count, at least fifty ghosts surrounding them all and attacking anything that moved. Varian pushed his back against the stone of Geldam’s coffin, staring with horror at the faces of the ghosts running by.

He’d seen them all before, in the cold halls of Barviel Keep. Maybe not exactly as they looked here, as their portraits had been them at their most perfect; the ghosts were all brutally mutilated in some way, missing limbs and ripped open torsos, cleaved open heads and one, horrifically, missing their head entirely.

The spirits all had the same dead eyes, soulless and dark and empty, shrouded in fog and almost transparent. They were stained in blood and offal, some of them more so than others, but all of them very obviously dead, dead, dead. Varian shuddered when one ran right by him, leaving him be to charge Merrick. The man yowled, backed away by the creature and fighting back with a plume of flame from his hands.

Varian shrank back from the heat, the rising panic in his chest slowly clawing up and into his throat. He peeked over the top of the coffin, catching sight of Rapunzel and Eugene, back-to-back and fighting with everything they had. It was obvious that pan and sword weren’t working against the new foes, but they’d already seemed to figure out a way to keep the attention away from them.

The tomb had descended into anarchy. Varian caught sight of multiple bodies dropping as the Bayans tried to fight the tide of ghosts back, all of them failing. He heaved a breath as he caught sight of one Bayan screaming as they were overwhelmed and fell to the ground. Varian shuddered at the sight of his ancestors; all of their faces were contorted into pure rage. He caught sight of Geldam, some others he knew the name of, some he didn’t. All were recognizably… him, however, in the way all their portraits had been. Same eyes, same noses; and as always, that damn stripe burst from their hairlines. A marker. A brand.

The spray of souls seemed to finally slow, the last few emerging from the tombs at long last. Varian saw two figures he actually knew by name appear, joining the fray just as the others had. The two Aldred had called his grandparents, Kamron and Abelia, looking as dreadful as ever— but if they were here then…

Varian watched the final tomb with a sudden, dawning dread. If the rest of the family were here, regardless of where they’d been buried…

Oh.

Oh no.

One, final figure emerged from the darkness beyond the tomb. He was tall, foreboding. The man had deep wrinkles set in between his piercing blue eyes, wrinkles made from a lifetime of scowling. His face was a mess of harsh angles, all coming together into a pointed nose and angular chin. His salt and pepper hair was combed back, slicked down and generally imposing.

Varian was frozen, locked in place and paralyzed by pure, unadulterated fear. A shock of cold ran down his spine, horror frying any sort of thought in his mind beyond run, run run—

Aldred hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Varian had seen him.

He was still as imposing as he’d been that last day on the tower. His blue eyes— perfect mirrors of Varian’s own, needle prick points of blue on pale canvas— scanned the room, finally landing on Varian. The boy locked up even further, his spine pressing into the stone behind him as if he could shove his way through it and escape. Varian’s breaths came in stuttering gasps, the alchemist unable to get enough air into his lungs. He felt compressed, like a fist had him in its grasp and had begun to squeeze.

Aldred’s attention was locked onto Varian, the ghost of a man sneering as Varian stared at him in abject terror. Varian shook like a leaf; why couldn’t he move?

It was an odd sort of standstill they found themselves in. While the other ghosts seemed content with attacking the Bayans without rest, Aldred’s spirit focused on Varian to an uncomfortable degree. The boy couldn’t even find it within himself to blink, his eyes wide and locked onto the man in front of him. Aldred smiled, something smug and malicious, and opened his arms, as if asking for a hug.

“My son,” he crooned. His voice was raspy and deep, but just as it had been the last time Varian had heard it in his nightmares. Aldred took a single step forward, his long cloak flaring out behind him. “It’s been so long.”

Varian bolted.

In something akin to pure, animalistic fear, Varian threw himself over the coffin, landing hard on the stone. He could hear Aldred approaching behind him, over the hammering of his heart. It made him run faster, like a rabbit from a wolf— he needed to get the hell out—

“Rapunzel!” his voice was a full shriek, any sense of decorum lost as he stumbled down from the dais. He caught sight of her hair over the fighting and began a dead sprint for her. He felt sluggish, like his body couldn’t keep up with his whirling thoughts— father was here, coming to take him back to the Keep and drag him down, down, down until he drowned— and he nearly slipped on the final step. He needed his sister, damn everything else, he needed her.

“Rapunzel!”

The woman whipped around, catching sight of Varian across the room. He saw the exact second she noticed Aldred behind him, her face going ashen white. Varian ran for her, tunnel vision crawling in through the fear.

Get to Rapunzel, his thoughts screamed, she’s safe, I need to be safe, I need her to stop him-

A hand wrapped around his wrist.

Varian whirled around, a scream caught in his throat. He threw his free hand out, shoving at whoever had grabbed him— he had no time to think, he just needed to get away, put as much distance as he could between him and father, he needed OUT—

He came face to face with green eyes.

Merrick’s face was set in a deep scowl, looking at Varian like he was nothing but a bug to be squashed. Varian looked past him; the sporadic breaths the boy tried to make doing nothing to help the way his mind swam in a soup of primal fear.

“Rapunzel!” He screamed again, flailing around and scanning for her. He just caught sight of her before he felt a thick arm wrap around his waist.

“I’m not done with you, yet,” Merrick snarled. Varian tried to tug his wrist like a feral animal in a trap, it made his wrist hurt and his shoulder ache, but he needed to get out—

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm?”

Varian barely had time to try and buck his way out of the grip before Merrick pulled him back, the air cracking around them. The world went sideways, just as it had with Ori, but this time Varian didn’t bother to try and stay cautious. Something in him didn’t have the strength to fight through the world rearranging itself combined with the adrenaline crashing through his veins like raging fire.

Battle lost, he let the darkness consume him.

And then he was gone.

#tts #varian #tangled the series #fic #WHOS READY FOR THREE MORE CHAPTER OF ANARCHY

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aubergineanathema · 4 years

Text

Secrets behind stone walls

Part 1 - The ruin in the clearing: Preface Part 2 - Whispers in darkness Part 3 - Käsdorf and Wulvosburg ---- Part 4. The full moon shone over Wulvosburg, filling the halls with an eerie luminescence through the various windows, light of various colors filtering through the stained glass. The windows in every hall had been commissioned to be crafted with luxury, although in the darkness of night their splendor was muted. Heavy velvet curtains, bolted to the wall high above, were pulled back on either side of each tall, narrow, window, punctuating the gray walls with deep red lengths of color, and every dozen feet or so, a painting or some other finely-wrought object was on display.

Brighter than the moonlight within the walls was a warm candle flame, flickering as it hovered down the corridor. Carrying this flame was a young woman, her bound brown hair drooping with the weight of a long day. She wore a simple red woolen gown, overlaid with a worn apron, dusty and stained from the events of the day. She was hesitant in her step, as though she were trying to remember exactly where this corridor led. She glanced at the walls and the ornate displays her lord had devised over the years, pausing every so often, and clearly fascinated by objects collected here. Small figures of exotic animals with strange exaggerated features sat on a wooden cabinet, their names unknown to her, carved of some gleaming white stone. A strange sword, curved and sharpened on one side, not straight like the ones she had seen men wield before, hung from the wall with a hilt of gold and intricate spirals curving along the blade.

She stopped briefly to stared at a portrait. It was of a beautiful woman, the paint creating a facsimile of lusciously folded red garments and carefully twisted golden hair. Her framed face was pale and angular, her gaze sharp and stoic. There was something in the expression that was a mystery to the servant, something guarded and opaque, and compellingly sad. Something about the face of a long-dead noble, staring possessively out into a world that was no longer hers. One could not help but get lost in such a face, at least for a moment. “You’re papa’s new servant.” A knowing voice declared from the darkness.

The servant gasped and fumbled, startled by the sudden knowledge that she was not alone. She dropped the candle that lit her way, hastily snatching it up again to prevent the flame from going out, realizing a second later that liquid tallow had splattered across a beautiful red and gold rug. “I’m so sorry!” She stammered, staring at the mess she had made. “I’ll clean it up once the wax cools! It shouldn’t be--” She stopped at the shrill sound of giggling, and looked toward the source of the voice. Stepping out from the shadows, without a candle of her own was a beautiful young woman. She wore a bright emerald evening gown of silken material, the edges of which were intricately embroidered with gold thread. The elaborate pattern was mesmerizing, as were her piercing blue eyes. The servant stared as she approached, an uncanny feeling of familiarity washing over her as she saw the sharp angular face and rich blonde curls, done up with such exact perfection so late at night. She glanced again at the portrait on the wall, and it was as though it had come to life. The young woman in the green gown noticed this association and sighed. “Mama was so beautiful, wasn’t she? She’s gone now, but this is only one of the portraits Papa had commissioned.” She stopped just beside the servant, closer than anticipated, and stared up at the portrait for a moment, too. The servant grew uncomfortable as the delicate satin brushed against her coarse woolen sleeve, but did not know if it would be appropriate to step away. She could not even think to give condolences for the woman in the portrait.

But then it was over. The young woman stepped back with a laugh and twirled so that the green gown unfurled around her. “Maid, you may call me Angelika, daughter of Lord Alastair of Vorsfelde. And what is your name?” The servant was still reeling my the suddenness off the conversation that it took her a moment to reply. “It’s Helga, Lady Angelika.” Helga bowed quickly in response to the introduction. She was not yet well-versed in the etiquette of a noble household, and seemed anxious not to displease. “Helga? Hm.” Angelika seemed to ponder the name for a moment. “And you are from the village?”

Helga nodded. “Yes, it is an honor to be here. And, it is an honor to for my family to serve yours!”

Angelika waved a hand and scoffed, as though she cared not to talk about such things. In fact, she seemed a bit annoyed with the pleasantries altogether.

“And what are you doing wandering the halls so late at night!″ Angelika changed the subject, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

“Oh! I was looking for the servants’ quarters. The cooks had me working in the kitchen all day doing inventory, and when I finished, everyone else was gone.” Helga replied sheepishly. She had been wondering if she had worked too slowly. “And, I’m afraid I still get lost in this place. It’s so large compared to the village.”

“I can show you where that is, I suppose.” Angelika gave a polite smile. “But first, let me show you something much more fun.”

Helga, who had been on her feet since dawn, felt weary at the idea of doing anything but sleep, but weakly she nodded anyway. She did not think she could reject the offer of the daughter of a lord even if she wanted to. “Wonderful!”

Angelika lunged forward and took Helga’s hand before Helga could even blink and began to pull her along. She stumbled after her, nearly dropping her candle again as she regained her balance. She noticed with faint surprise that Angelika’s hands were gloved in soft white leather, and yet again wondered why that might be. Why was this woman dressed as though she were entertaining royalty on a quiet night like this? Perhaps, she reasoned tiredly, this was just how nobles were.

“Oh, and don’t worry about the rug. They don’t mean much to Papa.” She explained nonchalantly as she led the servant away. “They were... inherited, not sought out.” Helga looked down at the beautiful rugs that seemed to line each corridor. She didn’t understand how such beautiful things could be so disregarded, but did not dare to say anything about it. She resolved in her head to return the next day to clean the mess she had made, if only for her own peace of mind.

They traveled in silence for awhile, Angelika keeping a firm grip on the servant’s hand as they walked. Helga did not think it was proper to necessarily speak if not spoken to, and so she looked at the various paintings and decorations instead, and tried to use these as points of reference to gather her bearings. They went down a flight of stairs, and then another, and Helga recognized the corridor that would lead to her quarters. But then they continued down another stairwell, and the burning question of what this woman wanted to show her was threatening on the tip of Helga’s tongue.

“Sister! Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Came a voice from behind them.

Helga gasped again, as Angelika used her grip on her hand to essentially fling the servant behind herself as she turned on a dime to face a young man, strolling towards them from the darkness. Helga caught herself from falling and looked back, mute with confusion.

The man who approached them wore an easy smile of bright white teeth. He had the same angular face, and blond hair. His hair, however, was less perfectly coiffed, and pulled into a knot at the back of his head, only allowing a few strands to fall around his face in ringlets. The clothes he wore, too, were not nearly as luxurious. He wore a dark brown tunic and pants, with only the slightest hint of gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. “Don’t act so startled, sister. It’s unbecoming. I just wanted to introduce myself to the new help.” He nodded in Helga’s direction. “I’m Lucian, son and heir to Lord Alastair of Vorsfelde. And you?” “H-Helga of Kasdorf.” Helga managed, unsure of the situation. She hesitated and then bowed again awkwardly. “I just didn’t expect you back so soon from your gallivanting.” Angelika grimaced in his direction and returned to Helga’s side. “And anyway, go away. You’re bothering us.”

“Bothering you, my dear and noble sister? Under this roof? I wouldn’t dare!” “You just want to steal this servant away from me. Go and play with one of the toys father gifted you. Go on.”

