#which we will see later..even if it's hidden under more jerkiness

[simgerale]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ; 4/4

TRANSCRIPT:

antoin: Your majesty… What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. --  Brother. I see that you are already enjoying the position you are in.

luca: You—

magdalena: Let us retire to the drawing room. I am sure that will be more of an appropriate place to talk.

---

a: I was rather... surprised to find that my little brother had been swept off his feet, your majesty. Especially in such a short amount of time.

m: I understand. It was rather sudden for me, as well. But as someone who has a deep love for his wife, can you not see how it is possible?

a: ...[takes a quick breath] My wife and I were arranged to be married since we were children. Our love did not exist until she fell pregnant with our daughter. So, Empress Magdalena... I can only see what you wish for me to see.

m: What I wish for you to see, Emperor Antoin, is that our people do not have to be divided. We are one and the same, separated by a past that neither of us had a stake in.

a: And this union between you two is supposed to symbolize the union of our empires?

m: . . .

a: Forgive me. I will continue to sit here, oblivious to your schemes! Do continue with your declaration of love and whatnot.

m: [the chair scrapes against the floor as she suddenly stands] When you are ready for the adult discussion we were supposed to have half-a-decade ago, do come find me.

#regal #ts4 story #WOW this one was a doozy #i had to combine photos three times #anyway... maggie is wearing red because it makes her feel powerful -- in case you forgot why it's her favorite color (^; #which also makes you think: she didn't wear red around luca .... except at the ball.... hmmm?? #comment 2: antoin is such an a** hat #i don't cuss but that's! that's what he is #a smug jerk #but like any smug jerk... he's got a good side #which we will see later..even if it's hidden under more jerkiness #comment 3: luca was purposely not included in the discussion! more like he purposely kept out. #this was magdalena's battle as the empress and he wanted to show his respect for that. #he decided he'd stand by as support but never cross into her territory as a ruler #last but not least: maggie lost her cool AGAIN #we'll see how that affects things in the next chapter aye?? (^;;;;

[mostfacinorous]

No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Steve & Loki

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

The Captain carried him up and out of HYDRA’s lair, out into the open air, and found a truck.

Neither of them had any real idea where they were, Loki even less so, with his lack of familiarity with Midgard’s geography, but he trusted that the Captain would at the very least get them away from their captors– those they had left alive, that is. 

He found himself nodding off, even the rush of adrenaline from their flight not strong enough to combat the exhaustion of days. He tilted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes to absorb its rays, as the truck trundled along the empty, forested road. 

And then he woke, groggy and panicking. It felt like too much time had gone by, and also none at all. He shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself, sitting up from where he was slumped against glass– against glass but not burning, a novelty– and he blinked a few times before his eyes came into focus. 

“Where–” his voice came out a croak and he cleared it, trying to contain his fear.

“We’re out of gas. Gonna have to walk from here. Sorry to wake you, but… we’re gonna want to get away from the vehicle before we rest any more, just in case they can track it.” 

Loki nodded, his mind still struggling to catch up. 

They’d fled, and gotten free. He would need to walk now. Fine. 

He opened the truck door and slid to his feet, a little disoriented yet, but able, this time, to keep his legs under him. 

He looked out, towards the road, and then to the Captain. 

“We follow it, but from within the treeline, yes?” 

The Captain nodded in the affirmative, and circled to the back of the truck to open it and see what it contained within. Loki followed. 

He found canteens, which, when Loki took one, smelled of nothing and tasted fine. He touched it with a thin magical strand, and proclaimed it safe to drink. 

There was also jerky and a nut mixture, travel rations. Not enough, but not nothing, and both of them fell upon the fatty handfuls as only starving men might– though the Captain continued his search. 

There was only one handgun, which he offered to Loki, but Loki waved off. 

“I have my magic, once I am rested enough. And a few bullets left in this.” He gestured to the last gun he’d picked up during their escape, slung across his body now. 

“Well, I think that’s as good as it’s gonna get. Let’s go.” They made it into the trees and followed the road silently, listening for any activity behind them, at the truck they had left behind. 

Eventually, Loki saw the Captain stumble and reached out to catch him. 

“Deeper into the trees.” He said firmly. “We must be far enough now, and you need to rest– as do I.” 

The Captain looked up at him, then nodded, eyes hooded with pain. 

They made their way into the thick of the underbrush, until they found a small area– not quite a clearing, but with enough room beside a fallen log that they could lay out. 

Loki watched as the Captain stretched, winced, and fell back on his back. 

“What is it?” He demanded. 

“It’s nothing. Took a bullet. I should be fine in a couple of days.” The Captain squeezed his eyes shut, and Loki made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. 

“And you didn’t think to say anything? Let me see.” Loki pulled at the man’s uniform, locating the bullet wound in his waist, just above his hip. 

“This may hurt, but I am sure your healing will be more effective if I first get the bullet out.”

“It’d save me a surgery to cut it free later, for sure.” The Captain said with a sigh. He groaned, then shifted to give Loki better access to it. 

Loki pressed his hands around the wound and let his magic make it glow. He could see the bullet moving within, and the Captain cried out from between gritted teeth. Loki shushed him, distracted. 

Now that he was looking, it was clear he’d been bleeding for some time. 

“When did this happen?” The words were muttered, his voice hushed as it always got when he worked healing magics. 

“We were still in the cells.” The Captain was quieter, too. 

Loki flinched and met his eye, closer now than he’d been since he was on the man’s shoulder, and in a better position to actually see his face. 

For all that he was stubborn, and wary, his face hid very little. 

“Why did you not just leave me, and go on your own?”

“Why’d you give me a shield if you knew you wouldn’t make it out on your own?” The Captain retorted. “Why not leave me here now, and just go?” 

Loki thinned his lips, refusing to answer, and in a single, brutal bit of magic, pulled the bullet free, sending it flying into his hand. He caught it and deposited it in the Captain’s hand instead. 

“I imagine our reasons are much the same.” Loki answered, falling back onto his own back and fully stretching out for the first time in what felt like ages. “We both know we have a better chance of surviving together than either of us do on our own.” 

“Hm.” The Captain hummed in response, hardly an answer. But his eyes were already closed. 

Loki wondered for a second if they shouldn’t rest in turns, shouldn’t leave some sort of guard spell up, but the magic he might have used for that had been taken with closing the wound behind the bullet and making sure there was no permanent harm done. 

So he did the next best thing, and used the tiniest bit of magic to make his hearing more sensitive. 

He fell asleep that way, listening to the Captain’s breathing and their twin heart beats.

#Whumptober 2022 #that writing thing I do #Stoki #steve rogers #Loki #whumptober

[heisenbergresimp]

Little Mouse

A karl heisenberg X fem! Reader fanfic

NSFW Do not interact if you are under 18.

TW: Non-Con Play (but is in fact consensual), rough sex, degredation, bondage.

it was a chilly spring evening. the snow had just melted but the earth was still frozen under your feet. you had been late at a friend’s house, sipping tea and talking. so, you had failed to notice as the sun began to drop in the sky.

once you had seen what time it was you had grabbed your shawl, thrown it over your shoulders and headed out.

you lived on the outskirts of the village with your lover. it had made you a bit of an outcast in the village. some people looked upon you with disgust, while other looked at you with pity. but your friends and remaning family seemed to understand your choices.

you didn’t care, you were happy with your beau.

to get home you had to head over to the ceremony site. moving the large stone chalice -hidden nearby - over the Dias to take you down to where the bridge was. from the bridge it was just a short walk home.

Normally the bridge was empty, very few people had a way to get to the bridge, which meant the walk was quiet and peaceful.

except today. today a large man was leaning against the crumbling stone on the bridge smoking a cigarette. the village knew him as one of mother Mirandas four lords, her lieutenant. Lord Heisenberg.

you felt yourself talked a big gulp of air before deciding to scurry over the bridge.

"Now, now, now little mouse. where do you think your going, not even going to say hello" the man said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"s-sorry lord Heisenberg, I’m just heading home"

"Home? oh you’re that girl who lives near here. going home to your lover aren’t you, surprised he isn’t here to make sure you get home safely. lot of bad men in these areas"

by now he had dropped the cigarettes, extinguishing the bud underneath his boot. you could see his eyes behind his glasses, predatory, like a wolf stumbling upon a rabbit.

"Thank you for your concern lord Heisenberg, but I’ll be fine"

you tried to turn away, to get away from the dangerous wolf but he stood to his full height and walked in front of you, blocking your exit. you couldn’t help but o looks up and see his smirk. "Oh, don’t leave yet, little mouse. not before the fun has begun"

you raised your knee into his crotch. oh, you were going to pay for that later, but no one could blame your gut reaction. he took a s step or two back his eyes wide, wondering if you had actually just tried to kick him in the nuts.

he chuckled "you didn’t think that would work, did you little mouse. you’re going to pay for that"

you tried to run past him, but he grabbed you and threw you to the ground. while getting on top making sure to pin you down by your hips. "Stop wriggling or 'ill tie you up"

you don’t listen, just try to scramble away. you can see him grow more frustrated as he keeps having to pull you back. eventually he grabbed your hands and pinned them over your head while a piece of metal flew overhead. the metal wrapped around your hands and dug into the ground.

now you were truly trapped to this beast of a man.

he leaned down, warmth breath sliding over your air. the cold spring air mixed with the warm breath made you shiver "Guess you’re all mine now pet, I wouldn’t try to yell. even if anyone could hear you, they wouldn’t save you"

he bit your ear, nibbling it for a second before moving down to your neck and then your shoulder taking bites and leaving bruises. you could feel a moan bubble up in the back of your throat and bit your lip to keep it in.

"Oh no, little mouse. don’t keep those moans in" he grabbed your bottom lip and pulled it out from your teeth.

eventually he got to your chest. instead of unbuttoning all of the little buttons he simply grabbed the collar and yanked. buttons flew everywhere while your breast became exposed to the cold air.

Normally he would have a smart-ass quip but instead he just leaned down taking one nipple into his mouth while using a gloved hand to manipulate the other before switching, making sure both stood to full attention.

"Mmm, stop, someone might see" You beg, its pathetic but you have to at least try

"Who cares, worry they'll see what a whore you are, writhing under me"

he doesn’t bother to take off of the rest of your clothes, just lift up your skirt and pull down your underwear. you can see the wet spot on your panties.

"Wet for me? I knew you were a slut"

you try to disagree but he grabs you thighs and pulls them apart so he can have an uninterrupted view of your rosebud before going down on you. his tongue circles your clit sucking and nipping while your hips buck.

despite the cold whether sweat begins to form as you push your pussy closer to his face. Like a man starved he dives in, his tongue circling your clit. He knows exactly how to manipulate the little pearl till you’re a moaning mess

just as you begin to see stars, he pulls away. but its too late, your orgasm still happens and he watches as your hole contracts around nothing.

" I think your pussy needs something to fill it pet. I got just the tool."

he's taking off his clothes, letting you see the dozens of scares that mar his skin, the salt and pepper body hair that trails over his chest and from his navel to his rod which is engorged.

"You- you can’t, Lord Heinsberg" you pant "My partner, he's expecting me home soon"

"Oh, but he can’t make you feel this good, can he? now be a good slut and take me in."

he's on top of you now, lining up and entering you. you feel the metal binds on your arms fall away allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "Hold tight doll" is the last thing he says.

your sex turns animalistic, grunts and pants and moans as he pulls in and out of you, the occasional swear from his lips. you feel him move in and out of you, finding rhythm. in your ecstasy you indent your nails on his back and scratch.

at one point he flips you till you on your hands and knees and he behind. then he thrusts again taking you like a bitch in heat. he gets rougher and rougher, pulling your hair and forcing your head up so he can give you a bruising kiss.

his movement gets jerky but he reaches round and plays with your clit again so that you can cum.

his hips are moving frantically and every nerve in your body is alight with pleasure.

you come first milking his rod. he swears before giving you every last drop of his cum.

you collapse to the ground, feeling the cold stone underneath your face while he sits on his ass behind you.

a few moments passes and you feel him drape his trench coat over you. "Good girl, didn’t even use the safe word once" he says, wrapping his coat around you and lifting you up and on his lap.

"You okay, I didn’t mean to kneel you in the balls"

he chuckles "I’m fine, hot damn you were amazing. you played the helpless village girl to a tee"

"wasn’t hard, I played her for years before coming here"

sure, you had not one but two intense orgasms, and normally you wouldn’t want to get up from Heisenberg’s embrace, but today you were covered in dirt from the bridge.

"We should go home; I need a shower"

"Well let’s head back" he said lifting you up, bot even caring he was buck naked. "Keep this party going somewhere a bit warmer".

#karl heisenburg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #re village #resident evil 8 #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil #karl heisenberg x reader headcannons #karl x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg headcanons #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg headcanon

[codylabs]

December’s Wrath

Chapter 1

It hadn't been a simple decision to leave California and his family and his sister to go spend the holidays in Gravity Falls with Wendy. But that was the decision he had made, and by the time he was really starting to question whether or not it was the right one, he had already crossed the state line into Oregon, and the rumble of the bus's engine had lulled him halfway to sleep. Thoughts like his parents' and his grandparents' disappointment at his absence, thoughts like Mabel wishing he could be there to see her new Hanukkah sweater, thoughts like the price of the bus fare, thoughts like the incomprehensible breadth of miles increasing between him and home, thoughts like the knowledge that the Corduroys had 'apocalypse training' instead of any kind of holiday celebration, thoughts like he wasn't prepared, thoughts like high clouds and dark trees and rare sun, these were the thoughts drifting through his head. Thoughts like he was right. Thoughts like he was wrong.

It was a starless night outside the bus, so all he could see beyond the window was a foot and a half of whirling snowflakes, and his own reflection, both layers tinted a grim color by the bus's pinkish interior lights. Crystals of frost were growing on the outside of the window, his breath was condensing on the inside of the window, and he was fast asleep a minute later, and his dreams were sad and lonely and brave and cold, cold, a terrible and cutting cold that pierced to the bone, clawed like an eagle's talons. His dream was a walking dream, while Wendy called him forward and Mabel called him back. The wind was calling too, but not in any specific direction. It just called.

The dawn came around 8:00, he woke up around 8:30, the bus left him at the stop around 9:00, and Wendy met him around 9:01. He almost didn't recognize her at first, beneath the layers of unfamiliar winter clothes, the gloves twice the size of her hands, the grey jacket and the baggy pants. It was only her face by which he identified her, peaking out from the middle of the hood. There was a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips, and he only barely had time to recognize her before she grabbed him in a hug and lifted him off the ground. "EEEEEYY It's good to see you man!" She hollered as she twirled him around. Her words were drowned out for a split second by the hissing of the bus's brakes as it moved off down the road. "How's it been going?"

"It's been going good!" She hugged her back until she set him back down. His backpack threatened to tip him over as he landed but he managed to catch himself. The ground was icy. He took a deep breath of the chill air as he shrugged the pack higher onto his shoulders and tightened the straps. "Good to see you too! I've really been missing this place! And, uh, and you, and everyone. How about you? How have you been?"

"Oh, same, you know how it is!" She punched him in the shoulder. Her breath crystallized in the air in front of her smile, and for just a moment, she looked to him like the most beautiful thing in the world. "Same as last time you were here, same as last time you called, same... I mean, what changes, man? School still sucks, weather still sucks, life's going great."

"Mood." He agreed, even though school had never really sucked that much for him, and the weather wasn't too bad, was it? It had stopped snowing, at least. "Anyway, I packed as best I could, I got my whole winter... Outfit. On." He gestured inclusively to his heavy jacket, heavy boots, three pants, and gloves, and took some reassurance that she was dressed similarly. "And uhhh toothbrush and sleeping bag and stuff. Is there anything else I need? I've never gone hiking in the winter."

"Nah, you're good. And if you're not, don't worry, we don't set out until after breakfast, and dad'll get you squared away once we get to the house." She led the way toward the Corduroy truck, parked on the roadside. "You got a change of clothes at least?"

"Yeah."

"Eh." She gave a dismissive shrug as they climbed into the truck. "You'll be fine." She was right, she was wrong.

As Dipper tossed his backpack into the back seat and made to close the door, his vision was almost completely obscured for a moment as a gust of wind pushed the vapor of his exhale back into his face. He blinked for just a moment, almost startled, and then as his breath dissipated, his eyes landed on the forest.

The forest.

It was the same forest he'd known before. The same valley, the same cliffs, the same mountains, same dome, same trees, same grass and ferns, he recognized that bend in the road, and that sign, and that water tower. But at the same time, this couldn't be the same place. Could it? The old woods were green, green and brown, and crowned with gold beneath a blue sky. These woods were grey. Grey within grey, grey as pale as snow on the fingertips of the trees and grass, grey as dark as night in the spaces beneath. The sky was grey too, no blue, no shapes of clouds, no penetrating ray of sunshine, all the world stood as if encased in prison.

It was beautiful, to be sure. Beautiful as art. But Dipper couldn't shake the nonsensical feeling that the bus had taken him to some alternative reality, some timeline where the bombs had dropped or the sun had gone out or time had frozen, that his eyes were seeing some grim warning vision and not reality. As he gazed out at that sight that used to look like a playground or a second home or some magnificent untold adventure waiting to happen, he thought, at this moment, that it looked something more like an enemy; a world-sized monster, some overbearing rival of mankind itself. He found himself sizing it up.

As Wendy watched him doing so, watched his eyes travel the landscape with a look so needlessly grim and fearless, for just a moment, he looked to her like the most handsome thing in the world. "Eh, I guess the weather's not so bad." She shrugged.

"...Yeah." He finally climbed fully inside and closed the door. "Not so bad at all." He was right, he was wrong. They rolled off down the road, toward the tall old woods where the Corduroy cabin lay hidden.

Dipper had been expecting some sort of grim, apprehensive, even frightened mood when they entered the house, (the whole 'apocalypse' motif having prepared him for the worst) but was pleasantly surprised to find the place full of laughter. Dan was bent over the stove cooking pancakes and shoveling nuts into bags, while the boys zipped around the house with their backpacks, thinking and rethinking and packing and repacking. Conversation loud and boisterous filled the air, about past trips and future trips and present trips, about weather and trees and old campfire stories and whatever else lumberjacks and mountain men talk about. Wendy joined right back in with it too, reminding her dad to bring the jerky, telling her brother to find the radio, getting told by another brother to bring an extra jacket, and all five of them were arguing about whether one person should carry all the toilet paper, or whether they should all bring their own, or whether they should just rough it off the land and wipe with leaves.

Somehow, though was no tree in the house, and no presents or decorations or cookies or little colored lights either, something about the joy and the togetherness of it all struck Dipper as belonging to a Christmas mood.

"YOU." Dan boomed down in Dipper's direction. He spun with a start to look up into the enormous man's face. "You got a knife on ya, boy?"

"Uh y-yeah. Got one right here." He nodded.

"Got matches?"

"Nope."

"You'll need matches." Dan tapped one enormous finger on a paper on the fridge; a packing list. "Need all this on here. Ask Wendy if you don't know where anything is."

"Awesome. Okay." As Dipper joined the rush, a smile touched his face, and he began to suspect that this would be a good Christmas after all. Different, for sure, different of course, but it may not be so hard, it might not be so worse. This was family, after all, a very close and loving family, and when a family is close and loving, nothing that ever happens to it seems quite so bad.

And besides, Christmas was more than just presents and decorations, wasn't it? More than just a few colorful nonsense traditions. A lot more.

But without all that, what was it exactly?

They were all packed by the time pancakes were done (As they had to be. Part of the Corduroy tradition was to leave immediately after breakfast no matter what; in a real apocalypse they wouldn't have much more warning than that, after all.) With Wendy's help Dipper had managed to get packed with everything on Dan's list, all except for a compass; the family had only six, and the sixth wasn't for using. He'd just finished zipping up his pack by the time breakfast was ready. The warm smell drew them together into the kitchen, and they set in.

"What was your name again?" Dipper looked up from his pancakes to see Wendy's youngest brother frowning across the table at him, mumbling words through a full mouth.

"Dipper." He nodded, and realized he'd never actually talked with any of Wendy's brothers, and didn't actually know anything about any of them. "...I never got you guy's names?"

"I'm Gus." The 11-year-old pointed a pair of thumbs in his own direction. "I'm the cool one."

"And I'm Marcus." Said the 15-year-old, and extended a hand to shake Dipper's. "I'm the actual cool one."

"I'm Wendy." Said Wendy, not even looking up from her phone. "I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm Kevin." Said the 13-year-old. He glanced Dipper up and down. "I bet I could take you."

That took Dipper off-guard.

Wendy snorted.

"Hey, be nice." Marcus snapped. "He's a guest!"

"You be nice." Kevin retorted.

"Everyone fight!" Gus cheered.

"EVERYONE BE NICE!" Dan thundered.

Silence descended rather immediately. u could take him. Wendy texted Dipper under the table.

Not gonna try???? He texted back.

By 10:00 their packs and supplies were all stacked in the back of the truck, and they were underway.

By 10:30 the truck was parked and locked at the end of a narrow logging road, with six sets of footprints leading away from it, deeper into the woods.

That was Friday, the 20th of December. Next week on Wednesday would be Christmas. The very next day, Saturday, was the solstice, when the days would be the shortest of the year and the sun would be dimmest, and the things the light drives out would feel most free to rise.

By 11:00 they were out of range of the cell towers, and there was nobody who could help them.

The sun flared yellow through the briefest gap in the overcast sky.

The wind howled.

A tree broke and fell with nobody to hear it.

The spirit heard it.

#gravity falls #fanfiction #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #wendip #wendipweek

[densi-mber]

Frozen, Part 2

A/N: Here’s the second part of Frozen. In the first part, Kensi and Deeks were trapped in the cold after hunting down some suspects. Deeks was also injured.

***

“Oh my god, babe, how could you not feel this?” Kensi asked, kneeling in front of Deeks with his shirt peeled up to chest. Fortunately the cut wasn’t terribly deep, but it was bad enough. Bad enough to have soaked through his shirt already.

“I feel it now,” Deeks said, yelping as she pressed down on the wound. “Actually, that really hurts. Stop poking it!”

“I’m trying to see how bad it is.”

“Well, your warm little hands are heating it up and now it’s burning.”

Her hands were anything but warm and his blood was actually starting to freeze on his skin and clothes.

“Ok, I’m going to put a bandage on this, see if you can get through to Eric,” she told him. She slipped off the small backpack which had a bare minimum of supplies, including a first-aid kit. She tossed an extra pair of gloves to Deeks while he called Eric and then ripped open a bandage.

“No signal,” he said a minute later, shaking his head.

“Damn it!” They couldn’t stay out here for much longer without any protection, especially with Deeks being wounded. She glanced at him, noticing that the tips of his ears were bright red and if she wasn’t mistaken, his lips were just the slightest bit blue. “Deeks, what happened to your hat?” she snapped, realizing that his hair was damp and loose around his face.

“I had to take it off cause I couldn’t hear anything and I lost it somewhere along the way,” he answered with a shrug. Kensi muttered under her breath, realizing how accusatory she sounded.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” She grabbed his hand by way of apology, glancing around them.

“We need to start moving, Kens.”

“You really think we’re going to make it five miles in this cold?” she asked rhetorically. “And it’s only going to get worse in a couple hours.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll make it that far, but I remember Nell saying something about there being a bunch of old cabins around here,” he said with the barest of grins.

***

Have I ever-ah-mentioned how much I hate Iowa?” Deeks asked casually, pausing in between words to pull in shallow breaths. “We would never be in danger of freezing to death in Los Angeles.”

