#I haven’t been able to properly draw or get anything done for the past week augh

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

*head in hands* ough….

#tw vent #:( #so- #I haven’t been able to properly draw or get anything done for the past week augh #I have. various wips and things in working on but :( #I wanna get all these things done and out for you guys but brain is having too many moments #I have au designs for fallen deities au- pirate au- neon souls- supernatural au and now thinking about others I wanna introduce #(fantasy au- I haven’t gotten into the ✨lore✨ and that’s smth I wanna do) #I have been having huge mega ectoloader brainrot these pats few days but haven’t had the energy to do anything about it iaagogh #I have oc and parent oc drawings to finish and post and introduce #I have this. mini thing with Eri and the teachers I wanna get done #I have a mini animation for fun that I’m doing and then a planned ✨Big One™️✨ that idek if I can get done on the software I own- #my ipad keeps running out of battery so fast which is why I can’t draw quickly #(and my charger. doesn’t. charge it. properly.) #really wanna buy a normal drawing tablet so I can draw on my computer again but now I’m having to save up for a new computer bc it’s dying #(oh how lovely would it be if I hadn’t broken it at the end of 2020 /lh) #still looking for university places that’ll take me in with the qualifications I have- #my hands are unfortunately back to being not good which ig is good I’ve been takin a break #but hhh #I can’t even write properly bc I haven’t been able to focus #augh #sorry bout all that- I’ll hopefully get back to getting shit done soon #*melts into a puddle* #love you all <3

[sturchling]

A maribat no pairing needed but if you want one you can write it in. But basically Marinette goes to Gotham and stays with the bat family. Bruce is leaving hits he is Batman so he can help Marinette with being ladybug

Sorry for the wait! Hope you like it! I decided to make this one a little more funny with a completely oblivious Marinette. Sorry if you don't like her being this oblivious, just wanted to have some fun with this one. I really liked that idea and thought it was funny. I hope you like it too, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Marinette was so excited she was shaking. She had just gotten word that she had been accepted into an exchange student program with Gotham Academy. Not only would she be able to get away from Lila and the drama with the class, but she may also be able to find Batman and get some help with tracking down Hawkmoth. Marinette would be hosted by the Wayne family, who was sponsoring this whole program. Marinette was impressed by Mr. Wayne's generousity. It is really generous of Mr. Wayne to set up and fund this whole program. He must be a really nice man. Marinette wasn't going waste this opportunity. She would enjoy her time in America, and she would definitely find Batman before the program was over!

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Bruce really hoped this crazy plan worked. He had learned several weeks ago about a blog based out of Paris called the Ladyblog. It mainly posted a bunch of nonsense about a girl named Lila who was clearly a liar. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What caught his attention was a few stories posted between the interviews with the liar. These posts were about something called 'akuma attacks' and a supervillain named Hawkmoth who had been terrorizing Paris for years now. At first, Bruce just thought it was more nonsense, like the posts about the liar. But to be safe, he looked into it more, and was astonished to find out it was the truth. He learned everything Hawkmoth had done, all the different akumas, and about the local heroes: Ladybug and Chat Noir.

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He was shocked to see that the heroes defending Paris were just kids. And while they have done great on their own, Bruce could tell they haven't had any kind of combat training. If they go up against an akuma with real training, they would be at a significant disadvantage. Plus, they would likely not have any good strategy to discover Hawkmoth's identity. Even if they keep winning against the akumas, they have to find and beat Hawkmoth or this madness will never end. He resolved in that moment to find these kids and help them. He focused on Ladybug and started to figure out her civilian ID. It took a few weeks, but he eventually found out she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She always disappeared once Ladybug appeared, and there were a few times that a security camera would see her duck into an alley, and then a few moments later, Ladybug would emerge. Once he knew her identity, he began to plan.

----------------------

He decided the easiest way to get her to Gotham would likely be something regarding school. At first he thought of a class trip for her whole class, but decided against it. That idea wouldn't work with the rest of his plan. Instead, he set up a student exchange program with Gotham Academy. He would host the student that was selected at his manor for the duration of the program and fund the entire thing. The academy didn't think anything of it, used to Mr. Wayne's charitable acts for the school. His one condition was that he got to choose the student. The academy agreed, it only made sense since Mr. Wayne was funding the program and would host the student as well.

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Mr. Wayne made sure that the news of the program made it to Paris and was heavily advertised. He even sent the information to Ms. Dupain-Cheng's school. He was sure that she would learn about it and apply quickly. Ms. Dupain-Cheng had seemed like an ambitious student from what he had found so far, so the offer of studying in America would be tempting. Plus if she was as clever as she seemed, based off her actions as Ladybug, then he was sure she would want to come and try to meet with Batman. It didn't take long for Marinette's application to cross his desk. As he approved her application and typed up her acceptance email, he smiled and began the next phase of his plan.

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Bruce knew that Marinette would be very concerned if he approached her about being Ladybug outright. It would be best if she approached him. And here was the problem. She wouldn't approach him, she would only approach Batman. So he needed to have her figure out that he was Batman. He didn't want her to transform into Ladybug and look around Gotham for him. That could cause people back in Paris to figure out her identity, if Ladybug appeared in Gotham at the same time as Marinette. And if Hawkmoth figured it out, that would be horrible. And if Marinette went looking for Batman in her civilian form, it could be really dangerous. Instead, Bruce and his sons were going to make it painfully obvious who they were. They would leave all their equipment out in plain view, all their case files out, he was even going to park the Batmobile outside in the driveway (out of sight of the gates of course, he doesn't want anyone but Marinette to find out his identity). Short of walking around in their costumes, they would do everything they could.

-------------------

Bruce's sons were excited. They didn't have to be careful about their identities around her which was a plus, and after learning that Marinette fighting Hawkmoth with only Chat Noir for consistent help, they were more than ready to help them with the Hawkmoth problem. They had also made bets on how long it would take her to figure it out, and which member of the family would be the one to give it away. They were ready for Marinette to arrive.

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Marinette had arrived about a week ago, and Bruce's plan was in full effect. But, surprisingly, Marinette hadn't figured it out. She spent most of her time out, walking around Gotham. She had told the Waynes that she was familiarizing her self with the city and also gathering inspiration for her designs. In reality, she was focused on finding Batman. So focused in fact, that she missed all the clues that the Waynes were leaving her. She had walked right past the Batmobile, hardly giving it a second glance. She had picked up some casefiles sitting at the dining table, and instead of reading, or even just looking at them, she just handed them to Bruce and finished setting the table. She had walked in on Jason cleaning his guns in the living room, and instead of commenting on that, just sat down and turned on the TV. At one point, she even came into the gym and found Dick doing an acrobatic routine that only Nightwing would be able to do, all while Tim and Jason were sparing, and Damian was sharpening his sword. They were sure this would get her attention. But Marinette didn't even notice. She just got on a treadmill, put in her headphones and started running. They boys just stared at her. They were shocked that she could be so oblivious.

------------------------

While Marinette was out walking around Gotham, looking for Batman again, the Batfam was having a meeting at the manor. They couldn't believe that Marinette hadn't figured it out yet. At least Bruce could definitely prove that his secret ID was better than Clark's. Marinette's been living with him for months now, with them actively trying to reveal their secret to her, and she still couldn't figure it out. They were running out of ideas and time. The program ended in a few weeks and they had done everything they could think of. Except for one thing. They hadn't thought they would have to be so obvious, but it was clear that Marinette would figure it out any other way.

----------------------

So, that is how they found themselves coming up from the Batcave, in full costume, making a lot of noise to draw Marinette's attention as she sat watching TV in the living room. Marinette came around the corner and looked at them. Marinette's eyes grew wide, and she just stared. The Waynes were sure she finally figured it out. Finally, she broke the silence, saying "Nice costumes guys! You look just like the real Batfam. Nice attention to detail!" Then she just went back into the living room, leaving the Batfam frozen in disbelief.

--------------------

Bruce decided enough was enough, and the family went into the living room, still in costume, and told Marinette their secret directly. She was pretty surprised. She had been so consumed with looking for Batman around Gotham, she never even thought she might be living with him. The night continued for a long time after that. Marinette revealed her secret and the Waynes revealed they had known all along. They told her that they had seen her using the horse miraculous to go back to Paris for an akuma battle, which that may not have been how they figured her out, but they had seen that too. After all the reveals were done, the group spent the rest of the night focused on Hawkmoth and how to track him. Tim got to work immediately and was sure he would have an answer soon, though it may be after she went back to Paris. The rest of Marinette's time in Gotham was spent training how to fight properly, and how to find better places to transform. Marinette soon went back to Paris, armed with better fighting skills, and the knowledge that she now had Batman as an ally in the fight against Hawkmoth.

#ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic #maribat #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #oblivious marinette #maribat fic #maribat fanfic

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 10

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@pocketramblr :)

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One day - and not even a whole day, because of travel time and Inko wanted Izuku home for dinner- simply wasn't enough time to master a quirk. Although he could turn Float on and off, now. So, they made plans to come back next week, and the next, up until the sports festival. Which. Wow. Really was only two weeks away.

Izuku had never realized how close to the beginning of the school year it was.

He was going to die.

"You're not going to die," said Mr. Yagi. "I'm not going to say the sports festival isn't important, because it is, it's one of the best ways to make professional connections for students, but not doing well isn't the end of the world, especially not in your first year. No one expects you to be perfectly polished."

"But," said Izuku, "I'm supposed to be the next you! I've got to stand out, right?"

Mr. Yagi looked very guilty. "I... may have given you that impression when we were first training, yes. But, since then, with all my research into the past holders... few of them were popular, flashy heroes. If you want to walk the same path as me, that's great. But you don't have to. Even I didn't really start that chapter of my life until after college."

Izuku looked down at his hands, letting silence fill the space between them as he contemplated Mr. Yagi's words. "This isn't about me manifesting One for All differently, is it?"

"What? No, no of course not, my boy. I mean, it certainly helped me come to this conclusion, I wouldn't have done so much research without it! But I certainly hope I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, even so."

"Okay..." said Izuku, still dubious.

"I mean it," protested Mr. Yagi. "Most of my work is essentially underground, you know. There's a reason the battle trial was what it was."

"H-huh? You? Underground? But you're so recognizable!"

"Am I? I firmly believe in bringing all my resources to bear in the fight against evil! Ha ha!"

His laugh devolved into a cough, and he fumbled for a handkerchief. But he recovered quickly enough.

"I guess that makes sense," said Izuku, cautiously, once he thought Mr. Yagi wasn't going to start coughing again.

"You didn't think I stayed number one by popularity alone, did you?"

"I- the formulas the Hero Commission uses to determine rankings are secret, and it only includes spotlight heroes, so when I extrapolated the hero billboard rankings, yes, I assigned a high weight to popularity. There were always some discrepancies between my predictions and the end results, but I figured I missed some events, or the commission assigned them different values…"

"That's quite impressive, my boy. But, though popularity is a factor, the HPSC does take unpublicized fights and rescues into account. Assuming you report them…"

That was the second time Mr. Yagi had mentioned not telling the commission something.

"Do you, um, do you do that a lot? Not tell the commission things, I mean."

"Eh? No, no, I try to stay up on my paperwork. I get a lot of help from Naomasa, though. Some heroes, especially independent ones, without an agency, do have trouble keeping up, sometimes."

"It's just… the other day you said something about not telling the commission about All for One."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're quite right. How should I put this… The HPSC knows All for One exists, and I have made them generally aware of his modern exploits. I haven't told them about his ability to give quirks, though they may know through other avenues, there are certain battles I've had with him that I haven't told them about, and they do not know about One for All."

“Why not?”

“Villains aren’t the only ones who seek power,” said Mr. Yagi. “The HPSC provides a vital service, and I think what one does matters more than why one does it, but… it is my observation that many of the people there are more concerned with personal power than doing the right thing. And positions of power and authority tend to draw in those who would abuse those things."

"Even heroics?"

"Especially heroics. The HPSC Ethics Review Board is supposed to stop that, but no system is perfect." He shook himself. "But look at me! I was trying to give you a pep talk, not saddle you with doubts about the government!"

Izuku laughed, nervously. "I mean, you've definitely distracted me from the sports festival…"

“Yes. The sports festival. Don’t worry about making a big spotlight combat debut. If you want to focus on rescue, or investigation, or the underground, I’ll support you all the way.” He paused. “You do need combat, though, because, because of-”

“All for One?”

“Yes, exactly. All for One.”

.

“Way to kill the mood, guys,” said Banjo.

“I think the mood was thoroughly dead already,” said Yoichi.

“Unlike your brother,” said En. “Ninth’s father.”

“Come on, it was just a little omission of information. It wasn’t even a lie!”

“It was definitely a lie. You’re so lucky that my relief about you not being a pedophile eclipsed my righteous fury regarding your mendacity.”

“You know, the fact that you’re delivering that completely deadpan gives me doubts about the fury part.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” said Nana, making a ‘T’ shape with her hands. “Time out. Ninth’s father is All for One.”

“Yes,” said Yoichi, hanging his head, “I thought that had been established.”

“So, are we… What Toshinori is saying is completely valid, by the way… but, are we expecting this kid to fight his father? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“Uh,” said Yoichi, “in our defense, we did think he was dead.”

“Maybe Eighth will get ‘im before Ninth has to deal with it,” suggested Banjo. “He’s got to have a better chance of that, now what with Fa Jin and all.” He paused. “But, you know what would give Ninth an even better chance, if he does have to fight his deadbeat dad-”

“He’s not a deadbeat,” interrupted Hikage.

“What?”

“Calling him a deadbeat would imply that he is neither supporting the Midoriyas financially nor regularly in contact with them. He is on both counts.”

“What?” squealed Bango.

“Did you miss his phone call with his father immediately following his return home after the USJ attack?”

“Oh,” said Yoichi, “no, I was very aware of my brother’s evil, evil voice. It’s just that these guys were too focused on scolding me to listen to anything I had to say. I still can’t believe he sent someone like that to attack his own son’s class.”

“Didn’t he, like, kill you?” asked En.

“No, my death was largely unrelated. You’ve got to remember, I was a chronically ill fugitive from the law with no money. Who told you that he killed me?”

Everyone looked at their immediate predecessor. Yoichi tracked the path back to Third, who had gone very stiff.

“What the heck, Third? You were there when I died. Why would you tell Hikage that?”

Third did not answer.

“Actually, what did he tell you, Hikage?

“Oh, it was very moving and heroic. It happened while you were saving a busload of metahuman orphans. You sacrificed yourself to let them get away from All for One. I even cried a little.”

“Is it weird that I’m now disappointed in myself for not dying like that?”

“Very,” said Nana.

“What were we talking about before this?” asked En.

“I have no idea,” said Banjo.

.

Izuku delayed going to class, nervous about everyone's reactions to his quirk. It wasn't that he thought they'd reject him, but more that he had no answers for the inevitable questions.

But he also didn't want to be late.

"Todoroki was so cool!" Hagakure exclaimed as he opened the classroom door. "He was all like, blam, bam, swish! And- and he checked whether or not I was there first, before attacking, which was super cool of him."

Todoroki's expression was halfway between 'statue' and 'help, I've been hit by a truck.' "Cool?"

"Very cool."

"You've grown since the first day, kero."

"Ah! Midoriya!"

All heads turned towards him. In the next second, he was hugged by several people, which was more friendly skin contact than he'd had since… ever, probably.

"Eep," he said.

"We were so worried about you," said Uraraka. "We made a group chat, after, but since you were unconscious…"

"Hm," said Monoma, "your quirk still is definitely a stockpile…"

"Monoma!" shouted Iida. "Did you join this hug just to copy quirks?"

"And what of it?"

"But speaking of quirks," said Jiro, "you can fly now? We kind of went along with it at the time, but that's kind of different from a sensory quirk."

"I know," said Izuku, "and I have no explanation."

"Maybe your quirk stockpiles danger," said Monoma, contemplatively. He rubbed his chin with one finger. "That could be why you can sense danger- you're stockpiling it. Then, when the danger gets over a certain threshold, you can release it as flight… why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," drawled Kaminari. "Just that you're more thoughtful than you look, pretty boy."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

"Th-thank you, Monoma! I'll have to mention it when I go to quirk counseling next."

Which may or may not be this afternoon, depending on how Mr. Aizawa felt and- His head snapped to the door. "Mr. Aizawa's coming!"

They all rushed to their seats. The door creaked open.

"Oh my gosh, he's a mummy."

.

"Iida?"

"What is it, Midoriya?"

They were having a bit of a break during English while Present Mic cycled them through for short sessions with Hound Dog.

"I didn't have a chance to ask you earlier, but how's your brother?"

“He’s alright! It’s the first really major injury of his career, so he’s going to take it easy for the rest of the month, to make sure his engines heal properly. He’d prefer not to of course, but, ah, there is a silver lining.”

“That’s good,” said Izuku, encouragingly.

“I really shouldn’t be happy about it,” said Iida, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he’ll be able to come see me during the sports festival, and he probably would have been too busy if he were active.”

“I think it’s okay to be happy about good things, even if they happen because of bad things,” said Izuku. “It isn’t like we can go back and make the bad things not happen, after all…”

“That’s very true, Midoriya! What a mature way of thinking about things.”

Izuku didn’t know about that, but he was willing to take the compliment.

.

“Midoriya,” said Shouta, who was absolutely and unquestionably recovered enough to teach. Even if he had zoned out in the corner of the room in his sleeping bag all morning rather than trekking back to the teacher’s lounge… or teaching any of his other classes… shut up. “What are you doing at the window?”

“O-oh. Mr. Aizawa. I didn’t know you were awake?”

It was, maybe, a little unfair to single Midoriya out like that, since the entire class was standing by the window, and the way Uraraka, Sero, and Midoriya were closest to it, with Monoma a close fourth, was concerning, but Midoriya was the first one Shouta saw, and the one most likely to to cave and tell him what was going on.

“Midoriya.”

“R-right. Well, going out the door seems a little unpleasant today, so we thought we’d switch it up?”

What did that even mean?

“We were going to bring you with us, of course,” continued Midoriya.

What did that even mean?

“Out the window.”

“Um. Yes.”

“What kind of unpleasant are we talking about?”