When Lucian simply smiled and continued to follow them, Angelika grabbed an ornate censer from a nearby cabinet and lobbed it directly at Lucian’s head with force and clear intent to hit. Helga stood frozen, shocked at the sudden violent outburst, but Lucian dodged it easily and laughed. It clattered dully across the rug and crashed against the wall.

“Come on, sister. I only want to accompany you.” Lucian continued, undeterred. “You’re going to show her our most esteemed guest, aren’t you? Father’s newest import from Spain? I’m coming with you, or I’ll tell our father you’re tormenting the help again.” “Fine.” Angelika growled with exasperation, dramatically latching on to Helga’s arm and leading her away. “Just keep your distance, Lucian.” “Where are we going?” Helga finally managed to ask, her voice wavering. The grip Angelika had upon her was even tighter than before, and it was clear to her that she had no choice but to follow.

“Don’t worry your little head. We’re almost there.” Angelika replied.

Another flight of stairs, and they were underground now. The only light came from slits in the stone walls far out of reach, near the ceiling, and of course from Helga’s candle. She saw that they were passing by cells with bars on either side. It was too dark for her to tell if there were poor souls sequestered inside. The shadows seemed to stretch in odd ways down here, playing tricks on the eyes. Helga felt the grip of cold and dampness in the air.

Ahead of them, there was movement and the sounds of grunting, but they were not close enough for the candlelight to reach. At her back Helga felt Angelika nudging her closer, so as to illuminate the cell further with the candle. “Hey, wait!” Helga did not want to get any closer to the cell than she already had to be. She shuffled backwards as much as she could against Angelika’s firm grip.

Within, there was a brief moment of silence. Then, the sounds of labored breathing and sniffing. Something massive churned behind the bars, and it knew they were there. “Well, this is boring.” Lucian stepped forward and shoved Helga at the bars.

Helga yelped and fell to her knees, too shocked to feel the stone scrape her skin. The candle was dropped and rolled away from her. Her eyes could only stare as it as it rolled, slowly, off to the right, illuminating a small part of the cell before her. She heard growling and unable to breathe she lifted her gaze slowly. A huge snarling beast loomed over her, just beyond the bars. It was all matted fur and limbs and glinting fangs as large as kitchen knives. Spittle smelling of blood and dirt and death dripped down from quivering jaws. Rabid eyes fixed upon her.

She screamed.

The beast howled in response. ----

This has been Part 4. For more, see my Fiction Updates post.

---- If you like this or my other original work, please feel free to share with your friends (with credit of course). I would really like feedback, so don’t be shy to talk to me about it!

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

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Love After the Fact Chapter 60: By Firelight

Lance is a good husband. Keith is *mostly* cooperative.

First Previous Next

Lance is sitting in front of the crackling fireplace, his own cloak wrapped around his shoulders, Keith’s draped over his lap. It’s unbelievably cold, like every night since he’s been here, but staring up at two slivered moons crossing paths above him, Lance can’t bring himself to care.

He’s neglecting his duties, but he hasn't really had the chance to look at the moons before, never stared up at the sky and seen another body so very near. On Altea, it’s so, so easy to feel like there’s nothing and nowhere else. It’s so easy to feel alone.

Sometimes, he wonders if that’s why his people looked to the stars before the Galra. Perhaps the moons made them feel less alone. Then again, maybe not given that the first thing they did when they finally achieved space travel was go conquer other worlds…

Ah well. To each their own. Not like the Alteans didn’t have their collection of occupied territories-

“Hey.” Keith, smiling at him, braid drawn over his shoulder, end disheveled from anxious fiddling. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I thought about retiring, but I wanted to stay up and watch the moons.”

“I see. Can I join you?”

“Of course. Want some dinner?” When Keith nods, Lance hands him one of the last remaining bowls he’d set beside himself for passersby. “You might want to scoop from the middle. I haven’t stirred it in a while and it’s cold, so it’s probably the only bit that isn’t scorched or chilled.”

Keith smiles, ladling some of the stew into the bowl. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Someone came by and shoved some ingredients and a recipe at me. I don’t think that they were expecting me to do a good job, but I did. Or so I’m told.”

“I bet that made them mad,” Keith chuckles, moving aside the red cloak in Lance’s lap so he can sit sideways against his chest. Lance pulls the cloak up over Keith’s legs to help him stay warmer. He’s shivering a little, but seeming unbothered otherwise. Accustomed to the cold. He tosses another log on the fire anyway, watching sparks dance against the starlit sky.

“The only thing they need to be mad at me is you, beloved. We both know that.”

“They don’t need that to be mad at you. They shouldn’t be mad at you at all. You’ve done nothing to them.” He takes another bite of Lance's stew.

Lance smiles, kisses the base of Keith’s large, fluffy ear as Keith’s tail finds his ankle. “Sometimes nothing is just as bad.”

“I suppose… This really is good, by the way. You did a wonderful job.”

“Thanks, beloved.”

Keith sets the empty bowl aside, turns to sit between Lance’s legs, facing the moons. Lance pulls the cloak up to the Galra’s chest to keep them both warm. “The moons will be new soon.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah. It’s something that happens roughly once a centaphoeb… I was born under the new moons. It’s the darkest night you’ll ever see,” Keith whispered.

“Hm.” Lance stares at the sky, at the gaping voids in the stars where the looming silhouettes of the moons black out the sky. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Existentially, yes… Last time it happened, I was all alone. It was so dark and scary.”

“I can imagine.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company, listening to the crackling of the fire. Lance knows Keith needs it, just as much as he knows he hates to ask. Keith’s not one to make himself that vulnerable, to actually use the word ‘need’. He knows the Galra is just itching to go back to his usual self-sufficient ways. Keith’s not the type to enjoy being tethered to any one person, not even Lance.

“I feel like by the time your season’s actually over, you’re going to be sick of me,” he murmurs.

Keith’s fingers lightly squeeze his wrist. “I could never be sick of you. Though sometimes I do miss solitude. Nothing against you, obviously. Just sometimes I want to be alone for a little while.”

“Thace says it’s not good for you to be alone.”

“He’s probably right,” Keith murmurs, sighing. “But people can be… so much. Sometimes I just need silence.”

“I trust you to know what you need, when you need it.”

Keith drags Lance’s hand -the one not around his waist- into his lap, toying with his fingers beneath the blanket. “Are you ready to tell me what happened this morning? I could tell you’d been crying.” He kisses the underside of Lance’s jaw. “It worries me when I see you cry. You usually bury all that in your work.”

“Romelle doesn’t recognize my sister anymore,” Lance whispers. “I just- We’ve tried so hard to bring her back, and nothing works. My father says that it’s not in her best interests to try anything else. She suffers for it, and it doesn’t work. I agree with him, but it hurts. For decaphoebs, she seemed fine. Thriving, apart from a few headaches. Running around with me, Allura, Adam, and Lanval, getting into trouble… I miss that. I miss the four of us just being able to have fun together.”

“Growing up sucks,” Keith whispers.

“It really, really does.” Lance’s eyes search the sky, looking for familiar stars, but it’s hard to tell which ones are which from this new angle. “How was your day? I know this morning wasn’t fun.”

“Well, I accidentally called my mother a breeder, so… Could have been better.” The Galra chuckles.

“I take it that’s a bit of a derogatory term?”

“Not just a bit. Basically, I implied all she’s good for, or that bearers are good for, is pushing out kits.”

Frowning, Lance twists his head to look his spouse in the face. “Is that really what you think of yourself?”

“Sometimes. I mean, I am expected to bear your children. It’s kind of the reason I was selected. Well, that, and my uncle wanted to get rid of me.”

“Keith.” Lance winces at his sharpened tone, at the slight droop to Keith’s ears. “What exactly do you think is going to happen when we have children?”

“I don’t know… I guess I assumed you’d be running the kingdom and I’d be raising our kits? But I don’t want that. That’s fine for some people, but I want to be able to do other things. I want to be other things-”

“Do you really think I could run a kingdom by myself? I mean, I’m flattered, but there is no way I could do everything I could do without you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. Listen.” Lance pushes some hair out of Keith’s face, trying to reach the luminescent eyes underneath. It falls right back into place. “We’re partners, beloved. Everything we do, we do together.

"You don't have to worry about me being absent or anything like that. I’m not my father, Keith-”

“I never said that! I know you’re not your father!” Keith’s alarm softens to something far more gentle. “You could never be your father, Lance. You’re too… you.”

“Yeah,” Lance whispers. “I know we’ve only known each other for a year, and we’re still learning a lot about each other. I mean, I learn new things about you every day. But I know you well enough to know that you could never be content being just one thing. Be everything you want, and if what you want right now isn’t parenthood, we have time. We can wait until your next season, a decaphoeb, a centaphoeb- However long you need to be ready for that. Then, when you are ready, we can do that.”

Keith tips his head against Lance’s chest, snuggling closer under the cloak. There’s always going to be a bit of conflict within himself, Lance knows. Keith is easily the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but the circumstances under which they met will always sting. The best he can do for his spouse is make sure it never happens again.

“What do you want, Lance? Are you ready?” Amethyst eyes stare up, glowing gold, glittering and almost hard, stubbornly waiting for an answer.

“I am so ready. I’ve wanted to be a father since I was a little kid.” Lance grins, thinking of all the times he imagined being a parent. “But like, I’ve got a couple milophoebs of life ahead of me, and so do you. We’ve got time for both of us to be ready first. We’ll live big, full lives, Keith. No matter what.”

The Galra’s still staring at him, but his eyes are soft, warm even with the unsettling glow of his night lenses. Lance isn’t sure if he ever truly found that nighttime gaze frightening, instead of mesmerizing. He knows it doesn’t frighten him now. How could it, when Keith’s looking at him with so much love? What could Lance have done to ever deserve it?

“Lance?”

Lance jolts from his thoughts. “Keith?”

“I love you.”

“Aw-w, Ke-ith.” Lance grins, presses their foreheads together just to hear him purr. “I love you too. To Daibazaal and back. Literally.”

“Literally.” Keith presses a smiling kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Lance. I- I feel better now."

"I'm glad. Tell me when you decide?"

"I'll tell you when I ready."

"Good." Lance beams down at his spouse, even as their cloaks slip away. As their lips meet again, Keith rises onto his knees, threads dark purple fingers into silver-white hair, the very tips of his claws scratching at Lance’s scalp. His own hands find Keith’s cheeks, cradling him close. Lance can’t help but giggle at the feel of Keith’s thin, raspy tongue, the way it feels against his. It’s just so different from his own, smooth tongue.

Sighing, Lance seeks out more, chasing after Keith’s taste. It’s delicious, intoxicating, the most he’s had after months of sudden nothing. So when Keith draws away, he follows a little before he remembers.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, hands trembling in Lance’s hair as he presses their brows together again. “I’m sorry.”

“Never,” he whispers, thumb grazing Keith’s cheek. “Come on. We should get some rest. It’s super late.”

“Yeah. Especially since we’re training with the Blades tomorrow.”

“Ooh, I wonder if Adam will do some training with me. It’s been ages.” Because he’s feeling generous, Lance scoops Keith up into his arms. He only gets a glare and an elbow for his trouble. It’s just as good. Or at least amusing.

“Adam can fight? I just assumed he nags his enemies to death.”

“Oh, yes. He uses a double-ended polearm. He has multiple different ones, with different heads on either end.”

“He would have that- Can you please put me down now? I’m not a baby!”

“I’m trying to be romantic!” Lance sets his spouse down, tugging on the end of his braid so Keith knows he’s playing, not upset.

“You can be romantic by letting me walk and then cuddling me for the rest of the night. How’s that?”

“...Sounds really nice, actually.”

“Then let’s go.”

Settled down for the night, Lance rubs the base of Keith’s ear. It’s not something he really needs anymore, but it seems to make him happy, and definitely makes him smile, so why not? The way Keith purrs, tucks his head firmly under Lance’s chin as he twists his tail back around his ankle just seals the deal.

Nothing will ever top this.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

“Goodnight Keith.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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cyberneticfandoms · 4 years

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Disorientation

(Credit to Void!Al goes to @daydream-squad !)