Despite his efforts to stay positive, the cold was definitely starting to get to him. His toes and fingers were stiff, although he supposed it was a good sign that they were still burning and not numb.

Plus, though he hadn’t dared mentioned it Kensi, exhaustion was starting to set in. His legs felt heavy and his abdomen somehow ached and felt numb at the same time. It was a disconcerting sensation.

“With our luck we’d get locked in an industrial freezer or something,” Kensi said with forced lightness, pausing in between words to breath. Her arms were firm around him, making sure he didn’t stumble over hidden tree roots and rocks.

“I think I saw that on a show once.”

“Cabin.”

“No, it was called Castle. You know, the one with Nathan Fillion where he’s a writer and-“

“No, there’s a cabin,” Kensi repeated, cutting off his tangent, and pointing to an area maybe a couple hundred feet away. Sure enough, there was a small cabin buried in a dense copse of trees.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. As they moved closer, it looked completely uninhabited and probably for some time, based on the piles of snow, debris around the doorway, and cobwebs in the windows.

Kensi cleared the snow away from one of the windows and peered in.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside. C’mon.” She shouldered the door open, which stuck a little, but eventually gave way with a loud creak.

“Very homey,” Deeks commented, shivering as they walked into the small space which was barely warmer than outside. It was pretty barren with jut a single cot and bare mattress that had definitely seen better days, a splintered cupboard with a couple pots on top, and most importantly, a fireplace.

“Sit down, I’m going to look for some blankets and firewood,” Kensi directed him.

“I can help,” he offered, feeling pretty stupid just standing there. It was partially his fault they were in this situation. If he’d been a little more careful, he wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. “The faster we heat this place up, the less chance we have of becoming popsicles.”

Kensi shook her head, already searching through the cupboard. She pulled out a box of instant potatoes and a can of beans and set them to the side.

“And the more you move around, the more you’ll aggravate your wound.” She turned back to look at him with another can of beans and Campbell’s chicken soup in her hands. The faded labels on both made Deeks think they’d been sitting there untouched for several years. “Are you saying you don’t have faith in my fire building skills?”

Her breath puffed out in a great white cloud as she attempted to keep her teeth from chattering. He could tell the cold was getting to her too, but predictably, she was ignoring it.

“I would never,” he said, dropping his backpack beside the cot. “Kensi Marie Blye’s survival skills are world renowned and-agh!” He’d sat down and his cut gave a painful, tearing sensation. Kensi spun around immediately at his scream, but he waved her off, ignoring the fresh gush of blood he felt seeping into his shirt. “I’m fine. I just sat down too fast. Did you find any blankets?”

She gave him a suspicious look, turning back to the cupboard, and pulling out some more random items before she made a triumphant sound.

“Three,” she said, throwing him a grayish bundle. “They look a little thin, but I guess it’s better than nothing. Ok, I’ll get some fire wood and then we’re bandaging your cut again. Don’t touch it until I get back.”

Deeks rolled his eyes at her instructions, which seemed a little ridiculous given the severity of said cut, but didn’t protest. He knew Kensi was worried and felt better knowing where he was.

After a few minutes, he stood up again and started pacing, trying to force some feeling into his legs. He tucked his hands under his armpits, singing “Staying Alive” to himself until his voice grew hoarse. Every few seconds, a blast of wind tore through the cabin and blew in bits of snow through minute cracks in the walls and ceiling.

Just as he was getting ready to go after Kensi, the door slammed open again, and she stumbled in with a giant armload of logs and branches.

“I found some wood,” she said unnecessarily as he rushed to help her. “There’s a shack about half a mile from here filled with chopped wood. I left another pile outside.” Her entire face was red and wind-chapped and Deeks wanted to demand she immediately get in bed and cover up.

Since that didn’t seem likely to happen, he brought in the rest of the wood while she was distracted with building a fire. By the time he finished, his hands were completely numb, his clothes completely wet and sticking to his skin.

As Kensi finished lighting the fire, he noticed her hands shaking uncontrollably, making her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She’d spent even more time outside, completely unprotected. She fumbled with the lighter a couple times before she managed to set the kindling on top of the logs aflame.

He grabbed one of her hands between his and rubbed them, wincing at the bright red color, and nearly white tips of her fingers.

“Baby, we need to get you warmed up,” he said, starting to get truly worried about hypothermia. Even with the fire, it would tale at least a couple hours before the cabin was warm.

“I’m fine Deeks,” she insisted, tugging her fingers from his. Ignoring his concern, Kensi grabbed her bag again, pulling out more first aid supplies. “Take your coat and shirt off.”

Deeks reluctantly pulled off both, knowing Kensi would probably freak out when she saw how much he’d bled. His shirt stuck a little, tacky with drying and frozen blood. He had to admit that the cut looked nasty with varied levels of dried blood smeared all around. As the cold air hit it full force again, it started burning more intensely.

Surprisingly, Kensi didn’t say anything when she leaned over him. She dabbed away the fresh blood with a couple cotton swabs and then tore open a packet of liquid bandage.

“Can you hold the edges together?” she asked. That sounded awful as far as Deeks was concerned, but he followed her directions, putting pressure on either side of the cut while Kensi squeezed the glue-like substance on in small incriminates.

“Ok, I think I’m fine with just bleeding out,” he groaned a few minutes later, the wound burning as the glue seeped in.

“That is not even remotely funny,” Kensi commented tightly. “Besides, I’m almost done.” Her hands were still trembling and a little clumsy. He didn’t comment on her technique though; if a slightly lumpy scar was the worst result of this catastrophe, he’d be a happy man. Kensi insisted on applying a cloth bandage just in case and then she was finally done.

“Ok, now we gotta get you warmed up,” he said as he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Kensi’s shoulder and then started tugging off his boots and socks.

“What do you suggest?” Kensi asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“There’s only one option.” He paused with a boot in his head and gave Kensi a serious look. “Naked cuddling.”

#densimber 2020 #densimber 4.0 #densi #densimber day 22 #ncis la fanfiction #Deeks and Kensi whump #by ejzah

[s-creations]

Return the Flames - Chapter 8

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The  Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if  angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was  told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No  possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time     Rating: General Audience     Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves   Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

“What do you think about these?”

 Amos was not prepared to be greeted with Dominic wearing the largest, ‘normal’ pair of sunglasses the owl had ever seen . So startled, Amos laughed hard, pulling the glasses off of Dominic’s face. Who was looking rather smug.

 “Yer peckin’ crazy. I know ya like the gaudy, but I don’t think ya could pull that off.”

 “Are you saying my charm is not enough? I’m rather upset about that.”

 “Guess ya have a limit.”

 “I don’t believe you.”

 They shared another laugh as Amos placed the sunglasses back on the spinning rack. 

 It was their sixth day out. Around this time they should have been returning home if they weren’t being hunted down. But now they were one day away from finally arriving. Which neither of them were too worried about. They hadn’t run into C.A.W. again. They were doing well when it came to their money. Amos hadn’t even had another flare as they had experienced at the beginning of this journey. All was going well in their mind.

 After that day spent at the fair, the relationship between them seemed to have become...stranger. Amos wasn’t sure what to call what was happening. So odd to know that the bird he once called an enemy had given him such care and comfort. A hard hit of reality came when he realized wouldn’t have gotten this far without Dominic. Once as rivals, now… 

 Friends? More? How the peck was he supposed to tell?

 Amos shuffled nervously as he pretended to be trying to select a bag of chips. His attention darted over to the penguin, who was further down the same aisle. 

 The owl wasn’t sure what to make of this growing bond between the two. If he was going to be honest with himself, Amos couldn’t tell the last time someone took care of him. Probably his mother. Before she passed away. After that, it was him against the world. Now Amos has this over-the-top dressed penguin who could wear platform shoes that could kill anyone else watching out for him. One who didn’t seem to be deterred that the owl was a walking bonfire with a target on his back. Amos was worried he was putting a bit too much hope into these kind actions. 

 “You ready to go Sweetheart?”

 “Huh, uh, aye. ‘M ready. I’ll meet ya at the counter.” Amos’ heart fluttered, the flame flickering dangerously as Dominic passed by with a warm smile.

 It didn’t help the owl’s predicament when Dominic decided to give such an affectionate nickname. Amos had thought it was a one time slip up. Until the penguin used the same term the next day. And the day after that. Dominic seemed to have exchanged the nickname over Amos’ proper name.

 That had to mean something...right?

 Don’t fall for this. Don’t jump from that ledge. You weren’t even planning to return from this. Now you want to pick out towels with this guy? And how is that fair to him? Pull Dominic along and then abandon him. Let him see your body burn as you pass away. How romantic. 

 He͉ de͕ser͜ves̩ ͟so͢ ̼much̠ ̦b̝e͇t͎t͕e̖ṛ ͜than ̻y̦ou and y̟ou̝ k͇n̜ow itͅ.

 Amos had subdued his heart when he joined Dominic at the counter. The penguin gave another smile, one that Amos tried to reciprocate. If the furrowed brows were any indication, Dominic didn’t find the gesture believable. 

 They left the small convenient store, bags in each arm as they made their way back to the car. Which was parked a few blocks away. A decision made by the two of them in case they needed to lose an unwelcomed party member. 

 “Come on, just try a piece.” Dominic offered, holding out a small strip of salmon skin jerky. Amos' face twisted in disgust. 

 “Get that peckin’ stench stick away from me.”

 The penguin merely laughed before eating the strip. Amos rolled his eyes...only to freeze, heart hammering. A familiar crow was standing at the corner of the street they were approaching. The crowd passed by as if it was normal for a large bird to just stand in the middle of the sidewalk. 

 Amos frantically reached out and grabbed for Dominic’s arm. To stop the penguin who kept moving forward, completely unaware of what was now blocking their path. 

 “Amos-”

 “Just ahead.”

 Dominic faced forward, eyes widening in fear seeing the crow as well. “...Okay. Let’s backtrack. We can get to the car another way.”

 “Right…” Amos turned, only to find a row of crows blocking their exit strategy. The owls became nervously aware of how empty the surrounding streets suddenly became. 

 “Hello, Phoenix spawn.” The lone crow spoke. Amos assumed this was the same who’d spoken to them before . “It would do your health well to turn yourself in. An exit for you in this situation seems very unlikely. 

 “Last I checked, ya peck necks’ wanted ta kill me.” Amos growled.

 “Then do so for the health of your companion. We will allow him to leave, unharmed, if you come with us.”

 “I highly doubt that offer is very genuine.” Dominic replied. 

 The crow huffed. “You are surrounded. Without a moving wall of metal to protect you. There is no way out for you.”

 “Did ya seem ta forget about the flame burnin’ within me that I can use ta burn ya peck necks.” 

 “Do you want to take the risk, to possibly burn another building down?”

 Amos growled dangerously, feathers puffing up. He stepped forwards, to do what he wasn’t sure, only for Dominic to grip his hand. “Don’t. We need to run.”

 “What are ya suggestin’.”

 “There’s an alleyway behind us. If we can distract them, we can make a break for it and circle back for the car. Hope you were too attached to your purchases.”

 “If it means I don’t have ta worry about yer salmon jerky, then let's toss them.”

 “Fair enough.”

 The surrounding crows let out squawks of  surprise when plastic bags were flung their way. The contents opening and splattering on the ground and over themselves. 

 Dominic didn’t wait, grabbing Amos’ hand and pulling him towards the mentioned alleyway. It was a small sense of relief seeing that there was another exit to this place. The penguin worried he’d actually lead them into a dead end. He heard numerous footsteps following closing in. The agents had clearly recovered quickly from their lethal attack. 

 They turned left as soon as they escaped the alleyway. A clear shot to the car was before them. All nearby agents had apparently decided that being part of the show was more important than setting up a proper perimeter. 

 “Idiot peck necks!” Amos smirked. 

 “Don’t get overconfident!” Dominic warned, keys already in hand. 

 “They ain’t gonna catch us! Keep doin’ the same peckin’ thin’, thinkin’ they’re gonna trip us-”

 Amos winced when something hit his neck. Reaching up, the owl pulled out a dart. The center of it hollow with some remnant of a blue liquid that had been held inside. 

 He was suddenly hit with a numbingly cold sensation. He collapsed, his limbs submitting to the cold and stopped working. It almost felt as if he had just lost them, as if his appendages had disappeared. Breathing became a struggle as he laid on the sidewalk. Heart hammering as all he could do was watch as the agents closed in. He couldn’t even call his flame, it felt as if he’d never had it. It hurt so much.

 Amos heard someone call his name. But he wasn’t able to respond. All he could do was watch with increasing fear as the agent continued to draw closer. 

 He wasn’t sure if he blinked or passed out for a second from whatever was injected into him. But Amos was shocked when a wall of ice suddenly appeared before him. Effectively cutting the agents from their path. It was the last confusing thought, wondering where that ice had suddenly come from, before he was picked up and the darkness of unconsciousness swallowed him. 

 ___________________

 Dominic’s hands were shaking as he clutched the steering wheel. Even as the miles added up in the distance set between them and the city, the penguin was still absolutely terrified. His eyes traveled up to the rear view mirror, which was pointed towards the backseat. 

 Amos was draped over the entire seat. An arm dangling off the side, the owl sleeping (Dominic hoped so, please let him just be asleep) on his stomach. He hadn’t moved, only making small noises when the care would hit a particularly hard bump. It was the only way that Dominic knew that Amos was still alive. 

 The penguin had been absolutely terrified when Amos just dropped. His heart hammering as he raced back to his fallen companion. The agents actually slowing in their pursuit, as if knowing the owl wouldn’t be able to fight back. Dominic hadn't intended to build such a blockade. He only intended to make enough to ice the street, trip the agents up. 

 The adrenaline caused the ice wall. But in all honesty, Dominic was thankful for that coverage. 

 Now, it was a frantic search for some kind of help. Someone, anyone, who could tell Dominic what had happened to Amos.

 “No hospitals. That’s part of the government...right? Does it even matter? We’re so close to the mountains, they’ll probably narrow down which road we took,” Dominic’s eyes darted to the mirror again hearing Amos let out a groan, “I know Sweetheart, I know. I’m trying. Please just hold on…”

 Slowing the car, Dominic’s attention was drawn to a partially visible path. Narrow and primarily made of tamped dirt, it was hidden by the overgrown native foliage. Dominic knew there were small villages dotted around the mountain base. It was a rumor, anyway. A large gamble to think there would be anyone out there that could help. But the penguin wasn’t sure what else he could do.

 One last check to make sure they weren’t being followed and Dominic turned off the main road and down the hidden path. He wasn’t really sure how long he traveled for. Taking it slow as the road was horribly uneven and the car was not built for off road travel. But there was a wave of relief when the road cleared out and a village, an honest to everything village, appeared before him. 

 Dominic stopped the car a few feet back as to not scare the locals that had emerged from their domed huts and congregated near the end of the road. 

 “Please, I need… I need help. My friend’s in trouble. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Dominic rambled frantically.

 One of the smaller nomads parted from the crowd and joined the penguin. Gesturing for Dominic to lead the way back to the car. Upon seeing Amos, the villager called back to the awaiting crowd in a language the penguin didn’t understand. A few departed into the village proper. The nomad with Dominic gestured for the penguin to lift Amos out.

 “A-Alright…” Dominic was a gentle as he could be when taking the owl out. Amos let out a small noise of discomfort as he was moved. “I know, I’m sorry. You’ll feel better soon, I found help.”

 Cradling the owl close, Dominic was able to maintain composure as Amos desperately pressed against him. A hand clenching at the penguin’s shirt. Now was not the time to have an emotional breakdown as Dominic was led deeper to the village. The penguin watching as some of the larger nomads pushed the car into the wild foliage to hide it. 

 The village was relatively small, at least to Dominic’s opinion. He truly never seen another nomad dwelling to compare. He was being led down what he would consider the main street. Domed huts lining it with a few more placed further back, large trees providing protection from the sun. A few faces were peeking out from the huts with curious looks as the group passed.

 The tamped down path ended at a small market. Large and circular, with stands outlining it with a few more domed buildings on the opposite side from where Dominic stood. Which was where the penguin was led towards. As soon as they were spotted, a nomad draped in red cloth stepped forward. Standing before Dominic with their own arms stretched out.

 “Um…” The penguin turned to the nomad who had first helped him. They pointed to Amos before gesturing for the owl to be handed over to the red-dressed nomad. “Oh, no, I-I’m fine. I can carry him inside.”

 Dominic started moving towards the hut he’d seen the red-dressed nomad had exited from. Only to be grabbed by a larger nomad from his shoulder. The penguin panicked as Amos was rather forcefully pulled away and taken into the hut. A cloth dropping over the entrance and two more large nomads positioning next to it.

 “Wait, no, let me in! I-I need to know he’s okay! P-Please, please, I need to stay with him…”

 “He’s in good hands, dear visitor. I promise you. Please, I ask you to calm yourself.” Dominic turned to the voice behind him. An aged nomad had appeared. A large white beard draping out from his purple robes. Large, curled horns weighing his head down, a knotted staff to keep him upright as he walked. 

 “...Who are you?”

 “Ah, pardon me dear visitor. You may refer to me as the Elder. For that’s who I am.”

 “I’m Dominic. My friend, Amos, he’s in… I would like to join him to make sure he’s okay.”

 “I’m sorry, but we must leave our healers to work. Please, take a walk with me Dominic. We have a few things to discuss apparently.”

#A Hat In Time #discotrain #the conductor #dj grooves #s-creations #fanfiction #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #Multi-Chapter

[crowleyellestair]

Braiding- Eskel

Now that they are close to autumn, they started to head north once more. Eskel might have offered to bring her south, but he knew he’d never have the strength to ask her back to the fort again. Despite the chill that runs through his chest when he thinks of how he’s going to say goodbye, his body buzzes whenever she’s around. His heart beats faster, even while in a state of serenity. He finds that he’s confident and uplifted every time Y/n’s gaze flies over him with that glint of something. He’s sure there is something between him, but he’s found that he’s happy with just this. The smiles and caring hands that are safe. The path is no place for such a treasure long term. On the other hand, if it were Y/n who asked to stay, he wouldn’t have the heart to say no either.

His hand flew to brush over his scarred cheek when he heard a pained groan. He watched as the smaller form rolled over to her back, and slowly sat up. Hair was pulled over most of her features, the look equivalent to a griffin’s nest, but he could still she her eyes. Sleep tried to pull her back down, but the sun that pierced through the canopy was a heady rival. The grumble that bubbled in her throat was obviously trying to be subdued, though her slouched shoulders and outstretched legs didn’t help her will.

Eskel felt great. Though, seeing the struggle of his beautiful travel companion put a small damper on the morning. He wanted to ask what the problem was, but he’d seen Triss and Yen when they were having a rough morning, and didn’t want to make things worse. He, obviously, didn’t want to lump her kind heart in with the hardened sorceresses, but it was the only experience he had to reference. Eskel woke up at dawn, and hunted a smaller deer for jerky and breakfast.

The brunette had been in the process of preparing her bowl when she started to rouse. He watched as she pulled herself up, walking- stumbling towards a place far enough from his senses to relieve herself. Moments later she staggers back, plopping down into the space on the log next to him. For a second, neither of them moved before she deeply inhales, shoves her fingers through her hair, and gives a closed-eye smile. Her soft tone surprised Eskel.

“Good morning.” It was a gruff rumble, but it was quiet and tried to be light. She always seemed to speak in softer tones when close by since she heard about the enhanced witcher senses. He gently offered her the bowl, and she received it with an equally soft thanks. Some strands fell forward past her ear, jostled out of their place when she tried to shift the nest of hair back. The man’s fingers twitched with hesitancy before deciding to reach out and tuck the strands behind her ear. Another soft smile was shown his way before he flinched back. Her arms and legs popped loudly, her back following with an array of its own as she arked.

“Did…something happen last night?” A small huff in place of a laugh was her response as she finished chewing.

“Not really. I just didn’t sleep.” She leaned over to her roll, pulling the large novel Eskel had brought along. “There was a lot of hours tossing, then I noticed you fell asleep while reading. I moved the book, so nothing happened if you rolled over, but then I read it.” His fingers brushed over hers as he grabbed the offered item. A scarred brow raised, as well as the corner of his lips.

“You read the whole thing? It’s a political thriller.” He watched her scoff into her bowl.

“Political, yes. Thriller? Mmmm, not so much. You have two more chapters before Aewen makes the dumb decision to-.”

“I might read frequently, but I have yet to finish this one.” A flush came over her, and his smile broadened.

“Sorry.”

The two worked in tandem to try and clean themselves and the camp best they could. They had roughly two weeks left with each other, but they have both become important to the other’s routine. The morning had started to fly until he heard a muffled grunt once more. He noticed Y/n slouched over, hands on knees and hair even worse. The small brush was gripped tightly in her hand, and he quietly walked over, his own paw hesitantly laying on her back. There was a skill that he didn’t like to show off, but seemed very helpful in the situation. He might have the heart to ask her to stay, nor the heart to tell her to leave, but he could find the courage to ask this no matter how embarrassing.

“Would you like some help? It might be easier if I did it.” Her eyes had brightened throughout the morning, and she gives a small nod. His chest flooded when he received no reaction. She could have shrunk away, laughed at his offer or had been warry. Yet, he only found comfort and acceptance in her gaze. Y/n stood up straight, her hand and the brush slipping into his own. He led her back to the log in front of their tampered-out campfire, and sat her on the ground in front of him.

His fingers quickly and gently tried to separate the mass into sections. His thumb and forefinger pinching off the locks halfway up the length so he can work the brush at the bottom, slowly making his way up. His pressure never changed, restarting the stroke if he hits a snag. The brushing quickly lolled the woman into a peaceful daze, resting against the inside of his right leg. Eskel shift to the other side after what felt like only minutes of paradise. She shifted along, but feeling more lucid.

“How did you become so great at brushing hair?” His neck twitched as he tried to refrain from brushing his cheek over his shoulder. He wasn’t too embarrassed, but her compliment, despite being plentiful, was new. She had been berating him with them over their time together, but he was still getting used to this constant.

“Geralt has always preferred long hair. We all needed a way to wind down, and there were only a handful of us after the trials.” Eskel was the most open out of the school when it came to speaking of his experience during the trials. Everything was explained to her around her first week after she and Lambert had a large fight. It was a misunderstanding, and if Eskel hadn’t known better, he would have been jealous on how close they got after she apologized. She gave a thoughtful hum before leaning further back into his touch.

“Consider me envious of him, then.” Eskel huffed an amused sound before fully concentrating on his task. He let his mind wander far enough for him to not only finish his task, but also start a complicated elvish braid. When he came to, he had to scold himself at how complicated he had made it. Though, the sound of Y/n getting caught on words is what brought him to, and if the intricacies allowed them to stay there longer, he didn’t mind. Until, of course, she continued her line of thinking. “Only two more weeks left.” The witcher had to try and swallow down the large lump in his throat.

“You’ll be safe at home.” He thought that was the safer response until reflection. It clearly revealed more than he wanted. Though, it seemed she slightly perked in his hands.

“I felt very safe at Kaer Morhen.” There was a long pause, the man not exactly sure of what was being implied. “Will you make it back to the keep safely? I know you said you didn’t frequent the north west.” His brow raised again, but a smile couldn’t be hidden at the worry found in her tone.

“I’m a witcher.”

“You are kind. Kindness is rarely treated with the same respect. If you want company or a guide from the human masses…” Despite feeling elated, his heart sunk.

“You have a life. I would never ask you to risk it.” Y/n shifted, turning to meet his gaze. His hand was still weaved into her hair, trying to keep the separated strands, though it brought their faces unbearably closer. He’d never call the woman before him unbearable, but what was painful is knowing he wouldn’t close the distance.