“Battle trial unpleasant?”

Shouta groaned and hauled himself up, walking over to the door. He looked out the window and made note of all the students from other classes standing out there, circling like sharks. Great. Maybe they needed to have an assembly about respecting boundaries or whatever, especially if the people whose boundaries were being crossed were potentially traumatized.

Something to bring up at the next staff meeting he attended. Which… would probably not be soon.

Anyway.

He opened the door.

(“A mummy,” whispered someone.)

(First his kids, then these kids… he wasn’t that wrapped up.)

(Was he?)

“What are you all doing here?” he asked, voice rasping rather more than he wanted it to.

The students didn’t seem inclined to answer. Someone did mutter something about the sports festival, but it was far from the complete answer that Aizawa wanted.

“Right. Whatever. Scoping out the competition is one thing, but you are aware that class 1-A is recovering from a traumatic experience. And you’re blocking traffic. Clear off.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Shouta sighed. He knew this would only be the first of many such incidents. He made a note to talk to Nemuri about whether or not she’d be willing to donate some of her class time to talk about public relations.

.

“You know,” said Nemuri, “if you actually rested, Recovery Girl would be able to heal you.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Shouta, glaring at his desk in the staff room. “I’m forgetting something.”

All Might walked in. “Er, young Aizawa,” he said. He paused for a painfully long, awkward moment. “Are you still meeting with young Midoriya today?”

“Crap.”

.

Did Izuku expect Mr. Aizawa to come to their meeting? No. The man had casts on all of his limbs. But, he hadn’t cancelled it either. So, better safe than sorry, right?

But it had been a while, now. Izuku could probably safely assume he wasn't coming after a half hour. He got up, packed his bags, and reached out for the door handle-

Only to freeze as Mr. Aizawa yanked it open and pulled Mr. Yagi into the classroom after him.

Izuku scurried back to his seat.

"Nothing physical today," croaked Mr. Aizawa. "We're going to figure out your quirk."

“O-okay,” said Izuku.

Aizawa collapsed into the seat behind the teacher's desk. “To be short, this quirk, One for All or whatever, is complete nonsense.”

“Uh,” said Mr. Yagi. “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” whispered Izuku.

“You should be. Not you, Midoriya. You’re fine.”

“Okay?”

“Right. So. You’ve got two quirks right now. Danger Sense and Float. Unless something else showed up over the weekend?”

“No, it’s, um, it is just those two right now.”

“And you’ll most likely get Smokescreen, Blackwhip, and that strength enhancement eventually. Plus two mystery quirks.”

“That is what I’ve been able to find out,” said Mr. Yagi.

“So, we have to figure out some way to get all those under a coherent umbrella that can account for the mystery quirks, and before the sports festival, so the evil immortal supervillain doesn’t notice that you have quirks just like a bunch of people he had personal beef with.”

Mr. Yagi cursed in English. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Yeah, I wonder what else you haven’t thought about. Maybe this year I can get Nezu to take my suggestion about doing hero names before the sports festival seriously. You know we’ve had people stalk students before because for some godforsaken reason we use their real names? I need a drink.”

“Ah, water?”

“No.”

“Young Aizawa, you’re a teacher…”

“A career choice I question daily. Midoriya, do you have any thoughts about how to make your quirk make sense in a way that won’t get you killed or abducted by the HPSC?”

“I- Does that happen?” despite his conversation with Mr. Yagi over the weekend, he still had generally positive thoughts about the hero commission.

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well, um, I was talking to Monoma earlier, and he said something about stockpiling danger, and how it might let out the stockpile as the energy necessary to levitate- which, really, would be a fascinating quirk if it did work that way- but I thought it might also work for Smokescreen and the strength enhancement? I mean, general responses to danger are fight, flight, or hide, so the strength enhancement is fight, Float is flight, and Smokescreen would be hide…”

“That might work. What about Blackwhip.”

“Yeah, that one has kind of stumped me.”

“Blackwhip sure is a problem,” agreed Mr. Aizawa.

.

The ghosts started laughing. “You’re a problem, Banjo,” chortled Nana.

“Come on, guys, that isn’t funny!”

"It is! It's hilarious!"

"They were just talking about All for One tracking the kid down and killing him!"

The mood sobered quickly.

"Considering that he is Ninth's father," said Hikage, "I suspect it's far too late for that."

"Yeah," said Yoichi. "But, just to be safe, and in case there are other weirdos out there, new rule: no giving him new quirks in public. Not that we can do anything about when he eventually manifests the stockpile…"

"What if he's going to die?" asked Hikage, raising his hand.

"He already got your quirk, why do you care?"

"We'd like to hear it," said Banjo, somewhat forcefully.

"Well, if he looks like he's going to die, do whatever you can to stop that from happening, I guess. But chucking a quirk he doesn't know how to use isn't always going to be the beat answer."

"Wait," said Nana. "Hold up a second. A few days ago we were talking about the potential for multiple quirk brain damage, weren't we?"

"Oh, good catch," said Yoichi. "I guess I forgot to mention it, which means Nana is the only one I'd trust babysitting my nephew in the event a quirk rewound him to elementary school age-"

"That is a suspiciously specific scenario," said En.

"-and all the rest of you are fired. You didn't even question giving him more quirks? Really?"

Hikage raised his hand. "I assumed you had discovered that Ninth had a constitution capable of handling multiple quirks, similar to yourself and your brother."

"That is true. Okay, Hikage would be another exception, but he's disqualified from babysitting for other reasons."

"That's fair."

.

"So we need something that can do all that, and has tentacles," said Izuku, squeezing his bottom lip in thought.

"Yeah," said Mr. Aizawa. "Honestly, even really dumb ideas would be welcome right now."

"Why are you looking at me?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"You know why."

There was only one creature Izuku could think of that could do all the things Izuku one day might be able to while maintaining room for the two mystery quirks. "Cthulhu."

Mr. Yagi looked mildly scandalized at the suggestion.

"Nah, it'd have to be something like eldritch. Cthulhu's trademarked in Japan, and that can give you aboveground types trouble."

"What is it a trademark for?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Ask Midnight. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi.

"The problem with that is that you currently have no justification to call it that. Now if you already had Smokescreen…"

The adults looked at him.

"... I don't think it's going to just show up like that," said Izuku.

.

"Why not?" asked Banjo, staring at En. "They practically asked you for it."

"Well, first off, I live for drama, so jot that down."

"Huh? What about me?" asked Yoichi.

"Nothing, it was just an idiom. Second…"

.

"...Right," said Aizawa. “For now, then, we’ll have to give it a temporary name, because it’s starting to get to the point in time where it’ll actually be illegal for you to not register it.” He shuffled his casts. “Yagi, start filling out those forms with what he can do currently. Midoriya, make sure you check him when he’s done. For now, we’ve got to come up with a name.”

“Um,” said Izuku. “Float’s the only one that’s really visible, so I could just call it Float?”

“Vetoed. You aren’t picking a name that the immortal supervillain knows.”

“He did seem to only refer to people by quirks unless he really hated them,” said Mr. Yagi. “Except his brother, who he always called ‘my foolish brother.’”

“Focus on the paperwork.”

“And he called himself by his quirk name as well,” mused Izuku. “Do you think it was a side effect? Quirks have document impact on people’s personalities-”

“Focus.”

“R-right. Um. Feather Fall? No, that’s part of a game. Flight Reflex?”

“Good enough for now,” said Aizawa. “Flight Reflex it is.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #danger first #danger first au #fic #fanfic

[titilationexpress]

StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who’s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

#starscream g1 #starscream #tfp #transformers bayverse #transformers animated #transformers cyberverse #transformers x reader #lemon #set up #fanfic #reader #self insert #first part

[hb-writes]

For Old and Young Alike - Pt. 2

{Part 1}

Summary: 1913 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara has saved up for the perfect Christmas gift for her family and it’s almost time to show it to them. She’s just got to fetch the gift and wake everyone for the Shelby family Christmas breakfast first. 

Inspired by this anon request: What about a little blurb set around Christmas time when Clara is younger maybe just before the boys go off to war, she has been saving her pocket money for ages to buy all her siblings and polly a little gift and she’s so excited to give them to her family x

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, Ada Shelby, Finn Shelby, Polly Gray, John Shelby, Martha Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Charlie Strong, Clara Shelby

-----

When Clara rose from the bed she shared with Finn, it was still much too early, the sun not yet up and the house very much silent. She checked on her siblings and aunt, listening outside of Ada's and Tommy's and Polly's rooms for telltale signs of their slumber, deep even breaths heard through each of the closed doors.

She couldn't stop herself from admiring the tree as she came down the steps, the few gifts there under the lowest branches visible even in the rather dim light meaning Father Christmas had already been to number six. Clara didn't linger there on the steps long, far more focused on the gift she'd purchased for the others than any of the boxes sitting beneath the tree.

The gift had been wrapped and labeled and hidden with Freddie's help, stowed high and away from prying curious eyes. It hadn't crossed Clara or Freddie's minds that she'd need someone similarly tall in order to get the package down when the time came.

Clara was smart enough to know she'd not be able to get it on her own, not with the help of a stool and not by standing on the tips of her toes. She'd need the tallest person available and that person, her older brother Thomas, was peacefully asleep in his bed.

Tommy usually woke early on Christmas mornings. At one time it was him and Arthur doing the early rousing, then John and Ada when he'd become too old to show excitement over such things, and for the last few years, it had been the twins waking him, the babies synchronizing their pounces to cause the most surprise, taking precious care to knock the most wind out from their unsuspecting older siblings' chests.

He wasn't used to hushed whispers stirring him, warm breath surrounding his ear as a light pressure weighed on his right shoulder, and it confused him in his half-asleep state. Tommy snaked his arm around his sister, recognizing the presence of Clara even if he hadn't heard her little voice coaxing him along. Tommy shifted closer to the wall, pulling her under the covers, eyes still closed.

"It's alright, my girl," he said, vaguely stroking his hand through her hair. "Just a dream. Go back to sleep."

Clara didn't correct him settling under the warmth of the blanket for a cuddle even though she had her own agenda, waiting there long enough for Tommy's breath to even out, his chest heaving in a steady rhythm beneath her.

"Tommy?" she whispered once he'd begun to snore a bit.

Met with silence, Clara pushed his eyelid up with a single finger, the gesture gentle but intrusive all the same. "Wake up, Tommy."

"Clara," Tommy groaned, swatting her finger away and using the arm wrapped around her to hold Clara and her wandering arms against him. "It's not time," he mumbled. "Father Christmas hasn't—"

"But he already came, Tommy," Clara said, struggling against him. "And I—"

Tommy inhaled deeply, trying his best to hold his sister's belligerent little body still. Tommy knew Father Christmas had already come to the Shelby home. He'd come no more than a few hours earlier, just at the moment when Tommy had gotten home from the Christmas Eve dinner at Greta's, dropping the gifts under the tree after checking that the twins and Ada were asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep, in their beds. He was grateful that Polly had done the wrapping, stowing the handful of packages in the shop after they'd put the twins to sleep.

Really, Tommy shouldn't have been surprised his sister was awake this early being as they'd finished reading the final chapter of A Christmas Carol around seven, just before he'd been due to Greta's. He couldn't imagine Polly had let them stay up much beyond that.

"And if you don't go back to sleep, he'll come back and gather up anything he's left."

"No, he won't," Clara answered, "and he can't come back as I haven't been naughty."

"You're being naughty waking me up so early," Tommy mumbled, "and naughty little kids get coal for Christmas."

"I'm not naughty. I just need your help."

Tommy shushed her again, repositioning them both and pulling the blankets up as he held her to his chest. "Go back to sleep."

She ignored his words, pushing her arms up against his chest, trying to get out of his hold. "And not helping those in need is very naughty, Tommy, maybe even a sin."

Tommy snorted now, almost properly awake at his sister's words, a phrase he suspected to be transplanted from their aunt's mouth straight into Clara's. "I wouldn't want to be a sinner on Christmas, now would I?"

"I would expect not, Thomas. You'll get coal."

Tommy released Clara's arms, reaching for the pocket watch discarded on the nightstand. "And you need this help from me… right now?"

It was about half-past four in the morning and Tommy dropped the piece of metal to the bedside table as he wrapped his arm around her once again. If Tommy had his way, they'd both rest a bit longer and he'd help her with whatever it was she needed closer to six, or even better, at seven. He'd not sleep any later than that, even without the twins' traditional Christmas morning wake up call.

"Please, Tommy?"

Tommy shushed her again, wrapping the arm around her once more. "How about we get a bit more sleep and I—"

"But, it's Christmas. Please, Taaaa…mmy?" she said, drawing out the first syllable, pouting and wide-eyed though Tommy's head still tilted back against the pillow and he saw nothing but the inside of his eyelids.

That long opening syllable, the Taaaa he'd not heard with any regularity for a few years, his name usually so rushed as it came from her lips, the pieces of it mushed together as she uttered it only as a hasty introduction or conclusion to whatever she wished to tell him, the other content more significant than whatever sound she whirled at him to gain his attention.

The reappearance, whether she'd done it purposefully or not, pulled at something in him and Tommy released his sister, opening his eyes as he looked to her.

"You're a little devil, Clara Shelby."

"I am not!"

"You are and you don't even know it, which makes it all the worse."

-----

Tommy looked up to where Clara pointed, to the brown paper package on the very top of the cabinet, hidden just behind the decorative edge. It'd been there for weeks now but he hadn't noticed it.

"You pulled me out of bed for this?" he asked as he pulled it down. "What is it?"

"A surprise," Clara answered, pulling the box from his hands as it came within her reach and holding it to her chest.

"Alright," Tommy answered, rubbing his eyes. "We'll put it under the tree then, eh? Open it in a few hours? Give us all the gift of a bit more rest?"

Clara nodded as she took a step away from him, stopping suddenly at a lone creak on the stairs.

"Father Christmas come yet?"

Ada yawned, wrapped up in a robe, her hand clasped around Finn's as the pair tentatively traversed the stairs.

"Finn wants to know," Ada offered to Tommy's raised eyebrow. "I'd have liked that gift of a few more hours you've just mentioned."

"I imagine you would," Tommy said. "What time did you get in last night, Ada?"

"Not very late," she answered. She'd been back before Tommy, just barely, though. He'd seen light in her bedroom window from out on the lane. "Not that it's your business what time I get in."

"And where were you 'not very late' last night?"

"Molly's," Ada answered. "Though, again, not really your business."

Tommy sighed. He'd hoped to simply get his sister back to bed for a few more hours, or at the very least, he hoped she'd allow him a bit of rest on the couch. He'd planned to ask after Ada's whereabouts later, without quite so big and impressionable of an audience. He knew she hadn't spent the whole night with Molly Evans.

"So did he come, then, Tommy?" Finn asked.

"He did," Clara said to Finn, "and he left us presents and drank all the whiskey."

"Big surprise there," Ada said.

Tommy rubbed his face once again, willing his body to accept that sleep was something long behind him, willing his body to not punish him too much for drinking Father Christmas's glass of whiskey and then some.

"We best wake John and Arthur if we're doing this now."

"And Aunt Polly?" Clara asked, already on the second step.

Tommy lifted her into his arms. "Let Finn go wake Aunt Polly. You help me with our brothers. Ada can put the kettle on," Tommy said. "I'd tell you to start with breakfast, but we don't want to burn the place down, eh?"

Ada scoffed. "It was one bloody time, Tommy. It was just a bit of smoke."

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the twins, both of them starting to giggle.

"Well, go on, then. I don't need an audience to make tea, especially not if it's the three of you."

"Why's she so cross on Christmas morning?" Finn asked.

"Perhaps because someone woke her up before five."

"But you're not cross and I woke you up," Clara answered.

"Yeah, well, I imagine you were a bit gentler than Finn," Tommy said. "And we know how our Ada needs her beauty rest, makes her lovely inside and out."

"Shut it, Thomas," Ada answered. "And make sure to wrap yourselves up in something. It's chilly out."

Tommy pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping them both. "Good enough for your standards, Mother Ada?"

She stepped forward, wrapping the blanket a bit tighter around her sister, tucking the fabric under her chin. "If either of you catches your death of cold out there—"

"We won't, Mother Ada," Clara said, mimicking Tommy's overdone inflection as she spoke her sister's name. "We're just going down the lane."

Ada rolled her eyes, shouting at them. "Fine! Go off and catch your colds, then!"

"See, my girl, that's why you're coming with me. You won't wake up half the lane shouting like our sister."

"Shut up, Thomas!" Ada said as she stepped through to the kitchen.

"Ada, you're not supposed—"

"Oh, come off it, Clara. Our brother deserves to be told to shut his mouth every now and then. Maybe if you said it, he'd listen."

"Now, Ada, don't go poisoning my Clara against—"

"Me? Me? You think I'm poisoning your Clara against you?"

"I won't give a second thought to poisoning the lot of you if you don't stop with all your shouting," Polly said as she came down the stairs, guiding Finn in front of her.

"I wasn't shouting," Finn said.

"I wasn't shouting either," Clara echoed.

"Yes, I know, my loves," Polly said, shifting her eyes from the twins to her other niece and nephew as she sharpened her tone. "You would never cause such trouble on Christmas morning."

Polly gave each of the twins a kiss on the cheek, offering them both a "Merry Christmas" and a smile before giving Tommy a peck on the cheek as well.

"Merry Christmas, Polly," Tommy said, beating her to the sentiment.

"Keep your sister under that blanket. Wouldn't want her to catch her death of—"

Clara and Finn both started giggling once again at Tommy's raised eyebrow, the three of them stopping suddenly as Polly cleared her throat.

"See." Ada threw her hands in the air. "Just as I've said. Tommy's always poisoning the twins against—"

"Calm down, Ada. Your brother's only doing it to rile you up. And you're only making it worse for yourself by letting him."

Ada huffed. "Unbelievable, the lot of you," she said, storming out of the room.

"Can we do breakfast first?" Finn asked, tugging on Polly's robe. "Then the presents?"

Polly opened her mouth to answer, cut off by the cursing and sound of crashing pots and pans one room over. This time Polly raised an eyebrow, smirking as the kids and Tommy chuckled.

"You alright in there, love?" Polly asked

"Fine, Polly," Ada answered. "And shut up, Tommy!"