(Previous Chapter: Rude Awakening)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

TW: Referenced death, Cursing, implied starvation

~~~

“Oh my gosh, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen Mr. Alastor do! I just wanna hop in there and hug him until-”

“Shh, Niff, you don’t wanna wake ‘em up,” A gruff voice interrupted the overeager chirping coming from the little maid. There was a sloshing sound that Alastor could place as a bottle of alcohol even in his half-awake state, and his brows furrowed in confusion. What were Husk and Niffty doing in his room?

....What was he doing in his room?

Even with the lingering confusion, the deer was currently swaddled in warmth and didn’t plan on moving as he snuggled closer to his heat source. Something fluffy was tickling his nose and he scrunched it up as the smell of strawberries of all things assaulted his senses. Cracking an eye open, white fur overtook most of his vision. Hm. His source of warmth also appeared to be breathing steadily beneath him.

“Oh shit, he’s processing,” Husk commented helpfully.

Processing...Oh. Oh. Propping himself up, eyes blown comically wide, the deer realized he was staring at Angel Dust’s sleeping face. Because Alastor was laying on top of him. The spider’s arms were still wrapped around his back, unconsciously trying to pull him back down to cuddle.

There was a second where the deer froze, a screech of feedback escaping, before he jerked away, kicking out and knocking the porn-star unceremoniously to the floor with a thud.

“Ow- Shit! What the hell-” Angel’s head popped back up, a hand pressed to his aching forehead while his eyes refocused. He was about to comment on Husk’s snort of amusement before Alastor caught his attention again. The deer was frozen stiff, arms hugging his chest, and expression a mix of mortified and confused. Angel was quick to remember the events prior to this morning and splay out his hands in a placating manner as he slowly stood.

“Okay, look, nothing happened! I was kinda worried about ya freakin’ out about this, but- we were just cuddling, I promise!” Alastor’s eyes flicked across the spider's face. “Al, I wouldn’t do anything without consent, you know that. I wouldn’t take advantage of you. You were just panicking last night and didn’t want to be left alone, remember?”

Now that he mentioned it...Last night was rather blurry, but Alastor did recall a humiliating amount of...clinging and...panicking. And now Angel was giving him a patient, mildly hurt, look that made him feel all the worse for jumping to conclusions. Dropping his hands into his lap, the tension seeped out of the deer as fast as it’d come.

“I...My apologies, Angel dear! I had a lapse in judgement, and it won’t happen again!” Did his voice sound energetic enough? Alastor was doing his best to project, but Husk was giving him a strange look that the deer couldn’t place. Oh well. He focused his attention back on the spider. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to kick-” A loud rumble cut in, startling Alastor as he turned claws on his stomach at the oh-so-familiar pain. His eyes went a bit wider. Oh no, what happened with Charlie would not be allowed to happen again!

Husk and Niffty threw a look at each other before the little maid darted to the nightstand, then to the bed, all but flinging herself into the deer’s chest with her package. Alastor flinched letting out a startled ‘oof’ before quickly enveloping the younger demon in a hug. He had missed her dearly…it felt so nice to hold someone in his arms for the first time in what seemed to be ages. It was…unusual for him.

“Mr. Alastor, we’ve missed you so much!” she chirped, “You were gone and I cleaned the hotel so many times and set things up for the new patrons and cooked for the hotel and it was kind of a lot and the food was never as good as yours but-!” Niffty fired about twenty words per second at the deer - it was a good thing he’d grown used of her manner of speech - but it was still a bit difficult to comprehend much at the moment.

“Darling, slow down! It sounds like you did a marvelous job in my…absence… I couldn’t stand the thought of never hearing your voice again, so it’s only appropriate that I came back isn’t it-?“ Alastor paused at the watery sniffle and the wetness that dripped onto his arm.

Niffty’s big eye was brimming with tears, the little maid hardly holding them back. That made Alastor freeze before pulling her back into the embrace, ears drooping. “It’s alright dear, I’m back now… I don’t plan on dying…again.” The thought alone made his throat catch and his hands tremble, but the idea of needlessly breaking down again left a sour taste in his mouth. One time was too many. Niffty was the one in need of comfort.

“Dry those tears, doll,” he added in a softer tone, swiping a few of the tears away with his thumb, “and smile! You know you’re-“

“-never fully dressed without one,” she finished with him, letting out a little giggle. Alastor widened his own grin for emphasis, earning another shaky laugh before the little maid was pressing something warm and metallic into his hands. He glanced down curiously at the…thermos?

“It’s more broth,” Angel supplied helpfully, smiling a bit at the adorable pair. Not that he’d ever call Alastor adorable to his face- he liked breathing just a bit too much…Hm, it could be worth it to see the deer's expression, though. “Charlie said you couldn’t keep the first bowl down, and after last night you were out like a light faster than she could come back.”

Alastor took this in for all of two seconds before he was hurriedly uncapping the bottle. Niffty grabbed the bottom, narrowing her eye with a chiding, “Slowly!” before the deer could just chug it again. Alastor flashed a smaller smile but did as asked, tipping the bottle back and gulping down the contents slowly. Oh, Lucifer, he missed this.

Thankfully the deer was able to stop himself before getting sick this time, but Niffty stared intently when he went paler at the ensuing nausea. He waved the concern away. The feeling of fullness wouldn’t last long – it never did – but neither would it be as unattainable as it was in the Void… The sickness swirling in the deer’s stomach was unfortunately expected, but it was preferred to the constant, stabbing ache.

With a contented hum, he lowered the thermos to his lap, lightly pulling it away when Niffty tried to take it back. There was still some broth left. Alastor didn’t plan on giving up the food any time soon. She gave him a strange look but didn't push the issue.

Now it might be possible to think clearly. Surely, he had lost time to make up for! What did Charlie do without his help? Who was monitoring his radio tower? Did his absence affect the other overlords? There was simply no time to rest with so much to do!

“Right, well thank you for your company Angel Dust, Niffty for your care, and Husk for your…unusually pointed glaring! But I have much to catch up with and so little time!” Alastor shuffled to the edge of the bed prompting Niffty to jump down as he stood, summoning his staff with a gesture and going to step forward.

Three things went wrong in that moment. First, the deer’s legs buckled the instant they were on solid ground. Next, his microphone began screeching feedback, the eye that was normally so focused on him, darting erratically around the room. Last, but not least concerning, a sharp pain lodged itself in his chest, the traditional tug of magic replaced by a tearing sensation in his very core. It definitely felt like he was back in Hell with the static blaring in the room, his own thoughts becoming incoherent once again.

Alastor would never admit to being relieved that someone was there to catch him when his microphone and the container slipped from his grasp, staff clattering to the floor while making that horrid sound. Husk yowled, hands jerking up to cover his ears, Niffty had thrown herself down to grab the discarded thermos before broth could spill everywhere, and Angel Dust was the one to latch onto the deer before he could hit the floor.

“Alastor, turn that shit off!” Husk snarled, fur standing on end as he pressed his ears further down.

Alastor could certainly try to oblige! His own ears were similarly flattened against his head, but he was able to snap his fingers and unsummon the staff, making the static come to an abrupt stop except for the little bit still rolling out of his own chest. Now everyone looked to be in a disheveled state.

“Well,” Alastor broke the silence that followed, attempting to pull away from Angel and stand on his own, “that was certainly unexpected! But I still have things I need to-“

“Sit the fuck down, asshole!” Husk snapped, wings flaring as he shot a look to Angel. The spider’s eyes went wider, but he offered a nod, turning and pushing the deer to sit on the bed again.

“Uh, yeah Al, you’ve got to stay here. You didn’t let anyone explain shit to ya and you’re obviously in no condition to leave.” Angel crossed his top set of arms, the lower pair resting on his hips and making him look more like a sassy warden than a porn-star.

The deer's own claws began to sharpen, digging into the sheets at the tension thickening in the air. He didn’t like this. The deeply engrained ‘prey’ instinct was making his heart beat a touch too fast to be comfortable. Despite this fact, he did as he always would and forced his smile wider, faking nonchalance.

“Whatever do you mean? I can get caught up in no time! And I am perfectly fine, I simply need a moment to-“

“Shut up!” Husk cut in again, making his ire rise. “Shit has happened since you were gone! You fucking died Alastor, there’s no way in Hell you’re just ‘fine’, so cut the bullshit act!” That outburst certainly got the deer's full attention. “The world doesn’t revolve around you- you can’t just expect everything to be normal now!”

Couldn’t he? What would be the point of agonizing over something he couldn’t control? There was none, or so that’s what he told himself repeatedly as his hands began to shake more visibly.

“Uh, guys,” Angel interjected, eyes darting between the two bristling demons. Alastor ignored him in favor of narrowing his eyes at the cat.

“And why not? I’m back now! All of this extra fuss in unnecessary. I can go back to work, rest my powers, and get on with my afterlife!” The ache in his chest was getting steadily worse. He balled his hands into fists to hide the ever-growing tremors.

“Guys.”

Husk tucked his wings closer to his body, something new coloring his expression as he hissed, “Because things are different now. It doesn't work like that. I doubt you even have your powers! You can’t just ignore the fact that you were dead less than 24 hours ago, like you ignore everything else you don’t want to see! Where the fuck do you think your magic went, huh? Vox took the energy right after he put a fucking bullet between your eyes!”

“GUYS!”

“What?!” Husk shouted as they both snapped their heads towards Angel, Alastor seething internally while the cat was clearly resisting the urge to punch something. Angel had both set of arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line as he jerked his head towards Niffty.

The maid had a wide eye, little claws digging into the thermos as her gaze flitted between the pair. When she blinked in recognition at the silence and the realization that all eyes were on her, it wasn’t hard to notice the increased fidgeting. Before either Husk or Alastor could open their mouths to speak, let alone offer some comfort or apology, she was letting all her words tumble out in one breath. “Sorry, I’ll go and get Mr. Alastor some fresh clothes while I’m out and maybe some more soup because he’s still looking pretty hungry so I should probably hurry-!” And she was already out the door before she’d even finished, leaving a disappointed Angel, a stricken Alastor, and a very tired Husk.

“…Fuck.” Husk’s anger seemed to rush out in one sigh, shoulders slumping, wings drooping, tail stilling. There was a cold regard in his eyes. Alastor didn’t know how to react to this silent fury when he was used to flared wings, bared teeth, and comical irritation over the smallest slights. The cat’s eyes were dull and narrowed, so unlike the fiery anger or sarcastic indifference he was known for. There is lack of care, and then there’s whatever this was. Husk was supposed to be his closest companion…Alastor didn't know how to react to this type of anger.

Ears in a neutral position to match the other’s, Alastor watched the cat turn to glare, taking a long swig from his bottle of booze, before moving back to the door with a grumble. “I’m going talk to her. Don’t even fuckin’ think about leaving this damn room. Charlie, Niff’, and the others are already worried sick. Think about something other than your own goddamn pride for once.” Without another word he was gone, and the frustration bubbling up in the deer left, a coldness replacing it as he digested the words thrown at his face. Of course, he hadn’t thought of changes. Or Vox. Or of ever coming back. He’d lost hope of being brought back quite some time ago.

The mattress sank as Angel slowly sat down, hands clasped on his knees, but Alastor paid him no mind. There should’ve been anger, spite, annoyance burning through Alastor’s thoughts. Some sliver of irritation at Husk for insinuating such things, but…there was just an icy resignation gnawing at his very bones. A doubt that screamed Husk was right. He wasn’t fine. Things weren’t the same. He deserved to be yelled at.

Even so, the deer clung so desperately to the lie because he didn’t know what would happen if he let himself believe the truth.

Something in his mind had…broken. Not in the way he was used to. Not in the way that had him cackling at the sight of suffering, at inflicting it himself. This was different. Scarier. Why else would these intrusive thoughts be hurting him so? Alastor hugged himself in vain, knowing comfort wouldn’t come and that he shouldn’t want it regardless. He didn’t deserve it. Yes, something was well and truly wrong with him if Husk’s words actually bothered him. Judgement was something that held no power over him before…What had changed that?

“Al,” Angel shifted to put a hand on his shoulder, but the deer flinched away. Angel pulled it back, hands settling in his lap instead. “You know there is a lot of stuff to talk about…right?” The spider let out a nervous laugh. “Things have just been harder on a lot of us since you’ve been…gone. Husk didn’t take it well obviously. But whatever, I’m sure you probably have a pile of questions, huh? It’s a bit surprising just how much can change in just five months in Hell- whoa!”

Angel jolted forward with the exclamation as Alastor wobbled, his whole form lurching forward to clutch his head in his hands. Five months? It had been five months? There had been no way to tell time, so Alastor never could’ve known. The question was, had it been just five months, or had it been five unbelievably long months?