“Well,” he watched as she gathered courage, and straightened in their shared space. “I’m offering.” A small, sad smile spread as his head tipped forward.

“I can’t accept.”

“Then I’m demanding.” His golden gaze met hers with a longing look. “You might be against the tactic, but I’m willing to stoop low and force you into letting me follow.” A laugh fell from him, but it seemed to only make her stances firmer.

“And I refuse to force you into doing something you’re against, which is staying safe at home. You’re a rabble-rouser.”

“And you’re the embodiment of perfection.” His free hand flew to his cheek as his eyes darted from out under her honest and loving gaze.

Eskel’s fingers minutely twitched in her hair, and he had to force his arm to not bring her close, but it seemed she did it all on her own.

#witcher imagine #witcher x reader #eskel x reader #eskel imagine #eskel x y/n #witcher eskel #geralt

[zeldanoel]

Why Should I Change? A Mergana fic

Just posting chapter 1 on tumblr. Read the rest on ao3 here.

Fandom: BBC Merlin 2008-2012

Rating: T for angst (can’t think of any particular tws)

Characters/Relationships: Merlin/Mergana, Aithusa

Summary: Merlin, disguised as an old man, saves Morgana and Aithusa from the Pit. Takes place after season 4. There will be... REDEMPTION and enemies to friend to maybe something more

Chapter 1: Escape

The Pit is dark, and cold, but the cold bothers Morgana more than it bothers me. What’s starting to bother me is the smallness of the pit. If I stand on my hind legs I am only as tall as Morgana, but I can no longer stretch out my wings. This worries her, when she has strength to be worried. She has no color left in her eyes, her face. All is black and gray, and she whispers to me distant memories of forests and castles. We are in a castle, I think.

But there is no escaping this castle, this dungeon, this Pit. It is becoming my whole world. Sometimes men jeer at us, yelling terrible words that Morgana repeats under her breath back at them, her lips drawn back in a snarl. They throw down rotten food, and we weep together for hunger. We cannot seem to die. And I will not let us die, because I remember the skies. It was not for this that I saved her life, I repeat to myself. We will find a way out. Morgana will dream us a way out. And I will keep her alive.

Time is roughly measured by how frequently we are shouted at, but even that is not consistent, so I do not know what day or night it is when Emrys finally comes. It is during one of Morgana’s fitful sleep cycles.

“Aithusa,” I hear. It is a name that only Morgana has said to me. Curled around her, I look upwards. A man’s face peers through the grate. He has a white beard. I hesitate. I do not want to wake Morgana.

“I’m going to get you out,” he whispers, and I realize then that he is not speaking in a human tongue, exactly. It’s a language that I understand deep in my heart. I stir, and Morgana begins to wake.

“Thuse?” she mutters as I disentangle myself from her. She follows my gaze and clambers to her feet.

“Emrys?” she says quietly, incredulous.

“Morgana,” he replies. He’s fiddling with something above, and with a quiet scrape of metal against metal, he unlocks a padlock and opens the grate. It creaks, and he glances away from us, but seems satisfied, and he sets it down gently.

Leave the Pit. We’re going to leave the Pit. Excitement sends a shiver of energy up my spine, and I stand on my hind legs, scrabbling to find purchase on the stone.

“Stay quiet,” Emrys whispers, “I’ll help you float out.”

I hold my breath as my feet and tail leave the floor. Emrys is guiding me up into the air, his eyes glowing. I land next to him and peer down, anxious for Morgana to get out.

Emrys hesitates. He’s wearing an expression of worry, maybe fear. Morgana is making the same face back at him. But then he stretches out his hand, his eyes glow, and Morgana floats out, too. They lock hands for a brief moment as Morgana lands unsteadily on her feet.

She snatches her hand out of his. “I thought we were enemies,” she whispers harshly. Her eyes race around the room.

I look around, too. We’re in something like a cold stone amphitheater, no windows. The only light is from the occasional torch placed in sconces around the perimeter. There’s a stairway leading upward, and a few guards dead or asleep at the base of it.

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Emrys replies. “We’re both on the side of magic.” He looks at me. “I couldn’t stand by, knowing the two of you were locked away.” He hands her a thick hide coat.

Morgana’s jaw clenches, her gaze lowers to the ground. She takes the coat and shrugs it on.

Emrys smiles and jerks his head. “Come on. Sneaking back out won’t be easy.”

We creep through the castle nearly silently, pausing often to catch our breaths. Morgana and I are weak, and Emrys seems to be as well. His back is hunched, which brings his eye level down to Morgana’s, and he has a slight swaying, hobbling gait. But he seems to have a sense for our path, and for whoever roams the halls in the dead of night. Morgana gathers me close to her when we rest, her frame trembling from either fright or cold.

Finally, we come through a long dark corridor to a padlocked, rusted door. Emrys whispers an incantation, and the chains break and the door blows open. The wind howls through, bring freezing snow with it.

Emrys turns back to us. “The storm is still going,” he says.

“Aithusa and I won’t make it,” Morgana cries, “we’re too weak.”

He grabs her shoulder. “You will make it,” he says, “If I have to carry you both myself.”

He turns and strides out into the storm. I stick close to Morgana’s side as we follow, and Emrys gestures to the door--it closes with a bang behind us.

He nearly disappears in the swirling snow, but cuts a path for us that we follow. Morgana stumbles against the wind, her black hair whipping around.

Finally, we reach a line of trees, and the wind drops but doesn’t die. Now we can hear the clamor of bells in the air.

“They know we’ve escaped,” Morgana says under her breath.

“S-stay here,” Emrys says, and walks back a few paces. He holds out his hands and says something I can’t quite recognize, stands there for a few moments, and comes back to us. “Keep moving,” he says gruffly, and we let the forest swallow us.

The air around us begins to lighten before Emrys finally calls for a stop. Morgana leans heavily against a tree, and he ignores her and grumbles to himself, squinting through the trees.

“Are we... lost?” Morgana gasps out.

“No, no--here we are.” He wades through the snow, plunges his hand into the base of a hill, and lifts up. Snow shifts off of what seems to be a sort of canvas, and Emrys waves at us. “Come on, get in!”

Morgana collapses, and I hesitate. My legs tremble from exhaustion.

“I’ll get her,” Emrys snaps, “Get inside.”

I slither in. In the center of the small space sits a gently glowing orange stone, which gives off heat. The room is warm, and the floor is padded with pine boughs. We seem to be bivouacked against a hill. It’s barely big enough for the three of us, especially with the bundles of cloth in the corner. I press myself against the cloth wall as Emrys re-emerges, dragging Morgana. He practically tosses her into the room.

“I need to cover our tracks,” he says, “I’ll be back.” And with a gust of cold air, he’s gone.

Unsteadily, I do my best to use some of the cloths to get Morgana more comfortable, and move her closer to the warming stone.

Emrys crawls back in, panting. “Ah. Well done, Aithusa. We need to make sure she doesn’t have frostbite. Can you get her shoes off?”

Her shoes are partially frozen. I can’t get them off. He hurries over and presses the warming stone against them until they can come off. Her feet don’t look quite right--purple, in some places black.

He hisses. “Damn. Let’s see, what was that spell…?” He hands me the warming stone. “Hold that against her hands, I need to try a few things.”

I am then able to rest a bit as he holds Morgana’s feet, and I hold her hands. He whispers strings of incantations. Morgana’s breathing steadies as she’s slowly warmed up, and color begins to return to her cheeks, though she’s still so pale in the dim light of the glow of the warming stone. Additional pale daylight ekes in sideways through a hole in the side of the tent, providing air to us.

“Ah. There we go.” Emrys finally sets her feet down, hands visibly shaking. “She’s out of danger.” He crawls over to the mussed up stack of cloths, and pulls out a canteen and a hunk of whitish food. “Eat this, drink some water, and leave the canteen by her head in case she wakes up soon. I need… Sarrum’s men won’t find us, we’re very well hidden. I need to rest, and then we can think about real food.” He waits a beat, looking at me. “You should rest, too,” he says pointedly, and I obediently curl up beside Morgana. The food is cheese, but noticeably fresher than cheese I’ve had in the past, and it’s soft enough that it doesn’t hurt to chew.

Sarrum’s men won’t find us. That has to mean we won’t be back to the Pit. And Morgana’s out of danger. We’re not going to die. We’re going to live. I repeat these things to myself as sleep takes me.

I wake up to the sound of unfamiliar snoring. Morgana is sitting up, her back turned to me. She is watching Emrys, or the warming stone. Emrys lies on his back, puffs of breath stir his white moustache. I nudge Morgana’s arm.

She turns and looks at me. Her eyes are a little glazed over, and I gingerly pick up the canteen in my mouth and put it in her hands. She drinks automatically, coughs, and strokes my head.

“You alright, love?” she says softly.

I nod, and then jerk my chin at her.

“Me too. Just a bit sore.” she draws her knees up to her chest, and her healed bare feet poke out of the bottom of her dress.

We gaze into each other’s eyes, and I can see she’s afraid as usual, but there’s a glimmer of hope there. Perhaps a fear of the unknown.

“I’m going to protect you,” she says. She used to say this often, but it’s a phrase that I haven’t heard for a while.

I hand her some cheese.

She smiles.

Emrys wakes up a short time later, and barely glances at us before he starts rummaging through his rucksack.

“Food,” he mutters, and hands Morgana bread and cheese, cheese for me, bread and cheese for him.

“Aithusa will eat anything,” Morgana says cautiously.

“Gonna boil some jerky for him so he can chew it easily,” Emrys says, and gets out a small cauldron, throws a few brown bits in it, and mutters an incantation over it. The room is instantly filled with the smell of cooked and seasoned meat, plus a blast of warmth.

He scoops the meat into a shallow bowl for me and puts it in front of me. It’s delicious, and soft enough for my aching teeth to get a hold of.

“I assume you two didn’t eat much? You look to be skin and bones.” He’s finally looking at Morgana, but his expression is guarded.

“That’s right,” she says, looking at him evenly.

“We need to get some meat on your bones, but can’t do it all at once, otherwise you’ll both be sick.”

“Why are you doing this, Emrys?”

“Honestly?” he leans forward a bit. “I’m hoping to make an ally of you, Morgana. Maybe a friend’s too much to hope for, after all we’ve been through. But that would be nice, as well, wouldn’t it?” he smiles.

She doesn’t smile back. “So, you want to use us. For what?”

“Camelot.”

Her eyebrows raise, and I see an interested gleam in her eyes. The meat is gone, and my stomach is uncomfortably full.

“That is,” he continues, “I want to spread the peace of Camelot throughout the known world. But we’ll never be able to achieve peace if King Arthur continues to fight against magic. He needs magical allies, powerful ones. He needs us.” He gestures at me as well, and I raise my head and exchange a look with Morgana.

Morgana reaches out and runs a hand down my neck. “You’ve done us… an incredible favor. I owe you a debt,” she says. “And I appreciate your candor. But,” her lips curl back, “I hate Arthur. You know this. I cannot change how I feel, and I will not help you, or him, spread the persecution of Camelot.”

“Camelot’s changing,” Emrys says, heat coming into his voice, “We can help that change. I know we can.”

“Arthur would kill us on sight,” Morgana spits. “He’s like his father in that way. You can’t undo all the wrongs that have been done against him. He’ll never trust us.”

“Or, you’ll never trust him?”

Morgana goes still, gazing over my head. “No. I won’t.”

Emrys sighs, and is silent for a long moment. “Very well. I… may yet be forced to kill you, Morgana, in order to defend my King. But,” he holds up a hand as Morgana starts to speak, “That is a future that I hope with all my heart does not come to pass. And to start to undo some of the wrongs that have been made against you, I want to help you. Will you let me, at least, let’s say, for a year?”

She frowns at him. “A year? How?”

“There’s a small hut beneath the shadow of a mountain. Aithusa might be able to take up residence in the caves there, once he’s grown a bit. But I want to help raise him--that’s what I get out of it, you see. I’m the last Dragonlord. Only one other person in the world knows where it is, and he won’t bother us. It’s safe. It’s away from people.”

“And after a year, you’ll leave us there alone, to live in peace?”

He’s silent, watching her. “If you are no longer a threat, then yes.”

“I don’t understand you, Emrys,” she says, “but I accept.”

He smiles with a bit of relief on his face, and she leans forward.

“But at the end of that year,” she says, “I might be the one who kills you.”

His smile doesn’t crack. “That would be about what I deserve.”

I look between the two of them. I’ve gotten better at reading human emotions, and neither of them look wholly afraid. More like, there’s a challenge in front of them, and they’re ready to rise and meet it.

I give a little trill, and hope that they understand that I’m here to help them meet whatever challenge this is.

We travel for many nights in a row, walking quietly as Emrys pauses periodically to cover our tracks. Sometimes the snow is melted enough that he doesn’t need to. Emrys and Morgana carry our food in rucksacks, but they don’t make me carry anything. I get to play in the snow alongside them as they walk, or rather, trudge along. Morgana has me start stretching out my wings whenever we take breaks, but that hurts.

“They’ll get better,” she insists, rubbing at the joints as I grumble, “we just need to keep working at it.”

Emrys and Morgana talk little to each other; there’s a sort of tension between them. So I start reaching out to Emrys, nudging him in a friendly way or chirping at him, just so Morgana knows I like him.

And what’s not to like about Emrys? He saved our lives. And he’s kind, if a little gruff about it. I can’t forget the worried way he looked at Morgana that first night when he was healing her feet. I wish I could tell Morgana about that.

I wish I could speak.

On the fifth or sixth night, we push on longer than usual, and I can feel my strength beginning to flag.

“Emrys, it’s nearly dawn,” Morgana says. Light is beginning to fill the air around us, reflecting off the snow so I can see better than I ever have before. Ice coats the branches of trees--it’s beautiful.

He turns back to us with an excited smile. “We’re nearly there.” He pauses and raises a hand, and the tracks behind us fill in. He gives a little wheezing laugh, tottering ahead. “Not much farther. There! See?”

We’ve broken through the line of trees. In the rising sun, there’s a valley with a frozen lake far below, and huge mountains.

“Pull,” I mutter experimentally. It was meant to come out as ‘it’s beautiful’, but Morgana seems to understand. She rests a hand on my head. Her eyes are shining with some expression caught between wonder and gratitude, but when she sees Emrys grinning at her, she steels her expression.

“It’s nice,” she admits, “but what about the hut you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes. This way.” He steps into snow that sinks him up to the hip, and Morgana gives a little sound of surprise and grabs him before he falls in face-first.

#mergana #merlin/morgana #aithusa #bbc merlin #fanfic #my writing #yeah I know this fandom's old #but like #I'm STILL mad about it

[writeblrfantasy]

a king and his knight | part 2

the prince made that face of confusion again. “i’m sorry?”

“the enemy will be here soon. i want you out of the castle before they arrive.”

“shouldn’t you be out fighting with my brother’s men? they have everything under control. you shouldn’t be here.”

“your brother’s men and the enemy will wipe each other out. i don’t want you anywhere near the fighting. i want to keep you safe.” the knight swallowed, clutching his helmet tighter under his arm. “i know a place. please come with me?”

his heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he awaited the prince’s answer. the knight was surprised he hadn’t broken his composure yet.

“okay,” the prince said. “okay. give me a moment to gather my things.”

the knight watched anxiously out the window for signs of fighting, but he could only hear it echoed in the distance, slowly growing louder. the prince slung a small bag over his shoulder, and in his other hand, the straps, the books the knight had gifted cinched within them. the knight carefully schooled his expression.

“would you like me to carry those?”

“they’re not that heavy, thank you,” the prince said. “you don’t need to.”

that sounded like politeness instead of a firm no. suppressing a smile, the knight said, “are you sure? i’d be happy to.”

the prince hesitated, then said, “okay. i--thank you.”

the knight had never been happier to juggle his helmet, the prince’s bag, and the straps, as well as his own provisions.

there wasn’t a soul in the hallways, all the knights were out and the servants and residents had either fled or were hidden away in their own rooms. the knight tapped down a spark of anger that no one had thought about his prince’s wellbeing. he should’ve been evacuated to a faraway fortress with a score of knights to protect him, but the knight was secretly, selfishly pleased that he was the one who got to do it. wasn’t this what he’d always dreamed of, protecting the knight, carrying his things?

the knights had taken all the horses but a few. the knight pondered his options. “if you don’t mind, i think it’d be safer to take just one horse. but if you want your own, that wouldn’t be too hard to manage.” it would be, as he’d constantly be looking over his shoulder at the prince and watching out for threats, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t also have a selfish desire to ride with the prince.

“whatever you think is best,” said the prince. the knight helped him mount the tall brown horse that was big enough for two, and followed in front of him after filling the saddlebags. the prince’s arms went around his waist, and the knight knew it was just so he wouldn’t fall, but his breath still hitched. even through his armor, he could feel that the prince was cold, from his freezing hands to his chest through their clothes. that fur coat and the prince was still cold? he concentrated on the terrain instead of saying anything and making a fool of himself.

the prince remained quiet as well except to ask once, “where are we going?” the knight told him they were going to a small cabin that he’d found hidden in the countryside as a boy. he’d never taken anyone else there, but he didn’t say that.

he knew they were running away for a grim reason, and that this was no reason to be happy, but the peaceful, quiet air of the country and the warm sun contrasting the prince’s cold arms around his waist felt better than anything he’d had in years.

“how long are we going to hide here?” the prince asked when they got there after a few hours. the knight caught him as he slid down the tall horse, and had to restrain himself from letting his hands linger.

“a few days, until the fighting ends,” said the knight, carrying the prince’s things inside.

the prince’s bootsteps followed his. “is there something more i should’ve done than flee like a coward? should i have helped my father and brother in some way?”

how to answer that? “no, i don’t think so. your father and brother wouldn’t want you dead.”

the prince shook his head and took in the small house. it was sparse, with only a wooden table, two chairs, a counter, and a bed with an old batch of furs. dust coated every surface. the knight hadn’t had a chance to come here in months since the time he’d stopped here to rest on his long journey to the beach.

“i believed them when they said everything would be fine,” said the prince. “i had no reason not to. but you’re so confident.”

“i’ve seen things like this before,” the knight said. “everyone makes mistakes, let their greed and their pride outweigh their logic. your father and brother have never lost a battle before, why would they lose now? but i have seen the other army at work, and i know what they’re capable of. we’re lucky they have matching numbers instead of greater. you did nothing wrong.”

the knight waited, wondering if the prince would say anything else, but he didn’t.

the knight made them a fire outside the cabin and a dinner of heated jerky and fresh bread and cheese. he filled their waterskins from the river nearby, but he wasn’t brave enough to attempt a stew yet. the prince seemed to like the humble meal just the same, and the knight got to admire the reflections on his eyes in the firelight, the golden light of sunset in his hair.

the knight settled on the floor beside the bed, slightly cold without a blanket and knowing his back would kill him after the sleep on the hard floor, but this was a small sacrifice to make. when the prince climbed into the bed and saw where he was, he said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“uh,” the knight said, unsure of how to answer.

“there’s room for both of us. what kind of royal would i be if i let my knight sleep on the hard floor with no blanket?”

my knight. the knight tried not to let that go to his head. he knew sleeping in that bed would kill him more than the hard floor would kill his back, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse. he was grateful for the dim candlelight, hopefully hiding the blush he could feel overtaking his face.

“you’re not seriously going to sleep in your armor,” said the prince in horror as the knight placed one knee on the bed. he knew and saw now just how small this bed really was. there wasn’t room for them to sleep apart.

“knights in the field are required to incase a threat strikes in the middle of the night,” he said with a shrug, struggling to keep his voice casual.

“well, you’re not in the field. no one is going to find us here, they’re all too busy fighting my brother. if they even know or care i exist, anyway.” the prince’s face contorted into a scowl that the knight desperately wanted to smooth out. “take your armor off. it’s cold.”

you’re cold, the knight thought, but obeyed. he felt like he’d taken the armor off of his heart, vulnerable to the prince.

he still slept with his sword propped against the wall, inches from his head, and was hesitant to close his eyes, somewhat because he wanted to take in the beauty in front of him, since he knew he’d likely never get another chance. the prince slept facing him, which did a number on his nerves, and his long eyelashes covered his cheeks, his hair adorably mussed. the prince called the knight out for sleeping in his armor, but he slept in his blue coat. the knight felt like his heart would burst, and he was tense with the effort of keeping himself and the prince from touching,

the prince, to the knight’s disbelief, cuddled up to his chest in his sleep. was he asleep? “warm,” he murmured. “you’re so warm.” he burrowed  as close as he could, tucking his face and his cold nose into the knight’s neck--how was he still so cold? and grabbing the front of the knight’s shirt with both hands. he was cold all over, his legs brushing the knight’s, attempting to intertwine them. the knight took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, praying for some relief. what was he supposed to do here?

he arranged the furs on top of the prince and himself, keeping his arms limply by his sides, though they itched to touch. the prince seemed to be taunting him, he kept wriggling, unable to get comfortable. the knight was happy to be used a pillow, and it was clear he wasn’t going to get any sleep. he finally gave into temptation and wrapped his arms around the prince, moving onto his back so that the prince was laying on his chest. he was certain the heat in his cheeks was there to stay. at least the prince began to warm up, and under the smell of horse and dust, the prince smelled like something sweet, probably soap. this was where the knight wanted the prince, close, where he could protect him.

eventually morning came, and the knight indeed did not get a wink of sleep. to make matters worse, the prince clung onto him when the knight tried to get up. it took every ounce of willpower he had to struggle free of the prince’s grip and plant his feet onto the cold floor. the prince clutched the knight’s pillow, making the knight’s heart clench.

the prince rose a bit later, coming to sit by the fire the knight had built. he was buried in his coat and shivering. the prince ached to take him back into his arms. “you look tired,” the prince said.

“uh, bad dream,” the knight said. “couldn’t sleep.”

“oh. alright.” he looked around. “see? you didn’t need your armor. not a threat in sight.”

none but you.

part 3, the last part, will be up sometime today, i just don’t want to put everything in one post. thank you all for reading again, i haven’t had so much fun writing something like in a long time.  this type of story is the type that made me giddy as a child and makes me just as giddy now, i will never get tired of fluffy gay fairytales.

#writing #writeblr #writing shorts #fantasy writing #my writing #lgbt fantasy #fantasy writeblr #lgbt writing #lila's short stories

[ghost-town-story]

The words had been blurring in front of James’s eyes for hours now, but he stubbornly kept trying to read. Across from him, hidden by the divider, James could hear Will steadily making his way through their pile of books. With every page flip he heard, James’s guilt and frustration with himself grew. If only their positions were reversed. Will would have figured out their situation in less than a week, tops. 

Will’s steady page flipping paused. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” James shook his head in a vain attempt to focus and turned the page to at least try to keep up the illusion he was actually reading and not just staring blindly at the stupid pages. “Just tired.” 

Will hummed almost absently, and James felt the ghost of a nudge to his ankle, Will’s own distracted way of encouraging James to keep going. 

And James tried. He really did. But he’d never been great at studying in the first place, and after the incident it had only grown exponentially worse. Nothing James could do would stop the words from swimming tauntingly in front of his eyes. 

“James?” 

James gasped sharply and whirled around, grabbing at the study divider to both steady himself and cover his books. “Aiden?” 

“It’s late.” As Aiden moved closer, James stood to prevent him from seeing across to the other side. Not that Will was dumb enough to still be visible, but he couldn’t risk glancing back to make sure. “What are you still doing here?” Aiden continued

James bit his lip, wondering if he could subtly nudge one of his “safe” books on top of the one he was trying to read without attracting Aiden’s attention. “Homework?” The word came out sounding more like a question than he’d like it to. 