"I didn't say anything, Ada."

"But you were thinking something or making a face or…just shut up and go get the boys."

-----

Clara snuggled against Tommy's chest, the two of them working together to hold the blanket up against the chilly air out on the lane.

Tommy directed them to John's house first, unsurprised when the door fell open with just a gentle push. They never locked up, Martha and John possessing something, perhaps an ill-placed bit of courage or comfort or stupidity that allowed them to feel protected within their four thin walls, only a barely competent door latch between them and the rest of Small Heath.

Clara released a small squeak as Tommy turned around to shut the door behind them, struggling to get out of his arms when she spotted Martha and the baby in a chair by the fire.

"Oh," Tommy said as he turned to them, allowing Clara out of his arms, her socked feet closing the distance to Martha and the baby in a few seconds. "Morning, Martha."

"I'd ask if you want to come in, but as you already have, maybe you'd still allow me to offer you a seat before you sit?"

Martha eyed Tommy for a moment before looking down at Clara, her little finger already clasped by the cooing baby.

"We didn't want to wake you," Tommy said. "Was planning to have Clara tiptoe in to steal John and the kids and let you sleep."

As little sleep as John got, they all knew Martha got even less, responding to most of the late-night and early morning calls of their babies before John even stirred.

"So you two decided to break in quietly, then?" Martha asked. "Sounds like a good way to get yourselves shot. You know he keeps a gun under his pillow."

"Where's Sarah?" Clara asked.

"Asleep with your brother. We can go wake the lazy lump if Uncle Tommy will take Joseph for a moment."

Tommy accepted the bundle of blankets into his arms, more adept and comfortable with an infant than most people would expect. He settled into the vacated chair as Martha took Clara's hand and led her up the stairs.

Martha stepped into the room first and pulled two things from the bed, the gun beneath John's pillow, which she stowed in the drawer of the nightstand, and then the sleeping toddler pulled from the spot between John and the wall. John stretched out the moment Sarah was pulled from the bed, subconsciously unraveling to occupy the space now vacated.

Martha gestured for Clara to have at it, the woman's smile further encouraging the excitement that had already budded in Clara on the way up the stairs.

Clara's words, her alarm bell greeting, shocked John's system, his hand going under the pillow in search of the missing gun before she'd even properly gotten the second syllable of 'merry' out from between her lips. Clara ran from across the room and landed with a grunt followed by bright giggles as she collided with his chest.

"Wake up, John. It's Christmas," she said between laughs.

John's heart was beating so fast and hard it took him a moment to recuperate, just lying there with his wife and sister giggling, his daughter waking to the noise, her laughter joining the chorus.

"Christmas, is it?" he said, glancing through the window to the dark street. "It's still Christmas Eve, I think."

"No, John, it's Christmas," Clara answered.

"Must be pretty fucking early, then."

Martha scolded him and John sat up, Clara sliding off his chest to sit in his lap.

"Tommy and I broke in to wake you up."

"Broke in?" John asked, glancing up to his wife for confirmation.

"Your brother," Martha said. "He never fucking knocks. Just lets himself in like he owns the place."

John raised an eyebrow at the language he'd just been corrected for and Martha rolled her eyes. "I suppose your sister has already learned it. Sarah, too. We'll try better with Joseph."

John smirked. "Clara learned it around Sarah's age. Imagine this sweet little thing sat right there at the breakfast table demanding more fucking eggs. Gave Aunt Pol quite a shock to the heart the first time she heard her say it, eh Clara?"

"I don't remember," Clara answered.

"I suppose you wouldn't," John said, depositing his sister on the covers as he pushed himself out of bed and began pulling on the rest of his clothes. "Has Pol started breakfast yet?"

-----

When their fourth set of knocks went unanswered, Tommy shifted Clara to his opposite hip and fished the key to number 57 Watery Lane out of his pocket.

The first floor was dark and silent, and Tommy kicked an empty whiskey bottle out of the way as he carried Clara towards the stairs. Clara wiggled out of the blanket and Tommy's arms and he set her down on the top step, Arthur's bedroom door angled open to reveal a heap of blankets on top of the bed.

Clara intended the same wake-up for Arthur as she'd given to John and prepared to launch herself on top of him, but Tommy caught her under the arms, pulling her back up to his hip as he spotted a delicately arched foot slip from under the mound of covers.

"Hey!" Clara attempted a whisper, but it still came out as a shout. "Put me—"

"Shush, love. It's still early," Arthur mumbled, assuming the noise came from the bed beside him. "Give me another hour of sleep and I'll give you—"

Tommy cleared his throat. "Merry Christmas, Arthur."

It startled him and the bed quickly became a mess of limbs and blankets as Arthur and the woman he'd brought home began to thrash about.

"Who's your friend, Arthur?" Tommy asked, nodding towards the woman hiding behind his shoulder.

Arthur stammered, reaching down to grab his shirt and pants off the floor and pulling them on beneath the covers.

"Ah, is that Eva?" Tommy asked. "Merry Christmas, Eva."

"Merry Christmas, Tommy," the young woman answered tentatively, pulling the covers closer around her as Arthur got off the bed.

Clara leaned forward in Tommy's arms, extending her hand. "Merry Christmas. I'm Clara Shelby."

Eva bit back a giggle, the embarrassment of the moment slipping away as the little girl looked at her expectantly, not a bit phased by finding a girl in her brother's bed. Eva pulled a hand out from beneath the covers and shook Clara's hand. "Merry Christmas, Clara."

"Are you coming to Christmas?" Clara asked, settling back against Tommy's chest.

"Oh, um…"

"Go on. Get yourself dressed," Arthur said, gathering up her things and tossing them onto the bed. "You're welcome at breakfast. The baby has spoken."

"No, no, that's alright. I've got my own family to get home to."

Arthur turned to his siblings. "Has Aunt Pol started breakfast yet?"

Tommy nodded. "C'mon, Eva. You haven't lived 'til you've had a Shelby family Christmas breakfast. If you thought Arthur could drink, you should see him eat."

"There's biscuits," Clara added. "Biscuits and candies for breakfast!"

"And everything else you could imagine," Arthur added.

"No, it's really alright. My sister's expecting me," Eva said.

"Tillie's expecting you at five in the morning?" Tommy asked.

Tommy knew the sisters. He couldn't imagine Tillie was home yet either.

"Well, I might sleep a bit more and then go over," she answered.

"Suit yourself," Arthur answered, kissing the girl before turning. "Lock up for me when you leave, alright, sweetheart?"

"Sure, Arthur."

Arthur pulled Clara from Tommy's arms, kissing her cheek as they stepped out of his room. "Merry Christmas, love. A bit early this year, eh?"

"It's Finn's fault," Clara said. "He woke Ada."

"Yeah, and you woke me thirty minutes before that," Tommy added, the three of them making their way out onto the lane.

"But we were gonna wait."

Tommy nodded. "I suppose you and Finn'll be taking naps this afternoon, being up so early."

"No naps, Tommy! It's Christmas." Clara turned in Arthur's arms twisting both ways to meet each of the boys' eyes. "Tell him, Arthur!"

Arthur laughed. "I may be taking a nap, myself, love. You two wake John yet?"

Tommy gestured ahead of them to where Martha, John, and the babies were making their way down the street towards number six.

"Let's wake Charlie, too, eh?" Arthur asked, stepping over and banging hard on Charlie's door until the upstairs window opened.

"Christ, Arthur. It's five in the fucking morning. People are sleeping."

"Merry Christmas, Charlie," Arthur said.

"It's time for Christmas, Uncle Charlie!" Clara said, smiling up at him.

Charlie sighed, rolling his eyes. "Did your aunt start breakfast, then?"

The boys and Clara nodded and Charlie shut the window without another word, appearing moments later beside them on the sidewalk. There was nothing quite like the Shelby family Christmas Breakfast.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

{Part 3}

-----

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ @ohhersheybars​​ @pollyrepents @unicorndetective22

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #ada shelby #finn shelby #polly gray #john shelby #arthur shelby #martha shelby #charlie strong #clara shelby #little lady blinder

[softranswolves]

For It May Not Be My Time

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Rating: Teen

Ships: n/a

Characters: Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Lydia Martin, Stiles Stilinski, Deaton

Words: 1598

LAURA HALE APPRECIATION WEEK - DAY FOUR THEME: resurrection

When Lydia shows up at his door to tell him his name unlocked the last of the list, he doesn't react. He knows Braeden is watching him, gauging how he responds. He knows Lydia will slowly come down from her premonition and switch to fix-it mode. She came alone, not wanting him to feel subjected to the pack's stares, but he knows that Stiles knows, and the kid has never been great at keeping pertinent information quiet.

He insists that he's fine each time he's asked, Braeden deciding to let him stew in whatever he's feeling while Scott and Stiles try to get more out of him. The latter goes so far as to goad Derek, trying to taunt him into talking but that isn't something they've ever done and he doesn't plan on starting now. It's easy to push back when they ask, because he's being honest. He isn't looking forward to dying, but he's resigned to it, knowing he's made his mother proud, made his family proud. He's worked to right the wrongs Peter has done, making Hale a respectable name again. Maybe he'll get to be with them soon.

"She didn't show you the whole list, did she?" Stiles asks a few days later. The whole pack has been working overtime to protect their own and figure out who is behind the deadpool in the first place. Kira returned after staying in hospital with her mom, and Scott has taken some time away from everyone to be alone with her, leaving Stiles with nobody else to pester.

"Why does it matter, Stiles? I'm marked for death, I know that already." He's exasperated but tolerant, realizing he might actually end up missing the banter they have. His gaze doesn't leave the gun he's reassembling, a task Braeden gave him for when he needs something to fill the spare time.

"Because there's a name on it that might draw your attention, sour wolf." Stiles is serious, and while this has become the norm after his possession, it's still out of place.

"So? Who was it?" He can hear the uptick in Stiles' pulse, scents anxiety in the air, but maintains his focus. If he engages, Stiles may take it as invitation for another attempt at a heart-to-heart.

There's no response for a moment, just the sound of paper unfolding, before a crumpled sheet slides into Derek's line of sight. He looks up at Stiles, who crosses his arms and simply nods toward the paper to emphasize Derek should look at it. Obliging, he scans the sheet, landing on a name two-thirds down the list.

"That's not possible," he says, eyes stuck on the letters. He doesn't pay attention to the numbers, just that string of impossibility.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks, voice tense but gentle.

"You saw her body, you know it's not possible."

"Also shouldn't be possible for Peter to be alive, what with his quasi-possession of Lydia a few months ago, yet here we are."

Silence blossoms between them, and Derek thanks the universe for Stiles letting him sit with the information.

"Could it be outdated? Maybe the list isn't live, maybe it was made years ago," Derek suggests. He looks up to Stiles, eyes wide in hopeful shock. The only response he gets is a shrug as Stiles considers and starts to pace, running a hand through his hair in contemplation.

"I mean, it could be. We still don't know anything about it besides where the money came from. Lydia says she can feel a tangible thread to Laura, but she never met her and couldn't say for sure what it means."

Derek nods, standing to look out the window in thought.

"Have you talked to Deaton? Maybe he knows something, being human like you."

"We were kind of waiting to see what you wanted us to do," Stiles says. "She was your sister, after all, and there's no way we're bringing it to Peter without you. Y'know, her literal murderer?" He's pushing at Derek's buttons again, but this time he doesn't mind quite as much. He just nods again before turning back to Stiles.

"We can take the Camaro," Derek says, walking toward the door after grabbing a jacket and his keys."Though we should stop to pick up Lydia."

"Why Lydia?" Stiles asks as he follows after Derek.

"She can explain to Deaton what feelings she's having about Laura. He may be able to interpret them better than you or I could."

"Makes sense." Stiles is quiet after that, not saying anything for so long that Derek thinks it may be the longest he's gone without talking.

While he may have preferred this conversation to happen between the veterinarian and himself privately, he knew Lydia and Stiles would be useful at asking questions he may not consider and keep Derek from going too far off the deep end. The last time he'd been in a room with him alone was the night he kidnapped Deaton, thinking him to be the Alpha at the time. Things may have changed but he still kept his distance.

The boys drive to the Martin house, texting Lydia to join them, and continue the last few minutes to the Vet Clinic. Lydia was unsurprised when she sat down in the car, but seems uneasy around Derek, as though his impending death prediction is making her uncomfortable. He doesn't let himself dwell on it, instead focusing on clearing up his confusion.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Deaton asks when the trio arrives, motioning to the chairs in the back to sit in. Lydia takes a seat while Stiles continues the pacing he had started at the loft, and Derek simply hands Deaton the list of names.

"See anyone on there that shouldn't be? Any impossible names jumping out?" His voice is raised despite his efforts, and he clenches his fists to ground himself.

"I do," Deaton starts, his usual tone of knowing more than the rest of the room. "What do you think?" He directs the question at Lydia.

"I think... it's not an accident that her name is there," Lydia tries. "These lists, they don't feel arbitrary, as if everyone supernatural in Beacon Hills was added. Cora isn't on there, and as far as we know she's alive." She doesn't seem to want to meet Derek's eye, but he can understand it.

"So you think she's alive." It's a statement, not a question, but Derek' bluntness cuts through the room.

"I didn't say that," Lydia says quietly. "She doesn't feel dead, but she also doesn't feel alive either. It's not the same as when you were taken by Kate, but it's similar." She stands and puts her hand on top of Derek's, a similar motion to a few weeks ago when he'd been lying on the same table they're gathered around now, only a teenaged version of himself.

"So where does that leave us?" Stiles asks. He notes the way Derek has gone tense, and decides to push once more. "Derek, what's wrong? Isn't it a good thing if your sister is still with us?"

He's leaning over the table, arms holding his weight up at the edge, and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a little.

"I was so ready to die," he breathes out. "I'm just so... tired, and when Lydia told me my name was a key for the deadpool? I was relieved. I could stop fighting, stop pretending I know what the hell I'm doing, and be with her again."

Lydia reaches her arm up to rub circles against his back, feeling his sigh beneath her hand.

"The others, I miss them everyday. But for years it was just me and Laura against the world. I don't know what I'm supposed to do if she's alive somehow."

"You keep fighting," a voice chimes in, and it's familiar, too familiar. Derek spins around to see his older sister standing there, a sad smile on her face as she plays with the pendant hanging from her neck.

"Laura? Wha- how?" Derek is frozen in place, mouth hanging open as he stumbles over his words trying to speak properly.

"I'm sorry, Derek, I'm so sorry." She rushes forward to pull him into a hug before taking a step back, holding him at arm's length. "You've grown in just these past few months, Der. Look at you." She has tears in her eyes and laughs a little.

Derek still hasn't spoken, but Laura doesn't seem to mind.

"I haven't been back too long, I promise. I just needed to get my bearing before I came back into your life, especially considering how mine ended."

"How did you come back?" Stiles cuts in, curiosity getting the better of him. Laura turns to look at him but someone else answers first.

"Peter," Lydia says. "It happened when I brought back Peter, didn't it?" Her voice is small, shaking slightly as she recalls those traumatic months, only part of which she actually remembers.

"You're the smart one, aren't you?" Laura answers. "I still don't really know how, and Deaton hasn't been able to fully explain it either. But yes, when you resurrected him, it ended up like a package deal. Whether it was some karmic twist of fate or just Hale blood keeping us bound together, I'm back. And apparently being hunted despite only the people in this room knowing I'm alive." She scoffs at this last bit, turning her attention back to Derek.

"I'm back, baby brother. What do you say we figure this out together?"

#*fics #derek hale #laura hale #i'll just tag them since they're the focus #LHAW21

[writtenonreceipts]

5. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” For rowaelin, Aelin finding out she’s pregnant. It can be an au, or in their actual world. Thanks so much!

/AN: Thanks so much for the prompt, anon!  This got away from me! I’m sorry?  But not really, I had fun with it, even though I don’t feel like it’s my best. I’d never really thought I would write canon/post canon but here we are...enjoy my dears

#

It hadn’t even occurred to Aelin that anything could go wrong with the day.  It was after all ten years since the war had ended.  Ten years since there was even the smallest promise of peace in her home.  Ten years.

It was supposed to be glorious.

Kneeling over the toilet Aelin emptied the contents of her stomach, again, and did her best to even out her breathing.  If there was anything less glorious to be doing--this certainly was it.

Her Fae enhanced ears caught the sound of footsteps coming toward her.  Lorcan.  Quick and efficient.  Grabbing a hand towel, Aelin wiped her mouth and stood.  She made sure her dress was fit properly and left the bathroom.  The last person she wanted seeing her so weak and vulnerable was Lord Lorcan Lochan.

Granted she could just use his full title on him and call it even.

“Aelin?” Lorcan called from the front door of her chambers.

“Come in,” she replied.  She used her magic to take away the cent of vomit, but she didn’t know if it actually did anything because Lorcan’s nose twitched as he entered. “What?’

“Darrow said that it’s time,” Lorcan said.  He eyed her with a frown.  His dark eyes were intent and unyielding.  Even after all this time she still wasn’t quite used to his silent calculations, the information he seemed to glean from a room with ease and efficiency.  Aelin was suddenly grateful he had become so smitten with Elide that he’d changed his life completely.  Even if he was an ass.

“As if we haven’t rehearsed this enough,” Aelin muttered.  Her stomach rolled again.  Damn nerves.  She was a queen and had been doing quite well at it thank-you very much.  There was no reason for her to feel so ill and anxious at the thought of the festivities tomorrow. 

“Are you all right?” Lorcan asked.  His frown deepened as he looked her over. “You don’t look well.  Have you eaten today?”

“You sound like Rowan,” Aelin grumbled.  She went to her armoire and found the ring Rowan had given her one year after their secret nuptials.  The familiar weight on her finger, settled her somewhat.  “I’m not hungry either, let's get this over with.”

She didn’t add the fact that just the thought of eating made her want to crawl back into bed.  And she would be able to do just that in forty-eight hours.

#

The elaborate ceremony was slated to take place tomorrow evening, the exact day when the war finally ended.  Apparently Aelin needed to practice walking down a straight line to the balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard.  After she addressed her people she would then unveil a sculpture.  She’d asked Rowan to commission the sculpture so she had no idea what it would be of, but she had to trust the buzzard to take well to the task.