Was it a good thing to say he’d survived for so long? Or was he weak for having a full breakdown in that little time when compared to the decades he’d been alive? Such time was daunting when faced with starvation, sensory deprivation, insanity, but a look at his mental state in the mere months stacked against all of his time existing made him look pathetic. Must he be constantly at war with himself…?

“Shit, Charlie didn’t mention the time did she? Damn it…I’m sorry Smiles, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The words, punctuated with a slight guilt-filled gaze were lost on Alastor who hardly twitched while his thoughts rose in a crescendo, louder and louder in his mind until it was just him and his screaming internal dialogue.

Then everything came to an abrupt stop at the spider’s words. Slowly, Alastor mustered up the energy to raise his head, stare fixated on the far wall. Smile tight, ears flattened, Alastor was rather proud of how steady his voice came out.

“…I believe I should freshen up. Niffty said she would be retrieving a change of clothes and I very well can’t put it on filthy as I am, now can I?” The subject change was sudden, painfully so, but thankfully Angel seemed to catch on quickly.

“No, yeah a shower or bath or whatever the Hell you prefer sounds good! We’ll um…we’ll just talk when you’re done, yeah? Need help up?”

No, Alastor wanted to say. Unfortunately, his body still strongly disagreed, and he didn’t feel like dealing with his unruly staff at the moment. With a sigh he offered a stiff nod, allowing Angel to duck under his arm and help him to his feet.

His legs trembled like a newborn fawn’s for a moment under his weight but steadied by the time they got to the bathroom. Transferring his hold to the doorframe, the deer let his claws sink lightly into the maroon-tinted wood as he turned to face Angel.

“You gonna be alright in there?” A mischievous smile grew on the spider’s face as he crossed his arms, matching the amused glint in his eyes. “I doubt you’d want me seeing that adorably fluffy tail o’ yours anymore…” Said fluffy appendage twitched up in surprise while red flooded the deer’s cheeks.

“I- you- excuse me?” Alastor sputtered uselessly. Well, he supposed it was no shock Angel would comment on it considering his lack of overcoat, but he’d happily forgotten about the useless deer-like feature for some time! “No thank you-” maybe if he ignored it, Angel wouldn’t bring it up again! “I’ll be just fine, my dear! Now if you’ll excuse me,” he abruptly shut the door before Angel’s joking “You’re the deer!” could distract him.

Huffing he stumbled to the mirror, gripping the edges of the porcelain sink and glaring at his blushing reflection until the red receded. Then he shifted the glare to his tail for continuing to twitch against his will. This deer form really annoyed him at times! He didn’t like being called cute. He was infamous! Scary! A bloodthirsty serial killer! The damn Radio Demon!

“Ridiculous,” Alastor sniffed, moving to the shower and turning the water on, not satisfied with the temperature until steam filled the room. His mood sobered when he moved to unbutton his shirt, eyes drifting back to the bandages. Right…those would need to be cleaned as well.

Shrugging off his shirt, folding it, and setting it neatly to the side, he returned attention to his arms again. With a slow breath he unwrapped them, the pull on the healing gashes making him wince but not anything to bother with. The only thing truly filling him with dread currently was the impending conversation with Angel Dust…

“I’ll need to know sooner or later,” he muttered to the battered demon in the reflection. Regardless of what was wanted he would need to learn…The deer sighed, berating his lack of knowledge and composure at this trying time. Hopefully a hot shower would soothe his frayed nerves…

“Alright, spill.”

“Hm?”

“Whatever’s been making you stare at the wall for five minutes,” the voice snipped impatiently, “instead of paying attention to a word I’ve been saying.”

The tv-head finally turned his attention fully to the moth-demon lounging on the chair opposite of him. His screen wavered as he rolled his eyes, “It’s nothing, Val, I’m just thinking.”

That earned a snicker and a wave of one of four hands, “Bullshit. I can practically see the smoke pouring out of your pretty little head, Vox. Now,” he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk before him, “are you going to tell me what’s got you short-circuiting or not? I’ve got better things to do than watch you attempt to crash your systems for the day.”

Vox snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He should’ve expected this. Nosy bastard. Though he did come specifically to talk about something related to this…Might as well get it over with.

“Alright, alright…It’s my magic.” Valentino gave him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow and peering down at him through his rose-tinted glasses. Vox sneered in response. “Something is wrong with it.”

“You aren’t losing your touch, are you? Too much power gone to your head?” The moth snickered, antenna flicking to the side as he fluffed up his coat.

Vox stared for a moment before letting out a boisterous laugh. “Hell no! I’m still as powerful as the day I toppled the damn Radio Towers! And when I took down the Radio Demon himself!” Despite this apparent confidence, his claws were tapping endlessly away at the table while the moth waited for the ‘but’.

“But…” There it was! “…There’s this weird feeling in my chest. A tiny pull on my magic. It’s fucking infuriating because it just kept getting more noticeable as the day went on.”

“…Which is why you called me,” Valentino finished mildly.

“Exactly! It’s annoying, and I’ve been switching through feeds all day to see if some idiot is trying to mess with me, but nothing seems out of order in or outside any of our territories.” Sparks skittered across his shoulders as a growl escaped. “I would be keeping a closer eye on that trashy hotel, but there aren’t many devices in there to spy from. Of-fuckin-course the princess would make sure of that. And god forbid we touch the daughter of Lucifer's stupid pet project…”

“Don’t worry about them, I’ve still got someone on the inside remember?” Valentino soothed, pulling out his phone and tapping away at the screen before sliding it over to Vox. The other overlord shot him a look before leaning forward to read the message sent.

I need you to keep an eye on things over there for me Angel Cakes.

Vox raised a brow, glancing up to Valentino with a chuckle, “You really trust him at all? You realize he was the one shooting at me when I went to take out good ‘ol Ally don’t you? I wouldn’t trust his word for shit.”

A laugh was the only response Valentino offered before gesturing to the phone again.

If anything unusual happens, you’ll be the first to know, boss.

“Angie is loyal to me. I own his soul! If he even thinks about betraying me I can put a stop to it faster than he can say ‘shit’. I think he learned his lesson after last time.” The overlord leaned back, smugness radiating from his expression. Angel would have to be an idiot to defy him again…

“You on the other hand, he never really cared for. You know I would’ve taken care of it when he shot at you, but there was no reason you couldn’t stop him yourself! As long as you don’t use a holy weapon I don’t care what you do. That is, if he’s directly in your way- otherwise he’s mine to deal with. I can't have you permanently damaging one of my best stars, no matter what ridiculous projects he busies himself with in his free time…”

Of course not; god-forbid Vox mess up any of Valentino's toys! …Still he processed the words, sparks of energy running through his antenna as he thought. “You already know why I couldn't stick around- What with the princess showing off a bit more of her demonic side…as much as any of us would hate to admit it, she is Lucifer's daughter.” He summoned a small wire, fiddling with it as he spoke. “When she lets her powers loose it would be all too easy for her to tear any demon apart, overlord or not…” a quick flick of the wrist and he snapped the wire in half for emphasis.

“I shouldn't have been surprised that she would be upset about me killing the red asshole considering he'd protected her and her friends beforehand…I just didn't expect Ally to ever get close to someone again. Or for him to risk his life to save anything other than his own sorry hide.” He let out a darker chuckle, discarding the broken wire in favor of throwing his arms over the back of the chair, resisting the urge to kick his feet onto Valentino's desk.

“Of course you wouldn't expect him to,” the moth grinned cryptically. “But, to be fair, I don't think anyone would've expected the Radio Demon to form any relationships… At the time he probably just considered the hotel his territory. Who's to say he wasn't just protecting said territory? ...And the people in it, I suppose.”

“Yeah, sure, but you weren't there Val. I've never seen anything like that from him before. It was like Al was a different demon. Sure there was the sarcasm and the ferocity and that damned grin hardly ever faltered, but there was also desperation.” The eyes on his screen narrowed hungrily at the memory, his grin stretching even wider. “I’ll admit it was nice seeing him knocked down a peg for once, cowering at my feet. Gaining his power to go alongside my own didn't hurt either…” At the mention his magic did an annoying little pulse again and he almost groaned in frustration.

“Yes, just be glad you had the proper weaponry to make sure he stayed dead.” It was hard for anyone to get their hands on a holy weapon in Hell. Being overlords meant he and Vox had more facilities and people to search with, but tracking down the weapons and retrieving them was still a bothersome business. The search was well worth it for the tv-headed demon considering he wanted the Radio Demon gone. Permanently.

“…And you're sure we'll know the first thing that seems unusual around there?” Vox prodded.

“Yes, and if Angie doesn't come through, you or I could always just go down there ourselves, couldn't we. No trouble would need to be had, just a bit of ‘checking in' I would say…But I still think you're looking into this too much.” The moth gestured with his hands. “You took in a lot of magic and I imagine your body is still getting acclimated to it.”

“Five months after the fact? This wasn't happening five months ago…” He sighed, leaning his head back against the chair. “…but whatever, I suppose you're right, I might just be looking too much into this…” Maybe he was getting a bit paranoid- After all he was used of having his rival of a few decades around to constantly keep him on his toes…It was a good thing they took care of that problem at least. Thanks to him, the Radio Demon was well and truly dead.

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rosethesongbird · 4 years

Text

I have no idea what to title this

Hello, dear friends-

This is just a little fun thing I wrote, some worldbuilding for where I want to go with my MP100 OC. I hope you can enjoy it. (Reigen gets to have an out of body experience, so at least read that part.)

“Mob, I’m starting to not feel well…”

“Hm? Well, Master, that was a ramen shop we’ve never tried before. Maybe there was something—“

“No, no. Not like that,” said Reigen, waving his hand flippantly. “More like… ‘I don’t like this place! It’s spooky!’”

“In that case, it’s probably the esper over there with the spirit hanging on her back,” responded the boy, pointing a well-manicured finger past Reigen to a red-haired woman walking slowly with her head in a map.

“Spirit on her back? I mean—yeah, of course it’s the lady with the spirit on her back. Watch and learn, Mob.”

Reigen sauntered up to the woman, tapping her on the shoulder. “Um, excuse me, ma’am,”

“Huh?” She pulled her face out of the map, still walking. “What is it?” The face, now in view, betrayed someone who was definitely not Japanese.

“Oh, a foreigner,” said Reigen. “Miss, I sense a…” He thought for a moment, searching for the right word. It had been a long time since those English classes he was forced to take in high school. “A person, at your back.”

“Person at my back? Japanese is fine, sir,” she said, folding up her map and thrusting it in her pocket. “And the person you’re ‘sensing’ is not one I’d like to have exorcised, if that’s what you’re about to try and sell me on.”

Reigen bristled. The “I-don’t-like-this-place-it’s-spooky” aura sharpened.

“What I am interested in is you, little esper,” she said, leaning down to eye level with Mob. “I’m Hazel Reed. What’s your name?”

“Um, I’m Shigeo. Kageyama Shigeo.”

“And I—“ Reigen interrupted— “am Reigen Arataka, the Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century! At your service!”

“Hmm. Did I ask?” The “I-don’t-like-this-place-it’s-spooky” aura intensified into a “KILL KILL KILL KILL” aura. Reigen wasn’t sure whether he should flush with embarrassment or turn pale in fear as the aura grew heavier and the air grew thicker.

“So, Shigeo, are you a natural esper?”

“Yes, I am.” The friendly smile on her face stood in stark contrast to the spirit that appeared to be sitting on Master’s head as he pulled at his collar. “Um, if it’s not too much trouble, would you call… them… off? He’s really harmless.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Hazel turned toward Reigen, suddenly shouting in English. “Sis! Would you lay off already?! Poor guy’s getting all sweaty.” Several people in the nearby vicinity cringed and began walking away at the disturbance. Reigen let out the breath he was holding as Shigeo watched the grey mass rise off of his shoulders and… roll its eyes?

“Thank you,” said Reigen. “Although I could have handled it myself,” he muttered, brushing off his lapel.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you could’ve.”

“Hey, if you’re an esper, how are you at exorcising?” Reigen winked at Mob. “Maybe I’ll at least get myself a new employee,” he thought.

“Exorcising? I dunno. Never tried it. I’m only really good at sensing human spirits anyway.”

“Your spirit was a person, right?” Shigeo asked.

“Mhm. My twin, actually. She passed away when our mom was pregnant with us, and my body absorbed hers. I’ve always been able to see her but didn’t realize I had ‘powers’ until I was in kindergarten.”

“Wow,” Shigeo marveled. It was the first time in a while he had met an adult esper that wasn’t trying to kill him. Reigen stood nearby, annoyed that he was being ignored, and discomforted by the feeling of someone watching him. “What can you do?”

“I’m best at OOBEs,” she said.

“OOB…E? I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”

“Um, I’m not sure how to say it in Japanese… it’s like… hm…” the twin spirit stopped staring at Reigen for a moment, floating over to Hazel and shrugging. “Ohh, good idea, Sis! Here, if we can find somewhere I can sit, I’ll show you.”