“Rather late for that, isn’t it,” Aiden said with a wry smile. 

“What are you doing here?” James countered, trying to deflect Aiden’s curiosity. 

“A series of guesses,” Aiden admitted. “I stopped by your room to see you, but you weren’t there, so if I wanted to track you down, that meant you were either here, or out in the gardens.” 

James blinked. “How’d you know I was here?” 

“Lucky guess,” Aiden laughed. “That and I figured the library would be faster to check first than the gardens.” 

“Oh.” James couldn’t stop the dumb questions that kept spilling from his lips. “Why were you looking for me?” 

Aiden smirked. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Oh.” Even after all this time, Aiden’s flirting kept knocking James off guard. Especially considering the fact that half the time he felt like he didn’t deserve the attention Aiden gave him. “I--uh--” 

“It’s late.” Aiden took a few steps closer to James. “How about you leave that for the morning, and I can help you out then, hm?” 

As Aiden moved close enough to potentially see what James had been reading, James moved abruptly to block his view of the desk. 

Aiden stopped and tilted his head. “Just what are you hiding James?” 

“I--I’m not hiding anything.” James hated being caught off-guard like this. It made any attempt of lying nearly impossible. 

“You’re being awfully jumpy and secretive,” Aiden countered. 

“I--Aiden, I--” 

James was cut off by a sudden growl from behind him. Both Aiden and James looked to see that Anvindr had woken up and was now snarling softly at Aiden, grey eyes sharp. 

James drew in a sharp breath, swallowing the familiar name before he could spill that particular secret. “Calm down Ani,” he said instead. 

Anvindr shot James a fully unamused look before continuing to growl. 

“Now now Anvindr,” Aiden said, sounding fully unimpressed at Anvindr’s display. “You heard James. Play nice.” 

Anvindr’s growl deepened. 

“Anvindr!” James hissed. “Be quiet, please. You’re going to get us caught.” 

James didn’t need any sort of bond with Anvindr to know exactly how he and Will would have responded if they could talk. If anybody is going to get us caught, it’ll be him. 

“Anvindr!” When Anvindr didn’t let up, James turned back to Aiden. “I’m sorry, he’s being ridiculous and I don’t--” 

“It’s fine,” Aiden cut him off with a smile. “You do have a point though. The librarians like walking through every so often to make sure all the students are out, and considering how long you’ve been here unnoticed, they’re probably due to come through here pretty soon.” 

James cursed softly under his breath, half turning to survey the mess that was his desk. “Hush Anvindr,” he said distractedly, running his hands through his hair. “I need to--I can’t think.” 

Thankfully, Anvindr went silent at that, though he still looked half a second away from attacking Aiden. Aiden just regarded the wolf with a little smirk. James didn’t have the energy to deal with their animosity right now. 

“I--I can’t--” Dimly, James was aware that he’d begun shaking at some point. Apparently his ability to deal with stressful situations had also deteriorated since the incident. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and James couldn’t help but flinch, a sharp gasp tearing its way free from his throat. 

“Hey.” Aiden’s voice was low and soothing. “A little trick I’ve learned. Obviously we don’t have time to run all these books back to their shelves, plus you probably don’t want to have to look for them again in the morning, hm? But if you stack them neatly in a corner of the desk, the librarians will leave them alone, and they’ll be right here for you in the morning. Okay?” 

It took James a moment to comprehend Aiden’s words, but when he finally did he nodded his understanding, the movement just as sharp and jerky as his breathing still was. 

“Do you want my help?” Aiden offered. 

“No,” James managed to gasp out. 

“Okay.” Aiden took a few steps back, obviously not wanting to press the subject of what James was hiding when he was apparently two steps away from completely breaking down. 

As James closed his book with shaking hands, Anvindr began growling again, and a moment later his teeth closed over James’s wrist, stopping him from doing any more. James looked down at the wolf, and Anvindr slowly and deliberately shook his head. 

“Ani, I--I can’t,” James whispered, closing his eyes before his eyesight could blur any further. “Please let go, I have to--we have to go before we get caught.” 

Anvindr snarled again, yanking at James’s arm. He obviously didn’t believe a word Aiden had been saying. 

“Ani, please.” Even with his eyes closed, it felt like the room was spinning around James, and he gripped the desk tightly with his free hand to stay upright. He could barely draw enough breath to plead with Anvindr. “I--I can’t--I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t--I can’t do this anymore tonight I’m sorry.” 

“Let go Anvindr.” Compared to James’s panicky gasps, Aiden’s voice was strong and clear. 

Anvindr snarled in response. 

“You’re really going to force him to keep going when you’ve been doing nothing but napping all night?” Aiden said derisively. “Let. Him. Go.” 

James shook his head, but he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to step between the two. He really couldn’t handle this. Why did his maybe-sorta-boyfriend and his twin brother/brother’s familiar have to hate each other with such a burning passion? 

Anvindr let out a surprisingly human-sounding scoff, his grip on James’s wrist not loosening for even a moment. 

Aiden sighed in annoyance. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Mostly because it would upset James and he doesn’t need that shit right now. But what he also doesn’t need is his goddamned familiar forcing him to keep studying this late at night when he’s obviously in no state to do so and there’s a significant chance of him getting in trouble for it. So tell me Ani, which do you value more? James’s wellbeing, or keeping him here?” 

There was a pause, then Anvindr released James’s wrist. Before James could even think of moving, he felt the ghost of a hand brush across his shoulders accompanied by a quiet voice. “Ditch him as soon as you can,” Will murmured. “I’ll let you know if he’s telling the truth or not.” 

“I’m sorry,” James mumbled. There was no response from Will, but a moment later there was another touch to his shoulders, this time so much more real. 

“It’s okay,” Aiden said quietly. “Get that neatened up, then we can head to bed.” 

James gave him a shaky nod, finally opening his eyes again. The room was still swaying badly around him, so James gritted his teeth and stacked the books as quickly as he could, making sure one of the “safe” books ended up on top. Then again, he could have totally mistaken the binding and accidentally put one of the most telling books on top of the pile, because there was no way he could stand to decipher the blur the words had decided to turn into. James found he was almost beyond caring though, except for the thread of anxiety that wound its way around his lungs and squeezed tight. 

Finally done, James took a risk and crouched down, shaking Raidyn gently. “C’mon, bedtime.” 

Raidyn yawned hugely but got to his feet, nuzzling James and licking at his face. For some reason, the familiar action caused more tears to spring to James’s eyes, and he muffled a curse in the thick fur around Raidyn’s neck. 

“Come on.” Aiden gently grabbed James’s arm and tugged him back to his feet. “Just a little longer, then you can sleep, I promise.” 

I’m supposed to ditch you and come back here. James let Aiden pull him along without a fight. I have to come back and try and figure out a way to fix this mess we’re in. James could hardly lie his way out of a tight situation without half a panic attack. How was he supposed to fix things? This was supposed to be Will’s area of expertise. Like everything else. He should have been the one to survive, not you. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were torn from James’s throat before he could stop them. 

“Hey, nothing to apologize for.” Aiden glanced over his shoulder and shot James what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Everything was still blurry and swaying. 

James shook his head, but the only words that seemed to be able to leave his mouth were “I’m sorry.” 

Aiden squeezed James’s hand as they finally reached the dorms. They walked right past James’s room, but James couldn’t really admit to being surprised when Aiden practically pushed him into Aiden’s room. He was a little surprised when Aiden hauled Raidyn in after them and closed the door in Anvindr’s face, eliciting a yelp from the wolf that James could hear even through the closed door. 

“Rude,” James mumbled. 

“I know you don’t like us fighting, but I don’t think I can sleep calmly knowing he’s in the same room as you tonight,” Aiden said, pushing James down onto the edge of his bed. “Do you want to change? Or is it sleeping in regular clothes for you tonight?” 

James was no longer paying attention though. Instead, his mind had decided to focus on the fact that he was ruining the little nest Aiden liked to make with his sheets and far more pillows than the school had probably intentionally provided. Aiden was usually so particular about his bed’s layout, going so far as to pout and tell James off whenever he messed it up too much, and now he was really fucking it up and Aiden was going to be so upset with him--

James tried to stand up, but was stopped both by his own legs giving out on him and Aiden pushing him back down. 

“Okay, too much decision making?” Aiden guessed. “I’m not keen on trying to get you changed when you’re shaking this bad, so if you have any objections tell me now.” 

“I’m sorry.” James’s voice was barely above a wheeze as he tried to fight the creeping feeling of dread that was clawing at his throat. 

Aiden pushed James until he was laying down. “Get comfortable,” he ordered. 

James tried, but he was only barely able to pull his legs within the boundaries of the “nest” before he was shaking too badly to have any success with moving. Aiden hummed softly, nudging James until he was at least laying properly in bed. Then, to James’s surprise, Aiden climbed into bed and settled right on top of James. 

“I--what?” James gasped. 

“Shh.” Aiden turned his head. “Hey Rai, get up here.” 

Raidyn, always eager for cuddles and hogging the bed, jumped up eagerly. 

“Lay across his legs for me, okay?” 

James could see his own confusion echoed in his familiar, but Raidyn just gave the wolfish equivalent of a shrug and flopped down across James’s legs. 

“What are you doing?” James managed to gasp out. 

“A couple of things.” Aiden pulled the blankets over them, taking care to leave Raidyn’s nose uncovered. “One, stopping you from giving in to that dumb thought of yours to go back to the library once you think I’m asleep. Second, having Sora just lay on me makes me feel better when I’m having a bad day, so maybe it’ll be helpful for you. With me and Rai I mean, not Sora.” 

James let out a gasping laugh at that, but as Aiden wrapped the blankets around his shoulders and finally laid down on James’s chest, he couldn’t deny feeling his breathing ease some with the pressure. 

“And third,” Aiden said in a low voice, “cuddling you to sleep.” 

“Aiden, I--” 

“Shh.” Aiden propped himself up on his elbows for long enough to kiss James before setting back on his chest. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay.” James didn’t have the strength to argue. And Aiden was warm against his chest, and Raidyn had passed out nearly the second he’d laid down again, and James was tired of fighting. 

So James closed his eyes and tucked his shaking hands under the hem of Aiden’s shirt and just breathed.

#writing #in which i write #writersociety #snippets #magic au #tw panic attack #kinda sorta i'm bad at tagging but figured it's better to tag than not #hey remember a while back when i posted two snippets and said if i wrote a third one the au would get tagged? #yup here we are #me writing this looking at will: you've fucked up a perfectly good james. look at him. he has uncalled for survivor's guilt

[foxtophat]

hahah well here i am back on my 10k word bullshit

promise the next chapter is way shorter, john is just so fucking over the top that i spend so much time just trying to organize his thoughts for you guys lmfao. what a chad, right?????

anyway, i hope you guys enjoy nick and john bitching at each other, because that’s pretty much the theme of this chapter.  i really enjoyed writing it, which should tell you everything you need to know about how bad a day john is about to have

as usual, i hope that you enjoy! if you do, please consider throwing me a bone in the form of a kudos, comment or reblog -- i eat those up like turkish delight, nom nom nom

also as usual, i got the fic text beneath a readmore for my friends who like to stay on one page.   no matter what your reading experience, i will try to accommodate for you!!!

i hope you guys are all having a good day and that it continues to be good even after i’m done giving you fic to read!! that’s... all that’s all i got

John had known offering his help was a mistake as soon as he'd done it. Suggesting that he knew where hidden supplies might be was obviously setting himself up for colossal failure, but he'd had to think on his feet. He hadn't wanted to build up Kim's hopes, or encourage her to talk to Nick about it. All he'd wanted was for her to go back upstairs so he could sneak outside without her haranguing him for it. Then he'd seen how much it had reassured her, and the obligation to follow through had set in. Now, no matter how obvious a failure the endeavor may become, he has no choice but to push forward with the plan.

That's why John doesn't protest when Nick suggests they go sooner than later. He probably should, because it's been too hot to dig for the past week already, but the sooner he disappoints Kim, the less disappointment he'll incur. None of them will have time to blow things out of proportion. The cache he has in mind had been buried by Jacob a little under a mile outside of town, in some unused patch of farmland. They'll be back before sundown, and the sting of returning empty-handed won't last too unbearably long.

Of course, when the morning comes to go look for the cache, John can barely manage to drag himself out of bed. If he'd thought yesterday's heat was unbearable, then he doesn't know what he'd call today. The sun has barely risen and it's already baked his room, leaving him tangled up in sweaty sheets. Summer has always been John's least favorite month, even before the Collapse, but there has to be something wrong for them to be going through a second week of a heatwave. At least blaming the nuclear apocalypse for their shitty weather makes him feel slightly better.

He can't tell if he managed to sleep, but from the way his head aches as he slowly rises, John is willing to bed he failed that task yet again. God, what he wouldn't give for some fucking Ambien. Even a good, stiff drink would help, but John's shot tolerance hasn't recovered from his last encounter for post-apocalyptic liquor, so that's out of the question. Just his luck — he's going to have to suffer a whole day around Nick without much keeping him upright.

Even in the relatively cool shade downstairs, John finds himself blinking sweat out of his eyes. It's a struggle for him to focus on anything besides how miserable he is. If only he could blame it on trauma — but no, he's just never handled prolonged heat well. Montana might not have Georgia's overwhelming humidity, but the temperature climbs twenty degrees higher, and summer out here never seems to fucking end . That, combined with his pitiful heat tolerance, is probably why he's running on maybe two hours of sleep.

There are a handful of raw carrots on his plate, next to a few strips of old jerky that even Nick is leaving for last. It's going to be a long, long day, and he's not going to be getting much else until dinner, but John can't scrounge up any sort of appetite. He hasn't been hungry for what feels like days now, and his stomach barely tolerates anything more than water.

"Hey," Carmina asks, leaning into John's peripheral vision, "Can I have that?"

John doesn't know which part of his meal she's eying, but he slides the plate her way regardless. Kim watches him do it, openly frowning at him because she's also seen him picking around his food at every meal. So far, she hasn't said anything to him about it. Why would she? His lack of an appetite means that Carmina gets to have more. She can't possibly complain about that.

Nick is more vocal about his concern, furrowing his brow as he asks for the second time this morning, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," John replies once again. He's too tired to be exasperated, but he wishes Nick would knock it the fuck off, at least until after they leave. The last thing he needs right now is for Kim to hold some sort of intervention. Just in case, he qualifies his yes , choosing the most honest excuse he can this early in the morning. "I'm exhausted," he says. "I didn't get much sleep."

"Do you really wanna do this today, then? I mean, you said this thing was buried, and I don't wanna get stuck digging it out myself."

"I won't be any better rested tomorrow," John sighs, suppressing the yawn that tries to follow.

Nick doesn't look pleased, but he relents with a shrug. It isn't like they're going somewhere particularly dangerous, and even if they do happen to run into trouble, Fall's End will be within eyesight. The wildlife won't be much of a problem, and drifters are more common in the eastern part of the county, moving in from the 94 and occasionally trying to bully their way through. John's confident that they won't run into any trouble, even if he winds up passing out mid-dig.

John lets the rest of breakfast wash around him as he counts the minutes until they leave. He feels distinctly separated from the moment, the Rye family nothing more than white noise going in one ear and out the other. Silently dissociating around their idyllic family unit is still the norm, of course, but at least today he can blame it on too much heat and not enough sleep. Maybe he'll be able to get some rest in the truck, assuming Nick doesn't decide to test the suspension over every goddamn pothole.

Nick reluctantly says goodbye to Kim after breakfast, repeating it two or three times as Kim and Carmina see him off from the porch. John doesn't remember Nick as an anxious person; he doesn't know if there had always been long, uneasy goodbyes on the porch before work. The Collapse has turned most everybody into a paranoid mess, but maybe John just never knew Nick very well to begin with. He doesn't want to ask.

"Okay," Nick says once they're both buckled in, the windows cranked down. "You said we're looking for a silo outside of town?"

John waits until the truck lurches into drive to respond. "The silo was a convenient marker, but I doubt it's still there. I know where to look, though — assuming the landscape hasn't changed too dramatically."

"Well, let's hope so. I don't want to dig around for nothing."

"We both know who's going to be doing the digging."

"I thought it was gonna be you, until you nearly passed out at breakfast. Probably gonna leave me with the hard work like the selfish prick you are."

"I'll be fine," John replies, yawning unabashedly. He rests his head next to the open window, closing his eyes against the hot wind. "I've done more with less energy."

"Yeah, sure," Nick says, rolling his eyes hard enough that John can hear it in his voice. He waits a few beats for John to return the gentle banter, but John can't muster up the energy. He needs to save it all for the dig. It's going to be hard enough on Nick, who manages to sleep at night. John isn't expecting to have much left for anything else once this is all over. It'll be a miracle if he makes it back home.

Quickly figuring out that John isn't in the mood to talk, Nick falls quiet. There isn't a radio station to listen to, so he hums under his breath occasionally, gently swerving along the cracked asphalt to avoid potholes. He's usually happy to bounce through them, but John knows better than to think it's for his sake.

John opens his eyes briefly, just in time to see the washed out turn that once led towards the Ranch. He hasn't been back yet. He doesn't think he could bear asking the Ryes for permission, let alone see the place rotting in a field. Despite repeated assurances to Joseph that he didn't care about his stronghold, he had hand-picked the furniture, the paint, the bedding — all of it — and he had spared little expense. Now, all of his pride and poorly spent money has been abandoned, probably picked clean by scavengers over the harshest years. After all, the security systems he had dropped thousands of dollars into hadn't been able to stop a cop wielding a shotgun — he doubts they would do much to deter anybody now.

He should have listened to Jacob when he'd said it was a waste of time. Of course, John hadn't paid much attention to anything Jacob said unless it was directly related to the Project. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to connect with his oldest brother, but he doubts that he would have made it to this side of the Collapse if he had.

Once he starts thinking about Jacob, it's hard to stop. It's not much of a surprise that his oldest brother is on his mind, considering how often his dreams are haunted by Jacob's presence. Thankfully, with the sun in the sky and the wind on his face, John's more inclined to remember him for who he was, instead of imagining him as the specter of his nightmares. There are no dark corners for him to lurk in, and for once John imagines him as the quiet, withdrawn man he was.

It might have been almost ten years ago, but John can still remember riding along in Jacob's truck, listening to him hum along with the radio. The heat had broken late in August that year, so while the heat had been awful when Jacob had picked him up, it hadn't wiped John completely out. Not that it would have mattered — Jacob had no patience for John's distaste of heat, and he would have forced the issue regardless.

He'd gotten a brisk call fifteen minutes before Jacob showed up at the Ranch, telling him to be ready. John hadn't known what to be ready for, but he'd stopped asking questions by this point — when Joseph or Jacob arrived unannounced, he would only follow after them and do whatever they asked. As long as he did that, they would mostly leave him to his own devices. It had been more freedom than John had ever had in his life.

"You're positive nobody saw them," Jacob reiterates from the driver's seat. The memory of his voice bounces like an echo in John's skull.

"Of course I am," John remembers saying. He remembers being exasperated. Frustrated that even Jacob didn't trust him with menial tasks anymore. He had understood Joseph's distrust, had it explained plainly to him, but Jacob wouldn't even give him the chance to earn back the trust he'd somehow managed to lose. "Not that it matters," he remembers adding. "What can they do? It's our property. We could bury a plane there and they wouldn't be able to stop us."

Jacob's heavy sigh belies his irritation. "That's not always going to be the case. We don't know how the Reaping will go. Or the Collapse. You don't know what will be the last straw."

He'd been stressed. In two weeks, the Reaping would begin, but for now, Jacob's only concern is maintaining a steady flow of willing and able soldiers. He'd been irritable all the time, ever since he and Eli had fallen out, getting short with everybody, even Joseph, who allowed Jacob to be openly insubordinate even while punishing John for the same crime. The main problem in the weeks before the Reaping had been the slowing influx of soldiers making it through the trials. Lots of people had made it through at first. Nowadays, the conversion rate has dipped significantly. Jacob says it's because the people aren't strong enough, but John has a suspicion that it might have something to do with the Bliss, which has become more potent and arguably more toxic since Rachel's arrival as Faith. John hasn't brought up his concerns yet, because nobody has bothered to ask for his opinion. He will never get the chance to find out if he was right.

"John," Jacob's voice calls from the far away driver's seat. He sounds deeply, strangely concerned. "I'm trying to save you."

The words aren't right at all. John's body feels heavy in his seat, the hot air scratching at his face through the window. Where is he? They're on their way, but where?

The next thing Jacob says is achingly familiar, down to his tired inflection. "Joseph is worried about you," he says. "He still worries about your commitment."

It had been a warning, clear as day, and at the time it had filled John with a deep dread. But now, John feels nothing. Let Joseph be disappointed in him. Let him regret ever bringing John back into his life. John hopes it's a bitter pill he chokes on.

John had been on the defensive that day, scoffing loudly and snapping, "And yet, I'm the one converting the faithless." But the defensiveness is missing in the words. The people he'd been using like points against his brother are all dead now, and bragging about the things he'd done only roils his stomach.

"I don't think it's about converting people." Jacob reaches for the rear-view mirror, checking it for the umpteenth time as the truck trundles towards the distant silo. "Forget the religious bullshit for a minute. What we're doing, what's going to happen — we can't afford mistakes. We have to be prepared for every possibility. You understand that, don't you?"

"Nobody saw them," John sighs. "I promise ."

"Good," Jacob mutters. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out.

"Honestly, though. There are caches all over the county. I don't remember you being so particular about the last dozen drop points I organized."

At first, Jacob hadn't responded. John had thought at the time that it was because he was tired of having to explain his every move to someone as soft and short-sighted as John. He'd figured, as he always had, that Jacob saw him as nothing but the PR arm of the Project, kept around out of blood loyalty and nothing else. He would grimace whenever John mentioned atonement, mentioned his hard work, and John had suspected he thought it was beneath him.

But now John wonders if that's all there was to it.

"I'm trying to cover for every possibility," Jacob says. "That's all. It'd be good if you could help me."

"I did help," John retorts. "I do help. I do everything Joseph asks me to, and I don't complain about it. I don't complain when you order my men and me around, either, even though that was never part of the deal."

Jacob clicks his tongue against his teeth. He's checking the mirrors again, all of them. John remembers him checking the glove-box during their conversation, but he doesn't do that now. It hadn't mattered — there hadn't been anything in there — but John remembers it being very, very strange. The glove-box hangs open for a moment in his memory, as he looks through the windshield and spots the tall, bright red silo down the road.

"I wish you would plan ahead for yourself," Jacob says at last. "Stop taking orders and start taking initiative."

John huffs. "You've seen how well Joseph responds to that."

"Yeah," Jacob replies. John had been too arrogant to realize at the time that Jacob was commiserating with him, leaving him feeling deeply guilty now.

"He's convinced that the Reaping is going to begin any time now," John continues, ignoring Jacob's visible-in-hindsight unease. "Do we really have time to be burying barrels of ammunition? Or is this your newest plan to stick it to Eli?"

"It's for after the Reaping," Jacob says.

"A whole lot of good it does us this far from the bunkers."

Jacob had a real response for John, once. It had even satisfied him, at least enough to stop his complaining. But John doesn't remember what Jacob's reasoning had been; all he has is his exhausted brain struggling to stitch together the memory.

"There's so much you don't know. That you'll never find out." Jacob reaches out, his hand resting on John's shoulder, but there's no physical connection. John can't feel the weight of his hand, and for a dizzying moment the world around him turns smudged and blurry. There's a distinct melancholy in the words that Jacob never exhibited. "You know that I didn't believe any of it."