When Darrow finally relented that they’d done enough preparation for the following day, Aelin excused herself to her private quarters.  Lorcan following after.

“Don’t you have a wife and baby to go and se?” Aelin called over her shoulder.

“Yes, but their not as high-maintenance as you, so I think it’s alright if I’m a little late,” Lorcan replied.

When Aelin shot a glare over her shoulder at him she caught a brief smile on his lips.

She had a response perched on her lips but something else snared her attention.  It was a familiar scent of pine and snow and home.  Her mate.

Before explaining anything to Lorcan she sprinted the rest of the way to her rooms, flinging the doors open.

Standing in the center of her room was the one person she had been desperate to lay eyes on these past few weeks.  Her husband had been travelling, preparing the outlying villages for the celebration, and bringing the commissioned statue back to Terrasan.

“Fireheart,” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Aelin didn’t wait before throwing herself at him, burrowing her face in his shoulder.

Chuckling Rowan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

“I missed you,” she whispered.  She looked up at him and giggled when he started peppering her face with kisses.

“And I you, my heart,” he said before finally pressing a long kiss to her lips.  He pulled away so he could rest his forehead against her, his beautiful eyes staring right into her soul.

Aelin could have stood their for hours, days, millennia.  Just this brief exchange could make up for her nausea from this morning and her anxiety about the coming day.

“I asked for our meal to be delivered here,” Rowan told her, “Elide and Lorcan will take care of the festivities for tonight.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Lord Lorcan Lochan agreed to that.”

“It took bribery,” Rowan admitted.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed before leaning up on her toes to kiss her mate.  She slanted her mouth eagerly over his, grateful to have him back with her.  Despite the promises they’d made to each other years ago about never being apart, things had come up in their kingdom, in their world.  

Rowan ran his hands down Aelin’s sides, nipping at her bottom lip.

By the time their food had arrived from the kitchen, they were free of several layers of clothing and warm with lust.

Sun was barely setting behind the mountains, casting pink and gold rays across the sky.  It was this time of day that Aelin loved most.  The simple beauty of the sky was enough to remind her how far they’d come.

Rowan sat across from her telling a story about the mess he and Fenrys had gotten into while trekking across the mountains just days before.  Even in their other forms, they’d somehow managed to not only start an avalanche of late spring snow, but get holed up in a snow cave.

Aelin smiled as she pushed food across her plate.  Her appetite hadn’t come back all day and she was swimming with nausea again, not matter how much of her own magic she tried to apply to herself.  She needed to send a message to Yrene for a remedy.  

“Fireheart?” Rowan asked. “You haven’t even touched your food, what’s going on?”

She looked up and shrugged. “You’re far too entertaining for your own good King.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re hiding something from me.”

Scoffing, Aelin cut a piece of venison just to appease him.  She brought it to her lips and gave him a pointed stare, but before she could take a bite the scent of the cooked meat and spices ausulted her nose and she was up and running to the restroom before she knew what had happened.

She emptied the scant amount of food in her belly and sank back onto her knees only to find herself leaning against Rowan’s chest.  One of his hand was curled in her hair to keep it pulled back while the other rested on her stomach, keeping her close to him.

His warm breath brushed against her ear. “Are you alright?”

Aelin nodded and let herself melt into her mate.  “I haven’t been feeling well all day,” she admitted.

Rowan raised a hand to her forehead, her cheeks, feeling for a fever.  He grunted.

“I’m fine,” Aelin insisted.  She made to pull away from him but he kept her close.

“You’ve been flaring your magic lately,” he said.

“Because I’m exhausted.  Planning this celebration has take too much out of me,” she said.  She hated to sound the way she did, but between the vomiting and the fears about tomorrow she really didn’t feel too guilty about it. “Besides it’s probably just my--”

Aelin froze.  

Her cycle.

How long had it been?  Since settling into her Fae form the bleedings hadn’t come as often but they were brutal.  She couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been.  Three months?  She couldn’t be pregnant.  After all this time of trying and hoping.  After losing the last pregnancy.

Aelin twisted in Rowan’s arms.  He looked utterly confused as to what was going on.  Couldn’t he see?  Couldn’t he tell?  Of course...she had been using her magic so often to keep her going throughout the day that perhaps it was masking the scent.

Tentatively, Aelin dropped the shield she’d been putting up over herself.  As soon as she did, Rowan’s gaze sharpened.

“Aelin,” he whispered.

Her gaze dropped to her stomach, nothing looked different.  But the more she thought about it, the more her mind flooded with emotion and she settled one hand over her belly.

Rowan dipped his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply, his teeth nipping her skin gently.  Aelin shivered at the contact and forced herself to look at her mate once more.  She twisted enough so she could draw his chin up and look into his eyes as they knelt together.

Emotion laced Rowan’s eyes and told her all that she needed to know.

She let out a weak laugh as tears slipped down her cheeks.  Rowan was quick to catch them with his lips before pressing a soft, tender kiss to each corner of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” Aelin said, needing to hear the words out loud.

“You’re pregnant,” Rowan confirmed.

Throwing her arms around her mate, Aelin didn’t hold back her sobs.  This was beyond anything she could have ever imagined for herself.  After the hell her life had been, right up until she’d met Rowan.  Her grip tightened around him.  He had been her saving grace.  Always and forever.

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes and wipe away his own tears.

“To whatever end,” she said.

“To whatever end.”

#

The statue that was unveiled the next day was simple.  And yet it was no less glorious.  Commissioned from a woman in a small country Aelin had visited many times now.  The statue was of two women, their faces blank so as to allow the viewer to see themselves there.  One of the women was carved to be wearing a fine dress that flowed behind her.  The other held two swords.

Two princesses, two queens, one war won.

The country of Eyllwe, Aelin decided, had a way of bringing her home.

#

As always thanks for reading!

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

#aelin and rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #answered #prompts #throne of glass fanfiction #kingdom of ash #post-canon #aelin galathynius

[vanillatalc]

misery blogness

today was actually better - i didn’t cry at all, had a nice evening w/ ben watching tiktoks + playing geoguessr w/ a friend of ours. we played some music together earlier as well (me on piano, him on bass)

still feeling very obsessive, still ruminating constantly over things ive done in the past and finding it difficult to be present in the moment - but it’s better than it was a few days ago when i couldn’t stop crying or thinking about my own evil nature. now im not so much concerned w/ my naturally evil spirit, just about mistakes ive made (which is an improvement i guess?)

gonna try fluoxetine again for a few months as well bc both ana and ben are saying that i was much less obsessive when on them, and fluoxetine has no negative effects on me really other than a dry mouth, and i think it’s worth trying - particularly as i do think it’s true ive become much more obsessive over the past year or so (altho hard to work out how much of that is stopping meds that i dont personally think do anything good OR bad vs everything else going on in the world lol)

after christmas i wanna get back into making miniatures - haven’t been able to do any lately b/c the things i need to finish this latest one off i asked for for christmas + idk if ben got it for me or not, so gotta wait and see (played myself, wont ask for things i actually need for a gift haha)

today’s good things:

1. i enjoyed spending time w/ ben this evening 2. i wrapped up tink’s present (a hot water bottle) and the little drawing i did really captures her spirit somehow. i wrapped ben’s gift from his family as well, so he can unwrap it properly rather than just opening an amazon parcel 3. the ‘am i a lesbian’ OCD has actually disappeared and i can watch lesbians on tiktok again without feeling frightened (lol...) 4. thankful that i did enough work on the site the past few weeks that im still no. 4 on the list of mods w/ most reports cleared for the month (/60 or so) w/o really doing much work this week 5. im excited that it’s nearly christmas and that ill be able to open presents lol 6. just that it was a more bearable day which makes me hopeful that this isnt, as i’d feared, going to be a long and protracted episode

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 17

Living with the Cowell's is going about as well as you'd expected it to go. In other words it's more or less a disaster for your mental health. Which is ironic considering you didn't put this much stress on yourself when you were sure a stalker was watching you.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the stalker didn't own your house and wasn't in your personal space at every turn.

You'd honestly been expecting Little Jo to be the biggest space invader but Dia and Nate were constantly hovering around you. Nate had taken up the other spare room, or rather his room away from home, the minute he heard you'd be staying with the Cowells. He's made it his job drive you to and from work for the past two days and you both take breaks together now closing the store when you do. Then the second you cross the threshold Dia is right by you either asking for some help cooking or rushing you off for hobby time in the sitting room. It's like living in a 1920's story book, minus the extreme prejudice you would've faced.

It's only been two days and you can't find a way to ask for more space. You tried asking to go on a walk earlier and it turned into a partial jog with Nate. You really just need a moment to yourself it's been five or six days since you last had some 'me' time. All your nerves are shot and you are just a few minor inconveniences away from snapping at someone.

And it would not be a smart idea to nap at your boss. Your boss who's been so considerate and helpful offering his support to you through this whole mess of a situation.

Nonetheless you need space and your own clothes. Nate's don't fit you properly and they're uncomfortably itchy against your skin. His detergent is also very smelly, more in the chemical sense than in a bad sense. Though it could be a bad sense considering the headache you've had the past day from the over bearing smell. You know it won't end well for you but you desperately need to go back home and grab your own clothes and maybe even your car.

Having the illusion of more freedom would put you more at ease.

After all it isn't like you want to knowingly put yourself in harms way, you just can't stand the suffocation any longer. That's why you decided to bring it up during dinner, and why you are now sat in the tensest atmosphere this table has possibly ever experienced.

“Installation ain't done yet.” is Big Jo's gruff response.

It's as if that short sentence gave everyone premission to breathe again.

“I'm not planning to stay, I just need my own clothes.” you press.

Nate glances over to you before placing his fork to the side, “Then why do you need your car?”

“I'd just feel more comfortavle if I had it.....y'know instead of just relaying on you for rides.” you gesture around to the table trying to get someone yo come to your defense.

Big Jo pinches the bridge of his nose, it's been a stressful week for him as well. You don't mean to be ungrateful in this scenario but you are Autistic and the routine you've spent months carving out for yourself is being ruined. You are wearing smelly itchy clothes and need to have something you have control over. Not to mention you're the one who actively experienced the home invasion and were sat in a hospital for two days.

Big Jo can deal with you asking to go collect your thing, as far as you're concerned anyway. You're at least entitled to that much.

Dia puts her hand on Jo's arm and he sighs, “Fine, if Nate takes you. You can go to the cottage.”

“Tio, they can't have the car.” Nate is wildly failing his arms and motioning to you as he explains that you're a known flight risk.

Great, nothing's been resolved and you are back to a tense dinner in the Cowell's home.

“Fine I won't take the car, just lemme give it to someone to watch it for the...the what's it gonna be a week?” directing the question to Big Jo who's been handling the security detail for your home.

He gestures in a so-so manner.

“Yea, just lemme give it to someone to watch for the week.” you pause before throwing your hand up, “Because let's face it none of us have any idea where those two are now, and they could've easily tampered with my car.”

That was the worst possible thing to say because the second you finish you sentence the table erupts into chaos. Dia and Little Jo voicing their concerns over you driving your car, Big Jo and Nate all but forbidding you from driving and you trying to find some sort of compromise.

“What if we had it towed to Whistle's? Nate takes me there after work and we make sure nothing's wrong with my car.” looking around the table at the mixed reactions before you.

“I'll call Lewis for a tow in the morning and you both can go after work.”

“thank you.” you say relieved that you can finally gain back control over your life. Maybe get a little bit of space a long with it.

Everyone calms down and goes back to eating. The air is still so tense you could practically cut it but without your constant stirring it seems to settle. The rest of the night goes by uneventfully, you've changed into some pajamas and are ready to lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

The antsy energy you've been building up these past few days have left you without sleep. Tomorrow the hallucinations will probably start up, you wonder if they'll be worse thanks to your healing concussion. Hallucinations aside, your real problem is being alone with your thoughts for the next seven or eight hours.

You have nothing to occupy your mind with and thus nothing to help block out the invasive thoughts.

You'd finished the TAZ graphic novels while you were still at the hospital. The Cowells had taken you straight to their home after you got discharged, so you hadn't been able to grab your switch or any smaller art supplies.

Ultimately knowing that all this was for your safety and benefit you understand them wanting to keep you away from your home. The sight of you attack. Even a supply run could prove dangerous. Try telling that to your restless and bored mind. Constantly feeling like one of the undead wandering around aimlessly with no real purpose has certainly not done anything good for your mental health The lack of stimulation was definitely making it harder to mask and not just explode in  frustration. To just let loose and rage at everything: from the situation to your stalkers, hell even to Jo and yourself. The after the brief flash of rage it would be washed away by the overwhelming guilt you felt about being in this web and dragging everyone around you into it. Whether directly or indirectly.

Safe to say, it is not good to be alone with your thoughts right now.

And it is with that restless energy that your night of staring at the ceiling turns into a morning of staring at the ceiling. Until a knock at your door signals the start of breakfast. A routine you've recently become apart of while staying with the Cowells. Getting ready for the day you make your way to the dining room, not before steadying your nerves and static filled mind with a long and drawn out huff of air.

Not quite cathartic enough to be viewed as a sigh.

And with that you begin you day.

The morning fades into late afternoon and you find yourself in the shop a little before close, just looking through the isles. A vaguely human figure, much too tall to truly be an actual person, had brushed past Nate and into one of the isles. Honestly you're sure it's one of your hallucinations but you still have to double check the isles before you finish locking up the shop. Today had been really slow and you can only recall a handful of patrons throughout the day, though you haven't been with it enough to actually hace much accuracy on that statement.

Nevertheless you are searching for stragglers, thankfully you find none. Really hoping to get out and to Whistle's soon, then home to grab things that'll keep you occupied. Things that are finally yous; actual comfortable clothes, that smell like you too. Eyes blinking in rapid succession at your near giddy nerves.

For once your tic helps you vision, you're able to catch the book laid on its side. Its cover a deep russet nearly matching the shelf in color, you'd have missed it if it weren't for the inverted shapes that pressed themselves into your eyelids almost burning the scenery into your memory. Picking the book up you try to discern where it had come from.

Upon further inspection it appeared to be more of a journal. Half written in English with margins made out it – was that German? Yeah that was definitely German, the Eszetts is way too distinctive for it to be any other language. Poorly drawn out sketches littered several pages as you flip past them. Until you see a familiar but scrathy image. It's of a symbol a circle with an 'x' through it.

As you look at the jagged lines you can't really place where you've seen this symbol before. It's so familiar but the ringing bells do nothing to help you remember where you've seen this symbol. Flipping further in you catch sight of a drawing of a being that is slim and taller than the trees. Wasn't that the figure you'd seen moments before? Right as you were doing you check for customers? You're beginning to think this shop's haunted.

“Hey YN, coast clear?” The sound of Nate's voice stops you from inspecting the book any further.

Placing it back on the shelf and nestling it in between to larger books you turn and head out of the isle.

“Yea, no customers.”

“C'mon then, I don't want to be out all night.”

Rolling your eyes at Nate's exaggeration, Whistle's probably wouldn't take more than an hour tops and you won;t take long gathering your things from the house – you follow Nate out the door.

Waiting close behind him as he locks up. One thing about the attack is you've become hyper aware of your surroundings and are nearly always on high alert now when you're out in the open like this. Luckily in most spaces you had already noted the number of exits and where to find them. Having to plan escape routes ahead of emergencies might not be the healthiest mentality but it's kept you sane throughout this ordeal. Thank you American public school system.

When you get to the auto shop you see a familiar ticcing brunette talking to a group of mechanics as he leans on your car.

“Who the hell is that?” Nate says squinting at Toby who's practically laid out across the hood of your car.

Weird, haven't they met yet? Toby did hang out at the shop for an entire day. Had Nate not noticed him then? What about the picnic? Before you can say anything Nate's already out of the car and shouting something to the group. Most of the men standing around tense up as Nate storms up to them.

But you catch the dead look in Toby's eye, the other is still horribly out of commission. Honestly without your glasses faces blur from so far away but it's undeniable that there isn't a light reflecting in his eye. Nate seems to be directing his lecture to Toby who doesn't appear to do anything. He's like a big old house cat, tired and done with everyone's shit if they aren't actively feeding him.

Sighing you exit the car, your only real thought is defusing your Karen.

You aren't at all surprised when Toby locks onto the movement of you walking towards the group. The man perks right up and lifts himself off your car in one fluid motion. He's so agile, just like a cat. You can't help but smile a bit at the connection automatically reaffirming with yourself that Toby would totally push over a precariously placed glass of water.

“Hey, wh-mrrow-what'd you bring the car in for?” Toby asks side stepping Nate, completely ignoring the older man.

“Huh – oh, yea boss wanted it checked out to make sure it wasn't like tampered with – I guess. Y'know after the accident.” you know the mechanics probably know what happened to you, you do live in a small town after all. Gossip stops for no one. But you do have control over details and talking about the incident and you won't be letting go of that any time soon.

Toby's one good eye darkens as he nods, “Gotcha, well it's fine even had Jess take it for a drive. Drove fine. Fixed that weird clicky thing it did on left turns, you're welcome.”

Hah, during the drive through Franklin Toby lost it after two left turns. He noticed the clicking sound your car would make, oddly only on left turns, and started bitching about it to you. At the time you just thought he was being funny when he'd complained you needed to take it in to the shop to fix that. Guess he wasn't. But what's the point of fixing something so trivial?

You cross your arms and are about to sass Toby about how unnecessary that was when Nate interrupts.

“Well since the car's cleared we'd better go settle the bill with Lewis.”

“No need, no parts to replace plus my free labor.” Toby looks away from Nate and back to you “It w-w-was so sl-o-ow-w so I told the old man we were dating and I'd been wanting to fix up your car.”

Normally you'd protest a friend or anyone giving you free services but since this was on the Cowells' dime you weren't going to burden them anymore.

“That's sweet – really really stupid, but sweet.”

Nate's already moving around you two and motioning towards his car as he says, “Well thank you, now we really need to get going YN. I don't want to be out late.”

You nod to Nate, turning and saying bye to Toby from over your shoulder.