The three walked over to a nearby bench in an area devoid of people, Reigen falling behind as Mob watched the spirit pull on the back of his shoe.

Hazel sat on the bench, leaning back. “Okay, don’t get scared. It’s like this.”

Her body went limp as her eyes rolled back, head lolling to one side, a bronze glow emanating from her mouth as her spirit left her body a soulless husk.

“Oh, my god! Miss? Miss?! Okay you are??” Reigen panicked, in broken English.

“Master, I think it’s ‘Are you okay,’’” said Shigeo. “She’s having an out of body experience.”

“Oh, ‘out of body experience!’ Yes! That’s what I meant,” said the spirit, grinning. “Sorry, I couldn’t remember the Japanese,” Hazel’s body suddenly came back to life as Reigen jumped back, having cautiously approached until he was inches from her face. “So I can do that, and I can do it to other people, too, plus Sis can possess people, or me.”

“No way you can do it to someone else,” Reigen said, scoffing. “What are you gonna do, slap them right out of their body?”

“Uh, Master—“

“Oh, would you like to find out, Mr. Greatest-Psychic-of-the-21st-Century? I’d be more than happy to show you,”

“Hah, I’d like to see you try. I’m pretty securely attached to my body, thank you very much,” he crossed his arms confidently.

“Master, I don’t know if that’s such a good—“

The twin spirit began to shake. Was it… laughing?

“Oh, I’ll do more than try. Would you like to sit down first?” Hazel raised an eyebrow inquisitively, turning her nose up in the air.

“Not a chance. I’m more than confident in my ability to—“ Hazel stepped forward, gently tapping Reigen’s forehead with the heel of her hand as he immediately began crumpling to the ground. Hazel mercifully reached toward him, catching him under the arms before lowering him to the ground. The twin spirit threw back its head in a gesture that was now unmistakable as laughter. Reigen’s spirit, a dull shade of orange, began to panic.

“Oh mY GOD! MOB! CAN YOU SEE ME? MOB! HELP! SHE REALLY DID IT! THIS IS ASSAULT! THIS IS—Oh, I look so handsome,”

Mob’s concern, brought on by seeing his Master appearing for all intents and purposes dead, dissipated quickly as Reigen’s spirit began fawning over his body.

“Man, of all the things you can do during an out of body experience, this guy’s just checkin’ himself out,” said Hazel, still supporting the man’s catatonic body.

“That’s…” Mob trailed off, rethinking what he was about to say.

“I’m guessing that’s just how he is, huh?”

Mob nodded.

“HEY, I’m drooling. Mob, wipe my face,”

“Oh, here. I’ve got it,” the red-haired woman pulled a tissue from her pocket, gently wiping away the bead of saliva that had appeared. “You need to trim your nose hairs, Mr. Psychic.”

“You should be more polite to people you’ve just barely met, Reed-san,” he huffed.

“Um, Master, there’s…”

“Eh? What is it, Mob?”

The twin spirit was floating behind Reigen’s, nodding. Shigeo pointed, wordless, as Reigen’s spirit looked over what could be best called his “shoulder.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s been causing all the trouble,” he growled, trying to sound threatening.

The twin spirit shook its head, waving an appendage flippantly.

“Come on, don’t you talk?”

“She says I’m the one who causes all the trouble. She just helps me,” Hazel pipes up. “She can’t really talk, but she talks telepathically into my head. I guess it’s a twin thing.”

The twin spirit gestured a few more times, before tilting its head quizzically.

“Sis, I’m not going to say that.” The spirit glided over to the woman, still supporting Reigen’s body, circling her a few times. “Okay, that I can say. We want to know if you know of any other espers.”

“Mhm,” Shigeo nodded. “Master, maybe we should take her back to the office?”

“All right, Mob. I’ll entertain your little crush. Let’s go,” Reigen began to float away.

“I-It’s not like that, I promise, really,” the boy straightened suddenly, nervous.

“No problem, no problem,” the woman smiled. “Hey, it’s Reigen, right? Come back into your body. I’m not hauling you all the way over.”

“Ah, right. Sorry, sorry. Um, how, uh—how do I do that again?”

“Just… fly in? I guess? I’m not sure how to explain it in Japanese.”

Reigen’s spirit hummed, shrugged, and flew directly into the body still laying limp partially on the ground, which immediately spluttered to life, coughing and gasping.

“Oh, that does not feel nice,” he groaned.

“Sorry, that part does take some getting used to,” said Hazel, grinning sheepishly as she supported the taller man into a standing position. “You alright? I really shouldn’t have done that, but you were being annoying.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Here, the office isn’t too far away.”

The three (plus one spirit) began to walk through the street, now near-empty after the lunch rush had ended.

“My neck is kinda sore,”

“Sorry, your head was getting heavy.”

“I could have helped,” said Shigeo.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot,”

“Very convenient, Reed-san,” Reigen spat.

“What! I did,” said Hazel. “Oh, quiet, you. I’m not going to say that, either.”

Shigeo and Reigen looked on at the woman as she spoke—to Reigen’s view, seemingly to the air; although he knew now what she was conversing with, despite not being able to see it.

“No! I won’t... Oh, fine. But I’m editing it before I say it.” She sighed. “Sis wants me to say, ‘thank you for your help,’ and that I’m having a nice time.”

“We’re always happy to help,” said Reigen, with an obsequious smile. Shigeo nodded, a slight hint of a smile on even his less expressionate face.

The twin spirit curled around Hazel, and Shigeo could sense the bright hue of happiness on her, also.

—

“Oh? You have a brother?”

Hazel, having been introduced to Dimple, was seated on the couch in the Spirits and Such Consultation office, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Sis’ light grey form circled Dimple’s green one curiously.

“I do. He’s an esper as well, now.”

“Oh, very good! I always wondered if it was genetic, you know,” said Hazel. “Would you stop? It’s creepy,” said Dimple, in the background.

“Um, your sister. Does she—do you—“ Shigeo turned his focus to the grey spirit—“do you have a name?”

The spirit shook her head sadly. “She wasn’t ever named,” said Hazel, sipping the tea.

“What would you like to be called?”

The spirit looked to Hazel expectantly. “Sis, he’s asking you, not me,”

“Can… can you hold a pen?” The spirit nodded eagerly.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, Shigeo. Now she’ll never shut up. I’m lucky she only knows how to write in English.” Hazel began to chuckle as Reigen produced a marker and notebook from his desk drawer, watching it float out of his hands.

The three—plus Dimple—watched expectantly as the marker hovered over the book, shaking, finally writing tremulous block letters:

SISTER IN JAPANESE?

“Well, there’s a few ways to say that, I think,” said Hazel. “Probably ‘imouto,’ right?”

The spirit vehemently shook her head.

BIG SISTER.

“Oh, ‘onee-san,’ then.”

WRITE PLEASE?

Hazel flushed. “Um, my kanji are actually horrible.”

“I’ve got it,” said Reigen. “It’s like this.”

Sis handed him the marker as he scrawled a kanji on the book before holding it back in the air for her to grasp.

WOW

THANK YOU.

“You’re welcome,” said Shigeo. “Onee-san.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Shigeo. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked us that before.” Hazel grinned.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really…” Shigeo said, sheepishly, blushing.

The notebook turned to the next page, marker cap being stuck on the back of the marker.

CUTE!

Reigen and Dimple began to laugh as Shigeo leaned over to look at the writing before his cheeks reddened further.

“Geez, Sis, this Dimple guy must be a bad influence. You’re getting bold.”

BAD INFLUENCE?

YOU’RE ONE TO TALK…

“I’m one to talk? What do you mean?” Hazel finished her tea, setting the empty cup on the table.

Sis looked at Hazel, then flicked her head toward Reigen.

“Ooookay, the notebook’s going away now. No more talking,” said Hazel, nervously reaching for the objects in Sis’ hands.

The spirit grinned, floating near the ceiling, scrawling something on the notebook and tearing the page out before handing the book and marker to Hazel, passing the page to Reigen.

“Oh no… do I even want to know what that says?”

Dimple scoffed, reading over Reigen’s shoulder.

“Oh, please, onee-san. You flatter me,” Reigen said, waving his hand and turning the paper so Shigeo and Hazel could read it.

YOU’RE CUTE TOO

LETS BE FRIENDS?

The group began to laugh, Hazel sighing, exasperated, before laughing as well. Sis began to grin as well, flying in a circle near the ceiling before shrinking and curling neatly into Hazel’s pocket.

—

“Well, I’d better head out,” said Hazel, as the reddening light of sunset began to flow in through the office window.

Shigeo had left about forty-five minutes prior—it was a school night, after all, and his parents (and Ritsu) would worry. Hazel and Reigen had been chatting over several more cups of tea, very nearly alone—Dimple had gone home with Shigeo, and Sis was uncharacteristically docile, still in Hazel’s pocket.

“Before I go, though, Reigen—“ she stood, staring piercingly directly into the conman’s brown eyes. “Does he know?”

“Uh, I—“ he said, taken aback at the directness of the question.

“Because I don’t have a problem with what you’re doing here. It sounds like you’re helping people, one way or another. But…”

“Yeah. He knows.” Reigen rose from the couch also, hands in his pockets, feeling small despite being taller than the redhead.

“Good. You don’t seem like the type of guy to lie to kids, anyway. Thanks for your help. And, uh,” she paused, stretching, neck popping, as Sis began to stir in her pocket. “Sorry again for smacking you out of your body earlier.”

“Ah, it’s no problem. It was kind of cool.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you then. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.” The two shook hands, as Hazel left, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

“What a day. Guess it’s time for me to go home, too.” said Reigen, to no one in particular.

A shiver went down his spine as the desk drawer flew open, marker and notebook shooting out. He watched—dumbfounded—for a moment, before the marker capped itself and everything dropped to the ground.

He cautiously opened the notebook to the most recent page, the telltale “fresh marker” smell burning in the air.

WHILE WE ARE HERE

IF YOU NEED EXTRA HELP

OR IF YOU WANT TO GET COFFEE SOMETIME…

HAZEL 0xx-xxx-xxxx

A shaky approximation of the kanji for “older sister” was scrawled in the corner alongside a smiley face.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen #reigen arataka #arataka reigen #shigeo kageyama #kageyama shigeo #mob #original character #oc #out of body experience #oobe #spirit hijinks #maybe another chapter coming?#should i bother posting this on ao3?#life's truly pressing questions #my writing

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savnofilter · 4 years

Text

My Hero Olympus

Hades!Dabi x Persephone!Reader (Lore Olympus AU)

Chapter 1 summary: Y/N - or as you know, “Persephone” is the new goddess introduced to the modern world of god’s and goddesses. How well does she adjust to the change and meet new people?

[1.2k words]

~next chapter~

~pick your poison: AO3 / Wattpad / Quotev

~updates: friday’s, 8:30 p.m. est

~taglist: @famousapricotflowershepherd / @kurinhimenezu / @carlychrisfarley / @owlgirl34 / @chocoboba / @hoe-biscus / @bigpokico / @kingtamakimurder (message me to get on!)

⚠️DISCLAIMER!⚠️ - I do not own any pictures (unless stated), characters, sometimes story plot! This is a very messy match-up of my favourite stories. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

°˖✧*✧˖°character sheet just in case you get lost in da sauce!°˖✧*✧˖°

Why wasn't she picking up?

Did he do something wrong?

Did he forget something important?

Touya sighed heavily, his rough hands rubbing his face frustratingly over his ceased and stressed face, taking a deep sigh to forget the feelings and wash it away. She must be as upset as he was to not be answering his calls right?

Wrong.

Toga grinned watching as the third notification rolled at the top of her screen to indicate that she had missed his call once again. She poured herself another expensive glass of the Olympian bottle of champagne he had gifted her, eyes expectantly watching the phone to see if he would call again. But she didn't care, she tried to convince herself at least. She wanted to string him along and make him want her. Need her the way she so desired to be chased after.

Her heart lightly sunk as it takes a few pregnant moments for him to call again; and hell she even called him back first. She rolled her eyes angrily feeling happy when she saw his bitch-ass calling again.

So, of course, she had to pick up.

"Hi, Touya-"

"Where the hell are you? Why aren't you picking up?" Touya practically seethed into the phone, hand gripping it so tightly as he honked his horn another time to get her attention. "I can see you're in your damn bathroom. The light is on."

"Hm? Sorry, I forgot. I had such a busy day today. I'm heading to bed early." She lamely excused looking at her nails. A cocky smirk adorned her face as she felt herself become happy at his distaste. "Too tired to be seen with you tonight," Her eyes flickered to the window, hearing another honk that signified he was growing rather impatient. "Just because the mortal world doesn't know that you're a god, it doesn't change the fact that you stink of death."

"Come on Y/N, the dress looks fine!"

"Are you sure it's not too short? I don't want to look like I don't fit in -- maybe I should just stay home?" She mumbles looking at the gold, strapless, dress that her roommate had forced her to wear. A soft blush adorns your cheeks as you sigh, feeling no comfort in the dress. Each time you'd tug the dress down, her breasts threatened to spill out -- once you tried pulling it up it dangerously rode up too close to your butt for your liking.

'Rumi was nice enough to lend me it so why not?'

"You sure I'll fit in Rumi? What if everyone thinks I'm some stupid village girl…"

Rumi pouts at her low self-esteem, checking herself in the mirror as well. Her eyes looked past the mirror, watching as her friend tried on the dress, smiling a bit at how cute she looked in it. She turns to look at Y/N, the aforementioned girl looking back at her with an almost pitiful stare.

"Come on Y/N, no one's going to think that. You look amazing! I'll make sure to stay under the radar okay?" She promises, holding up their ceremonial pinky, grinning once Y/N lifts hers as well.

"One drink, then we can go right?"

"One drink, and I can go right?"

"Oh come on what's the rush?! You're usually drinking us under the table!" Natsuo nudges him, giving him a knowing look.