The weight on his shoulder comes out of nowhere, startling John awake as Nick calls his name. He kicks the dashboard as he jolts upright, and Nick leans back as he flings his hands out to steady himself.

"Shit," he gasps, grabbing the door handle. One disorienting glance is all John needs to realize where he is; Nick has pulled up just past the church, and the late summer heat of the apocalyptic landscape reasserts itself as reality once more.

"Sorry," Nick says. "I just, uh... need some directions from here."

"Yes," John replies. The urge to bolt from the truck is overwhelming, but John clings to the door and manages to stay in his seat. "Of course."

They sit for a minute before Nick awkwardly prompts, "Uh... Well?"

John desperately attempts to reorient himself, still stuck in the fog of his dream. "There should be a left turn up ahead. The silo was in a field on the right side of the road, just before the turnout before Larry Parker's house."

"God, talk about whack-jobs," Nick mutters as he pulls ahead. The intersection is mostly washed out now, barely distinguishable from the dunes that have formed over the fields, but Nick has a local's muscle memory. "I mean, I believe in aliens as much as the next guy, but Jesus . You hear what happened to him?"

"Not specifically. I assumed he was killed in the Reaping or the Collapse." Despite himself, John finds his curiosity piqued. "Why? Was I wrong?"

"I mean... I guess it's up to your interpretation." Nick doesn't bother to ease around the potholes now that John is awake, bumping them down along the cracked asphalt. "So, the way Dep told me, they went to go check up on Larry, y'know, make sure he's okay. Larry's got his weird-ass machines going, and he's talkin' about aliens and shit, as he usually is, and Dep keeps going, 'Larry, there's no time for aliens, there are cultists coming for you!' But, of course Larry pushes the point until Dep caves, like, 'Fine, let's fix the generator first, then we can run from the cult.'

"Except the cult rolled up right on top of them before they could patch everything up. Of course, Dep manages to clear them out, and Larry gets his machine working in the meantime. He says, 'help me get to Mars, Deputy!' and they figure, 'hey, might as well humor him.' I mean, what else can you do when the guy you're trying to evacuate insists he's got a fast pass to outer space?"

"Is this honestly what the Deputy was dealing with while we were in the middle of seizing the Valley and its resources?" John asks. He probably shouldn't be surprised, but really . Larry Parker's life couldn't possibly have been worth all the effort involved.

"I guess," Nick shrugs. "People were asking them to do all sorts of weird shit. So, anyway, Larry says so long to Dep and to Earth, and tells Dep to flip the switch. Dep decides that the sooner Larry realizes this isn't going to work, the better, so they turn the machine on the way Larry told them to, and, well, long story short, I guess the thing vaporized the poor guy."

However the story was supposed to end, that hadn't been what John expected. His disbelief is momentarily overwhelming, and he can't help but choke out, " Excuse me?"

Nick shrugs. "I mean, that's what Dep told me later. They were real bummed out about it, too. I guess that makes sense, since they felt responsible. But, at the same time... he said it was a teleporter, right? So maybe he wasn't vaporized at all. Maybe he really did get zapped to Mars."

"The choices are 'vaporized' or 'teleported to Mars'? Are you serious?"

"I guess Dep could have been bullshitting me, but it fits with what I remember about the guy."

John frowns. "I suppose either option is better than what happened to the rest of us," he says, "Although realistically, the man was one paranoid delusion away from assassinating a government official. I don't think he was nearly as technologically savvy as he professed himself to be."

"He wasn't that bad," Nick says as he shakes his head. "He was just some kook who believed in aliens more than people. And, well... I mean, if he really did make it to Mars, then we probably look like a bunch of assholes from wherever he's sitting." He sighs, then admits, "I wish I could've gone to Mars. I bet Kim would like it there."

" Why ?"

"I dunno, she always wanted to go on foreign trips and stuff. Can't get much more foreign than outer space." He hums thoughtfully, then says, "I guess she would've been pregnant, though, and if you can't fly with a pregnant lady, I bet you can't vaporize them either."

John takes a deep breath through his nose before he responds, reminding himself that he owes Nick his life. "That's a logical assumption," he manages to say, proud of his nearly-neutral delivery.

"Oh, shut up," Nick snaps, although he doesn't seem particularly upset by John's back-talk. "I'm just saying, if that's what would happen. It's not like I'm gonna go hot-wire the thing and test it out now ."

"I certainly hope not. There's no way I'm explaining that to the bloodthirsty mob that comes for me after you've disintegrated."

They've nearly reached the end of the road. John can see the T-shaped intersection coming up ahead, but he doesn't immediately recognize the right-hand field. A copse of pine trees have put down roots, and although John can see the skeletal framework of the hay storage, there's no sign of the silo that once marked the spot. John doesn't know if it was destroyed during the Reaping or in the Collapse. It doesn't really matter — everything it held has long since rotted away.

"Here?" Nick asks as they roll to the end of the road. John remembers Jacob slowing along the empty field; he had barely come to a stop to investigate the location. It had been around here that Jacob had checked the tilled soil for any hint at what lay underneath. He'd seemed content with how John's people had handled it, leaving the field as unassuming and untouched as they had found it.

If there had been any hint left behind in the silo or the hay storage, it's been wiped from the face of the planet. Long, sun-bleached panels of what used to be a silo lay scattered across the ground, weather-beaten past their use. Some pieces are pinned in place by the nine-year tree growth, never to be moved again. It's a struggle for John to envision the spot as it used to be, but there's no doubt that this is the right place.

"Yes," John says. "This is it."

Nick puts the truck in park and climbs out of the cab. John waits a moment longer, hoping to spot some hidden bump or curve that would indicate where to dig, but of course nothing reveals itself. He should have paid more attention. At the very least, he should have paid more attention to Jacob's diatribes about preparedness. Maybe he would be able to determine exactly where to start if he had.

John's nerves ease as he steps out of the car and stands at the edge of the worn-out road. It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember the exact spot — there's always been an element of gut instinct in understanding Jacob's methods, and John has plenty of that to rely on in lieu of real information. If he has to waste his time out here, then he might as well try to waste it productively.

He meanders a bit along the shoulder, then takes ten paces onto the field. Instinct has him go another twenty steps, until he's halfway between the truck and the hay storage. "Here, I think," he calls out to Nick, who's wandered ahead to explore the wreckage.

"Are you sure?" Nick asks as he passes John, returning to the truck for the shovels. "I don't wanna be digging holes all day like some kind of Stanley Yelnats."

" I'll be the one digging," John replies tepidly. "I don't need your help."

"What else am I gonna do, sit around and watch you all day? C'mon, let's get to work."

Really, John had expected as much. Nick can't leave things alone, and he can't resist giving whatever help he can. Long ago, John had figured it was a sign of Nick's obsessive need for control, something dark to be manipulated hidden under a folksy veneer. He had never considered that Nick's stubborn helpfulness had really been a coping mechanism for some long-standing anxiety. Even now, knowing full well that Nick's biggest worry is seeming unhelpful, John struggles to accept it. It still rubs him the wrong way when Nick insists on giving him a hand on some menial task that he ordered John to do in the first place.

Digging a three-foot hole is easier with two people, though, so of course John doesn't argue. The two of them hit a rhythm pretty quickly, although John's lack of sleep is slowing him down. Normally, the beat of manual labor is the only thing that helps empty out his mind, getting him as close to meditation as possible these days. For the first few months with the Ryes, it had been the only tangible comfort he had. He could disengage mentally while performing simple tasks with visible results, then ascribe to them penance for any one of his crimes. Even now, John can't help but wonder which sin he's paying for as he buries the spade into the ground.

They dig three feet down before John calls it. "Okay, fine ," he hisses through gritted teeth. "It's close to here. Maybe..."

John ignores Nick's theatrical sigh as he takes a few paces to the left and begins all over again. Of course, it doesn't take long before Nick joins back in.

"Maybe we should hunt down a metal detector," Nick suggests when the second hole reveals nothing.

"Sure, Nick," John snaps, "Add that to the other rational shit on your wife's shopping list."

"Jesus, it was just a joke."

John is far too hot, tired and sweaty to handle any jokes right now, much less from somebody he's trying to help. If Nick thinks John is digging around under the blazing sun just for his own enjoyment, then he can go fuck himself.

Even with John's attitude tanking rapidly, Nick continues to help him dig another hole and a half. His help only makes the defeat sting worse when John has finally had enough. He has no energy left, which makes flopping down on the dirt as easy as giving up. He buries his sweaty, sunburned face into his dirty hands, unable to hold back a groan.

"God damn it."

"What, that's it?" Nick huffs, pushing his hat back to wipe at his sweating forehead. He's using his shovel as a prop, and no amount of bravado can hide how much John's wild goose chase has worn him down. "You're just giving up?"

" No ," John spits, despite that being exactly what he's doing. "I just need a fucking break ."

There was a time when Nick would have punched him for being so miserable, but he doesn't even comment on it today. Somehow, it manages to make John feel worse, as though Nick's pity is fueling his fiery self-loathing. Nothing helps, especially not when Nick jabs his shovel into the dirt and offers John an excuse. "Probably need something to eat," he says. "Some water, or something. Look... just stay there, okay? I got a canteen in the truck, it'll just take a second."

The most response John can offer up is an affirmative grunt. He drops his hands from his face, watching Nick retreat to the truck before turning his eyes on the derelict storage in the opposite direction. He should have known better. He should have known that it would be impossible to find the cache without Jacob's help. Other than a set of probably mis-remembered coordinates and a gut sensation of being so close , John is flying completely blind. Why the hell hadn't he known any better? He could have saved them the time, gas and disappointment, if only he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut.

He guesses it must be progress that he's blaming himself and not Kim, whose insomnia kicked this whole thing off. It doesn't feel like much to show.

The wind changes direction, finally sending the few clouds in the sky drifting past the sun. The breeze picks up, sending a ripple of noise through the young pines. Pink-flowered vines creep through the roots of the trees and up the metal legs of the shed, twisting and choking the rest of the weeds just like they do everywhere else. Despite them being a mysterious, invasive species, they soften the landscape, lending a pink sugar-coating to the wasteland. John watches the blossoms bob in the breeze and thinks that Joseph might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he hadn't been too far off in declaring Hope County a promising garden.

The flowers look so much like the ones that had decorated the hem of Faith's dress that it's impossible not to think about her. John remembers the silk blossoms stitched onto lace, trying to conceal the ripped hem. There had been a dozen women who had tried to take on the mantle left behind by Joseph's wife, but now the only one John can imagine is Rachel, dancing in the sunlight. Even now he sees her swaying along with the wind, although he only has to blink for the vision to fade. A dozen women hadn't made the same impression that Rachel had. They hadn't been as proactive as her when it came to the Path, and they couldn't hold a candle to her wide-eyed understanding of the Bliss. None of them had adopted themselves as a sister into the family, turning quickly into the golden child that Joseph could praise over all others. They'd tried to fill the shoes of a dead woman that they couldn't hold a candle to. Rachel had been much, much smarter than that.

After all, none of those women haunt the landscape the way Rachel does. John, tired as he is, can almost hear her playfully humming on the breeze. She would sing in his bunker, vibrant and full-throated hymns written by dead followers, but now he only ever imagines the quietest tunes. Faith always seemed to be everywhere at once, thanks to the Bliss, but now she only seems to exist where John's memory allows.

Although the music fades as quickly as it came, John feels it echoing inside him. He closes his eyes against the bright afternoon light, but that doesn't do much to ease the pounding headache that's swiftly developing. He can feel his pulse against the hard-packed dirt when he drops his hands to the ground. Faith's laughter in his mind is quiet and playfully condescending as he's overwhelmed by the urge to stagger to the safety of the trees.

Nick abruptly appears in front of John, his worried face hidden under his hat. "Let's get you into the shade," he says, his voice warped by the blood rushing through John's ears. Nothing improves as Nick helps him to his feet and drags him under the shady pines. His head pounds as he collapses against one of the trees; when Nick puts the canteen in his hands, he takes a few grateful pulls of warm water until the headache begins to recede.

"Goddamn it, John," Nick says. "You have got to knock this shit off. You can't keep pushing yourself until you get sick. What am I supposed to do if you get heatstroke? Do you think we have unlimited supplies to keep dealing with your bullshit? I can't keep taking care of you."

"Whatever," John croaks. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you keep going. You must be delirious."

Taking one more long drink of water, John finally drops the canteen into his lap. "You don't understand," he rasps. "I'm not — it's here. I know it is, I just..."

Nick waits a beat before he takes up where John trails off. " You need to rest. You think Kim and I don't notice you're not eating or sleeping again? Hell, even Carmina notices, and she doesn't give a shit about you. How exactly are you supposed to be any use to us if you're like this all the time?"

John scowls, but he doesn't respond. How can he? Nick is right.

When all he gets is silence, Nick finally heaves a tired sigh and crouches down to John's level. "Look, we'll compromise, okay?" he suggests, with a tone he usually reserves for Carmina. "You're gonna rest here for me, and I'm gonna go dig another hole for you. If I don't find anything, we'll go back home and try again once you're better prepared."

He should resent Nick for treating him like a child, but John can only surrender with a weary nod. "I promise it's here," he says, hating how audible his misery is. "I know it is."

Nick scratches his brow. "I believe you," he says, although John doubts his sincerity. "We're gonna find it — maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we'll do it. You, uh, want me to keep digging where we were, or..."

John sighs, slumping against the tree. "Yeah," he rasps. "Sure."

It's a miserable feeling, knowing that he's sending Nick on a wild goose chase, but John doesn't stop the other man from heading back out into the sun. He watches Nick pick a spot at seemingly random, drifting in and out as he waits for Nick to give up. He wouldn't even have to dig a full three feet before writing the whole thing off as one of John's delusions. John wishes Nick were that kind of man.

There's nothing there. That much is obvious when Nick finally stops digging, knee-deep in the hole and scrubbing furiously at his forehead. John knows just enough about Nick to suspect he'd genuinely hoped to find it — which just makes the defeat that much worse. John is used to disappointing himself, but letting Nick down stings.

"It's fine," John rasps when Nick returns, not waiting for platitudes or empty reassurances. "Let's just go."

Nick helps John to his feet again, and to make things worse, he keeps making suggestions. "Maybe we can find a tractor that still works. I bet there's probably a back-hoe somewhere in the county we could fix up. That might make it easier, right?"

They cut through the trees to reach the road, and John covers his eyes as they move back into the bright light. He turns back to look at the empty holes they've left behind — and for just a second, he can clearly see the bright red silo where it once stood. It's only a fleeting glimpse of the past, but it's as clear as if he were staring at it from Jacob's truck, enjoying the air conditioning while ignoring Jacob as he says, "So long as we're prepared, we can always start again."

"Wait," John says. "Hold on."

"Come on," Nick groans loudly, "It's hot, I'm tired, and this is getting depressing ."

John rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the shovels from the truck before Nick can stop him. "Fine," he says, "Go home, then."

"For God's sake..."

John ignores Nick as he takes five quick paces forward, turning and staring at the nonexistent silo. It hadn't been here, it had been...

The spot is mostly random, but as John drives the shovel into the dirt, he feels suddenly vindicated . He'd been thrown off by the trees, and it's hard to see just where the road ends these days, and of course he doesn't have the silo's long shadow to guide him. But now he knows better, and he isn't going to make the same mistakes again.

Nick pitches in, because of course he does. Even worse, he does it without complaint. Still, John needs the help; his burst of adrenaline has faded, leaving him to rapidly flag behind until Nick is picking up his slack. They don't talk as they dig, even as time wears on without any indication of them being in the right place. John doesn't think he has the energy to chat, and Nick probably just wants to yell at him, so silence is their best option. This hole could be as pointless as every other one they've dug today, but blind faith pushes John on to dig just a little deeper, just a little longer.

They hit three feet without finding anything. John twists the shovel between his palms, the tip churning the dirt.

"Okay, now are you satisfied?" Nick asks, flopping to the ground beside their latest waste of time. "Are you ready to wrap it up for today, or...?"

John shakes his head, not even realizing he's doing it. He doesn't even know what he's rejecting — the idea of giving up, or the idea that they might come back out here? Why the hell should they? Just because John thinks he might remember a cache of weapons Jacob buried a decade ago? What good would it even do, finding it now? Kim's already made it clear that they don't want more weapons. They want food, they want peace of mind, they want things to be the way they were . There is nothing that Eden's Gate could possibly give them that could help.

Nick slides closer, brow furrowed. "John," he says."

"I know ," John snaps, "I'm sorry . This was a waste of time. Forget it."

Picking up his abandoned shovel, Nick jabs the scoop into the hole, aiming for the wall beneath John's feet, and the motion is met with a metallic thunk . As John steps around for a better look, Nick taps the shovel upwards, until the scoop slides between the flash of half-hidden metal and the undisturbed earth above it. There's no mistaking the green enamel barrel that's revealed as the dirt falls away.

Dropping into the hole, John takes Nick's shovel and begins to heave the dirt away, scraping the scoop along the sides of the metal container until it's half-exposed in the ground. John can't help a triumphant shout as he reveals it, like a paleontologist discovering an unknown species.

Nick grabs the second shovel and pitches in, making short work of the dirt John can't reach. The steel drum is two feet tall and a foot or so wide, and John recognizes it from the Bliss packaging plant. Thankfully, it doesn't have a tight-head lid that implies the cannister is full of drugs. It looks utterly untouched, save for a few scratches from their shovels; the rubber sealant sprayed around the lid hasn't even cracked.

"Well, shit," Nick says, staring down at the barrel in open disbelief.

"I told you," John pants, vindicated. "I told you."

"Yeah, you sure did," Nick agrees, bobbing his head. "So... uh, what now? Do we open it up here, or take it home?"

John runs a hand over the glossy paint. As much as he wants to open it now, he can't help but remember Jacob's paranoia, reminded momentarily of how he had checked over and over for any spies or tails they might've gained while driving.

"It might be best to take it somewhere... less open," John points out. "We have no idea what's inside."

"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."

It takes some finessing, but the two of them manage to wrestle the barrel out of the hole and, eventually, into the truck bed. Nick cranks the air conditioning as soon as he turns on the car, and John thankfully slumps into his seat as the cold air washes over him. After making a loose U-turn that narrowly misses the hole, Nick shakes the canteen in John's direction.

"Kim's gonna be pissed if she finds out I left you out in the sun like that," he says. "Try to get a hold of yourself before we get back, okay?"

Nick is terrible at sounding callous, but John isn't going to tell him as much. "Don't worry," he sighs. "I don't want her to know any more than you."

The drive back is mostly free of potholes, thanks to Nick's careful driving. John can't help but reaffirm the cache's existence every few minutes, checking the rear-view mirror to ensure it hasn't fallen out or disappeared like so many figments of his imagination have. He wonders what's inside. Certainly ammunition and weapons, but what else? Jacob had always been prepared for disasters, so it could have emergency kits or expired food rations. There will probably be money, too, although that won't help them now.

If Nick is also wondering, he keeps it to himself. He's relaxed in his seat, one arm hanging out his window, fingers occasionally tapping aimlessly against the door. He'll probably be satisfied no matter what Jacob decided to squirrel away, so long as it's not rotten food and Project propaganda. If that turns out to be the case, John will burn the contents himself.

The sun has half-set by the time they return to the Rye homestead. Nobody is waiting anxiously for their return, but it doesn't take long for Kim to come around the side of the house. She whistles appreciatively as the two men maneuver the barrel out of the bed.

"You guys actually found it!" she exclaims. "I thought it would take at least a few days."

"We got lucky," Nick replies. He doesn't mention how many holes they had to dig, or how rough the going had gotten near the end. John hopes that he looks better than he feels, at least to keep Kim from lecturing them.

Even though the cache is only about eighty or ninety pounds, it takes some careful footwork for the two men to carry it inside without dropping it. By the time they set the barrel down next to the table, Carmina has claimed one of the chairs, standing on it for a better look. Nick doubles back to the truck and returns with a crowbar, which will hopefully be enough to pry off the lid.

"What's inside?" Carmina asks, grabbing the back of the chair as she cranes forward.

"Well, hold on," Nick sighs, "Let me figure this out."

Unlike the barrels John remembers, this one isn't sealed with a tight-head valve at the top. Instead, it looks as though the lid had been hammered down into place, and then sprayed with rubber sealant to prevent gaps. It takes Nick a few tries to bury the crowbar's teeth under the lid, but he's rewarded by a satisfying groan of metal. The seal finally gives as part of the lid warps under the force.

Nick peels the lid back and John's heart leaps into his throat. Part of him expects a cloud of Bliss, or some kind of bomb, or a countdown to a new Armageddon. But there's no bomb, no Mist, no doomsday clock. Instead, John finds himself looking down at a bundle of nondescript green canvas, packed tightly alongside a cylindrical nylon bag.

" Well ?" Carmina asks.

John glances at Kim and Nick, only to find them staring back at him. It's as much an order as a request for help, and John steels himself before reaching in and grabbing the fabric. He recognizes the generic duffel bag as soon as he pulls it out — they had been ordered in bulk for the Project before they'd even reached Montana. While it isn't full, it definitely carries most of the cache's weight, and John has to adjust his grip as he sets it out on the table.

With the pack out of the way, Nick is less cautious about poking around in the remaining supplies. He takes the nylon bag out next, rattling the contents thoughtfully. "I think we've got a tent, here," he says, pulling open the drawstring to check. "Yeah, poles, stakes and everything."

There are two cardboard boxes inside, and Kim pulls out one at a time. "I think these are... rations?" she suggests, setting the boxes down next to the unopened bag. "That's what the packaging says, anyway. And this one, the heavier one? It's completely taped up."

"Could be dangerous," Nick suggests as Kim goes back to check for any remaining contents.

John stares at the duffel bag, his fingers feeling clumsy on the zipper tab. None of this feels right. Just how many times had he seen Jacob take bags like this one to his truck? How many of those had been full of supplies for a back-up plan he had never been made aware of? There's no sign of the Project so far, but John can't imagine that will last. What is he going to do when he reveals a bag full of propaganda in front of Carmina? There's no way Kim and Nick will believe he didn't know.

Careful not to rip the fabric, John steels himself with a breath and yanks on the zipper. He expects guns and ammunition, or copies of Joseph's book, or intel that would have been vital for rebuilding after the Collapse. Instead, John finds silver mylar bags, packed nearly to bursting, each one labeled in permanent marker. One reads "RICE (3LB, KEEP)," while another says "POTATO (.5LB, KEEP)" — and still another bag, this one with one clear side, has two cartons of instant coffee sealed inside.

There are guns, too, although not nearly enough. John is careful as he sets out the two .45 pistols tucked into the canvas, along with two boxes of matching ammunition and a few more boxes of miscellaneous shells that might come in handy. He inspects every box for any sign of the Project, but everything is utterly nondescript. Jacob might as well have picked these supplies up at a sporting goods store.

He keeps pulling things out until the bag is empty and the items are laid out across the table for the Ryes to see. Not only does John find more food, but he also finds a crank flashlight and a pair of binoculars, two bundles of paracord, a roll of unused duct tape, two sealed cartons of cigarettes, two pristine hunting knives and a deck of playing cards. The biggest surprise is the fact that Jacob risked packing away two bottles of unlabeled alcohol in a dry cache, but then again, Jacob had always had a soft spot for liquor. They'd been wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up tight, so if they leaked, it hasn't affected the other supplies.

There's more food than ammunition, John realizes. Rice, sugar, instant coffee, dry beef stock, not to mention the miscellaneous array of military rations that have been packed into every nook and cranny. It's hardly a cache. It's more like a squirrel's stockpile for a long winter.