When you suddenly remember, “Wait, hey Tobias can you take care of my car for the week? I know it's probably a weird request, but I'm sorta “grounded” right now and can't drive till the cottage is set up. A little worried the battery will drain from disuse.”

If it weren't for the mask and swollen eye the confused sneer of his would be clear to everyone on the lot. He sputters for a moment before speaking up.

“Ok? I mean like that's valid – whoa – a valid concern...but your car's not that old. But I guess I'll watch it? I don't have Connor so it'll have to stay in the lot tonight, that ok?”

Oh this stupid beautiful boy just gave you an out. Probably not the one he meant to give you but you are taking it and running as fast as you can.

“Or, or, or-”

“No, no, and no. You can't be trusted to not just drive off in the dead of night.” Nate cuts in.

It took a bit of coaxing but after calling the house and getting Dia's blessing you obtained one night to yourself. Really it'd be one night spent at the lodge but it was still better than being a guest in someone else's house for the night, this way you're a guest at the lodge for the night. A little mini vacation if you will. And Toby seemed fine to go with you to the cottage while you packed a bag with your essentials, before you both go back to the lodge.

He even agreed to drop you off at the bookshop in the morning.

“Are you seriously going stir crazy after five days?” he asks as you pull up to the cottage.

“it's more their constant smothering I'm over. I know everyone's worried but I still need my own agency. Y'know?”

“Yea....I do.” he murmurs with a solemn look about him before he exits the car and makes his way to the front door.

Your steps falter as you near the cottage. A few flashing images pass through your mind before you shakily inhale. Fortunately Toby is right beside you squeezing your hand to remind you of his presence. You aren't alone this won't end like Monday night.

Opening the door the house is quiet and just as you had last seen it. Nothing was disrupted, even peeking into the bathroom where you expected a crime scene to be – only a toppled shower curtain and over turned bath mat remained.

It doesn't really feel like your house right now. A fuzzy sensation clouds your thoughts, like your brain is trying to protect you from connecting with this place after your recent trauma. Although you aren't sure how you actually feel there's a strong sense of discontentment.

Noticing how you linger in the threshold of the bathroom Toby gently guides you into your room, all without a word. Leaving you alone in your room to collect your things. You move around at a moderate pace, you aren't drawing this out but you aren't rushing to leave soon either. A handful of shirts, a set of jeans, shorts, and joggers later you are grabbing your switch. Before diving into your art supplies you hear a thud across the hall.

You freeze as if ice water had just been poured onto you keeping you in place.

“Tobias!” you call out not moving.

“Fuck – sorry I acc-ack-accidently kicked your trash can.”

When had he gone to the bathroom?

“Are you ok?” you receive a quick 'yea' in response.

Jittery and in no mood to sit and draw you pick up an embroidery kit you'd been meaning to rip into. Should keep your attention long enough, but maybe you should grab another kit just in case. Bag loaded with enough of your things so you aren't driven mad during your stay – you turn to leave but decide to grab your goat plush as an after thought before leaving your room.

Walking out and into the rest of your house you notice a lack of Toby anywhere. Going towards the front door you spot him as you pass the kitchen. He's messing with your garbage can before he takes out the bag and ties it up.

“Wha' cha doin'?” he's been a bit off since you both arrived but you don;t blame him. Not like you're fairing any better.

“I, I kicked it and a whole bunch of trash came out. So then I had to put it-it all back, but there's a lot here and you aren't gonna be here for a week....I, I ju-just thought it'd be better to tak-take it out now.”

Nodding, you're thankful to have such a good friend looking out for you. It would've sucked to come home to a toxic waste site because you'd left trash in the garbage for three weeks.

You probably just thought it came from the bathroom because of the echo or something. Paranoia's been a pain this past week. Maybe you should look into getting a roommate, they might help.

“They're not that helpful trust me.”

“Wow, did I say that out loud?” Toby nods, “Fuck I am out of it. How are you and Tim doing?” you might be deflecting/ignoring your own issues. But Toby had his own shit going on Monday night and you doubt he's talked to anyone.

“We're fine. Just fucking hate him.” the sharp jerk of his head keys you in that he's very much not fine.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Who are you, my fuck-ing therapist?”

“Fine, wanna bitch then?”

He comes off the defensive like he realizes that he's talking with you right now. His good eye down cast after he relaxes his stance a bit.

You go to grab your kettle, filling it up and placing it down on the stove to warm up.

“Any preference on tea? I've got a few.” it was very much more than a few.

A chair screeches as Toby drags it out to sit down at your small kitchen table. He doesn't respond so you get one of your special blends out. This blend has rose hips which you normally dislike anything scented or flavored with roses but the ginger and cinnamon can normally over power the slightly floral sting of this tea. Plus it's made with the intention of healing the heart and promoting self love. A spell tea of sorts. Toby could probably use a little pick me up, you always did after a fight with a friend. Getting out the honey you ready the tea infuser into the cup waiting for the kettle's whistle.

“So just wanna start talking....or should I ask questions?” you turn to face Toby as you lean against the counter.

He's taken his mask off and placed it on the table, of course you remember his deteriorating face but it still surprises you to see it after a few days of not actually seeing his face. Maybe you'll get used to it and one day won't be so fascinated by his teeth.

“Tim's just a dick who thinks he has a right to act like he's my dad. Li-ike-like I'm twenty-four he doesn't need to constantly question the things I do. He doesn't have any room to talk to me about my mistakes he literally could've fucked staying here up for us....” Toby head had been snapping to the left several times during his rant and it continued as he got very quiet suddenly.

Tim could've messed staying here up? Did he mean here as in Kepler or the lodge? Barclay did have to break up the fight maybe he didn't want any of the trio in but let Toby stay out of concern for his condition.

“Hey I'm sure it wasn't that bad, I could even talk to Barclay to get you unbanned from the lodge.”

He takes the mug you pass him and spoons some honey into it/ It's weird to see half his face drawn into concentration since the other half isn't able to emote yet. Holding the cup in his hands he stares at the swirling steam rising up as you bring your own mug over to the table taking a seat. Not once does he look up at you as you stir in a bit of honey into your own tea.

Toby's neck snaps, “Am I...is it bad that I don't want you to?”

You send him a slightly pitying smile.

“No hun, you're upset. And you're having a totally valid reaction to a falling out.”

Toby rolled his eyes, at least you thin he did. Hard to tell with just the one.

“My therapist would love you. That's the kind of bullshit she tells me like all the time.”

Not knowing what to say to that you just nod as he continues to stare at you.

You both continue to talk, well you continue to let Toby rant about how stupid and dumb Brian and Tim are as you finish your tea. You still don't know the details of the fight but it sounds like the cause was just the last straw between the men and not the actual catalyst. According to Toby the other two tend to baby him or talk over his ideas and suggestions because he's the youngest of the group. Twice Toby mentioned Tim's paranoia and how that was really the cause of the tension between them. And how Brian wasn't any help because he'd always side with Tim to make sure his boyfriend was ok.

Toby was very bitter when talking about Brian's role in this more than Tim's. As if his role of passive bystander just sent Toby over the edge. Which from the way he spoke seemed like it's been dragging on for some time. All of this was painting an even worse picture of the smug asshole. Though you didn't break your silence or series of nods and hums until Toby off handily mentioned Brian getting him in trouble with his therapist by saying he was the one who started the fight.

“He fucking snitched....wait no he lied?!” Toby had to blink a few times before he finally understood what had gotten you so upset.

“Yea I mean it's not that big a deal. I was able to tell Clarise I missed a few days of my meds and she made me set reminders in front of her on the call.”

Apparently Clarise was sure Toby suffered from Bipolar Disorder, he was very flippant when he told you like it wasn't anything big. When you mentioned ADHD he kind of blanked. He got fidgety when you mentioned the symptoms you saw and  nervously told you his medication was working just fine for him. Not wanting to make him more uncomfortable you dropped the topic. Soon it was dark and you needed to leave to make it to the lodge for dinner.

“You sure you want to take the garbage out? What if Chonk is over there?” joking as you lock the door.

“Good point. Trash you live here now.” he dumps the bag onto your lawn and walks towards your kia.

“Toby!”you gasp out, which sounds weird amidst your laughter.

He stops and looks at you his expression more unclear than it's been all evening. Your heart skips a beat as you stare at each other for a moment, your laughter gone now.

“It's weird to hear you say 'Toby'.”

That's all he says before he grabs the bag and carrying it to the side of your house where your bins are.

The conversation in the car is pretty light in comparison to what it has been. Just jokes getting thrown around and sharing the gossip that you'd head in the hospital because nurses' can't keep their mouths shut. Neither of you know any of the characters in the stories but they're still pure gold. Like the man who came in after getting his hand stuck in a cookie jar. Nervous and scared his wife would find out he's been eating the new holistic dog treats. A few stories or more like vents about the auto shop got thrown in. By the time you got to the lodge both of you were in lighter spirits.

Everyone was ecstatic to see you up and about and made an extra spot for you at the table. You didn't miss how Barclay would rise an eyebrow every time you locked eyes. You just roll your eyes and continue eating. When it got time to settle in for the night you were planning to commandeer the couch but Toby offered his room.

More accurately he offered a chance to hang out with Connor which you readily accepted. The rottie was just as excited to see you, bounding over the second you stepped through the door.

“Sigh if only there was a way to see Connor everyday.” you say dramatically whistful as you hold the pup's jowls in your palms.

Toby responds in turn in a drawn out sarcastic monotone “Oh my, how sad your life must be. There's only one solution, marry me. So Connor can finally have the second parent he's always wanted” he ends with a scratch behind the pups right ear.

“I was just gonna kick you and steal your dog.”

He turns to face you, “I can't feel-”

“So if I kicked you in the back of the knee it wouldn't buckle?”

Toby goes silent before conceding to your point. A mumbled “Connor would avenge me.” is heard.

After you two settle down you both hop into bed to try and get some sleep. Toby was holding your switch hostage so you had no choice but to “sleep” now.

You really hoped he changed his sheets from the other day. You'd hate to find out you're laying in milk stained sheets. Pushing those thoughts away as your body finally starts to relax, you can feel when your mind begins to drift into the beginning stages of sleep.

“Tobes, you can crash at my place if you need to.” is the last thing you say before falling into a peaceful slumber.

Toby on the other hand wasn't able to get much sleep at all that night. He couldn't shake the feeling something bad was about to happen. And unlike Tim he didn't think it was because of you, it just had something to do with you. You were too kind to be one of The Operator's proxies, with all the clues of His presence in this town you were one of many red herrings. Looking over to you Toby only hoped you wouldn't get hurt in the crossfire. Not like Lyra did, he doesn't think he could handle something like that. Especially with how shitty Tim's been lately, he's on edge and constantly about to snap. He just needs a break from everything. Maybe then the weight in his stomach would go away.

In the morning Toby's keen to hold up his end of the deal and drive you to work. You buy him breakfast and an iced coffee from Dunkin' and a pup cup for Connor. The three of you eat in your car while you wait for Nate to arrive. When he does you say your goodbyes and head off to start your shift. Promising Toby you'd call once you've been ungrounded.

Nate's face is grim as you approach the shop, you're starting to get used to the cold sweats from these dread bearing encounters. That can't be a good thing.

Did something happen last night? Were the Cowells targeted? Was everyone alright? These thoughts and more swam through your head as Nate motioned for you to follow him into the shop quickly.

He locked the door and pushed you into the back room. His hast doing nothing to settle your fraying nerves as you stumble past the threshold.

“That Rogers kid, how well do you know him?” his eyes dart around the back looking at every shadow as if watching their movements.

“Who's Roger?” you feel out of the loop.

Was Roger one of your assailants? Had the police already found suspects so soon on what little information you had to go on?

With a groan Nate smacked his hand against his face muttering something under his breath.

“Toby, Tobias Rogers how much do you know about him?” his tone is rushed and sharp.

You didn't even know his last name until now. But maybe you had heard it before but it never clicked with you. Honestly you've known each other for a month that's not very long at all. But maybe it's long enough to learn some things?

“...ah not much?”

There's a panicked look in Nate's eyes and he does his best to control his breathing. But it's clear that Nate is either about to hyperventilate or go into an anxiety attack. You wonder what's got him so worked up as he reached into his bag and pulls out a manila folder.

He hands it to you, you can see the water marks left by his sweaty palms.

What on Earth is going on?

#a cure for insomnia #ticci toby #ticcitoby #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby x reader #tobias erin rogers #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader #creepypasta fanfic

[a-la-la-llama]

The One Where Marinette Gets Fetched #10

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 11

  Titus had been restless ever since his first escape. The poor thing had been itching to get out again. He even stopped wanting to take walks around the estate. It made Damian upset to see his beloved dog so unhappy. The problem was he didn’t trust anyone outside the grounds to treat Titus like he should be. To be honest, no one in his family could except Alfred. His father and adopted siblings were incompetent as they were in practically everything. Damian was reluctant but eventually caved in the end.

  So he pulled on his most inconspicuous clothes that an average person would wear, or at least what he thought average people wore and led Titus out the door with a leash. Alfred had suggested he didn’t go to the private secluded parks near the area and one more in the city. It was like a walled area for muggers to catch high paying victims once they left. The city parks had more people and made it easier to blend in. It was also where Titus seemed to prefer to go. As soon as they passed the gates, the dog practically dragged him. Damian could have reeled him back in but the smile he swore was Titus’ face stopped him.

  Titus had conveniently brought a blue tennis ball with him while Damian held his leash and carried a satchel across his chest. The pair made their way to a secluded open field that provided enough room for the Great Dane to run around. A game of fetch ensued between the two. A throw too far set Titus on a chase. Something must have caught his eye because as soon as he got the ball he took off through a small grove of trees.

‘Must have seen a squirrel.’, sufessed Damian.

He sat down and took out his sketchbook and a few pencils. He preferred a monochrome look than a full-fledged colored drawing. Damian began to sketch his surroundings as he waited for Titus to tire himself out.

///~///~///~///~///~///~///

“Guardian, may we visit that tree Tikki had mentioned before? It has been a long time since I’ve been able to climb a real tree. Who knows how bad my climbing skills have gotten!”, Xuppa pleaded.

“Well, as long as you are able to stay hidden from all passersby I guess I can let you all roam around.”, declared Marinette.

“That’s why we want to go to the tree on the hill, silly Guardian. It’s a clearing surrounded by trees! It’s perfect!”, Daizzi teased with a small oink at the end.

“I guess you have a point. Okay, through these trees we shall go! Are my loyal and trustworthy Miri’s ready?”, joked Marinette.

“Of course, our fair Lady.”, Pollen continued.

“I’m always loyal to you, Guardian.”, said Barkk.

  The journey was long and treacherous for the group. Well, not really but it was fun to pretend they were on an adventure. Instead of a park, they were in an unexplored jungle. Having to avoid deadly obstacles such as couples and people reading peacefully under the trees. Then Marinette had been attacked by a poisonous tree root sticking out above ground. The root caused blindness temporarily which resulted in her tripping over it and falling. That led to the kwami’s having to lead her around with her eyes closed. It was like she was a little girl again playing with her- her-. Yeah, it was nice having fun with her Miri’s! They marched up the small hill with everyone following her like ducklings while they sang a Guardian-folk song.

“Alright! We have arrived at our destination. All Kwami exit the station as the Marinette train studies her sign language notes!”, she announced.

They all floated off into the tree as she sat under it and pulled out her journal. Reconnecting with the English language just to learn a new one based off of it. Then Damian had challenged her on who would do best on the ASL quiz next Friday. She couldn’t back down and was now forcing herself to study. Nooroo timidly floated out of the bag towards her. He had opted out of joining their song now that she thought about it.

“Master, I am sorry to bother you but are you certain it is all right for us to roam around?”, the butterfly mumbled.

The poor thing was greatly affected by their time in Paris. Duusuu could feed off the happy emotions of the others but Nooroo put the fault on himself. Gabriel had done a number on the poor kwami.

“You can call me Marinette or Guardian, Nooroo. Of course you can come out! Don’t worry so much, that's my job.”, she reassured. It got a small smile out of the kwami before he zipped off.

 She was going over her greetings when she saw the kwami go in and out of her bag. Everytime they would come out with their personal snacks.

“Did everybody pack something to eat and forget to tell me?”, she pouted.

“Sssssorry Mari. We forgot to tell you. We could alwayssss sssshare our ssssnackss.”, Sass hissed out.

“You should try some of my honey-covered croissants! They’re amazing!”, buzzed Pollen.

“No, eat my seeds!”

“My dried bananas are the best!”

“Carrots!”

“Biscuits!”

“I’m so happy. I love food!”

They all hurriedly shouted above each other trying to offer her their snacks.

“Calm down, Miri’s! I appreciate your generosity. Though camembert sounds delicious right now.”, she commented with a side glance at the certain kwami. The cheese glutton couldn’t do anything but drop his jaw at her request. He had been the only one to not say anything and the Guardian knew it.

“Minibug, you can’t be serious! My cheese smells bad. You won’t even like it. Trust me! You’re better off eating one of Sass’ boiled eggs.”, Plagg tried to redirect her taste and the other kwami’s glares.

“I’m teasing Plagg. I just had breakfast not too long ago.”, she said.

“Geez, Mari! Everyone looked on the verge to kill me.”, he huffed before stuffing the entire wheel in his mouth.

  Marinette and the kwami’s settled back down as she put in her earbuds and continued to study. Everything was nice and dandy for another forty-five minutes until she heard a faint shout from Tikki.

“Marinette look out!”

It was too late for the guardian however. By the time she knew it, Marinette was being dragged by the collar of her hoodie away from the tree. All of her stuff was left behind as her kidnapper ran at an alarming rate. She was pulled down hill, past the trees, dragged through a clearing for a while until she was dropped face first onto the grass. A dog started barking as soon as she was released.

“Titus! What is the meaning of this. You can’t just grab random- Marinette?”, the person said.

Marinette rubbed her head as she lifted herself up. This person knew her? She was met with the somewhat familiar face of Damian.

“H-Hey Damian, does this happen to be your dog or is there a better reason it just dragged me fifty yards to drop me here?”, she stuttered.

“No, it is not. I just happened to be able to read it’s name tag without moving. Of course it’s my dog, idiot!”, he sneered.