Shouto scoffs as his brothers converse, looking over the party before joining in. "The nymph that hangs on his arm, right?" His eyes narrow sassily over at his older brother, a smug look threatening to cover his face as Touya rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Whatever is going on in my love life isn't your business-"

"I bet she left your ass with blue balls huh?!" Natsuo teases, chuckling as he pulls his brother close to him and slinging his arm around his shoulders giving him an unneeded nuggy, much to his older brother's chagrin. He rolls his eyes grumpily and moves away from his younger brother's arm, trying to fix himself up.

"I'd rather you not talk about my balls or ass for the matter-"

"i'D rAtHeR yOu NoT tAlK aBoUt My BaLlS oR aSs FoR tHe Mat- Shouto... what is he doing here?" Natsuo seethes spotting the unsightly fool prance around the dance floor, eyes burning with boiling rage making eye contact with Denki. He freezes upon seeing the ingrate, eyes sharpening down on him and grabbing the railing as he leans over the edge to bark down at him. "Out! Get the hell out -- MOVE ALONG DENKI!" He snarls, scaring the mortal just as he had expected.

"A-Alright, alright, J-Jesus! I just wanted to party-"

Kaminari stops his sentence, bumping into someone as he tries to flee the scene. He looks back seeing the spill, quickly panicking as he tries helping her, only riling Natsuo up even more.

He turns to his brother with a clenched fist, ready to munch Shouto's head off as he gets infuriated.

"Look at him! Messing up once again! This is why we don't invite him places!" Natsuo continues to complain, blowing a head at his words too. “Jesus?! Jesus?! Do you know where you are!”

Touya couldn’t bother to care for his brother’s fretting, his attention solely focused on the poor victim that had run into Denki's clumsy and stupid streak. He watched as Kaminari delicately helped you up, Rumi quickly coming in to defend you, another deity ready to rip the poor mortal to shreds. But even with the scene unfolding before him, he couldn't deny the weird thump in his heart. This new… goddess? Gave his heart a weird lump in his throat and a strong bump in his chest he couldn’t shake off.

"Who… who is that?" He asks breathlessly, pupils dilated as he reaches into his coat pocket and fishes for his glasses fixated on your face. Shouto turns his head to face him, ignoring Natsuo's annoyed tyrant.

"Oh, that's Kendo's daughter. Goddess of Spring."

"Daughter? Since when did she have a daughter…" Touya mumbles watching with keen interest watching you socialize with Artemis. Shouto discreetly stiffens at the thought, holding back the roll of his eyes as he watches down as well. "I've never seen her before."

Shouto pauses before his eyes meet with his older brother's. He takes a sip of gold champagne from his glass and finishes what's left of the concoction in the glass. "It's… complicated." Shouto starts to explain, resting it on the tray of a passing waiter and thanks to him before continuing. Shouto mumbles as he starts to think, "Kendo thinks I'm 'morally corrupt’. I am not sure how? But I must have I done something to upset her…” he trails off with his chin resting on his fingers, looking up and forgetting about the conversation at hand as he starts to ponder.

“Go on…”

“Oh yes…” He pipes a bit as he continues his answer. “she opted out from bringing her to Olympus and kept her in the Mortal Realm to keep her busy with her duties." He scoffs looking back down at her along with the three other creepers. "She's always been over protective of Persephone, I'm surprised she let her move to the city."

A pregnant silence fills between them, both Natsuo and Shouto's attention moving elsewhere to watch over as Touya keeps a quiet eye on you. He lightly smirks pulling his glasses back into his coat pocket as he chuckles to himself.

"Sure as hell puts Aphrodite to shame."

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scullyfemme · 4 years

Text

Timing -- Ch. 4

“Would you believe it was supposed to be romantic?”

Scully buries herself in Christmas preparations and Mulder decides to try and distract her from thoughts of last year. Hopefully they can make it home before her mother's Christmas party in the morning.

Tagging @today-in-fic | Read it on Ao3

<- Previous Chapter | Start from the Beginning | Next Chapter ->

---

After carefully tearing up his apartment in search of bugs (and then cleaning everything up at Scully’s behest), Mulder decided to keep the new bed. The two started splitting their time a bit more evenly between their apartments now that Scully could properly sleep at his place, and they rarely ever spent a night apart.

As good as it was going, their relationship wasn’t perfect. One particular week was full of arguments and near-lateness to work after Mulder had accidentally snoozed Scully's alarm on a few separate occasions. Afterwards, she bought two new alarm clocks: one for Mulder to use at her place, and one for her to use at his. It was the sensible thing to do anyway, since she woke up earlier than him and couldn’t risk him turning off her alarm anymore. Mulder offered to pay her back for at least one of the clocks, but she just shrugged it off.

They argued about other things, too. Little things, mostly. Surprisingly, after so many years of working together and being in each others’ spaces so much, there was still a lot of stuff to navigate in this new phase of their relationship. Mulder left hair in the sink. Scully left her shoes wherever she removed them. His fridge was never stocked with anything other than leftover takeout and beer. Her stuff took up too much room in his shower.

But as much as they argued, none of it put their relationship any in real danger. In a strange way, bickering over trivial matters like whose toothbrush was whose (Mulder had two identical ones in his bathroom) lightened their relationship. When two people spend their lives with the weight of the world on their shoulders, the ability to spar over the fact that Scully put his things away in her apartment without telling him where they were (“Why are my ties in your closet?” “Mulder, they’re supposed to be hung up”) or how bad the coffee she owned was (“Mulder, after all the shitty diners we’ve eaten at, I’m surprised you still have any standards for coffee”) felt almost like a weird blessing. A way to remember that under the conspiracies and experiments and edges that had been sharpened over the years, they were still two people. Two humans.

With the events at Area 51 forgotten by everyone involved, their relationship was no longer on the Lone Gunmens’ radar (not that they knew it ever was). Scully’s mother, however, seemed to notice a change in her daughter during a lunch with her. She seemed happier, more easygoing.

“So, how’s work?” Maggie asked, trying to figure out why there was a more jovial air around her daughter all of a sudden.

“Uh,” Dana sighed and seemed to deflate a bit. “Not great. We had to investigate more manure cases this week.” She made a face and toyed with her salad.

Maggie nodded thoughtfully. Not work, then. “How’s Fox?”

Her daughter stiffened almost imperceptibly at that. “Mulder’s fine,” She said, her voice just a bit too high-pitched to be normal. An overshot effort to sound casual.

Maggie eyed her. Ah. “Are you two...still partners?”

“Mhm,” She nodded too emphatically, not even looking at her mother.

Maggie narrowed her eyes, trying to study her daughter for any clues as to what was going on. She knew better than to ask — or even think — that the two of them might be romantically involved. Dana had stated countless times that nothing was going to happen there, and Maggie had given up asking. But still, something was different with her daughter, and she had a feeling Fox was involved.

There was no getting Dana to talk if she didn’t want to, though. Oh well. Best to just wait to see if she would talk on her own.

---

Once December set off, Scully launched herself into full holiday mode. Decorations, presents, cards, church. If it had to do with Christmas, she buried herself in it. Some days she was overly cheery, others she was extremely serious — as if the type of wrapping paper she used for Matthew’s present was a life-or-death situation.

It was strange, coming into her apartment to see her covered in flour for the umpteenth time as she tried out yet another destined-to-fail Christmas cookie recipe. She wasn’t a great baker and seemed to know it, but she kept insisting on trying. Unwilling to fail and determined to make cookies for her mother for whatever reason.

It always went the same. Mulder would lie and say they tasted good. She would chide him for lying to her because she already knew they were awful. She would heave a sigh, dump the cookies in the trash, dust herself off, and start cleaning the kitchen. He would help clean where he could, but mainly stayed out of her way. And she would try again tomorrow, or whenever she was free.

Frightening as it was to see her like this, Mulder knew what she was doing. It had been a year since the events involving Emily. Scully was trying to put it out of her mind, trying to bury the bad memories with busywork and fake Christmas cheer. He didn’t want to pry her about it; dredging it up wouldn’t help her now. If she wanted to forget, he would help her forget. So he went along with her for nearly everything else, too. Present-shopping, decorating her apartment. He even offered to go to church with her at one point, but she thought he was joking and insisted on going alone.

He wanted to do more for her, though. Maybe a date. A unique one. Not an X-File, or at least not anything resembling a case. She wouldn’t want to work one so close to Christmas and she would no doubt bring up the fact that they weren't working X-Files anymore. Maybe something X-Files-adjacent, though. Not a full case, but more like...an attraction. A field trip.

Maybe there was a haunted house in the area.

---

Mulder always felt out of place in the department store. It wasn’t because he felt awkward tailing Scully while she shopped for her last few gifts. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was happy to follow her around and he had fun giving unwanted input on gifts for family members he’d never heard of. He could tell it amused her too.5hh

No, he felt out of place because it always seemed like every other man here looked like they’d rather die than be gift shopping with their significant others. They trudged along behind their wives and girlfriends and merely shrugged when asked for input on items. It was especially worse today, on Christmas Eve. No one seemed to be enjoying their last-minute shopping.

He supposed he should give the other men the benefit of the doubt, but then a few of them would try to exchange knowing looks with Mulder over what they interpreted as a shared negative experience. Shackled to the old ball-and-chain while she shops. He simply shot them a confused look and then leaned over to point out to Scully that blue throw pillows would probably look better with Cousin Lucy’s living room set.

“Mulder, you’ve never even met Lucy.”

“No, but I can see her living room in my mind’s eye.” There was a gleam in his eye. “It’s, uh, it’s nautical-themed. Little decorative anchors on the walls and those, uh, those clear vases full of sand and seashells. So...blue.”

She eyed him humorously. “Mulder, Lucy is afraid of the ocean. I can assure you that nothing in her house is nautical-themed.”

“Oh.” He grinned good-naturedly. “Then go with the red ones.”

A half-hour later, they had moved on to the kitchenware section of the store.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder started off cautiously as he watched her pore over two pans — one silver and one copper. She'd already gotten three things for her mom, but she’d noticed the sale on pans and commented how her mother needed a new one. “How do you feel about a...little field trip later?”

“Hm?” She didn’t look up from the items and it was apparent that she wasn’t listening. After a moment, though, the question seemed to register in her mind and she looked up. “What do you mean, ‘field trip?’”

He hesitated, then took the silver pan from her left hand. “Your mom’ll like this one better. It matches the rest of her stuff.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Mulder, what field trip?” She put the other pan down and followed him out of the kitchen section. “It’s Christmas Eve, this better not be some X-Files goose chase. And how do you know what my mom’s kitchenware looks like?”

“I’ve been to her house before, haven’t I?” He stopped and turned to face her. “And it’s not an X-File, it’s… Well…” He tilted his head and grimaced.

“It is an X-File.” She knew what that grimace meant.

“Not a case. Just...phenomena.”

“Phenomena,” she repeated, reluctance on her face. “Mulder…”

“Look, we’re almost done here, right?” He straightened up, gesturing to the multiple items they were both holding. “Just a few more gifts, and then we’re good to go. The night’s still young and we’ll be there and back within plenty of time.”

She shook her head. “Mulder...I’ve-I’ve still got to wrap all this.”

“I’ll help you wrap.”

“It’s too far away.”

“You don’t even know where it is.”

“Well, where is it?”

“Only an hour’s drive.”

She licked her lips in thought and he knew he was close to winning.

“We’ve got family roll under the tree at six in the morning,” she argued. “For my mom’s Christmas party, remember? The one you didn’t even tell me you were going to?”

He smiled. Her mother had invited him over for Christmas nearly every year since they’d started working together. This was just the first year he’d accepted.

“Like I said, we’ll be there and back in plenty of time. C’mon, Scully, it’ll be fun.”

She glowered at him — the one that meant he'd won but she didn't want to admit it yet — then pushed past him to make her way to the candle section, where she started browsing. He followed her and stood right behind her, nearly touching her. Too close for her not to notice his presence. She ignored him though, pretending that the weird candle names were fascinating full-length novels.

After a few moments, she heaved another sigh and rounded on him, then nearly backed into the candle display when she realized just how close he was.

“Mulder-” She pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back a bit, giving herself space. “What kind of phenomena are you even talking about?”

He gave her a toothy grin. “Have you heard the Tale of the Star-Crossed Lovers?”

---

“‘Cause you’re a lonely man,” the old man said to Mulder. “A lonely man chasing paramasturbatory illusions that you believe will give your life meaning and significance and which your pathetic social maladjustment makes impossible for you to find elsewhere. You probably consider yourself passionate, serious, misunderstood. Am I right?”