"Did you guys see this?" Kim asks, leaning over Carmina to lay a small nylon pack on the table. She opens it carefully, revealing a tri-folded emergency pack stuffed with medical supplies. One use antiseptic wipes, gauze, bandages and more, all still in its factory packaging. John remembers seeing them stocked at Lorna's ages ago. It's the kind of emergency kit that tourists would buy once they realized just how unprepared they were for rural Montana.

"I thought this was supposed to be for the cult," Nick says, frowning at the supplies spread out on the table. "But most of this is stuff you'd get at the store. There's not even one of those fake Bibles in here or anything ."

"That's what he told me it was," John replies, although it feels uneasily close to a lie. "...At least, that's what I assumed. He had my people handle it, he shared its location with me... It had to be for the Project." Saying it aloud doesn't make him feel any more certain, but he can't imagine what else Jacob could have been planning. "What does it matter?" he quickly deflects, gesturing towards the eighty-some pounds of supplies. "Who cares what he was planning. It's yours now."

Unlike her parents, Carmina doesn't need to be told twice. She immediately drags the box of military rations closer to her chair, eager to devour any new literature, even if it's nutritional information and website reviews. Nick takes one of the knives and uses it to slice open the heavily taped box that they still haven't investigated. John can't imagine that it could be anything dangerous, given the rest of the cache's contents, but that doesn't mean he's any less on edge.

"Uh... huh," Nick says once he finally cracks the box open. "It's just more of the same. 'Two pounds rice, barter.' 'Two pounds sugar, barter.' But didn't he already pack some rice in the bag?"

Carmina points her finger at the offending bag. "It says 'keep' on it."

"I thought you guys were going to be the only survivors," Nick wonders, frowning heavily at John. "I mean, those weirdos have been keeping to themselves since they came back. And I got the impression that you weren't gonna be friendly neighbors ."

"There weren't supposed to be neighbors," John replies. "Anyone outside of the Project who survived were our enemies. This should have been..." He gestures helplessly, unable to figure out what Jacob should have squirreled away for the end of the world. "It should have been weapons. Project intelligence. None of this would have mattered if things had gone the way they were meant to. I don't — I don't know what he was planning with this."

Or maybe, he hadn't been listening when Jacob had talked about starting over.

"This... is too much," Kim says, tearing John away from that horrible thought before it can take hold. "Right? This is too much for us. We can't possibly keep it all."

"Excuse me?" John asks, unable to mask how deeply the comment offends him. "You're joking . I went through all of this for you ." He points at the sugar, the salt, and says accusingly, "These were on your list!"

"That's not what I mean, John."

John is getting sick and tired of being treated like a child today, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it when Nick takes the opposite route. "Don't be a baby," he groans. "You know what she meant."

"We'll keep what we need," Kim offers, "But we can't keep everything . It wouldn't be fair."

"And it'll look bad if we're the only ones who benefit," Nick adds. "They'll know it's because of you, and the cult, and they'll get the wrong idea. They might've shut up for now, but we don't know how long that'll last."

It's hard to fight the urge to run from the conversation, if only to keep himself from saying something stupid, but John manages to stay rooted to the spot. They're right, after all. They can't expect other people to turn a blind eye to anything beneficial John provides. Hell, he has no doubt somebody noticed them driving today. Somebody had to have seen them out in the dirt. It would only take a quick trip to find the holes they'd left behind.

"Yes," he mutters at last. It comes as a relief, followed immediately by his own admission. "You're both right. I know that."

Nick clearly expected more of a fight, if his relieved expression is anything to go by. "Good. Okay." He grabs one of the mylar bags as he sits, which holds two cartons of instant coffee. For a moment, he only stares at the red plastic through the clear side of the bag, and then he sighs. "Of course, now I wanna keep it all."

"We can keep the coffee," Kim says. "Or, well... we can keep some of it. We should probably give the rest up..."

It seems that doing the right thing in this situation has left the Ryes at a loss. Really, it shouldn't be a surprise. Even for a small cache, these are a lot of supplies, and there are no clear benefits to divvying it up in any particular way. On top of that, there had never been much structure to the Valley's resistance — unlike the Whitetails, people in the valley had relied on guerrilla tactics and appropriating the cult's infrastructure for their own use. The fight here had been over before they'd had time to organize.

"Well, I guess we give away whatever says 'barter' on it," Nick finally says. "And... I dunno. I mean, Jacob was meticulous as hell, right? Wouldn't he have known what to keep? Why did he only want to trade this stuff?"

"I don't know ," John snaps. "It isn't as though he planned for this. I have no idea what he would have done. I don't know why he thought to bury this shit in a field! If this was going to be a backup plan, then there should be money, passports, blackmail — something to help him get out of trouble. Not — not cooking supplies and playing cards . This isn't what he was supposed to be doing with his time!"

The realization that John had never really known Jacob cuts deeper than he'll ever admit. John breathes hard through his nose, trying desperately to grab hold of his ballooning anger. He'd known Jacob hadn't taken the religious aspect of the Project seriously, but that hadn't meant he didn't believe in the Project's end goal. He'd been more integral to their success than John, for God's sake! The bunkers had been his idea!

But Jacob had been pragmatic. If he had felt even a twinge of doubt, he would have made plans to account for it. But if that were the case, why would he have shown his hand to John like he had, when John had been so deeply entrenched? Why risk Joseph finding out? Why not play this as close to his chest as John had played all of his own secret betrayals?

"I don't know what he would do," John manages to say. There's a tangled knot of emotion balled up inside his chest, but like so many other things, he forcibly sidelines it. "It doesn't matter what he wanted. He's dead now. All of it is yours."

Kim hears his voice catch, it's clear from her expression, but she thankfully doesn't comment on it. "Well, let's think about it logically," she says. "For one, I think Grace could use some of the ammunition. She might appreciate some coffee, too, Nick."

"Yeah, I guess," Nick says mournfully. "There are two boxes, after all."

Kim chews thoughtfully on her lip, then pivots towards John. "You had to deal with directing resources, right?" she asks. "I remember all of the deliveries coming in and out of the Ranch."

"They won't trust any decisions I make," John replies, trying to cut the suggestion off at the head.

"I'm sure they wouldn't, but I'm not asking for you to make a decision. Just... You know more about this than we do, and I want your input."

John frowns, looking towards Nick for an objection. Unfortunately, Nick doesn't have one, although he doesn't look happy about Kim's request.

Sighing, John considers the groups they need to satisfy. Between Grace, the town, the trailer park and themselves, it's unlikely they'll have much to store, but a surplus would be ideal in case they need to bargain with people coming in from the west. John doesn't like the idea of giving the weapons away, but they would be an easy way to ingratiate the Ryes to anyone still upset at them for taking him in. He wants nothing more than to keep the alcohol and cigarettes, but those would be better as bargaining chips.

He starts by breaking the ammunition up, followed by the mylar bags, until the random array on the tabletop begins to separate out into four distinct piles. Seeing the resources shift in real time is the easiest way to ensure things are balanced, but John remains fully aware of the three sets of eyes on him as he begins to take over the table. While Kim and Carmina move to give John more space, Nick remains seated the entire time, his arms crossed and his eyes on the food that John is moving from one pile to another. He's clearly worried that the family will wind up with too little. He probably feels guilty that he wants to take more from others who could use the supplies.

When he's mostly finished, John has five piles organized across the table — one for each group, plus one comprised of larger bags they'll need to separate. Hopefully, they won't comment on how much he's chosen to keep for them — if they disagree with his decisions, they can wait until he escapes for the night to argue about it.

Kim had been right, though. John had been the one to schedule deliveries, redirect supplies and organize Reaping trucks; hopefully they can appreciate his choices, even if they decide not to listen to him.

"Here's what we have," he says. "The ammunition is split between everyone, as well as the rations. Given the town's location and size, they'll be better off with basic ingredients. They already have hunting equipment and usable cookware. We haven't seen the trailer park, but it's in hostile territory, and I don't think they dedicate time to cooking, so we give them more rations to make up for it. The cigarettes will be a gesture of goodwill, and they can use the sugar more than any one group. At the very least, it means they won't be ingesting straight ethanol for a few days."

Nick sniffs loudly, but neither he nor Kim interrupt, so John pushes forward. "You keep the components," he explains, "But give Grace the knives and whatever ammunition she needs. We can split the rice evenly, but it won't be very much. It would be better to keep it for ourselves, or else give it to one group alone."

"Still seems like a lot is left for us," Kim points out.

"Then you give the rest of it away," John says through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked me to do. This is what makes sense."

Kim nods. "You did, and I appreciate it."

John wishes she would appreciate what Jacob did instead, but he holds the comment back. It's his exhaustion talking, or the long day, or the lingering headache from the heat. None of those things are worth risking the shred of goodwill he's garnered with the Ryes. And the longer he hangs around here, the more likely it is that Nick or Kim will do something to really upset him.

"If that's everything, then it's been a long day. I need some..." Space , he wants to say, but he can only tiredly commit to, "I need some air."

"Sure," Kim says. She tries to mask her pity, but there's no hiding it. "Just don't go too far. Dinner's almost ready."

As if John is going to eat anything. But he keeps that comment to himself as well, knowing that it'll just start a fight that he's too tired to win. Besides, watching the Ryes go through Jacob's supplies and divvy them out the way they'd prefer might be too much for him to handle right now. He needs to put some distance between himself and his brother, even if it's only the short walk to the front porch.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #nick rye #far cry new dawn #far cry 5 #p sure its only the first few tags but fuck it #also i actually love turkish delight so that's a legit comment #not just a reference to dumb narnia #my fic #mercyverse

[golden-deer-dear]

Pray at Your Altar 2/4, Claude x Byleth Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: When a marriage proposal is answered with the death of the messenger, Claude is sent on a mission to deliver Almyra’s revenge. But first, he is going to find out just what the all powerful Archbishop wants from the strange woman he was supposed to marry.The secret revolving around Byleth is something Claude can’t leave alone.

Notes:  I'm trying out a new style for this story, and a lot of it went into this chapter. I'd appreciate it if you guys let me know what you think of it. I want to know if it's a style to keep exploring, or something I should scrap.

Chapter 1 AO3

Pray at Your Altar

She was not there the first time Claude snuck into the Goddess Tower. Nor was she there the second, although that time Claude found the perfect place to stargaze. He found himself sneaking out more often, his restless mind finding some sort of clarity beneath their soft glow. He came so often he stashed a few supplies to make his nights more comfortable.

It was over a month before he heard her voice again. He was so lost in thought that he did not hear her approach. “You’ve made yourself quite comfortable.”

Claude jumped, heart pounding furiously for a moment before he registered that it was the very woman who had directed him here in the first place. There was the briefest flash of amusement in those blue eyes, making Claude wonder if she had done it on purpose to pay him back for startling her at the cemetery.

Recovered, Claude’s face split into a too wide grin, fully illuminated in the light of the full moon. “What can I say? You left me waiting for awhile.”

“I could not get away,” Byleth said in that strangely neutral tone. She sat next to him, Claude moving over to make room for her on the blanket he had laid out. 

“What does Rhea have you doing all day anyways?” Claude asked, ignoring the warmth that shot through him when her arm brushed against his.

Byleth hummed lightly, leaning her head back to join in his stargazing. “Studying mostly. I know scripture like the back of my hand, but living up to it is another thing altogether.”

Claude winced. “That’s it? I’d be bored out of my mind.”

She made that thoughtful hum again, taking a beat before she answered. “There is also politics and diplomacy but I prefer swordsmanship. Rhea has taught me unarmed combat as well, but I prefer the feel of a sword in my hand.”

Claude blinked a few times as he studied her. He had not thought of Byleth using weapons. She looked so delicate. But as he studied the definition of her arms, that graceful way in which she moved, he found himself easily able to picture her with a weapon in hand. It made his blood run hot, and the thought was one he immediately needed to shove to the side. He would deal with it later when she was not right beside him.

Byleth sighed softly, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Rhea is strict, and I wish she would allow me some sense of normalcy, but she cares deeply for me and those blessed by the goddess. It is unfortunate that my status distances me from them.”

“And those outside Fódlan?” Claude asked before he could stop himself. “What of those born outside the grace of the goddess?” He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but only just.

She was silent for a long stretch, so long that Claude felt his heart drop. He did not know why he hung so much hope on her answer when the rest of Fódlan had met him only with hatred. Byleth, more than most, had no reason to think differently. 

But then she opened her mouth and continued her habit of shocking him. “I know what our scripture says, but that was always something I never could wrap my head around. Cyril is the hardest worker I’ve ever met. And I have yet to see a better archer than Shamir.” She turned sharp eyes on him, cutting off his protest as his mouth dropped open. “And yes, I do include you.”

Claude winced, dramatically raising a hand to his heart. Despite his show, he was making mental notes to get some more training in. He would need all the skills at his disposal for this to succeed.

“But my point being,” Byleth continued, ignoring his theatrics, “they are considered outsiders, but I would say no Fódlani are above them. They share in the goddess’ blessing as far as I can see. I will not ostracize someone for something they have no control over.” She said it softly, in that same voice that made everything seem as simple as that.

Claude felt his heart swell again, but tried to ignore the strange feeling. Byleth would definitely be useful, and for much more than just his mission. She was quickly taking center place in all his schemes to achieve his dreams.

/

“How does it feel?”

Byleth blinked at him as Claude crested the last step to their hidden spot within the Tower. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the strange sword resting in her lap. “Not as strange as I thought it would. It feels like...like I’ve used it before. Natural.”

Claude hummed, quickly losing himself in his thoughts. He had held the sword for the flash of a second, but its power had washed over him. His crest had responded, breathing life back into him as the sword attempted to overpower him. Rhea had picked up the damned thing easily, handing it off to Byleth with that strange smile on her lips.

And yet, there Byleth sat with the Sword of the Creator nestled close to her, seemingly none the worse for wear.

“You’re looking at me the way Rhea does.”

That brought reality crashing down around him, drawing him out of his thoughts. “What do you mean?” Claude asked, trying to keep his tone light and carefree. 

Byleth studied Claude, that intense gaze piercing through him. It made his very bones want to shake at the prospect of standing before her judgement. “Rhea has not hidden that there is something she desperately desires from me. And when she talks of the goddess returning, she gets this strange look in her eyes. It’s the same look you just gave me.” Byleth studied him a moment longer before her shoulders dropped. Her fingers ran over the sword, slowly mapping out every bump and curve. “So, Claude von Riegan, what do you want from me?”

Claude joined her on the blanket she had spread out, crossing his legs and facing her. He could lie, easily come up with some joke to brush it all away. But there was a high chance she would not believe him. Oh, Byleth may have zero social graces, but she was more clever than people seemed to give her credit for. Claude was certain if push came to shove, she would give him a run for his money. He could not afford to take that risk. A broken trust now, when their relationship was still so fragile, would not serve him well. It could very well put Byleth out of reach for good. 

“They say that sword once cut a mountain in half,” Claude answered, his voice measured and slow.

Byleth blinked at him, obviously confused.

“So, it’s good at breaking barriers.” He stopped, unsure of how much more he could risk saying. He wanted Byleth on his side, but he had to be careful. She was still a central member of the church after all.

Byleth’s hands gripped the hilt of the sword, her gaze dropping to it once more. There was a gleam of something close to interest in her blue eyes, replacing the flicker of melancholy there before. “You want to break down barriers.” She hummed thoughtfully, that little habit he caught himself doing every so often now, and shifted to lay down, eyes traveling upward to the stars they could see through the open window. “Depending on the barriers, that can be a noble goal.”

Claude lay down beside her, the Sword of the Creator between them. He said no more, letting silence settled over them like a comfortable blanket.

He was close, so close he could taste it. But Byleth was right. He did want to use her, and the thought that such a thing put him in the same category as Rhea left a sour taste in his mouth.

/

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Byleth said, a nervousness in her voice that was so foreign it stopped Claude in mid stride.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Claude asked, recovering smoothly and stepping up beside her.

Byleth tilted her head to the side, looking at Claude as if the answer was obvious. It sent a thrill through him. She was still far from open with her emotions, but her face now made these little expressions that made Claude proud. He knew there was no way for him to truly determine if the credit should go to him, perhaps none of it did, but he loved the sight of her emotions. Those little ticks that left her less and less guarded around him, he was quickly coming to considered them treasured prizes. 

“There is a party going on outside.” If he listened closely, Claude could just hear the noises of laughter and music from the ball. “It must be more interesting than spending your time here with me.”

“My friend,” Claude said gently, reaching out to take Byleth’s hands in his own. “I can think of no place I would rather be than right here.”

Byleth’s eyes were wide as she glanced from their intertwined hands to his face. It was the most emotion Byleth had ever shown him, and Claude felt his heart skip a beat. She’s beautiful, he thought before he even realized how she stole his breath. “Is that what we are? I’ve never had a friend, so I did not know that is what we have become.”

Claude did his best to flash her that charming grin of his, and the truth of it on his lips felt strange. “Yes By, we’re friends.”

Byleth’s expression was so open and unguarded, a mix of joy and confusion so overwhelming neither of them knew what to do about it. So, Claude took her hands and moved them into position. “Come on, my friend. Let’s dance.”

That bewildered expression remained on her face as Claude began to guide her along to the music that they both had to concentrate to hear. Byleth’s movements were jerky, unused to the strange new steps he spun her in. It was obvious she had never danced before, but under Claude’s softly spoken instructions, she at least was no longer tripping over herself by the time the third song started. She really was a quick study, and as Byleth grew used to the movements, it allowed Claude to focus on just her. 

She was frowning, her face tight in concentration as she stared at their feet, making her look more like she was going into battle than partaking in a ball. Those ridiculously impractical skirts floated around her, the golden chains decorating her outfit tinkling together to make a music all their own. He was so close that all he could smell was the strangely comforting mixture of lilies and blade oil, a scent he realized he associated with star gazing after how many times she had lain next to him.

For the first time in his life, he wished for a new dream. He wanted Byleth at his side always. He wanted this, this wonderful moment of peace where his heart felt light, the closest he had ever come to happiness. He wanted to keep gazing at the stars with her and dancing under their light. He wanted to keep calling her friend.

A strange look flashed across Byleth’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

And then it hit him. Couples came to the Goddess Tower this night to make a wish. They made those wishes to the goddess. As the reincarnation of the goddess, did Byleth have the ability to hear those wishes? Had she heard his unspoken desires? 

No, that was not possible. He was reading too much into a brief glance.

Before he could ponder further, a scream echoed across the grounds of the monastery. 

Facing down those beasts together was the first time Claude ever saw Byleth fight. It was as if she stepped out of a story of old, vengeance and wrath given form. 

She was beautiful.

/

Claude found the diary by chance.

He was in the captain’s office discussing travel plans for their next mission when Alois was called away. The jovial captain excused himself while telling Claude to make himself at home, an invitation Claude was quick to accept.

His eyes caught on the bookshelf in a corner of the room, specifically upon one book. If the layer of dust on top of the books was anything to go by, the bookshelf had not been touched in quite some time. The particular book that interested Claude was shoved forward, while all the others were neatly lined together. He tried to shove the book back into place, but met with resistance. 

His next step was to pull the book from the shelf. It was too dark to see clearly, but as he reached in, his fingers brushed against leather instead of wood. He wrapped his hand around the hidden book, and pulled loose his prize. 

The pages were yellowed with time, and the entire thing was coated in a thick layer of dust. But someone had tried to hide it, which meant that Claude wanted to know what it said.

He managed to race back to his dorm and deposit the book on the pile on his bed before running back to the captain’s office, arriving just before Alois. He was glad the captain’s boisterous jokes covered the sounds of his labored breathing, and therefore did not have to come up with an excuse for his current state.

He did not sleep that night. Claude almost gave up on the diary and all its sappy romance until he came across a line mentioning the name of the writer: Jeralt. This was the diary of the legendary Blade Breaker, the most famed Captain of the Knights of Seiros, the man who had met a sudden end in a fire over twenty years ago.

Claude sat bolt upright. It couldn’t be! His eyes eagerly scanned the pages, heart thumping loudly as he turned the pages.

And at the end, his suspicions were confirmed. Jeralt was Byleth’s father, and Rhea had done something to Byleth as a baby. Whatever she had done, it had left Byleth without a heartbeat. Just how had Rhea determined that Byleth was the reincarnated goddess? Had Rhea been the one to give Byleth the goddess’ powers, rather than Byleth simply being born with them?

It was the last entry that made his blood run cold. Jeralt had planned on fleeing the monastery, faking Byleth’s death in the fire. But instead the Blade Breaker had lost his life, and Rhea had ended up raising Byleth, acting as the girl’s surrogate mother.

Claude closed the book with a groan, falling back into the bed and wincing as yet more books dug into his back. He had found answers, but they only raised more questions. He might very well be in over his head on this one. 

Not that it was going to stop him. He’d just have to come up with another brilliant plan.

/

He did not have a chance to tell Byleth, didn’t even know if he would honestly. The next time he saw her she was standing before a throne, Rhea’s eyes glowing with a happiness that bordered on mania.

“Sit on the throne and receive the goddess’ revelation,” Rhea instructed, her voice airy, making Claude wonder if she was all there.

His fingers twitched, wanting so badly to grasp his bow. He could not explain why, but the last thing he wanted Byleth to do was sit on that throne. Next to him, Dimitri was leaning on his lance, blue eyes staring intently at the scene before them. Claude was glad for the prince’s presence. Dimitri was too kind for his own good, but he was definitely a strong ally. (And if Claude was more honest with himself, a friend.)

Byleth’s hand brushed against the arm of the throne, and Claude’s breath caught in his throat. But she stopped, looking up at Rhea with a crease marring her brow. It was small, one of those half there gestures Claude would never have noticed if he was not used to looking out for her reactions. “She says no,” Byleth said in that strangely neutral tone of hers.

Rhea’s face fell, looking as if someone had just stabbed her through the chest. “What?” came out in a choked whisper.

“She says she will not sacrifice me,” Byleth elaborated.

That made his hair stand on end. Claude’s bow was immediately in his hand, eyes glued to Rhea. The woman obviously hoped something would happen here, but if she tried to hurt Byleth to make it so, Claude would stop her. His brain started planning exit strategies, how he would grab Byleth, and the best way to run for safety. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dimitri adjust his grip on his lance. Claude had no idea what side the prince would be on if it came to a fight, but Claude would rather avoid that one. Hopefully his sense of morality would stall him long enough for Claude to get around him.

Rhea’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Claude watched her crumble right before his eyes, watched as she realized that whatever dream she had had just slipped out of reach. Would he look like that if he failed at his dream as well?

Dimitri suddenly turned, shouting at something. “Halt! Reveal yourself!”

Claude silently cursed himself, too distracted to notice the invaders coming up behind them.

Laughter, nowhere close to sane, rang off the walls of the tomb, grating at Claude’s nerves. “Don’t move, any of you! If you move, your lives will be forfeit! Thank you ever so much for guiding us this far. The Imperial Army will now take possession of everything in the Holy Tomb! Including the false goddess’ incarnation!”

There was no time to ponder any longer. Imperial soldiers surrounded them, the Flame Emperor staring them down. His strategies shifted, tactics formulating how to get them all out of this while saving the crest stones.

But thankfully Byleth was suddenly at his side. Her strong voice shouted orders that left no room for disobedience. It felt natural to fight alongside Byleth. He loosed arrow after arrow, covering Dimitri as the prince charged forward, Dedue hot on his heels. Byleth’s sword whipped out, cutting would be thieves to pieces.