“Hey! How would you like it if you were suddenly getting yanked to gods know where by the collar and felt like you were choking?”, she retorted, rubbing her neck.

“What are you even doing here, Marinette?”, he questioned with narrowed eyes.

“First, this is a public park. I was studying some notes before your crazy- oh my kwami it’s taller than me!”, she gasped looking at the dog. She knew it wasn’t taller than her but her position of sitting on the floor made it tower over her. Marinette had met it before.

“Titus is a perfectly sized Great Dane. You’re the one with a pathetic stature. I suggest you change your diet to one suited to help with growth. Maybe incorporate beans, quinoa, or chicken if you're an inhumane meat-eater.”, he said.

“Yes, because I can totally fund a lifestyle change like that. Also, I’m average height. You’re the one that’s too tall!”, complained Marinette.

Titus wagged his tail back and forth as Marinette scratched his head in her lap.

“We had been playing with his tennis ball and I assumed he went to chase after an animal of some sort. Then he came back with you.”, Damian explained.

“So your dog basically fetched me.”, she summarized.

“You could put it that way.”, he commented.

“As adorable as Titus is, I have to go get my stuff before someone decides to take it. See you at school on Monday, I guess.”, Marinette said as she got up, much to the displeasure of Titus. Said dog barked in complaint as his attention giver left.

“Tt. I’m not sure what you have done to him but Titus should not be acting this way. He is supposed to be a feared guard dog, you have made him soft!”, he huffed.

“Feared like you with the rest of the student body at Gotham Academy? You still haven’t told me what got you to be dubbed an ‘Ice Prince’.”, Marinette said.

Damian only packed up his stuff and walked away.

Now, Marinette had to walk all the way back to the tree. The Miri’s were definitely going to lecture her.

I am sooooo soooo sorry for not posting this last week! I went out of town and it completely slipped my mind... sorry.

Tag list

@legallyspawned @chocolate1721 @spartanxhunterx @dreamykitty25 @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @loveswifi @amayakans @jeptwin @thewonderlandartist @buticaaba @books-and-left-behind-journals @gigibnl @aegyobutpsycho2 @crazylittlemunchkin @maribat-is-lifeblood @myazael @abrx2002 @pawsitivelymiraculous @silvergold-swirl @chaos-inperson @marichatcameback @olynix @ash-amg @elmokingkong @kitsunebell @yin-390 @indecisive-mess-named-me @jeminiikrystal @startouchedqueen1318  @alexandriamw @zalladane @how-to-fuction-properly @k-poplunardreams @majorcurious007 @ironspiderstark @laurcad123 @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @goddessofthewestwind @goblinwhoships @irontimetravelflower @thequeenoftheundead

#maribat #the one where marinette #ml x dc #ml x dcu

[echo-bleu]

carve our names with fire

Clary gave Alec a wedding gift before losing her memories and her runes. Alec does with it what he does best: change the world to right an injustice (and become a BAMF immortal warlock along the way).

Alec & Clary Brotp with a side of Immortal Husbands, Angst and Fluff and Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Betaed by Bsgoddess (SorryTheUsernamesTaken). Takes off after Alec and Magnus announced their wedding, but the show happened over 3-ish years and the wedding is about a week after they come back from Edom, not the next day (because Timeline). The last part was loosely inspired by prompts on the Malec Discord Server, though it grew more world-building than I expected.

Read on AO3.

“You two will make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork, realizing that he’s been unconsciously twirling his ring while reading. He didn’t hear Clary come into his office, but she’s leaning against the door frame, a small smile on her face.

They haven’t had time to talk properly since the announcement of Alec and Magnus’ wedding, with Jonathan wreaking havoc all over the world. But Jonathan is dead now, thanks to Clary.

“Thank you,” he grins at her sincerely. “I know it’s a little rushed, but with everything that’s happened, we decided we didn’t want to wait for the next catastrophe. At this pace, we’ll never find time to plan a proper wedding.”

“That’s fair,” Clary snorts. “We never seem to get a break.”

They’re still reeling from the deaths of several hundred Shadowhunters, just days ago. Alec has done his best to go to as many Rites of Mourning as he could, especially for people he knew, but even he couldn’t make it to every one of them. After being surrounded by so much grief, he’s more than ready for a slice of happiness. Magnus is in a frenzy preparing everything for the wedding tomorrow, and Alec can’t wait.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Clary continues, walking into the office fully. She closes the door behind her, and Alec frowns. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” Alec gestures for her to sit on the couch, while he stands up and comes around his desk. He sits down beside her. “What is it?”

Clary looks down at her lap, biting her lip, and Alec feels dread pooling his stomach. She’s so uncharacteristically quiet that it can only mean bad news.

“I haven’t told anyone else yet,” she starts. “I don’t want to ask you to keep it a secret, but I can’t carry it on my own anymore.”

Alec places a hesitant hand on her arm. They rarely touch, but it seems appropriate. “Clary, what’s wrong?”

“I saw my mom the other day,” Clary breathes out.

Alec stares in shock. He lets go of Clary’s arm and glances down at his hand, the same hand that once ripped Jocelyn Fairchild’s heart out of her chest. Even now, almost two years later, he doesn’t feel clean of that. He can still feel the blood, see her face in his nightmares, Clary’s face accusing him. He has plenty of newer traumas to dream about, and it’s started to fade, but it’s not gone.

“What?” he croaks out. Is Clary having the same nightmares? Is she seeing things? It doesn’t match the way she said it, with that intense conviction in her eyes.

Clary’s eyes widen like she just realized how that sounded. “Not like… She was a...ghost, maybe? I don’t know. She felt real. She said she was sent by the Angels to give me a message.”

“A message,” Alec repeats slowly.

“I know how it sounds, but I think that’s the truth,” Clary says. “Because what she told me would happen...it’s started.”

“Clary, I don’t understand.”

She closes her eyes, her face screwed up in anguish. “She said that my rune ability was against the wish of the Angels and that if I kept using it, they’d take it away. They’d take everything away. Everything that makes me a Shadowhunter.”

Alec blinks for a moment, trying to make sense of it. “When was that?” he asks.

“The day after we got back from Edom.”

“You used a rune to kill Jonathan,” Alec breathes.

Clary looks up at his face then and nods minutely. She rolls up her sleeve, showing off unmarred skin where Alec saw a Silent Brother draw the angelic rune just a year ago. “It’s already started,” she murmurs. “They’re fading. One by one.”

“So you’re being...deruned? No,” Alec realizes. It’s different. Deruning is a Nephilim punishment, a human one. It strips them of their runes, but not of their identity, of their blood. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I think…” Clary hesitates, tears falling down her cheeks. “I think when it’s over, I’m going to be mundane. Fully. Without the Sight, and any memories of the Shadow World.”

“Fuck, Clary,” Alec mutters. “There must be something we can do—”

“I don’t think we can go against the Angels’ wish, Alec.”

Alec closes his eyes, his mind desperately running through possibilities and scenarios. He doesn’t see a solution. She’s right, the Angels’ wish is untouchable, they all know that. There’s no army to fight, no law to circumvent, no obstacle to overcome.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and feels the knot in his throat grow until it’s nearly choking him. He’s not ready to lose another friend, not now. And Jace… Fuck. Jace will be devastated. Izzy, too. None of them can take another disaster.

He takes in Clary’s red and puffy eyes, the way she’s looking at him like a lifeline. She’s become a friend, over the years. They didn’t start that way, but they’ve grown close. She’s the person closest to Alec outside of his family and Magnus. He blinks back tears.

“You’ll still be alive,” he murmurs. “But—”

“I’ll forget you. All of this,” she gestures around them. “Everything. I’m scared, Alec.”

Alec holds out his hand, and she grips it tightly in hers. He covers them with his other hand. “How long?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I only have two runes left, so not long. Tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

Alec closes his eyes. She might not even make it to the wedding. “Fuck,” he repeats.

“I don’t want to forget,” Clary murmurs, sobbing.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alec says softly. Neither of them believes it.

At least she’ll be okay, most likely. If she forgets everything, loses her angel blood, she’ll be just another mundane. She’ll be safe. Alec tries hard to hang onto that and not on the pain to come.

Because if he even lets himself imagine it, he’ll crumble.

“Why tell me first?” he asks.

Clary hesitates, biting her lip. Her sobs have receded, though tears are still running down her cheeks. She sniffles. “You’re in charge of the Institute, so you need to know. For, you know, patrols and stuff. I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise.”

Alec swallows, touched by her foresight. It’s hard to remember sometimes that she’s the same girl who once trampled on every rule without care. She still doesn’t follow orders blindly, but she’s come to care about the Institute and its Shadowhunters like they’re her family.

And in a few days, none of that growth will matter anymore. She’ll be gone. Alec wants to retch at the injustice of it all. She’s come so far, and this punishment is truly unfair.

But then, why should the Angels be fairer than the Nephilim? Alec once sat in this same office waiting for his sister to be convicted of treason and deruned. He watched his mother be stripped of her runes and her identity. Clary herself was sentenced to death for bringing Jace back to life.

They both know all too well that life isn’t fair.

“There’s another reason,” Clary says after a moment of silence. “I wanted to give you something. It’s a wedding gift, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold on until then, so I wanted to give it to you now.”

She pulls back her hands and takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Alec carefully unfolds it, expecting some kind of drawing, but what jumps out at him is a rune, carefully inked onto the thick paper. One he doesn’t recognize.

“I can still create runes, even if I don’t dare activate them,” Clary explains. “It will work, I know it.”

“What is it?” Alec asks. It has similar elements to the Alliance rune, Clary’s most beautiful invention to date, but it’s also different, rounder, and more complex.

“I didn’t give it a name,” Clary says. “You can name it if you want. Or keep it to yourself and never use it. It’s your choice.”

“You’re rambling,” Alec says, almost amused despite the gravity of the moment.

“Sorry. It works kind of like the Alliance rune, but it requires a strong emotional bond. There are elements of the Wedding rune and the Parabatai rune in it.”

Alec tilts his head, and he can recognize it now, the familiar runes almost intertwined with each other.

“Shared between two people,” Clary says slowly, “it should bind souls and bodies together. You’d share blood, powers, emotions. And it’s permanent.”

Alec’s eyes widen as he takes in the implications of that. “Sharing powers…”

“Yes. If you do it with Magnus, you should be able to share his eternal youth.”

“Clary, this is—” Alec breathes, unable to formulate his overwhelming gratitude. “It’s an incredible gift.”

Clary swallows. “I wanted you to have it before—” she gestures vaguely. “I didn’t talk about it earlier because I wasn’t sure I could make a rune that powerful, but I know this one will work.”

Alec closes his eyes briefly to clear them of tears and pulls her into a hug. She melts into his chest, sobbing. “I want you to know that I’m incredibly grateful for everything you did for us,” he says over her shoulder. “We owe you so much.”

“Even if I didn’t obey the rules?” she hiccups. “I caused you a lot of trouble.”

“But you saved us over and over too,” Alec says. “You brought Jace back to life. You’re the reason we got Magnus back. You’ve been through so much in the past few years, but you’re still here coming up with the most incredible gift for my wedding, even when you’re running out of time…”

“I can’t tell Jace and Izzy,” Clary sobs into his shoulder. “Izzy just asked me to be her parabatai. And Jace… I can’t say goodbye. It’s too hard.”

Alec hugs her tighter. “It’s okay. I’ll tell them for you if you want. Anything you need.”

“I love them. I love you. I love you all so much. To think that I won’t remember anything…”

Alec runs a hand through her hair, gently. “We’ll make sure that you’re alright. And… I’ll keep looking. Maybe there’s something we can do to make the Angels let you come back. If not, maybe we can figure out how to bring you back ourselves. I won’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Clary murmurs. “Take care of Jace for me. He’ll need you.”

“I will. I promise.”

They hold each other until Clary’s sobs subside, and she’s able to compose herself. Alec keeps a tight grip on his own emotions, even though they threaten to spill over. He’s long learned to compartmentalize, and he can’t afford to break down in the middle of a workday. But before he goes back home to Magnus that night, he takes out the folded sheet of paper again and studies it until his sight goes blurry and he has tears running down his cheeks. He goes to the roof with his bow, working his anger into the arrows he sends out in the sky, and he runs to Magnus’ loft without a speed run, his lungs burning.

When Magnus asks him what’s wrong, he can only shake his head and hug him tight.

 *

 He’s dancing with Magnus when Clary leaves. He’s tried to keep an eye on her most of the night, once the ceremony was done, but he misses her running out and only realizes she’s gone when Jace starts to look for her.

The party is coming to an end. Alec excuses himself to Magnus for a while and he tracks Clary down, two blocks away, where he finds her looking around her in confusion.

“Who are you?” she asks when he calls her name. “Don’t come any closer!”

Alec sighs, the knot in his throat threatening to explode, and he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t mean any harm,” he says. “You just seemed lost.”

“I’m—” She looks around again, frantically. “I don’t know where I am.”

“I’ll call you a cab, okay?” Alec offers. He falters, realizing that Clary doesn’t have a home to go to anymore. Jocelyn’s dead, and Clary will have to suffer the loss of her mother all over again. “Is there anyone you can call? A friend?”

“Yeah,” Clary says. She pats her dress. “I’ve...I think I lost my phone.”

“I’ll lend you mine,” Alec says. “I’m Alec, by the way.”

“Clary.”

Alec forces the pain away and attempts a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

 *

 “I told you you’d make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork in surprise, and he’s overtaken by a strong sense of deja-vu. It isn’t the same office or even the same city, but the way Clary is leaning against the door frame reminds him exactly of the day before she left. She seems aware of the parallel, grinning at him conspiratorially.

“You did,” he smiles. “Welcome back, Clary.”

She looks different, and yet the same. Her skin is free of runes, and she has a new haircut that makes her look older, but there’s the same light in her eyes. It’s been a year. A year of Jace moping around the Institute, his pain a constant tug on the parabatai bond. A year of missing her, more than Alec never thought he would.

“Thank you.”

Jace called Alec just hours after Clary recognized him at her show, three weeks ago, but Alec hasn’t been able to join them in New York yet. She regained her memories quickly, in only a few days, once it started. Jace and Izzy have been keeping him updated.

“So that’s where it went,” Clary says, staring at the large abstract painting on the wall. “I thought it was you and Magnus, but I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to reconcile those memories together.”

Alec looks up at it, at the signature that looks suspiciously like a rune in the shape of a C and F in the bottom right corner. “It was us,” he confirms. They’ve been to every single one of her school’s shows, buying multiple paintings while having to pretend they didn’t know her. “We have more of them at home. Magnus felt it was a way to keep you with us. He’s missed you a lot.”

“I know,” Clary says. “We had lunch a couple of days ago. He didn’t tell you?”

Alec laughs. “He did. He recounted every minute of it. He was excited.”

Clary tilts her head playfully. “Is he the only one who missed me?”

“I’m pretty sure Jace thought of you once or twice. Izzy, too,” Alec smirks. “Of course we all missed you. Come here,” he stands up and opens his arms.

She bounces up to him and hugs him tight around the middle, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Alec laughs and leans into the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

“I’d say I’ve missed you too, but—” Clary shrugs, pulling away to look up at him. “I felt like something was missing, the whole time. And ugh, I didn’t remember you were so tall.”

Alec raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t remember me at all,” he deadpans. “More seriously, I meant to come to see you, but things have been hectic over here.”

“I heard you made Inquisitor. That’s amazing, Alec!”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, very recent,” Alec blushes. He still hasn’t learned to take a compliment, but his promotion is something he can take pride in. It’s an incredible testimony of how far the Clave has come in just a couple of years. Not so long ago, a Shadowhunter who chose to marry a Downworlder would have been cast out or at least kept carefully out of any politically significant position. And now he’s here, barely turned twenty-five, in the second highest Clave office. “Magnus is the High Warlock of Alicante now,” he adds. Because of that, the Clave asking his husband to help Downworlders move back into Idris after centuries of fleeing the Shadowhunters’ increasing restrictions, is something Alec will never not be proud of.

“You haven’t changed,” Clary observes, smiling. “I was worried you’d turned into a high and mighty prick, now that you’re such a big name.”

Alec rolls his eyes and snorts. “I’m not Jace,” he reminds her. “Come on, let’s sit down. Do you have some time? I can take my lunch break, there’s a restaurant around the corner.”

“Sure,” Clary nods. “I have an appointment with the Silent Brothers to determine if my body’s ready to take runes again, but I came early to see you.”

“Great. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 *

 “Did you use it? The rune?” Clary leans in over her dessert in curiosity. They’ve been catching up for the past hour in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and it almost feels like they saw each other yesterday, for how comfortable and easy it is to get back into their banter. Alec has missed this.

He leans back in his seat, his stomach full. “Yeah,” he says, placing a hand over his heart where the rune is located. “We exchanged them two months ago.”

“Does it work?” Clary asks with a spark in her eyes.

Alec turns his hand palm up over the table and focuses. It doesn’t come easily to him, not yet. He’s been training with Magnus, but magic is much harder than it looks, so they’ve been focusing on controlling his random outbursts whenever he’s stressed more than developing his active magic.

Blue strands of light encircle his hand briefly, leaving in their wake a yellow rose. He hands it to Clary, who gives him a wide smile and turns it in her hands to observe it. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Yer a wizard, Alec.”

Alec bites on his finger to contain his laughter. He’s learned far too many mundane cultural references through osmosis with Simon and weekly movie nights at the loft, while Clary was gone.

“We had my blood and magic analyzed by the researchers at the Spiral Labyrinth, and they say I’m immortal too,” he says. “Or more exactly, tied to Magnus’ immortality. But since he’s tied to my life force too, it makes us functionally invincible. Someone would have to kill us both at the same time for it to stick.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary breathes. “More than I even thought of when I made the rune.”

“We have a lot to thank you for,” Alec reaches out to pat her hand. “More than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“This rune allowed us to make huge strides in magical theory, and specifically angelic magic. It’s part of the reason why I’ve been so busy because I’m also working with our researchers on several projects.” Alec pauses, realizing he’s getting ahead of himself and Clary can’t follow. “Okay, so when you gave me the rune, I told Magnus about it right after our wedding. He was blown away that you would give us such a gift, by the way. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you himself.”