Mulder blinked. “‘Paramasturbatory?’”

“Most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with you.”

Ouch. “Alright now, just uh...” Mulder held up his hands to stop the man. Who did he think he was? “Just back off for a second.”

The man didn’t back off, though. “Spend every Christmas this way? Alone?”

Ha. That was where he was wrong. “I’m not alone.” Mulder raised his chin in confidence.

The old man looked around at the room that was otherwise empty besides the two of them. “More self-delusions.”

“No, I came here with my partner. She’s somewhere in the house.”

“Behind a brick wall?” The man gestured towards the brick wall.

Mulder smiled and nodded.

“How’d you get her to come with you? Steal her car keys?”

His smile turned confused. “No, I asked if she wanted to come.”

“Did you ask her or did you pester her until she gave in?”

The smile dropped from his face.

“You know why you do it.” The old man shook his head as if disappointed in him. “Listen endlessly to her droning rationalizations. ‘Cause you’re afraid. Afraid of the loneliness. Am I right?”

Was he? It was getting harder and harder to dismiss the man’s analysis. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

After a moment, he finally spoke. “I’d just like to find my partner.”

---

“Oh, you poor child.” The old woman clutched her robe closed around her neck and stepped towards Scully. “You must have an awful small life. Spending your Christmas Eve with him. Running around chasing things you don’t even believe in.”

“Don’t come any closer.” Scully’s gun shook in her hand. Whoever this woman was, she was suspicious. And she certainly didn’t need pity from some old woman who didn’t know her.

The woman ignored her, stepping closer anyway. “I can see it in your face. The fear. The conflicted yearnings. A subconscious desire to find fulfillment through another.” She took another step. “Intimacy through co-dependency.”

“What?” Scully’s panic gave way to incredulity. What the hell was she talking about? Intimacy through what? Conflicted yearnings?

“Maybe you repress the truth about why you’re really here,” the old woman continued. “Pretending it’s out of duty or loyalty. Unable to admit your dirty little secret.”

Scully tensed. Dirty little secret?

“Your only joy in life is proving him wrong.”

---

“Do you realize how seriously disturbed that man is?” The old man asked. “How dark and lonely? What he's capable of?”

Scully simply blinked at him, unsure how to respond. This man was crazy. Mulder wasn’t dark and lonely, despite how much he might think of himself as such. Hell, only a couple of hours ago he was helping her pick out a new pan for her mother in a department store. Mulder may be spooky — and a little out there — but he was far from disturbed.

Someone pounded at the door. “Scully?”

“Mulder!” She started towards the door.

“Did he happen to mention a story about a lovers’ pact?” The man asked.

Scully froze. Mulder had told her the story. But surely he hadn’t brought her here for reasons like that. This was just some...eccentric Christmas Eve X-Files date, or something.

Right?

“The man is acting out an unconscious yearning,” the old man continued. “The deep-seated terror of being alone.”

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice sounded from the other side of the door again. “Scully, are you there?”

“I’m here, Mulder!” She called out, keeping her gun trained on the old man.

“Open the door, Scully!”

“Open the door,” she commanded.

The old man reluctantly obliged. Mulder entered, gun at the ready. “Where’s Scully?”

“Mulder?” She couldn’t help the flood of relief at seeing him.

But then he turned and fired his gun at her.

Scully flinched as the bullet missed her by a mile. Shaking with panic, she aimed her gun at him despite the fact that she knew she wouldn’t shoot him. “Mulder, what are you doing?”

He fired again, missing her. He wasn’t normally this bad a shot, but she was freaking out too much to really register that.

“Mulder!”

“There’s no getting out of here, Scully.” He had a deranged look in his eyes. “There’s no way home.” He shot again, hitting the wall behind her.

“Mulder, come on,” She moved sideways across the room to make herself a more difficult target. He stepped towards her. “Mulder, you’re scaring me. Put the gun down!”

“You gonna shoot me?!” He shouted.

“I’m not gonna shoot you! I don’t wanna shoot you!” She shouted back, trembling. Did he really think she would shoot him? What the hell was wrong with him?

“It’s me or you,” he ranted maniacally. “You or me. One of us has to do it.”

“Neither of us has to do it,” she countered. “Just- Just put the gun down!”

He ignored her, instead focusing his aim.

“Wait!” She tried to calm her breathing. “Look,” Scully took her finger off the trigger and put her hands up in surrender, gun pointed away from him. When she spoke again, it was with a calmer voice. “Please, Mulder. I’m not gonna shoot you. I’m putting my gun down, see?” She started to lower her weapon. “This isn’t you, Mulder. Please, you have to trust me. You have to snap out of...whatever this is.”

A confused look flashed across Mulder’s face and he lowered his weapon a bit, glancing over at the old man.

“Mulder.” She holstered her gun and took a step towards him. He watched her warily, looking almost like a caged animal. Another couple of steps and she was able to put her hand on his wrist, lowering it even more. She searched his face for any sign that he was coming to his senses.

Mulder glanced down at where her hand lingered on his wrist and she pulled it away self-consciously. He looked back up at her. “Scully…do you love me?”

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he said, moving closer to her.

Scully backed away. “Mulder, what are you doing?” This wasn't like him. She couldn’t help glancing at the old man again, who looked particularly interested in what was going on.

Mulder’s hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to him. He leaned down.

“Mulder-”

She was interrupted by the feeling of his gun pressed into her stomach.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

CRACK

---

Mulder stumbled down the stairs, unsure how he was able to move when he was in so much pain. At the bottom, he noticed a trail of blood in the foyer. He collapsed onto the floor and started crawling pathetically, following the trail. Around the corner, he spotted Scully crawling towards the front door in a similar fashion.

“Scully?” His voice was strained.

She flinched, then slowly, painfully rolled over and pointed her gun at him. Was she really going to shoot him again? He grunted and managed to pull out his own gun despite the fact he knew he could never shoot her.

They stayed in their stalemate for a few moments before Scully lowered her weapon with a groan and fell back on the floor. “Ah...I’m not gonna make it,” she said.

“You should have thought of this.”

“You should have,” she countered.

“You shot me first!”

“I never shot you, you shot me!”

Mulder blinked. He never shot her. Why did she think he shot her? And she was claiming she’d never shot him.

It hit him. Lyda and Maurice. It was another trick. Of course it was.

As if undoing some spell, Mulder realized he wasn’t actually bleeding. He wasn’t actually shot, he wasn’t in any pain. It wasn't real.

“Scully,” He rolled over and stood up, feeling considerably light. He grinned. “Get up.”

She scoffed, obviously thinking he was crazy. “I can’t.”

“Get up.” He moved towards her and showed her how he was fine. “You’re not shot.”

She looked up at him with disbelief. “What?”

“Come on, it’s a trick. It’s all in your head.” He reached down and helped her up. Once standing, she started patting at her abdomen in search of the bullet wound. She looked up at him in alarm, and they both glanced back towards the inside of the house as their hands sought each other and they took off through the front door. They escaped from the haunted house hand in hand, only pulling apart to get in his car and drive away in a panic.

“Maybe it was a hallucination,” Scully said, her brain whirring at high speeds to search for an explanation. “Some sort of chemical could have been in that fog.”

“What kind of hallucinogen wears off once you realize it’s not real?” He countered.

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it when she couldn’t think of one. “Then it was, uh... It was all in our heads, I don’t know! But whatever happened in there, you owe me for it.”

“Owe you? You shot me!” He joked.

“No I didn’t, and besides, you shot me first!”

“I never shot you.”

“Well, you dragged me out here in the first place.”

“Well, I-” He stopped and glanced over at her. “Would you believe it was supposed to be romantic?”

She chuckled, feeling a bit giddy from the adrenaline. “From you? I’d believe it.”

He smiled to himself.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat, feeling her heart rate ease up a bit. “Only you would see a haunted house with stories about multiple couples killing themselves in it and think of it as a romantic destination.”

He chuckled. “Are you saying you didn’t find it romantic?”

“Mulder, you shot me.”

“I told you, that wasn’t me!” He grinned.

“Well, I still thought it was at the time. And I wouldn't call it a pleasant experience.”

“I would never shoot you, Scully.”

“How romantic.”

“Of course, I know you can’t say the same since you’ve shot me before.”

“You were about to kill a man!” She argued. “I shot you to protect you.”

“Yeah, and then you dragged me out to New Mexico and I got blown up.”

“You lived, didn’t you?”

He laughed. Whatever had happened in there, they were alive. And her mind certainly seemed to be occupied with something other than last year's Christmas. Maybe a near-death experience wasn't the best replacement, but at least it was something.

Scully checked the time. “God, it’s already past midnight.” She sighed and let her head fall back against the seat again.

“It is?” He glanced over at her and saw that her eyes were closed.

She nodded tiredly.

“Well...Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes snapped open in realization and she looked over at him with a small smile. “Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

---

They made it back to her apartment in one piece and were up for another hour wrapping presents. When they were done, they trudged to bed, falling asleep almost immediately. When her alarm went off too soon, they both groaned, having only gotten a few hours' sleep. Somehow, though, they managed to get up and make it to her mother's.

Christmas with the Scullys was more fun than Mulder had imagined it would be. He found himself wishing that he’d taken Mrs. Scully up on her invitation years ago.

The 6am roll call was only for immediate family, apparently. With Melissa gone and Charles off closing deals in Europe, this meant that it was just Scully, her mother, Bill Jr., and his wife and kid. And Mulder.

“Fox!” Mrs. Scully pulled him in for a warm hug as she answered the door. “So glad you could come.”

“Sorry, which one of us is your kid?” Scully poked her head out from behind him.

“Oh, Dana,” Her mother jokingly chastised her before also pulling her in for a hug. “He was just the first one to walk in, is all.”

“Mhm.”

“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Scully quickly took the bags of presents from the couple without giving them an opportunity to object. She led them into the living room, where Bill and Tara were already sitting on the couch. Bill shook Mulder’s hand with a stiff smile and Scully wondered if her mother had lectured him about being nice before they'd arrived.

Without much preamble and small-talk, they opened presents. Scully had gotten Mulder Resident Evil 2 (“Langly told me you liked the first one” "You'd like it too, Scully. It's horror") and he’d gotten her the bottle of perfume that she’d always sampled whenever they were out shopping at the mall for presents.

“Perfume?” Bill asked, sounding unimpressed.

“I love it.” She gave her brother a pointed look before smiling gratefully at Mulder. She’d half-expected him to get her something obscure like that keychain from a few years back. “I wanted this one.”

Bill didn’t make any more comments after that.

At eight, the cousins and family friends started pouring in. Mulder was flabbergasted. He knew Scully’s family was Irish Catholic, but he’d never fully registered how that would apply to her extended family as well. He supposed he should have, considering how many presents he’d helped her buy for cousins. It was hectic and impossible to keep up with names, so he avoided using them. He stuck to Scully’s side like a burr, letting her navigate them through the party.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” A man asked.

“Fox Mulder.”

“Fox? That’s an interesting name. And how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, we’re p- We work together,” He said, not wanting to cause any confusion.

“Ohh,” The man nodded. “At the...CIA?”

“FBI,” Scully corrected, evidently not very close to this particular cousin. Was he even a cousin? Mulder had no idea who was related to her and who wasn’t.

A woman — another cousin? — who had overheard their conversation leaned in to join them. “And are you two...together?” She asked curiously.

Scully’s cheeks turned ever-so-slightly pink. “No.”

“No, we’re just good friends.” Mulder took over, slinging a friendly arm around her shoulders. “I mean, after being partners for over five years, you either hate each other or you’re best friends, am I right?”

The other two both laughed and Scully gave a little chuckle too, looking more relaxed. They continued their conversation, but Mulder didn’t remove his arm from her shoulders. After a while, Scully realized that she had been leaning comfortably into Mulder’s side for who knows how long and quickly straightened up, slipping out of his grasp and excusing herself to go to the kitchen and get some eggnog. She ducked her head in hopes of hiding how red her face must be.

Alone in the kitchen, she braced herself on the counter and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It was stupid of her to panic like this, but she couldn’t help it. This was their first time out somewhere like this after getting together, but they couldn’t even act like a couple. It was too easy to relax with Mulder, and it was too fun being at a party with him. She was being too obvious and people were going to figure out they were together.

But on the other hand, it would be nice if they could actually act like a couple at this party. Would it really be the worst thing in the world if people knew? Keeping it a secret at work made sense, but it felt different at her mother's house in front of friends and family.

“Dana?” Her mother’s voice shook her from her thoughts. She was standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine,” She said, quickly straightening up and grabbing a cup.