It was all going rather well, given the circumstances.

Until the Sword of the Creator lashed out, depriving the Flame Emperor of her mask. Claude gaped at Edelgard. He had known she was hiding something, but he had not suspected it was this. 

Dimitri laughed, making Claude’s blood turn to ice in his veins. 

So much for graduation, Claude managed to think as Dimitri charged their fellow house leader.

/

“Rhea, Byleth can’t stay here.”

Claude ignored the glares Seteth and Cyril were shooting his way due to his lack of respect. There was an army headed their way; his irreverent ways should have been the least of their concerns right now. 

“She’s in more danger than anyone else here,” Claude continued. “The princess aims to take down the Church, and no matter her fondness for Byleth, the smartest move for her to debilitate you is to kill the reincarnation of the goddess.” Their faces all paled at his words, Seteth visibly blanching, but Claude pressed on. “Best case, they’ll capture her and keep her prisoner. That lackey who attacked us in the tomb specifically demanded we hand her over, so we know she’s a target of theirs.”

“He’s right,” Seteth agreed, looking like he might be sick. “The faithful would be completely demoralized.”

Rhea shook her head. “No. Byleth must stay here. We will protect her.”

“And if the monastery falls?” Seteth hissed in response. His protest visibly surprised Rhea, the words of her advisor holding more sway than Claude’s. He was just glad he managed to get one of them to see the danger so fast. “Send Byleth away. If we win, she can come back. If we fail, then at least the faithful still have someone to rally around.”

Byleth, silent until now, slipped her hand into Rhea’s. They shared something unspoken, something Claude could not translate well enough to make form any sense. Rhea’s stoic expression fell. She reached up to cup Byleth’s cheek, tears in her green eyes. “You’ll keep her safe?”

“I will,” Byleth promised, leaning into the touch for a brief moment. She gave Rhea’s hand another reassuring squeeze, and was rewarded with a nod. 

Rhea’s guards went back up, and she turned to address the rest of the gathering. “Someone must accompany her.”

And therein lay another problem. 

“All the knights are needed,” Seteth pointed out, despairing at the thought of losing any of his elite fighters.

Rhea’s eyes went to Dimitri, silently brooding at the edge of the group. Claude knew she would prefer to deliver Byleth into kingdom hands, but as Dimitri had evidently gone off the deep end, entrusting Byleth to him was also not an option. And Claude knew Rhea did not hold any trust in him, meaning the task would definitely not be assigned to him. (Nor did he enjoy the idea of leaving the rest of the Deer. If they could all go...but no, that was not an option either for multiple reasons.)

“Judith is still here,” Claude supplied. “She was recalled back to Daphnel territory, so she was going to leave anyways. Her departure is less suspicious than any of ours would be.”

Rhea muddled it over, her eyes judging Claude. It was not the same as Byleth where he felt his soul on trial. No, her gaze was like those who looked down on him, those he would prove wrong with his new world. He did not flinch under the weight of it. 

“Very well,” Rhea finally said, her voice level and full of authority. “Summon the head of House Daphnel. We require her services.”

/

“Take care of her, Judith.”

Judith scoffed, putting a hand on her hip as she glared at him, somehow adding fondness to the gesture. “Who do you take me for, boy?”

Claude sighed, brushing off the infuriating nickname. He didn’t have time to rehash that old argument with her. His eyes went to Byleth, still standing beside Rhea. Commoner clothing had been procured from somewhere for her. Flayn’s fingers were still stained black from the dye that was hiding the brilliant shade of her blue hair. It made her harder to pick out, for sure, but she still had a quality to her that drew one’s eye to her. 

“She’s really got you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”

Claude startled at Judith’s amused voice, glaring at the woman. It only caused Judith’s smirk to widen, but there was a gentleness to it that Judith rarely showed. “I’ll take care of her. You focus on keeping yourself alive. The goddess’ reincarnation isn’t the only important person here.”

Claude nodded, allowing himself to relax slightly. “I know you will, Judith. I’ll meet you in Derdriu when this is over.” 

“You’d better,” she managed before they suddenly become the center of attention.

“I am ready to go,” Byleth said, leaving Rhea’s side to stand in front of Judith. Her eyes flickered briefly to Claude, but with so many other people in the room, they both knew they could not acknowledge the depth of their relationship. Still, that gaze said a lot, ‘goodbye’ and ‘stay safe’ first and foremost amongst them.

“Good. Let’s not waste time then.”

And just like that, Byleth walked out of his life. Claude had done all he could to keep her safe, it was all in Judith’s hands. Byleth would escape, and be safe from this whole ordeal.

Now Claude just had to find a way to survive himself.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #claudeth #claude x byleth #claudeleth #pray at your altar #my fic #fanfic

[cloudyyoonji]

100 Ways To Say I Love You.

Bang Chan x Reader.

Summary: Between busy schedules and cozy cuddles, you both knew just what to say in the times of contentment.

Genre: fluffy!! Super super fluffy!

__________________________

Candle light and cozy cuddles, just how you loved it.

This moment was the perfect stillness to your kinetic week. It had become such a tradition between you two, to just unwind from the week, to take a moment to be together.

Fingertips trail down your arm almost like a ritual, both your gaze’s fixed on the movie in front of you.

You’re barely awake at this point, eyes landing sleepily on the movie, flickering from the video to blackness as you battle against sleep. It’s a war you know you can’t win, but you try anyway, focusing on Chan’s touch to keep you awake.

“You’re tired.”

His voice is soft in your ear, body shifting from under you as a laugh slips from his lips when you drop your head on his shoulder in response.

“사랑해.”

Your eyes flick open, searching the smiling boys face for some sign of what he said, though you could probably guess.

It flows off his tongue so easily, your voice jerky as you try to repeat it back, clearly not skilled in Korean.

Chan laughs, head thrown back at your pronunciation, making you groan in embarrassment.

Hitting his chest, you bite back a laugh.

“What does it mean?”

He only continues his laughing, shaking his head at you.

“Yah, Chan!” You exclaim, hitting the boys chest lightly.

“It means I love you, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

Once your initial shock wears off in less then .1 of a second, you sit up, a smile on your features as you look up at the boy.

“Io ti amo di più.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused, head tilting to the side as he processes what you say, lips forming to try and say it back with your exact pronunciation.

It only takes him a few try’s, a signature smirk on his lips when he finally does get it.

“That means I love you more.”

You don’t quite catch the boys reaction, resuming your original position; sitting back into Chan, a content smile playing on your features.

A pair of warm arms embraces you, fingers interlocking with yours in a heartbeat.

Peacefulness embraces you both in a blanket, a contentfulness filling in the silence like a warm hug.

And so this became almost an unspoken tradition between you both, no matter the distance, nor the time.

The autumn air made the apartment just the right temperature to bundle up in hoodies. So when you ventured into the kitchen on one particular morning, Chan’s hoodie decorating your frame in a size way too big, you were surprised to see the boy standing over the stove, frypan in hand.

“おはよう私の愛”

Good morning my love.

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, arms wrapping around his middle as you stand on tiptoe, stretching over his shoulder to see what’s cooking.

“美しいおはよう”

His response makes you swear, stepping back with a pout playing on your lips.

You’d completely blanked on the fact that Chan is fluent in Japanese.

You groan, hitting his shoulder slightly as he laughs at you.

“You’ve got to tell me what that means! It’s not fair! You’re fluent!”

His body ripples with laughter, the sweet sound reaching your ears with a warmth that makes your lips turn upwards.

“It means,” he’s putting the spatula down now, turning to face you properly. A hand touches your cheek lightly, pushing away some stray hairs and tucking them behind your ear.

“Good morning beautiful.”

You try and hide your blushing cheeks, pushing your head into the crook of his neck, hands over your face. The boy laughs, hands now around your waist, pulling you back with him as he tries to get a look at your tinted cheeks.

“You’re too cheesy.” You state, head still buried as your cheeks burn with red.

“Only for you, Y/N, only for you.”

A single week later, and now you are the one holding him in a hug, the rest of the boys all smiles as they beam at the award in Jisung’s hands, another rookie award to add to the collection.

“Estoy muy orgulloso de ti.” you mumble into his ear, pulling back with a wide smile.

The boy tilts his head, smile replaced by slight confusion.

“I don’t know this one.”

You beam up at him.

“Its Spanish. It means I’m so proud of you.”

Now you’re tackled into a hug, the rest of the boys following suit until your all embracing each other, proud smiles on each of your faces.

The atmosphere is light, full of a certain clarity, which remains even some hours after the celebration stops.

Upon coming home, you can tell that Chans excitement is finally turning into tiredness.

Glass of water in hand, you set it down on the nightstand and quickly climb into the warm bed, shivering slightly as the cold air bites at your skin.

Laying your head on the pillow, you’re met with Chan’s gaze, one that was completely unreadable, which was unusual for him. Usually, you could read him like an open book.

“You okay?” You whisper, your hand reaching out to his under the covers, fingers tightly interlocking.

He nods, blinking back at you with the same unreadable stare, a slight smile tracing his features.

“Tu sei il sole del mio giorno.”

You’re heart beats in something close to adoration, eyes wide as you take in just what he said, and the sincerity in which he said it.

You are the sunshine of my day.

Though it had been years since you’d heard someone speak Italian, it was here; right in front of you, as clear as day.

You can finally see that his strange look is one of adoration, eyes scanning yours with a lightness that makes your heart thump in your chest.

It takes you a minute or so, his words finding their way into your heart, warming you from the inside.

“아주 많이 사랑한다”

“I love you so very much.” He translates, inner emotions now mirroring yours; such warmth and sincerity making him smile even more then he was already.

Eyes shut, Chan presses his forehead to yours, the gesture showing you a softer side of the boy you know a kiss couldn’t transfer.

It was merely perfect, a comforting moment you knew would linger on even when Chan would be touring the world.

And it kept its word, even in the loneliest of times.

Nothing had changed within the past few months they’d been gone, the blond boys smile still as bright as it had been that very night.

“Ich liebe dich!”

You shake your head at the group, their faces slightly pixilated by the screen, but very much alive and in front of you.

You can see that they’re crammed into the small hotel room, all sitting on top of each other as they struggle to fit in the frame.

“You beat me too it,” you exclaim, shaking you’re head. “But I guess I love you guys too. Ich liebe dich auch.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, it’s not too long till we’re back!” The maknae tells you, a hopeful grin triggering you’re own.

“Awh, she misses us so much! She loves us!”

“Yah, Changbin, it’s Chan she misses.” Seungmin scolds his Hyung, shaking his head in disappointment. “But we do miss you lots Y/N.”

“And I miss you guys even more. It’s only a few more weeks.” You tell them, smiling as they ‘awh’ at your words. “I’ll see you soon!”

Weeks became days as soon as the words flew from your mouth, an excitement settling in as you began preparing for the boys arrival, cleaning absolutely every inch of your apartment, even if it didn’t really need it.

It came so unexpectedly, not in the way you’d hoped it would. Ideally you wanted the apartment to be cleaner then ever, a surprise celebration to welcome them home, but it seems that fate had other plans.

2:03am blinks through the room in white light, illuminating you’re sleeping figure curled up on the couch in simple pulses.

The world is still, the book still open on your lap, fingers intertwined with the pages, and the letters forming vivid images behind your eyelids.

The door clicks open at the entering of a simple passcode, the blond boy dressed in all black entering the threshold with quiet footfalls, the suitcase behind him barely making a noise as it’s wheeled across the wooden flooring.

You don’t hear a single thing, content in the silence of the night and the rhythmic pulses of the dulled white light.

Abandoning his suitcase at the door, he creeps towards your sleeping figure, kneeling to gently pry the book from your tangled fingers.

Consciousness surfaces your nervous system, a small groan leaving your lips at your fingertips are brushed by the cold.

“Hey.”

The voice awakens your body now, eyes opening with a hazy fog glazed over them, not quite processing the figure in front of you.

A sleepy hand reaches for your glasses hidden in the crook of your legs, slipping them on a little disjointedly as you begin to wake up.

“Chan?”

Your voice comes out broken, sleepy in nature. Eyes widening, your body seems more awake then your mind, arms throwing themselves over the body in front of you, the surprising force behind the blow almost knocking the boy over as he laughs.

“C’mon lets get you to bed.” He mumbles, arms locked around you in a tight hug.

You barely manage to shake your head in his grip, pulling back and pulling the boy up onto the couch next to you, blanket now spread around you both.

Now it was like he never left.

The familiar smell and touch so comforting as you blink up at him tiredly, sleep still not quite winning the battle against your excitement.

His fingers trail over the back of your hand, soft in nature as he too tries not to succumb too slumber.

You look up at the boy, a dumb, sleepy smile plastered on your face. Infatuation seems to get the better of you, glazed eyes just scanning his with some kind of sleepy fondness.

His hand comes to rest on your cheek, thumb moving back and forwards slowly as you move a stray piece of hair from his face.

“I love you.” He mumbles, eyes barely open. Sleep is too close to winning, and it’s the same for you, a light glaze obstructing your vision as you smile in contentment.

“I love you too.”

With the words, the pulsating lights fade from view, fingers intertwined for the first time in months as a certain sleepy contentment blankets you even this early in the morning.

Between the white light and the cozy cuddles, this is just what you loved; the contentment that came with being with him.

#imagines stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #stray kids au #stray kids #au #skz #skz bang chan #bang chan skz #bang chan stray kids #stray kids bang chan #kpop #kpop au #kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #skz aus #Fluffy!

[voyager-into-the-unknown]

This is my December 27th contribution for the Pikelavar Winter Event. You can find this fic and several others that I have written on AO3.

“All I Want for Midwinter is Meklavar” by PlanceGardener21

❄️ ❄️ Chapter 2–Snow ❄️ ❄️

Pike trudged miserably through snow drifts, his face half-hidden by his long red scarf. He looked behind him and saw that Meklavar was having trouble keeping up with his longer strides. The snow was piling higher by the minute, and he feared that if they stayed out in the snowstorm any longer they would both freeze to death.

“W-we’re n-nearly there,” she told him. Her teeth were chattering. In the distance, Pike saw the little abandoned cabin high on a hill at the edge of the woods that Block had told them about. It was small and dark, but the roof was still intact, and the walls would provide relief from the cold wind that cut through his lightweight clothing like daggers of ice.

“Firewood,” said Pike as they neared the front door. They gathered as many logs as they could carry from the woodpile near the entrance and brought them inside, then barred the door against the howling wind. Pike looked around after he set down his armful of logs. There was a fireplace, numerous cooking pans and utensils, a table and chairs, a small washtub, a couple of chamber pots, and a small bed covered with a faded quilt. “Cozy,” he said with a grin.

“It won’t be until we get that fire started. Come on.” Meklavar already had her logs stacked neatly in the fireplace, and had set her traveling pack down near the hearth.

“I think there’s enough there for a pretty good blaze,” Pike said as he moved his own logs over to the remains of a small stack of firewood near the wall. “We can use these later, when the fire dies down.” He set is own pack down and started rummaging in it. Mek had her flint and tinder out and busied herself with starting the fire while Pike found them something to eat in his pack.

“We have dried beef, cheese, bread, and some nuts and berries left. But we are low on water.”

“Melt some snow for later, then,” she said.

Pike gathered a few of the pots and jugs that looked clean enough, then teleported back outside to fill them with fresh snow, then set them on the hearth to melt. Mek had her helmet off and was removing her armor. Even her black under suit was soaked from the melting snow, and she was violently shivering.

“You’d better get out of those wet clothes,” Pike advised.

“I’m trying. Could you turn the other way, please?” Mek gone through her pack and had laid out clean socks and rather delicate feminine-looking undergarments along with her heavy woolen sleeping tunic.

Pike felt his cheeks grow warmer, but not from the fireplace. “I won’t peek,” he said as he turned his back to her. “I’m changing out of my wet clothes too.” He found his warmest sleeping shirt and pants at the bottom of his pack, then began to strip off his wet clothes.

“Are you finished changing?” she asked.

Pike bristled. “N-no, not yet,” he said. At the moment he was completely naked and trying to scramble into clean underwear. “Just a moment, please.” He hurriedly slipped on his warm sleeping pants, and had to wriggle about to get his tail through the proper opening. He could hear her running a comb through her short hair on the opposite side of the room. He knew that Mek hated having matted helmet hair. “I’m done,” he announced right after he had pulled his shirt over his head. She padded over towards the fireplace to arrange her wet clothing on the floor in front of the hearth to dry, and then Pike did the same.

“Did you see anything we can use as a clothesline?” She asked.

“No, but let’s have a look around.” They began to search the cabin. A few minutes later Pike found a long tightly woven cord that they could tie across the room. He set about hanging up a makeshift clothesline in front of the fireplace, then hanging up their outer garments upon it. Meklavar had snatched away her discarded socks and underwear, and his as well, much to his embarrassment.

“These need to be washed,” she explained. She began heating some of the melted snow and searching her pack for a laundry bar. When she had found it, she made use of the washtub and began scrubbing away at their dirty underclothes.

“I could do that myself,” he said, embarrassed that she was washing his underpants.

“I don’t mind. I need some cool water for rinsing though.”

Pike fetched that for her. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“See what provisions I have left in my pack. We should inventory our food supplies.” She was rinsing and wringing out their things, then arranging them on their makeshift clothesline. She washed and rinsed their outer garments last, then hung them up once more.

“Time for supper,” he announced. Pike had found some more provisions in her pack, and together they determined that they could last a few days if they didn’t overeat. Mek searched the cabin’s assortment of odds and ends and soon found a tea kettle and two chipped mugs. Since she had the foresight to bring along a large packet of herbs and tea leaves, she set about brewing them each a cup of hot minty tea. They sat at the little table near the hearth and nibbled upon bread and cheese, salted nuts, and jerky. The berries made an excellent dessert, and the tea warmed their insides as the heat from the fireplace warmed them from the outside. It was cozy indeed. It felt...domestic, as if they were a young couple getting used to their first shared dwelling place. Pike smiled dreamily at the thought of having her as his life partner. He wondered if she ever thought about settling down someday.

“I’m so glad Block told us about this place,” she said, her elfin features illuminated by the crackling firelight.

“Yeah. I didn’t think we were going to last much longer in that storm. We might have frozen to death.” He sipped his drink. “This tea is so good, Mek.”

“Thanks.” She had brought a parchment scroll to the table along with the tea, and now she finally unrolled it, then set the plates and mugs at the four corners of the scroll to make it lie flat. It was a map of the rugged terrain they must traverse to reach Block’s village, where they would soon be heading with the intention of attending the midwinter festival. Block had invited them, along with the mystical archer Valayun, Jiro the Paladin, and Thunder the half-elf to stay at his home during the days of the famed and much-anticipated event. All quests in the land of Aurita were put aside during midwinter, for there would be gift giving, spectacles, and holiday feasting during the days of the celebration. The two adventurers studied the map for a time, trying to figure out the most practical route through the frozen terrain. When they had determined their best course through the woods and mountains, Pike yawned.

“Sleepy?” Mek asked, her beautiful golden brown eyes reflecting the light of the fire.

“I can curl up by the hearth so you can have the bed.” Pike may have been a thief and a rogue, but he was a gentleman as far as ladies were concerned.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind sharing.” Meklavar’s cheeks were pink, and not just from windburn. Pike’s eyes widened and his face grew warm. His heart was racing, and his tail stiffened.

“Uh...” he wasn’t sure what to say next. What was she implying by this? He didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“I mean, shared body heat is the best way to keep warm. I’m simply being practical about this.” She averted her gaze. Her soft tawny hair was in damp curls that framed her pink-cheeked elfin face. Pike had never seen her look more adorable. He thought about how nice it would be to snuggle up against her soft little body under the warm quilt. He was so enthralled by the notion that he nearly started purring.

“Okay!” He practically lept across the room and began peeling back the layers of quilts and blankets and fluffing the pillows while Meklavar was clearing the table and putting away her map. When she approached the bed, Pike was already under the covers. He was stretched out to his full length, laying on his right side and leaning on one elbow, grinning triumphantly, like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse. He winked at her.

Meklavar stood staring at him wide-eyed, rooted to the spot. He was wondering if she was afraid of him or suddenly regretting her decision to invite him to share the bed with her.

“Come on, Mek. It’s freezing. I promise I’ll behave.”

She slowly approached the bed, climbed under the covers with him, and then shivered a little, and Pike began to wonder if it wasn’t just from the cold. He lay on his side facing her. “Is it okay if we cuddle?” He asked softly.

“It’s okay,” she said in a quivering, breathy voice.

He nuzzled her chest and wrapped his long arms around her, sighing with contentment. She stroked his furry head as he lay upon her soft bosom and, much to his embarrassment, he began to purr. She giggled.

“Sorry...I can’t help it when I—“

She continued stroking his soft fur. “I think it’s cute,” she confessed, sleepily. “And so are you, Pike.”

Pike felt his heart racing again. Was she flirting with him? He suddenly felt warm all over. Her words gave him the courage to say what he had been thinking about out loud. “I think you’re cute, too...for a dwarf.”

“For a dwarf? What’s that supposed to mean?” She sounded a little offended.

“Not enough fur,” he teased.

“Ugh. I’m not going to give up my personal grooming habits just for you.”

Pike chuckled. “You wax your legs.”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“They’re so smooth,” he said, as he rubbed her right leg under the covers.

“Pike,” she began, angrily.

“Okay, don’t get upset, Mek. I’ll behave. I promised. Remember?” He lifted his head from her chest to look at her for a moment, and he saw how much she was blushing. He gazed wistfully at her, wondering if that meant she felt the same as he did. She rolled away from him to lay on her side, turning her face away from him, and rearranged her sleeping tunic which had ridden up during Pike’s explorations.

“I’m sorry, Mek. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s all right. Go to sleep now, Pike.”

“I think you have nice legs.”

“Pike—“

He sighed. “I’ll be quiet. You still want to cuddle, right? I mean, we have to stay warm.”

“You can put your arms around me if you want to, as long as your hands don’t start wandering. I have an axe, you know.” She said in a low voice.

Pike’s tail bristled. “I’ll behave.” His voice cracked, betraying his fear. It was best to take her threats seriously. After all, he didn’t want to lose an appendage. As he lay on his side, he carefully slipped an arm around her waist, to spoon with her. “Is this okay?”

She sighed. “It is. Now go to sleep.” He pressed the length of his body against hers, enveloping her in his warmth. Her breathing slowed as she drifted off to the sound of Pike purring in her ear.

@pikelavarforest @defendersofaurita @anchoredtether

#plance #pidge #pike #lance mcclain #meklavar #pikelavarwinterevent #pikelavar #pikelavarwinter2019

[conneko]

Sneak peek at another rk1k hunger games AU

—

They find a cave, crouched low enough in the bushes that people might overlook them when visibility is low, if they're lucky enough. Connor helps Markus lie down, and Markus winces at every step. His movements are stuttered, stiff and staggered. The cut around his face crusts with a mix of dried blood and dirt, and his breathing has gone heavier than the humidity of the forest.

His wound bleeds a raging dark red, torn open like the mouth of the cave itself. Connor finds a broken piece of fabric in Markus's satchel and wraps it around his thigh, careful despite Markus's winces. 

"You should have focused on gaining more sponsors before this," Connor scolds. "Charming the public is good and all, but it doesn't help you in the arena."

Markus tries to lift himself up to sitting position and he flinches. "I doubt... ah, I doubt they'd let the sponsors hand out endless vats of medicine willy-nilly."

"Still," Connor says, pulling on his bandages a little too tightly. "You should have tried."

"Connor." Markus grasps his hands. "I can hear your nerves from here. I’ll be okay. I've had worse."