Clary smiles. “He’ll have plenty of time for that, now that I’m back for good,” she says.

Alec nods. “Since you said it was permanent, we took our time to make the decision. Immortality is not something to be taken lightly. For me, it wasn’t even really a question, but Magnus wanted me to be sure that it was what I wanted.”

“That makes sense,” Clary nods.

“We also wanted to make sure that the rune would work the way you said it did, that it wouldn’t have any…unforeseen side effects.”

Clary frowns. “I never had a problem with my runes.”

“Honestly, Clary, you used them mostly in emergencies, with no regard for safety. Maybe it was warranted then, but this time we weren’t willing to gamble both of your lives on it. Especially when it came to using a rune on a warlock.”

“Of course,” Clary says sheepishly. “Ugh, I was rather impulsive, wasn’t I?”

“You could say that,” Alec grumbles, remembering all the times her hasty decisions landed him in hot water with his parents or the Clave. “Anyway, we researched the hell out of it. Every text we could find on rune creations, on the wedding rune and its variations, we even looked into warlock archives that hadn’t been opened for centuries. And that’s how I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“How you created runes. And why the Angels hated it.”

 *

 “This is what we’re working on,” Alec says, letting Clary into the lab. “It’s all confidential, but since you’re the one who started it all, I figured you deserve to know. And I’m the one who decides who is read in on it anyway.”

Clary looks around in wonder. The room has some of the equipment she’d expect in a lab and some she doesn’t recognize, but what attracts her gaze is the large corkboard in the middle, covered with sheets of paper.

On each of them is a rune. A rune she’s never seen before.

“They’re all new runes?” she asks.

“Yes,” Alec answers, leaning his back against the wall. “What clued me in was how you used elements of several existing runes to create a new one. I copied down every rune from the Gray Book and all of your runes and I started looking for patterns. We’ve always known that some basic elemental runes existed, but not that they could be combined. It took me a few months, but I came up with this.” He points at a rune at the top left of the board, which Clary can see is based on the Deflect rune, with two additional strikes going through it.

“Of course you would,” she mutters. “That’s some kind of armor rune, isn’t it?”

Alec smiles. “As it turns out, everyone can create runes, at least in theory. It’s very hard and requires a strong theoretical background unless you’re named Clary Fairchild and you have additional angel blood. Or maybe just an amazing instinct, I don’t know. Yes, this one imitates armored plates around your body. It’s more effective at stopping blows than the regular Deflect rune, but it doesn’t stop people from tracking you.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary says.

“As soon as I saw it work, I told Magnus and we worked on it together. It’s the biggest discovery about angelic magic that we’ve made in centuries.”

“Why did no one find it before?”

Alec pushes away from the wall to face her fully. “Soon after I used this rune for the first time, I started experiencing the same thing you did: push back from the Angels. Even drawing normal runes became harder. We got scared that I might be deruned like you were, so Magnus and I decided to go ahead with your rune, bind ourselves together. If I had magic, the Angels couldn’t take away my Sight or my memories.”

“That sounds like a plan me or Jace would have come up with, not you,” Clary quips.

“Yeah, well, things were evolving quickly. I could barely hold a stele at that point,” Alec says, frowning.

Clary blinks. “Wow, the Angels really were angry.”

“The bond fixed it. I’m out of reach now, they can’t do anything to me. And now that I knew what I was looking for, I found accounts of other people to whom it happened, who lost their Nephilim blood because of this. You have to read between the lines because it became taboo to even talk about it, but it looks like the Angels don’t want us to have this ability. Jonathan Shadowhunter probably had it, he had more pure Angel blood than you and he’s the one who created all the original runes, but since then, no Shadowhunter has been able to create new runes. Until you.”

“But I got punished for it,” Clary says, wringing her hands. Her memories of the last few days before she was stripped of her runes don’t feel fresh like the events happened yesterday, but they also don’t feel like they’re a year old. She can still see her mother’s ghost, or whatever it was, telling her what would happen if she kept using new runes.

It’s been a year, but without her memories, she hasn’t had a chance to process all the trauma, all the emotions.

“Yeah,” Alec sighs. “You certainly didn’t deserve it, but you were.”

Clary shakes her head, trying to get rid of the darker thoughts. “Obviously you didn’t stop there,” she says, gesturing at the board. “So what did you do?”

“Well, since my warlock blood protects me, I started thinking about who else might be protected. I reached out to Helen Blackthorn, you remember her?”

“Oh, she’s half-Seelie, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She and her brother. They were both willing to try working with us, especially since Magnus and I were fairly sure we could stop the process if we were wrong and the Angels were able to harm them. As it turns out, they did fine. So I found more Shadowhunters with Downworlder blood. At this point, we have eight people creating new runes, including me.”

“That’s incredible,” Clary says. She looks closer at the runes on the board. She can instinctively tell their purpose, which is proof that her ability hasn’t gone away. Alec lets her observe them for a while in silence, and she thinks she can discern a pattern in there like the runes have a signature. “That’s yours,” she points at a rune in the middle of the board, once she’s fairly sure she’s understanding her instincts right. “And this one.”

“You’re right,” Alec says, sounding impressed.

“You have a...tell,” Clary smirks, looking at him over her shoulder. “They feel distinctively you. I can probably find Magnus’ too, but I’d need a place to start since I’ve never seen him draw a rune.”

“Here,” Alec points to one on the right side of the board. “Can you tell because of your rune ability, or because you’re an artist?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Clary shrugs. “I’m not sure. I should have known this was Magnus’,” she laughs when she looks at the rune. The flourish and artistic strokes look exactly like something Magnus would go for.

“We definitely need you in our group,” Alec mutters, jotting down a note on a pad on the desk beside him.

“I don’t know,” Clary says, taking a step back away from the board. “I don’t want to tempt fate. I don’t think I could stand to lose my memories again.”

“No, of course,” Alec says. “But I don’t think it would happen.”

“Why?”

“Magnus’ theory is that if enough Shadowhunters start creating runes, the Angels will just have to accept it since they can’t cast us out. Since our wedding, there are more and more mixed Nephilim and Downworlder couples, so there will probably be a whole generation of people with mixed blood. They’ll be able to create runes.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Clary asks.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that the Angels chose to give you your memories back now. The breakthroughs that we’ve made aren’t going away. I think it’s their way of telling us that they won’t fight us anymore.”

Clary blinks at him, trying to process that idea. She remembers asking Maryse, at the wedding, if the Angels could forgive. The picture of the Angels that Alec paints is cold and calculating, matching with what Clary saw of Raziel — and to some extent, even Ithuriel. What if she wasn’t forgiven, but instead simply reinstated in her rightful place? What if Alec managed the unthinkable, and made the Angels themselves change their minds?

“Is that possible? I mean — wow.”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs.

Clary has a sudden flashback of the Alec she first met, over four years ago, who was terrified of coming out and upsetting the order of things, who was killing himself trying to meet his parents’ expectations. The man standing in front of her now has grown so much, just like Clary has, that they’re barely recognizable. To hear him talking so casually about changing the world-changing immutable laws such as those of the Angels?

But then, they’ve changed so much already, haven’t they? They participated in the destruction of Edom. They defeated the Mother of Demons. They explored and even created whole new sections of magic. Alec and Magnus’ marriage and their careers changed the laws of the Clave and opened the way for so much more.

They’ve already changed the world. So why not a little more, indeed?

Clary jumps at Alec’s neck, making him grunt in surprise. “This is amazing,” she says. “You’re amazing. And I’m so glad I’m back.”

“Me too,” Alec laughs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Welcome home, Clary.”

#shadowhunters #alec lightwood #clary fray #malec #clary fairchild #mine #echo's fanfiction #malec discord server #hm discord

[notnctu]

CONGRATS ON UR MILESTONE BBY!!! SO PROUD 😭😭 (also hehe can i request quote #4 with Jaehyun? with angst, fluff, and suggestive/smut- lol gimme all of them flavorssss) (also no pressure if it’s not all three haha ik it’ll be great anyways)

THANK YOU BB <3 we’re so happy to have ppl who actually... care and read our shit ? LOL i hope you enjoy reading your request! i tried my best to season it with all the yummy flavors hehe you can read it under the cut

-author doie ❀

jaehyun x reader prompt #4 - “You can do this but you can’t return my calls?” genre - angst, fluff, slightly suggestive (wow flavor packed)

dating jaehyun isn’t the easiest love you’ve ever experienced. the valentine boy enjoys to test your patience, but always knows how to mend his mistakes. in this relationship, it’s about compromise. however, you aren’t entirely sure how he is going to be able to make this one up.

you’ve been ringing his number for the past hour and to no avail. it’s your second year anniversary and you’ve overly expressed how important this one is to you. it’s a toast to another year together, when every living person has been fighting you for your favorite boy.

“jung jaehyun, where the hell are you?” you sigh and toss your phone. the restaurants are practically closing by now and your extravagant outfit has been sitting uncomfortably on your body.

not that you two had planned anything grand, just a simple dinner at your favorite restaurant and possibly indulge in a bottle of champagne. did he forget? he has been ignoring you the past days, and you’re not one to jump to conclusions, but he has been distant.

and nothing in your brain brings up any bad memories that you two didn’t amend. so why is he giving you the cold shoulder, especially on your anniversary night? it’s slightly hard to blink back tears when you stare at yourself in your bathroom mirror.

jaehyun loves you, right? you two trust each other. perhaps, he’s been having a hard week and needed space. one single droplet falls abruptly and hits your sink. but you wipe it away, remembering the foundation of your relationship is compromise. you had to meet him halfway.

so you sniff away any malice thoughts that threaten to break your relationship, and as you rush to grab your car keys. your phone rings and your heart falls into the pit of your stomach when you see the caller id.

“hey---”

“how was your anniversary date?! you gotta tell me all about it! did jaehyun get you flowers, he seems like the big bouquet type---”

“he never showed up.” you cut off your best friend, and the line goes silent on the other side of the receiver. it hurt more speaking it into existence, finally admitting it to yourself that your boyfriend never came for you.

“oh.. i’m sorry..” your best friend pauses, “do you want to come over here instead? fuck men.” she sounds persistent and a small vigor in her voice.

you take another deep breath, unsure now where to head to. you were so ready to barge into his apartment and check if he was even alive. “hold on.” you say as you check his location to make sure he’s home, but when you’re searching for his goofy contact picture, it doesn’t show up on the map. jaehyun turned off his location.

“he turned off his location.” you begin to tear up, but the gasp of your best friend catches you off guard.

“no fucking way. that piece of shit!” she yells and you cover your mouth to suffice the cries.

“i’ll come over.” you barely let out and your best friend wishes you a safe drive, telling you how she is ready to bust out all forms of social media to track if anyone was messing with your man.

but you feel a bit numb, more confused. he’s never turned off his location, is he hiding from you? but there are no secrets between you two. you hurry to your friend’s shared house, with unbelievable and unwanted tears running down your face.

there is no way. you reminded yourself of jaehyun’s loyalty and the trust you had in this man. he could never.

and when you pull up to the drive way, your affirmations are right. he could never.

jaehyun stands with the largest rose bouquet you’ve ever laid eyes on. his hair nicely slick back, in a suit to match your equally dressed up attire. he looks up from your head lights announcing your arrival and he can see the sadness that lingers on your cheeks.

he hurries to open your car door, and you shut the car off. “what the hell, jung jaehyun!” you lightly push at his shoulder when he reaches down for your hand.

he smiles sweetly, dimples deeply in his cheeks. “happy anniversary, y/n. you’re still absolutely breathtaking.”

you take his hand as he guides you to the entrance walkway, the bouquet of roses now in your other. rose petals are scattered on the pavement that lead to the front door and your best friend stands with the biggest grin on her face.

“you traitor!” you jokingly yell at her, but she cheekily hugs you.

“surprise! happy anniversary, y/n!” she guides you into her dining room and the table is full of your favorite dishes, prepped and cooked by two important people in your life.

you marvel at the fancy table cloth and pink balloons that roll around on the floor. it’s over the top cheesy, and definitely something you see in classic romance movies. and you laugh. you smile. you kiss jaehyun with gratitude.

“you can do this, but you can’t return my calls?” you raise an eyebrow at the handsome man, who blinks back at you with a gaze that makes your knees weak.

he chuckles, the baritone sounding lovely, “it’s because i was doing this, that i couldn’t return your calls. i wanted to surprise you with something special on this very important day.”

“you let me wait an hour!” you pout, of course you are more than grateful for your boyfriend setting up everything perfectly. you just wanted to express a few grumbles for more explanation.

“aw i’m sorry, baby. your best friend forgot to set an alarm to wake up from her nap... and i lost track of time when i was blowing the balloons. i swear she was suppose to call you earlier.” his thumb rubs circles on your jawline, as he gently caresses your face.

“i know, i’m the worst. but hey! you’re using my house, so i say we’re a little even.” your best friend laughs, grabbing her keys from the table. “have fun, lovebirds. you know which one the guestroom is.” she smiles before shutting the front door and leaving you two for privacy.

“why are you using her house?” jaehyun’s hand snakes around your waist, drawing you close to his toned torso. he plants a sneaky kiss against your neck, mumbling into your skin the answer to your question.

“jungwoo’s friend is staying over for the weekend. i can’t fuck you properly if we don’t have a bed, right?”

“don’t act like we haven’t done it without one before though.” your laugh is cut short as jaehyun gives your ass a small squeeze, groaning in your ear as filthy memories on his bedroom floor, bathroom, kitchen flood his thoughts.

“i’m a little hungry.. ready to eat?” when you meet his dark eyes, his devilish smirk and the suggestive tone imply something else. he is definitely going to make the lost hour up to you.

#nct scenarios #nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fluff #nct asks #nct requests #jaehyun #jaehyun imagines

[fatilightwood]

Our story

You can read it on Ao3

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: The date

Thomas kept glancing at his phone, the hours didn’t seem to passing fast enough. It was still early to meet Alastair, still he didn’t want to mess things up by losing himself in the book in his hands and arriving late.

Almost an hour later, Thomas decided it was time to go. He took his belongings and got out of the library. As he strode out of his campus he couldn’t help but felling nervous and excited.

He arrived at the bar and saw there was no trace of Alastair. He stood there watching the students walk, and it occurred to him that it was funny how sometimes you could tell what they were studying. That made him thought what was Alastair studying? Maybe if he knew it would have been easier to walk to his faculty and wait for him.

Thomas checked the time on his phone. Then distracted himself reading some announcements of his classes. When he was done he returned the phone to his pocket. And then he saw him, Alastair was meters away from him. He walked so elegantly. Wow. Where the hell did that come from? He had never thought that a person could walk elegantly. Still, it was true for Alastair.

Thomas waved his hand when Alastair’s eyes rested on him. He smiled. And Thomas felt himself smile too.

“Hi.” Thomas said.

“Hey.”

Then they stood there in silence for a few seconds.

“Shall we go?”

“Lead the way.”

Thomas started to walk. Alastair was at his side.

“It’s really close, you know. One of my friends took me there sometime and I really liked the place. Hope you will too.”

“Do they have donuts?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, I’m craving donuts. You’ve earned a point but you need a lot of those for me to tell you that you’ve got excellent taste in coffeehouses.”

“I think I do. Just think, cozy place, lots and lots of coffee, tea, desserts, smoothies, crepes, ice cream. Oh, and muffins.” Alastair watched him to get more and more excited as he talked.

“Okay, okay, you’re in the right way. I just need to see this for myself.”

When they arrived Alastair stopped and stared at the beautiful coffeehouse. The place had a beautiful double glass door. Green pastry walls were surrounding it. He could see people sitting and chatting animatedly. Thomas pushed the door open and let Alastair enter first. He thanked him as he walked in. There were cushions that looked extremely comfortable, chairs, and even puffs. All of them were also green.

“Come here.”

Thomas guided him to the back of the store. “Let’s go upstairs”

They were floating, Alastair thought. Then laughed internally. They weren’t floating but it certainly felt that way. They were standing on a hanging wood platform. He liked how he could watch people outside the coffeehouse through the glass door, and the other clients when they came in. It was crazy to think that a tiny stair could lead them there. So much crazier to think that only a piece of wood held them. Oh God, Alastair said to himself, I hope we don’t die on our first date.

Easy, Alastair, he told himself. First, this date, then we’ll see what happens next. But he was distracted from his thoughts when he saw that Thomas couldn’t stand properly, he had to bend down so he wouldn’t touch the ceiling. Alastair couldn’t help but smile and he took a seat on the nearest table. Alastair hoped the other table there wouldn’t be occupied. Even though they were in a public space and he wouldn’t be uncomfortable with people in the other table he loved when he felt like he had all the space to himself. Thomas sat in front of him.

“So, how is my evaluation going?”

“This is really good, but if we fall you’ll get an F.” Alastair said, grinning.

“Mm, are you calling me heavy?” Thomas said, amused.

“Well, you certainly are gigantic. You can’t even stand up without touching the ceiling.”

Thomas blushed. He was used to the jokes but somehow now it felt different. He wasn’t sure why. Was it because he just met Alastair or because he had said it with admiration? But in the moment Alastair smiled and shrugged, his heart skipped a beat and he knew immediately they were both.

He also knew he wanted to erase the first. He needed to know more of Alastair.

“So, about your notes, how did that end? And, what are you studying? I don’t even know what the notes are about.”

“I obviously finished them. And I must say it’s—” Alastair cut himself off. The waitress came with their menus.

They both said thanks and when she left Alastair took a notebook out of his backpack.

“As I was saying, it’s really offensive,” he said, feigning hurt. “But you’ll be the judge. Oh, and I study art history.”

Thomas took the notebook and began looking at the pages. Alastair’s handwriting was pretty. History and theory of European art, said in the first page. Thomas was impressed. He had always liked art, but now that he met an actual student of art history he thought he was in a disadvantage. Surely Alastair liked art so much more and also knew more about it.

He reached the final notes and saw something about architecture from the French Revolution. And at the beginning of the penultimate page he found a few messy words. They contrasted so much with the neat handwriting that started in the next line. Thomas signaled those words to Alastair.

“Yeah, that was when I was falling asleep. So I decided to stop writing.”