“Sorry,” her mother said. “I just...noticed you left that conversation with Michael and Hannah pretty quickly. I was worried they said something to upset you.”

“Nope,” Scully smiled — a bit too widely. “Just getting some eggnog." She grabbed a second cup.

“For you and Fox?”

Scully stiffened ever so slightly. Was her mother implying something? Or was she just being paranoid? “Yeah, he wanted some too.” She tried to sound casual.

Her mother seemed like she wanted to say something but apparently dropped it, instead moving over to give her daughter a comforting pat on the shoulders. “Okay, honey.” She smiled. “I’ll see you back out there, okay?”

Scully nodded, not meeting her mother’s gaze. After she was gone, Scully leaned on the counter again. Was her mother suspicious of them? Was anyone else? Why was this so stressful? All she wanted to do was relax, to be casual and have fun with him in this setting, but she didn’t know how to do that.

After another bracing breath, Scully picked up both cups and headed out of the kitchen. She almost ran into Mulder in the doorway.

“Oh!” She yanked the cups back with a grimace until she realized they hadn’t spilled, then let out a sigh of relief.

Mulder, who had also pulled back to avoid an accident, leaned forward a bit. “Sorry, Scully. I was just checking on you. You left pretty suddenly.”

She nodded. “I’m okay, I just-”

“Mistletoe!” Someone shouted, interrupting her. Nearly everyone’s attention turned to them. Scully’s eyes widened and her face burned as her gaze slowly rose up. Sure enough, there was some mistletoe hanging above them in the doorway. Shit.

“You guys gotta kiss!” Someone else shouted in a heavy Boston accent.

“N-No,” They both started protesting, then Scully’s mother appeared out of nowhere and whisked away the two cups Scully had been holding.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, Dana, rules are rules.” Her mother gave a fake sympathetic smile.

“She’s not sorry at all,” Scully muttered, half-believing that her mother had planned this somehow. Various people were shouting for them to kiss now.

“I don’t think we’re gonna get out of this, Scully,” Mulder said out of the side of his mouth.

She heaved a sigh, her hands on her hips, then gave him a quick nod of assent. Needing no more permission, he stooped down and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. More chaste than most of theirs had been since the very first. It was still nice, though, and Scully had to dig her fingers into her own hips to prevent herself from reaching out to him instinctively. She had a feeling he was having the same struggle.

They broke apart to the sounds of whoops and cheers, their eyes lingering on each others’ for just a moment before they turned back to face the party, their facades back in place.

Everyone quickly went back to whatever they had been doing before the interruption (Bill took the time to stare daggers at Mulder for a few more moments) and Scully’s mother handed them back their drinks. Scully couldn’t down her eggnog fast enough, grateful for the alcohol in it.

---

Maggie Scully studied her daughter and Fox throughout the day, only half-listening to conversations with family and friends. She noticed subtle differences from how she’d seen them act before. Dana would grab Fox’s arm to lead him to the next conversation, but her hand would linger longer than it needed to, her thumb even lightly rubbing his arm. He would bend down to whisper in her ear a lot, his mouth closer than it needed to be, and Dana always smiled at whatever he said. And above everything else, they stuck extraordinarily close to each other the whole time. Even if Fox looked like he was fully engaged in a conversation with someone, he would quickly follow Dana if she moved away.

Maggie smiled to herself and let out a little hum, certain that something was going on between those two. For now, she was satisfied with that much knowledge. She’d give Dana as long as she needed to tell her about it.

At one point, Matthew came charging into the room with the unstoppable momentum of a toddler who had recently figured out walking. Scully caught him easily, using his momentum to swing him up in the air before landing him squarely on her hip. “Where do you think you’re going?” She teased her nephew with a grin.

Matthew just laughed and clapped his hands in the way babies do.

“Are you trying to find your mama?” Scully asked, turning to look around the room. When she couldn’t find Bill or Tara, she turned to Mulder with a questioning look. He also did a sweep of the room — hoping his height would give him more insight — and then shrugged.

“Well,” Scully carried Matthew over to the couch and sat down, holding him on her lap. “We’re just gonna have to wait right here for them.”

Mulder sat down next to her and watched as she entertained the baby with faces and little games. She was like a completely different person around kids, and he couldn’t help smiling fondly as he watched her.

It also broke his heart, though. Knowing what had been done to her. What had been taken from her. He knew he had to tell her about the vial of her ova, and soon. He’d put it off too long already and she deserved to know.

But not today. He wasn’t going to let her have two ruined Christmases in a row.

After a while, he realized one of Matthew’s toys was on the coffee table in front of him. He grabbed it, offering it up to the boy and then pulling away, which made the baby squeal in entertainment. Mulder played this game with him for a while, not noticing the smile of adoration that Scully was giving him.

Across the room, Maggie looked on at the sight of the two of them with the baby and couldn’t help thinking how much it suited them.

---

After Bill and Tara returned (they had stepped out to get more ice) and Matthew was handed off, Mulder and Scully returned to mingling. She drank more eggnog than he thought her small frame would allow, and by the end of the day she was leaning against him and hugging his arm without a care in the world for who saw, smiling and blinking slowly at whatever a family friend was saying.

Dinner was a buffet-style potluck, and the food in her stomach seemed to sober her up some, but she was still visibly tipsy if not drunk. Afterwards, Mulder kept his arm around her — more to keep her upright than anything else.

“FBI, huh?” Someone asked. “Do you guys get any interesting cases?”

Scully gave an exaggerated frown. “Well, last night we went ghostbusting.” Her chin ducked down and then back up. “But that wasn’t an official case.”

“Ghostbusting?”

“Well, they weren’t really ghosts of course,” She said emphatically, and Mulder couldn’t help smiling at how insistent she was, even in an inebriated state. “Mulder probably thinks they were.” She tapped her head against his chest. “But I know” — she pointed at herself — “that it was just...a hallucination or something. Brought on by the...the creepy atmosphere and our heightened senses of-of panic.”

“...Oh.” The man looked visibly confused by what she was saying. “So...what exactly were you guys doing ghostbusting on Christmas Eve?”

---

After the party was over, Mulder guided a still-tipsy Scully to the car, helping her buckle in before getting in the driver’s side, then waved a final goodbye to her mother.

As he started the car and drove off, Scully smiled lazily at him, her head resting against the seat. “Thanks for today, Mulder. I had a lot more fun than I usually do.”

“I like your family,” He said. “Most of them. I never really, uh...got the whole family thing. Especially not after Samantha disappeared.”

She pouted. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “It’s okay. Today was fun to experience. Even if it was a one-time-only thing.”

“What makes you think it’ll be one-time only?” She asked. “My mom’s definitely gonna invite you again next year.”

Mulder smiled at the thought. He hadn’t considered next year. Or the year after. He let himself indulge for a moment, imagining a future where he and Scully were happy. Staying together, attending her mother’s Christmas parties every year. Their situation was still hard for him to believe; he kept waking up expecting to find that it had been a dream, or that she’d changed her mind, only to see her sleeping soundly, pressed close to him. Or already awake and watching him with an adoring look that she only used when she thought he couldn't see.

“I really- I really do love you, Mulder,” Scully spoke up after a while, as if reading his thoughts and knowing his insecurities.

He laughed. “You’re drunk.”

“No,” She lifted her head off the seat and glared at him comically. “I’m not drunk, I’m just enjoying myself. And you’re the best…” She waved her hand dismissively a few times. “Partner, boyfriend, whatever.”

He grimaced. “I think I like partner better than boyfriend.” He wasn't too fond of partner, either. It fit them in a professional sense, but not outside of that.

“Mmm, but partner doesn’t feel right either,” She seemed to voice his thoughts as she pouted again, leaning back against the headrest.

“Then what does?”

She was silent for a few moments, then shrugged. “I dunno. You’re just...Mulder.”

He nodded, knowing what she meant. Of all the ways to describe their relationship, of all the words to label what they were to each other, his brain often just kept coming back to Scully. That was what she was to him.

“‘Mulder’ isn’t exactly a label you can use to introduce me to people, though,” he joked.

“Mm.” She hummed in acknowledgment and was silent for a moment. Then she sat forward a bit, eyes wide in realization. “Mulder, was I clinging to you a lot tonight?”

He hesitated, which was enough of an answer for her.

“Ohh,” she put her head in her hands. “D’ya think anyone noticed?”

A lot of people definitely noticed, but he didn't want to tell her that. “Well…I think your mom is suspicious.”

“Well, she's been suspicious since she first met you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, her face still hidden.

“Bill might've figured it out, too,” he added.

“Bill?!” She looked up at him, then flopped back in her seat. “Nuh-uh. If Bill knew, you wouldn't be alive.”

---

As soon as they got into her apartment, Scully threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips. She’d managed to sober up a bit more during the drive home and had gone from quite tipsy to just tipsy. Mulder pulled away, his hands planted squarely on her shoulders. She pouted, looking sad that he’d pulled away. God, he wished she wouldn't do that. It made it harder to stay away.

“What do you want? You want some water?” He asked, turning his head towards the kitchen.

“Noo.” She toyed with the buttons on his shirt and looked up at him through her lashes. Her intent was very clear.

His breath hitched and he had to clear his throat. He took her hand and pulled it away from his shirt. “I think you need some water and some sleep.”

“Mulderrrr.” She tried to move closer to him, but his hand on her shoulder kept her at arm’s length. She pouted again. Jesus.

“I don’t take advantage of drunk women,” he said.

“I’m not drunk anymore, Mulder, I told you.” She stood up straight as if that proved it. “And I’m not some random girl you found in a bar, we’re already sleeping together.”

“Scully-”

“Mulder, I'm not drunk. I’m just a little tipsy. I’m still aware of my actions and what I’m saying. And I'm very horny.”

Warmth pooled in his stomach at the way she said that, and he was distracted enough that she managed to slip out of his grip and pull him down for a deep kiss, pushing him backwards towards the bedroom and shedding various items of both their clothes on the way there.

It was a very merry Christmas.

---

Weeks later, Mulder drove them both back from Roanoke after finishing the demon baby case. Scully sat in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file and her notes and muttering how it didn’t make sense. She'd already lectured him multiple times on how a woman who's recently given birth couldn't possibly have moved around as much or done as much as Betsy supposedly had, to which he’d just shrugged and said that Betsy wasn’t human. Which, of course, wasn’t an acceptable answer for her.

“Hey, Scully?” He asked, his heartbeat quickening with nerves.

“Hm?” She licked her lips as she continued looking through the file, not really paying attention to him.

“Remember, uh, last December? When I said why your- How the men who abducted you- Um…” He cursed himself for not practicing this.

She looked up from the file, giving him her full attention now. “How they extracted my ova,” she said bluntly. “Yeah.”

“I, uh…” He sighed. “Scully, there’s something I didn’t tell you.” He glanced over at her, then returned his attention to the road. “The men who were in charge of the lab...one of them let me take a vial of yours.”

“What?” Scully’s voice was quiet with disbelief. “You have them? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I...I took them directly to a specialist who would tell me if they were okay,” He explained, suddenly wishing he hadn’t started this conversation while driving. This wasn't a car conversation.

“I don’t believe this.”

“Scully, you were...you were deathly ill. And I couldn’t bear to give you another piece of bad news.” He looked over at her and saw the pain and fear in her eyes.

“Is that what it was? Bad news?”

His lips pressed together grimly. “They… They said the ova weren't viable.”

She only stared at him, either too stunned or too upset to say anything.

“I-I know I should have told you sooner, Scully,” He said, wanting to apologize, to explain. “I just- You were dying, and then you were in remission and I didn’t want to risk your recovery. And then…” He sighed. “It was just never a good time. It still isn’t.”

“There’s not really a perfect time for this sort of news, Mulder,” she said bitterly.

“I know.” He glanced over at her so she could see his regret. “I’m really sorry, Scully.”

She nodded, looking more downtrodden by the news than mad at him. She put her face in her hands, hiding her emotions even from him, and stayed like that for a few minutes. He didn’t bother her, not wanting to invade her privacy. This really wasn't a car conversation.

After a while, she lifted her head. He could see the gears turning in her mind. She let out a slow, calculated sigh and he knew what she was going to say before she said it. Scully was ever the scientist.

“I want a second opinion.”

He nodded silently, eyes on the road. He didn’t tell her that he did get a second opinion. And a third. And a fourth. After she’d gone into remission, he was desperate to give her more good news. But after consulting nearly every specialist in the city, he gave up. But he knew Scully wanted to find the answers herself, and he wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

Next Chapter ->

#kai.fic #xf fic #msr fic #timing fic #i'm posting this at 2am bc i was determined to post it on or before christmas dsjgkads

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