"That doesn't make it better, Markus."

"We'll figure something out," Markus says, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "We've gotten this far, haven't we?"

Markus is dangerous, Connor knows, Markus is unbelievably dangerous is how persuasive and damn bright he can be in the darkest situations. It’s his stupid resolve and charisma. Bludgeoned by the sheer hope in Markus's eyes, Connor slumps his shoulders, conceding into his touch.

Markus gives a small smile, a small quirk on his lips. He kisses Connor's hand and pull him to lie beside him, holding him close and burying soothing noises into his hair. 

Injured to the literal bone, and Markus is still trying to comfort him. Connor wishes they'd met outside the games. Although, realistically, outside the games, they would have probably never met at all. Here, they're restricted by the cameras; every movement kept under watch; every word filtered in hopes that the Capitol won't find them too offensive. 

Connor wants all of Markus's honesty; all of his thoughts and his memories. He doesn't want the diplomatic Markus that comes out when his eyes pass the brush around them. He wants the Markus that comes out in moment like these—where they can pretend that there's nothing in their bubble but the two of them. 

He won't ask about his family and friends, like Markus won't ask him about his either. Instead, Connor brushes his hands over Markus's chest, and bundles his head closer to where Connor can hear his heartbeat. 

"When did you start painting?" Connor asks. "Do you think you're good at it?"

“I like to think that I am,” Markus says. “Although, I don’t get to do it as often as I liked. And that’s a funny way of asking if I enjoyed it.”

Connor almost pinches him. “You know what I mean. If you’re good at it, then surely you’d enjoy it.”

“Spoken like a true Careers.”

Connor does pinch him this time. Softly, though, and Markus stifles his laughter.

"My adopted father taught me," Markus says. "He taught me how to play the piano too."

I love him very much, Markus doesn't say, but he does squeeze Connor's hand hard enough for the message to come through.

“What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“As in, hobbies?” Connor frowns. “My brother and I trained often.”

“Oh,” Markus says. “Your twin, right? Do you two get along?”

It’s like a switch has been flipped, and a dam spills open. A flood of despair crashes into him, at the thought that he might never see Nines and Amanda again. This is what he’s been preparing for all his life, and yet, it also isn’t. He loves them and he wants to see them again. Yet, that would mean wining the games, and Markus being dead.  That’s something he doesn’t want to delve any deeper.

Connor can tell that Markus already regrets asking his question, his hands running apologetically down Connor’s back. His silence said too much, but then, the Capitol had already held them for ransom. Connor rubs his hips in an attempt at comfort.

“Yes,” Connor says. “I miss him. And my mother.”

And so time passes, hidden in between silent whispers delivered between private touches. Then, Connor can hear it—the synthetic chirping of a parachute making itself known. 

"I'll get that," Connor says. "Stay here." 

The longer he takes, the more it will attract unwanted attention. Regretfully, he slips Markus's arms off himself and he heads crouches out the cave with his knives drawn. Once Connor has retrieved the parachute from a tree branch, Connor opens the gifts and finds a note tucked in. 

Tell lover boy I said 'hi' - Hank

Connor almost smiles. Markus's charm strikes again and his mentor's right; if they keep this up, they might get more sponsorship later on.

"What you've got there?" Markus says, pushing himself to sit up. 

"Soup," Connor says, twisting the container open and uncapping the spoon. "Stop moving so fast. I've got this."

"Connor." Markus sighs and reaches for the food. "I'm not going to let you feed me." 

Connor stops him with one hand on his chest. "That's exactly what you're going to do. It's the only reason I'm letting you sit up. It's better for digestion, this way."

Markus sighs again, but he does bundle his bag behind his back. The soup is a clear broth which chunks of carrots, chicken, and thin slices of sausages in it. It's on the simpler side in Connor's opinion. It takes Markus effort to chew the substantial bits of the soup down, but from the hunger that folds his face, Connor knows that this is one of the most decadent meal he's had in his life. 

"What are those red thing?" Markus asks between his chewing. 

“What thing?” Connor tilts his head. He spoons up a slice of sausage. "This one?"

"Yeah," Markus says. "They're... It tastes like wild turkey. But it doesn't as well. It’s so… salty."

"Oh," Connor says. "They're Frankfurt sausages. These ones are a little non-traditional and commercialized, since they're only a mixture of pork and beef."

"Amazing," Markus says. "My friends and I would've taken so many tesserae for a piece of those."

Connor hesitates. "Have you taken many of those?" Connor asks, angling the spoon so Markus could have a better bite. "Tesserae?"

Markus thinks on his reply which he chews. "You'd struggle to find anyone who hasn't done it at least twice a year," he says with food still in his mouth. 

Amanda would be appalled at his manners. For some reason, the observation only makes Markus more endearing to Connor. 

“And if you were alone?”

“Then you find people,” Markus says. “You find your family there.”

Markus says it like it’s easy. Like it’s the norm for people to be taking strangers in and treating them like family. 

"I would take one for Carl and Leo," Markus says. "Then when Josh, North and Simon came to live with us, we were fortunate enough to be considered a family. So we could take an extra Tessera for each person."

"That's... quite a lot of odds to be putting in."

"But if everyone's increasing the number of times they're entered, then the probability roughly stays the same. I think was at 39 at the last reaping."

A laugh escapes from Connor. "I'm not sure that's how it exactly works," Connor says. “But I guess you’re right, more or less.”

Markus shrugs. "Math was never my best subject."

Connor is about to ask about what other things they teach in District 12 when a booming voice cuts through their conversation. 

"Attention Tributes. Attention.” 

Markus almost chokes on his soup, and Connor rubs a hand on his back as he bends over coughing.

"Commencing at sunrise. There'll be a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia."

Connor snaps into attention.

"However, this will be no ordinary occasion," the announcer says, a little slyly. "Each of you need something... desperately and we plan to be generous hosts."

Markus jolts forward catching his elbow before Connor could move. "You're not going," he says. 

"It's your medicine," Connor says. "Of course, I am."

Markus's hold tightens. "Connor, don't. You can't go alone."

"Markus, you can't even stand without flinching."

"Connor, I'm serious," Markus says, and his eyes are pleading. "You can't just--you can't just risk your life for me. I won't let you."

"There's nothing you can't do to stop me."

"I'm not letting you die for me!" 

"Markus—"

"No, Connor," Markus says, jerky and desperate as he’s never been before. "Listen to me. You go out there alone, and you'd get slaughtered. They've made it clear that the Cornucopia's a target, and you don't even have a ranged weapon."

"I can throw my knives."

"Faster than an archer with a bow?”

“If they can spot me. That’s why I need to scout the area and set up traps.”

“You won’t be the only one to think of that strategy.”

“I know,” Connor says. “It’s still the best chance for us to keep track of everyone in the area.”

“Connor, please,” Markus says. “Don’t risk yourself like that. It’s not worth it.”

Connor chews on his lip. "Markus. You haven't even finished your food." 

"And this!" Markus waves up and down. "You don't owe me anything. I saved your life, but you've already more or less saved mine. Why are you doing all this?"

They're locked in a standoff. Markus's eyes are brighter and more demanding in the darkness of their cave than they did in the daylight.

They're not even from the same district. There was already no way both of them could come out of this alive. Markus is wounded and if Connor was smart—if Connor was still playing the game as he should, as someone worthy of his District—he’d slit Markus's throat now and lay out a trap at the Cornucopia. Everyone there would do the same, if they're smart, but Connor can be smarter. He just needs the jumpstart time to plan ahead. 

But he doesn't do any of that. For once, he doesn't want to do what's expected of him. 

“We don’t have a lot of time left,” Connor says carefully.

Markus grimaces. “I know.”

“Why is it so bad, then, that I want to spend what little time I have left with you?”

That seems to stop Markus short.

Connor puts the soup aside, safe in its closed container, and leans over slowly. He hovers, just as his lips is about to touch Markus's. He looks up from Markus's lips, categorizing each freckle which dots his cheeks, and the slashes carved on his temple.

"Can I?" Connor asks quietly. 

Swallowing, Markus nods, and Connor leans in, pressing their lips together. 

Markus tastes like soup, Connor distantly notes, a wave of giddiness and warmth blasting through his bones like the recoil of a force field. He tilts his head, testing for a better angle before softly pulling away.

"Oh," Connor says quietly. He brushes Markus's bottom lip  with the tip of his index finger. "I've never done that before."

Markus laughs, and it's a soft puff of air fluttering on his skin. "Finally," he says. "Something I know more about than you do."

Connor sneaks a quick peck on his lips. "If you did," Connor says, brushing his thumb over Markus’s chin. "You didn't show it."

“That’s not fair,” Markus says. “I’m injured.”

Which reminds Connor all the more of current their situation. His dopey smile drips and he can see Markus mirror him. 

Markus tugs him by his elbow, closer until he can rest his forehead onto Connor’s. He closes his eyes and his presses in, and if Connor doesn’t want to fall back, he has to press in as well. For some reason, Connor finds the balance soothing.

“All the more reason I can’t let you go,” Markus mumbles. “Please stay here. Stay here with me. We’ll work something out. I promise you we will.”

Connor knows Markus isn’t the type to hand out empty promises as assurance. They’re not empty promises, of course, if he wills them into existence, and Markus is stubborn enough to make it a reality. It’s almost as potent as his kindness and courage. Yet he knows himself so well, knows the line tips into the ruthless and practical side of himself. Everything about Markus draws Connor in like a flame. Everything about Markus hits like a drop of dye unfolding in a bed of water.

But with a cut that deep, it’s only a matter of time before infection starts creeping away at his skin. And then Markus will be a sitting duck, shaky with his fever, while the whole arena sniffs at his trail. It’s not like Connor plans to leave Markus if they ever get to that point, but he’ll have to for brief periods of time. Food and water won’t fetch themselves, after all.

“Okay,” Connor lies, running his hands up Markus’s arms. “Okay, I’ll stay. Can you at least finish your food first?”

“I’ve already had a lot,” Markus says. “Have some with me.”

“It’s your food, Markus,” he says. “From a sponsor. Guess I spoke too quickly on that, huh?”

“No reason it can’t be shared. I’ll have some if you have some.”

Markus moves himself back, and even though they’re more colour on his face, the act of eating has taken a lot out of him.  Even still, he looks at Connor expectantly after he takes a spoonful, and he doesn’t stop until Connor sips at the broth himself and almost sighs from how his stomach curls in happiness. 

No sickness can keep Markus and his stubborn will of steel down, it seems. 

He stays awake long enough to tug Connor onto his chest. As soon as Connor arranges his limbs, so that he wouldn’t budge Markus’s wound, Markus’s breathing evens out into long, deep, soothing beats which lulls Connor on the edge as well. 

He’ll doze until just before sunrise, Connor decides. That will give him enough time to slip out, and plan what he’ll be doing at Cornucopia.

—

“Oh, Markus,” Carl says tiredly. “What have you done?”

They had watched in silence and bated breath like the rest of the world. Connor leaned in and Markus leaned in back, and the kiss was terrifying—the kiss was hesitant, and tender, and so unflinchingly real that Carl’s heart already aches for what lies ahead as the number of tributes dwindle down.

“Always said he had more heart than brains,” North says, thinning her lips.

“He’ll have somebody watching his back though,” Simon says. “A Careers, as well. That’s more than what we hoped for.”

“That’s just it, Simon. What’s going to happen when there’s only the two of them left?” Josh asks.

“Then Connor will probably kill himself,” Simon says bluntly. “If his feelings are true, that is. That’s our best bet for getting Markus back. If his feelings are faked then…”

“Markus would never let him do that,” Josh says.

Simon shrugs. “Markus doesn’t need to know.”

“Markus is smarter than you’re giving him credit for, Simon,” North says. “And I don’t think that Connor’s faking it. Else, he would’ve just killed Markus then and there while he’s incapacitated.”

“They’re not faking it,” Carl says, eyes still on the TV. “Trust the eye of an old artist, my child. Even seasoned actors would struggle to replicate what they have.”

Markus is starting to get feverish, shivering and turning in his sleep. Jolted, Connor blinks awake. Then, they watch as, half-asleep, Connor rearranges the jackets Markus kicked away, and falls back into his dozing.

Markus turns into him, seeking the warmth of his body.

“Oh, Markus,” North says, echoing his words from earlier. “What have you done?”

#rk1k #rk1k hunger games au #dbh markus #dbh connor #conneko keyboard smash

[flying-elliska]

HS Reunion AU pt. 3/?

Heyyy I know we thrive on pain here ^^ but if you want a break maybe for a minute, here’s some more incredibly wish-fulfill-y fluff. They’re all thriving adults (for the most part), the reunion starts and Daphne has a surprise ! 

SAMEDI 17:44 

The day of the reunion dawns bright and sunny. They’ve just spent a lazy morning in bed, enjoying each other, only getting up after noon. Lucas promised his husband that this time would be for them, so he kept his itching fingers away from any keyboards or screens. Eliott made crepes with melted chocolate, deliciously decadent. They curled up together on their big couch, read, watched a weird documentary about deminer rats, and rearranged their utility closet. Lucas's still surprised about all the things they’d managed to lose in there, including four different brooms, one of Eliott’s best lenses hidden in an empty cereal box (why), a bag of onions that had taken on a life of their own, and an album of honeymoon photos they’d completely forgotten existed, maybe because it was the one where they both sported completely sunburnt noses after going off trail for a week in Nepal and looked like a pair of molting lobsters. 

The reunion is at 18. They will be having dinner in the old foyer, before going to party on a rented boat on the Seine. Lucas parks the car a few blocks away. He really wants them to have a little time to breathe and enjoy the sun before the madness starts.

It's a gorgeous early summer day, with a little breeze deflecting the heat and sunlight glittering on the water. It’s incredibly thrilling still for some reason, walking hand in hand with his husband along the Canal St Martin, this close to their old school.

Eliott can’t stop grinning at him either. He looks like a vision in his tight black turtleneck, camel longcoat swung over his shoulder, hair as wild as ever. His eyes are intense and full on mischievous, in a way that really does something to Lucas’ underbelly feelings. 

“Hey, so...things are heating up between you and that girl Chloe, huh ?” 

Lucas rolls his eyes. Of course he would go there, the asshole. 

“Yeah, she’s incredible. Woman of my life. Might ask her to marry me in the fall. I always wanted a honeymoon in Bali” 

“Bali, hm ? That’s cute. Are you sure she’s the one, though ?”

“Yes absolutely. She ticks all my boxes ! I mean, she’s such a ...female woman !  She even has breasts and everything ! I think. It’s amazing. Everything I need right there.” 

Eliott laughs out loud. Lucas loves that sound more than anything else in the world, and the fact that they can joke easy now about their earlier jealousies and mistakes feels very healing. 

“Love at first sight, then.” 

“Oh you know how it is, girl bumps into boy once, it must be true love.” 

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Are you talking about yourself now ?”

Eliott raises his eyebrows in a way that makes Lucas blush, then stops and pulls him closer, until their noses almost touch.

“I don’t know, do you have any boxes left for me to tick ? Or are you all ticked out ? Are you sure your boxes are being ticked appropriately ?” 

“Oh, okay, we’re playing it like that, dirty talk in the street ? I don’t remember that part.”

“Why don’t we make up for lost time ?”

“Wait, don’t you have an imaginary girlfriend, too ?”

“Nah. I’m not even playing at that.”

“Well then, you can tick my boxes anytime.”

Eliott smiles and wraps his arms around Lucas’ head, drawing him into a passionate kiss, unhurried and slow, that tastes like minty toothpaste and cigarettes. They have all the time in the world. Lucas thinks of his teenage self, who’d yearned for this so fervently even as the idea of holding another man’s hand in the street terrified him, and he kind of wants to do a victory dance on the spot. 

A few seconds or maybe minutes later, someone coughs loudly next to them. History repeats, apparently, but thankfully with better timing. 

“Well, I see you two are still as disgustingly in love as ever.” 

Emma is standing in front of them, an amused expression on her face. She looks good, if a little jet lagged - hair in a pixie cut, tanned, bag slung over her shoulder, looking as carefree and adventurous as ever. Lucas moves to hug her as if they’d last seen each other last week. 

“Glad to see you made it.”

“Daphne would have reached across two entire oceans to kick my ass if I didn’t. And you know, I figured my family might like to see me, accessorily. And you, still can’t get you past the Périphérique, I see ?” 

“That’s a gross overexaggeration. We toured half the world for our honeymoon.” 

“And let me guess, you’ve been shackled to your desks ever since ? Well, at least you’re rocking the “just rose from my coffin” look together.” 

“Oh, sorry, not all of us want to look like Australian beef jerky.”

They fall easily into bickering the rest of the way, insulting each other in a friendly manner. It really is like old times. The place hasn’t changed much, except for a lot more vegetation in the courtyard. Seeing it evokes a tangled knot of complicated feelings in him. They haven’t been back since graduation, really. When they’ve reached the gate, Eliott holds Lucas back for a moment, taking both his hands. Lucas can feel his husband is nervous. 

“You know, say the magic word and we’re out of there in a second, okay ?” 

Eliott leans forward muffles his laugh in Lucas’ collar. 

“How is this worse than Cannes, seriously ?"

"I almost wish there were paparazzi now, as distraction."

"Let's pretend there are and put our game faces on, then."

Eliott laughs again and ruffles through Lucas' hair, who protests but lets him do it. He always does.

From across the courtyard, he sees Manon come toward them. 

She looks better than the last time he saw her, when she was fresh from her breakup with some hotshot war reporter. He loves this woman, truly, that's his sister right there, but god he wishes for her own sake she’d grow out of her taste for passionate, moody assholes. And it's not the first time, nor the last, he feels he will have to help her pick up the pieces. But that's okay. She's always been there in his most difficult times.

And now she's there, standing tall, wrapped in a designer coat, rocking her signature red lipstick even though there are bags under her eyes and he knows this is the look she wears when she's pretending to be okay. He realizes then one of his goals tonight will be to make sure nobody bothers her about her love life. She's an amazingly accomplished woman. That's all anybody needs to know.

Eliott gives her an extra long hug. Those are the best thing in the world, and his husband has always been intuitive about these things. Good.

Together, they move towards the foyer.

Their old haunt is completely gone - the mural, their ratty old couch, all the things they'd painstakingly gathered together. The space has been merged with another room and is twice as large. Then again, it makes it possible to fit in enough tables, which might not have been possible back then. Their old beat down furniture has been cleared to make room for lush greenery and designer sofas, uncannily clean for a high school. It's been lavishly decorated too, with a banner, pastel streamers and golden balloons. In front of the window there is a buffet full of all sorts of drinks, salads and cakes. It's definitely too much for this type of occasion but then again. Daphne. 

When they enter the room, heads turn, and the gazes aimed their way are a bit too curious and insistent for his taste.  Well, they did end up being one of the most dramatic squads in their year, in the end, it was to be expected but...It’d better be admiration for his on-his-way to famous husband, and nothing else, because if he’s grown out of one thing, it’s suffering fools. He feels both Eliott and Manon’s grip on his arms tighten. 

A very enthusiastic Daphne appears out of thin air in front of them, as if on wheels. She looks like she stepped out of the pages of a magazine, baby blue dress, hair carefully plaited with little glass flowers, as peppy as ever. She welcomes them, kisses all of their cheeks and then directs them to their table, where they find little calligraphied tags to their names in the plates, before storming off again.

Their table is already half-full. Arthur is there, in a crisp suit, accompanied by a posh, bored looking brunette. He is pointedly not talking to Basile, sitting next to him. Lucas sighs internally. He'd really hoped that was over. Basile is accompanied by a vaguely bird-faced woman, who is wearing the exact same disastrous color scheme as him, brown and bright green and red. And then there's Imane, looking impeccable in her deep red scarf and elegant black dress, and her husband Yousef, in deep conversation. Finally, to round it off, there's two random people Lucas already feels sorry for.

They all greet each other. It's a little awkward. He's happy seeing Imane and Yousef though. It's been a while, what with their little daughter and Imane's company getting off the ground and his own crazy schedule.

Lucas gets a text from Yann saying he's going to be late. Basile launches into an explanation of his latest crowdfunding project, something about an app and cryptocurrency that barely registers. The room slowly fills up. Arthur talks about his family company's ventures into the South Asian market. Lucas slowly starts feeling like he wants to jump into the Seine. He didn't come here to witness how boring his friends have become and how adulthood is descending on them to make them into pre-mummified copies of their parents. He thinks he'd almost rather go back to hear college age Basile brag about all his conquests in graphic detail. Almost. And he can feel his husband tensing up next to him; he knows how much Eliott hates speaking about his work archievements, that it always feels like bragging to him, that he wants the work to talk for itself.

Thankfully, this is the moment Alexia chooses to make her entrance. Far from toning herself down, she's only become more colorful and boisterous over the years. Hair bubblegum pink, in a dress marked with a giant golden thunderbolt, she makes all heads turn in her direction. Lucas used to think she was a little obnoxious, to be honest, but she's like a breath of fresh air now. She plops into a chair at their table and immediately launches a debate about the worst part of the new foyer and if they could donate another paper toilet rolls sculpture. It's a relief from everyone posturing about their jobs. Although honestly, Alexia's probably the most successful of all of them. He can never wrap his head around what she does exactly, except that it involves millions of online followers, sponsorships in the US, dancing videos with cats and her own shoeline.

Eliott leaves and comes back with drinks for the both of them. They clink their craft beer bottles against each other and Eliott leans down to whisper in his ear :

"Too bad they took away our couch"

Lucas snorts.

"Fuck no, that thing was a health hazard when we were here already, can you imagine after ten years ?"

"I don't know, I mean. It could have been fun to recreate some memories after everyone leaves." Lucas chokes on his beer. If Eliott is trying to distract him, it's surely working.

Across the table he can see Arthur's date look at them with a contemptuous glance on her face. The woman exhudes as much fun as a bag of frozen broccoli. Petty, he plants a sloppy kiss on Eliott's cheek. If they've earned one thing, it's the right to not worry about what people think of their PDA, goddamn.

Daphne arrives at their table and sits down, slightly out of breath.

"Hey guys ! I'm so happy you are all here ! It's been a while, huh ? I have a surprise for everyone later, I hope you will all participate, I'm counting on you !"

For a moment Lucas is terrified she's going to quiz them on their lives or force them into some sort of weird bonding exercise. Then he sees the look on Basile's face and realizes they have worse issues to worry about. F*cking hell, they dated for a few months ten years ago, and he's still looking at her like she hung the moon, and right in front of his girlfriend too. It took him years to get over her, they were gross the first time, and if Basile does something stupid it's going to take the awkwardness levels from slightly unpleasant to excruciating for the rest of the evening.

Then a tall, beautiful woman with dark skin and long tresses comes toward their table, effortlessly elegant in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She puts her hand on Daphne's shoulder.

"Hey babe, sound's all set up."

Daphne blushes up to her ears.

"Hey everyone, uh. This is Sam. She's my work partner and also. Uh. She's going to be my wife."

The table erupts into shouts of congratulations, surprise and joy. Manon hugs Daphne, Basile's expression falls to the floor, and Alexia claps her hands laughing. Lucas isn't surprised, but he is proud. For a long time, Daphne was even deeper in denial than he was. And Sam looks awesome.

Lucas exchanges a smile with his husband. Maybe coming to this reunion was worth it after all.

#skam france #elu #lucas x eliott #my fic #hs reunion au #every time i write 'his husband' it's adding two years to my life i swear #yeah lucas is a little bit of a workaholic in this one #lesbian daphne forever #captain holt voice 'nothing is more intoxicating than the clear absence of a p*nis" #skam france fic