Thomas smiled. “You didn’t tell me that you almost fell asleep in class.”

“Sh.” Alastair said, as if Thomas were telling a big secret. “It wasn’t relevant.”

“It would be fun to watch, though.”

“We’ve been here for less than ten minutes, I haven’t ordered and you’re already making fun of me.” He said laughing. “And I don’t think the professor would think so.”

“Oh, that happened in one of my classes just like two weeks ago, fortunately the professor is actually cool, so he didn’t scold him. And, you should check the menu, trust me, there’s a lot of options.”

Alastair stared at his menu, impressed. There were even more options that the ones Thomas had said.

“Don’t look so smug, Thomas.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He said innocently.

“Whatever.”

Thomas barely contained the smirk on his lips.

When the waitress came Thomas asked for a croissant and an iced tea. Alastair told him that carrot cakes were his favorites so he wanted to taste one, he also asked for a coffee, and a donut. When the waitress came with their orders, Alastair took the sugar from the table and poured at least 3 spoons into his cup.

“Yeah, I don’t like when my coffee resembles my soul.” Alastair said when he saw the fun look Thomas was giving him.

“Oh, God, yours must be so dark.”

“Don’t worry, it’s been getting lighter and lighter.” Alastair said, winking.

They talked about nothing and everything. Thomas told him he was studying psychology, he also told him that he thought many problems could be solved if only all people would care about their mental health as much as they care for other things. He told him he has known his friends since they were very young and that he loved reading but in the past few months he hadn’t been able to read as much as he would’ve liked. Alastair told him it was understandable and that it was a matter of time to be able to do everything you wanted, or at least, most of the things you wanted. It happened to almost everyone at the beginning of college. He also told him he played the piano, that he had always loved art and found interesting the evolution of it and the role it had across the time, that he also liked to draw from time to time but wasn’t very good at it and that he lived with his little sister.

They also told each other their last names, laughing when they realized they had talked and talked and just knew their names. It was so easy. Thomas thought he was going to be a nervous mess. Unfortunately, a few minutes later he thought he was initially right, because his calmness didn’t last much longer. When Thomas told Alastair he wanted to get a tattoo, he ran his fingers through the skin in his forearm.

“Would it be big? Or is it going to be something tiny?”

Thomas didn’t answer immediately. He only had thoughts about the soft fingers on his skin and the shiver they were leaving behind. Alastair retired his hand, he closed his fist as if saving the memory.

“Oh, something in the middle, I think.” He said quietly. “I don’t think it will cover my entire forearm, but I also don’t want it to be tiny.”

“So, no one could catch Thomas Lightwood with a half inch umbrella tattoo in his wrist?” He joked.

Thomas tapped his finger against his chin, as if thinking.

“Nope. Maybe with an arrow, though.”

Alastair smiled. “I never thought about getting a tattoo but I think if I would, I’d get one of those, so I could say that I have a tattoo.”

They laughed, and continued talking. And too soon for their liking it was getting dark. They paid and said goodbye to the owners.

Alastair stopped himself from inviting Thomas to his apartment. It was rushed, he knew, they just had a first date, why would he make things awkward? But he also knew he had thought about it because he’d like to continue talking to him. And really, there was another reason why it wasn’t a good idea, he had things to do at home and he made sure to tell Thomas that casually, just in case Thomas wanted to make the same suggestion. Would Tom want to invite him to his apartment? He didn’t know. What Alastair did know was he liked it when Thomas offered to accompany him to the bus stop when he said that though his apartment was close didn’t want to walk.

When Alastair’s bus came, he stood on his tiptoes and kissed Thomas goodbye on the cheek. Thomas stood there, speechless, and only recovered the capacity to move when he saw Alastair seated. Thomas waved at him, and saw the other boy smile.

Then the bus began to move, and Alastair gave him a last glance. When Thomas couldn’t see the bus anymore he started to walk to his own apartment.

Alastair laid his head on the glass. His mind was racing. He knew he should stop but it wasn’t easy, the thoughts just kept coming. Even if he had invited Thomas, what was he going to do in the apartment? To watch him study? And do his assignments? Alastair wasn’t sure why he hadn’t invited Thomas to his apartment, perhaps it was a combination of everything, even Ariadne’s worry about Thomas being a serial killer. Alastair grinned a little. He wasn’t a serial killer, he knew that. What he didn’t know was if Thomas Lightwood would break his heart.

Chapter 4

#thomastair #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #tlh #modern setting

[madatobiweek2019-2021]

Submission from PeacefulDiscord

Back To Spots

“Are you sure this is a good idea?,” Madara stared at his idiot friend incredulously. “If we die in here, I’m going to kill you Hashirama.”

Hashirama paused his snooping, turning away from the test tubes balancing precariously in his hands. He set them down on the table, a smidge too close to the edge if you asked Madara but whatever. That was Hashirama’s problem when Tobirama saw how displaced everything was. Brown eyes peered woefully at him, tearfully vehement as the other man pouted, though ineffective with the messy state Hashirama was in. Scraps of parchment paper were stuck in his hair, ink streaking across his cheek and speckling his fingers.

Madara crinkled his nose, chucking a handkerchief into Hashirama’s face.

Hashirama beamed, rubbing the cloth against his cheek and smearing the ink more. “I don’t think it will be that bad Madara. Tobirama has a lot of protective seals around his lab to keep it safe!”

“Seals that you’ve no problem getting around!”

It was worrisome really, as foolish as Hashirama was, being related to Tobirama and married to Mito had left him with many chances to learn basic skills. While he could not fully understand the way seals functioned or how to lay them, he knew much too well how to disable some. Some like the ones Tobirama had around his lab.

Not to mention his willingness to disable them.

“Now Madara—,” Hashirama began, shoving the napkin into his pocket before snatching up another scroll that looked newer and striking through yet another one of Tobirama’s protective seals.

“See! Like that! You even took down the damn wall with your Mokuton just to get in here! If we don’t die because of whatever disasters are in here then we will die at your brother’s hands!”

Madara shuddered. The last time he aggravated the younger man he’d found himself on the receiving end on some awful seal that summoned nearby birds and critters to him, drawing them to burrow and nest in his hair. Villagers had flocked around him, curious and far too amused, tittering behind hands as they watched the animals lay siege to Madara’s hair knowing he was too busy running away to scream at them. His hair was ruined, bitten off and tangled so horribly that he had to chop the strands to a length he hadn’t had since being twelve years old.

He can already hear the sharp snap of the younger man’s voice— “Don’t go in my lab without me!"— as if he were standing right there.

"It’s important! He’s been in here for weeks—" Hashirama exclaimed, puppy dog eyes on full force.

"Three days! He was in here for three days and he actually came out to eat and take naps—”

“—and who knows what he’s been getting up to! He could be getting hurt or devising something awful—”

“He’s been making food preserving seals for the past month!”

“Do you remember the chain-reacting explosive tags? The undead jutsu? He said he was working on enhanced storage seals!”

Madara froze, mouth opened to yell, and clamped his lips shut. Tobirama did have a way of spiraling away from his original intentions— it wouldn’t hurt to just look to make sure nothing was too….deviated.

“Fine,” he huffed. ��But if anything happens I’m chopping your hair off!”

Hashirama squeaked, hands coming up to clutch at his hair. And knocking over the test tubes, sending them careening to the floor with a resounding shatter. Madara watched in horror as the liquids met the black lines of a seal Hashirama had left on the floor— to be analyzed with Mito, he said— and lit them. Colored smoke filled the air and Madara could hear the ground breaking apart moments before Hashirama used Mokuton to send them upwards away from the mess. With a quick wind jutsu, weaker than usual he noticed as his vision swam, Madara sent the smoke into the vent system Tobirama had incorporated early on in case of explosions or dangerous fumes.

Madara rubbed his eyes, carefully lowering himself to the ground. His body was aching— much like the summer over a decade ago when he’d grown almost half a foot in what felt like a few short nights. Coughing, he looked up to see how his friend fared and shrieked.

Sitting in front of him, rubbing his eyes, was Hashirama. But a twelve year old Hashirama. With too big clothes and that godforsaken bowl cut.

“What the fuck! Hashirama, you're—”

“Oh my god, Madara you—”

Madara glanced at his hands. His smaller than before, less calloused hands. “We’re kids again. What the fuck? How? Hashirama!”

He snarled, throwing himself forward to tackle the other man, no, boy, to the ground. “The fuck did you do Senju?!”

“I don’t know— ow! Madara! Don’t, not the face!”

“I'll end you!”

———————————————————-

Half an hour and a semi brutal spar that resulted in Hashirama’s entire face being painted in ink later and both boys were sitting sullenly in the debris they had made of the once pristine lab.

“Tobi’s gonna kill is,” Hashirama sniffled, tears cutting through the black. “I won’t even get to see what my baby looks like.”

“If they’re lucky, nothing like you,” Madara sneered, pulling at the sticky glue-like substance that he’d tumbled into during the fight, snarling angrily as his sleeves still stuck together.

He was surprised his clothes even stayed on, they were so big, but the ties must have worked for something. Hashirama had already wrapped himself up in the excess cloth and tied it off as tightly as he could with his obi and other straps of fabric that he tore from his haori. Madara, on the other hand, would just have to wait.

He tugged at his sleeves again, cursing the glue and Hashirama.

“Ah Madara, don’t be mean!” The brunette sobbed. “My baby would be cute! Even if they looked like me!”

Madara opened his mouth to respond— wanted to sneer that it was good Hashirama knew he wasn’t attractive— but froze as the door opened at just that moment. Red eyes peered distractedly over a thick book, widening as they caught onto the state of the lab. With careful movements, Tobirama lowered the book and set it down, hand reaching for his sword.

“Anija. Madara. What did you do?” He snarled low in his throat, biting through every word like a separate sentence.

The boys blanched, glancing to each other and then shunshinning to the window only for Tobirama to slam his hand against the wall, a seal stretching across the metal to form a barrier they couldn’t get through.

“It was an accident!” Hashirama wailed, gasping through his crocodile tears. “I-am-so so-rry o-tou-to.”

He ran over and clutched at Tobirama’s yukata, burying his messy face into it. “I’m such a bad brother!”

“Anija! Stop that! You’re dirtying my— get off you idiot!”

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe and—!”

“By destroying my lab?” Tobirama shoved at Hashirama, stumbling when the boy’s grip didn’t let up. “Damn it, you poisonous vine, let go!”

“Tobi—!”

“I will get Mito-nee in here so fast—”

Hashirama yelped, letting go with a heavy pout. “You don’t have to be like thaaaat,” he whined, scuffing his foot on the ground. “That’s a really low blow, Tobi. How could you do that to your precious brother—”

“After he destroyed my lab and turned he and his idiot friend back into children?” Tobirama snarked, leveling both of them with a sharp glare. “I’ve no idea.”

Madara shuffled guiltily, wincing as he took in the mess they made.

“We can clean it up!” He offered quickly. Hashirama squawked, shaking his head.

“Oh?” Tobirama quirked a brow. “Properly?”

Madara could feel Tobirama’s chakra rise and fall, unsteady and bothered like a riptide, dragging him closer to anger and not letting him calm down, and nodded hastily. Hashirama became frantic in his head shaking, panicked as he looked at the mess miserably,

“Absolutely. No problem. It’ll take an hour. Tops!” Madara promised, grinning a touch sheepishly even as he tossed his friend a glare. “I understand why you’re upset— we shouldn’t have invaded your privacy and we certainly shouldn’t have made such a mess of things. We were concerned but we should have respected your boundaries. You’ve my sincerest apologies Tobirama.”

Tobirama’s gaze softened and he huffed out a breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine. You haven’t gotten into anything too important. We now need to figure out what you two have done and fix it. None of my seals were meant to do this.”

Hashirama slumped in relief, “Oh thank god, I hate cleaning— what?”

———————————————————

“Oh wow, I haven’t seen Hashirama look that awful in years," Touka breathed out in wonderment. ”I almost forgot he was such an ugly bastard.“

"Touka-nee, you’re supposed to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t destroy anything, not keep an eye on his confidence to just destroy it,” Tobirama sighed over his brother’s wailing. Then, speaking over the sound of Madara pummeling his brother, asked, “Mito-nee, will you be able to handle the Hokage’s duties in your state?”

His sister-in-law and he were able to deduce that the jutsu, since many had overlapped and were then combined by the liquid soaking through the papers and smudging the inks, would eventually wear off on its own, a few days at most given the seals were not meant for major bends in time and space. And, even without that, it would, or at least should, not take them too long to devise a remedy.

But that was for tomorrow. Now, they were much too tired and irritable.

“My pregnant state, Tobirama?” Mito arched a brow. “You’d be amazed at what I can handle in this state, brother-in-law. The bigger concern is will you be able to handle Madara while Izuna is away?”

Tobirama looked at the two boys now disguised as other, unidentifiable children. Too many people remembered them as children or at least would recognize their features. With their weaker abilities it was best to keep them hidden and separated (they couldn’t last too long without bickering and yelling each other’s name in rage, like the complete idiots they were) to not give away the precarious situation the Village had now found itself in. The jutsu that changed Madara’s haír to a soft, pale blue, gently wishing about his face and skin to an olive tone did nothing to hide the fire in his chakra boiling beneath.

A new student from a distant place— Cloud Country perhaps— that was the story they would go by. A student adopted from parents Tobirama had saved.

The younger man felt a sudden tiredness fill his bones watching Madara blow flames at Hashirama’s shoulder length purple hair only to be slapped at by many flowers that erupted quite spontaneously from the wood paneling on the wall.

This would be a long few days if they couldn’t undo the mess that was made of Tobirama’s work. 

“Izuna may find himself rather alone if he doesn’t hurry back,” he rubbed between his eyes, hand glowing green to chase away the headache. “Who knows? He might thank me.”

He ignored the smirks on his cousin and sister-in-law’s faces, snatching Madara by the wrist and all but hauling him out of Hashirama’s home  to his own. Madara glared and very pointedly took his hand away to instead clasp Tobirama’s in his own, twining their fingers together and smiling triumphantly when Tobirama did nothing but sigh.

Oh yes, it’d be a long few days indeed.

———————————————————

The walk home had been silent, the streets much too empty for distraction and they were inside Tobirama’s home before he could properly gather himself. He could admire the timing, if anything. Just yesterday his house had been strewn with far too many papers and even some dust, given the time he spent in the office or his lab instead. Messes from ruined meals had been spattered across his kitchen and his dirty laundry pile had consisted of all of his clothes save for the set on his back. That was the breaking point, sending him into the cleaning frenzy that lasted clear into early morning, until every corner was cleaned to pristine, his laundry washed, dried, and packed neatly away. It was the most presentable and welcoming his home had ever been and the first time Madara, child or not, would actually step past the threshold.

He resolved to give himself a silent pat on the back, watching carefully as Madara took everything from the bookshelves to the altar in, knowing those hawk-like eyes were looking for dust as his clean freakishness often had him doing and finding none.

The tension seeped from Madara’s shoulders and he carefully took off his shoes, setting them neatly aside as he wandered furthered in, already growing comfortable in Tobirama’s small space. At least, if anything, Tobirama could rest knowing he had made a good impression, hoping it would serve him well when the jutsu finally wore off.

“You know,” Madara began over his bowl of noodles, slurping the noodles gracelessly. “I don’t think your brother would’ve wanted me to come stay with you if he knew I was courting you.”

“You’re a child at the moment— that’s hardly relevant right now,” still Tobirama felt his face warm and he swallowed some of his food quickly to disguise it. What they had while Madara was an adult was— nice. A small secret for just the two of them while they got comfortable with each other.

Just the other day he and the older man had a picnic besides a lake closer to the edges of Konoha, waded deep and relaxed beneath the stars— quiet because they hadn’t needed any words to enjoy just being with each other. It was smiles upon eye contact, soft laughs at little quirks. Thinking of slightly chapped, languid lips against his own, gentle like the brush of fingers on something so invaluably precious and irreplaceable, the feel of coarse hair twisting in his hands and just the comfort of a body pressed to his to block the chill of night air made something warm build in his chest and spread to his cheeks.

It wasn’t so nice a memory to think about when his beau was a mere twelve years old to his twenty-eight however.

Madara set his bowl down carefully. “Does it bother you?”

“Hm?” Tobirama wasn’t used to the other man, boy, being so pensive. He put his scroll down and met Madara’s eyes, concerned.

“Does it bother you to be with me?” Madara clarified, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “I know with our past, the rumors, and our temperaments— they don’t exactly make for an ideal relationship but…”

Tobirama interrupted. “But yet I have not rejected you or your gifts,” he frowned. “Madara, my only problem before was that— well, I had wanted to keep things private for a bit and have time for us before Anija started planning a wedding and now, well you’re a child now,” he scrunched his nose in disgust, giving Madara a pointed look when the boy stared at him with a fondness much too heady and mature for his age. “It’s best not to think of my attraction to you given the circumstances.”

Madara flushed, looking away quickly. “Ah right.” He paused for a long moment before a cheeky grin pulled at his lips. “I suppose I won’t be allowed to sleep in your room then?”

Tobirama scowled, throwing cold tea into Madara’s face, relishing, privately, the crack of the boy’s voice, so much more high pitched than how Tobirama knew it to be.

———————————————————

“You can’t do that Shouta,” Tobirama hissed between gritted teeth. It was only the second day and he was ready to throw Madara, now going by Shouta, into the deepest, roughest river he could find.

Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, he willed water from the air to douse the flames engulfing the now terrified shopkeeper’s stall.

“He was flirting—” Madara bristled, crossing his arms. “He deserved it!”

Tobirama huffed, apologizing quickly to the shopkeeper and pulling Madara away. “He asked where I got my kimono—”

“Because he was admiring the way it fits you!”

Tobirama cringed. Madara’s voice as an adult never, not once no matter how much he was yelling, ever got so shrill. He would need to invest in earplugs at this rate. Glancing around discreetly, he shoved Madara around the corner, away from prying eyes and dropped to a crouch so they could talk face to face.

“Because he liked the fabric and wanted some pieces made for his daughter! You are completely insufferable, even as a child!” Tobirama snapped.

“I’m protecting your virtue! Hashirama said you never realized when people were interested. And that shopkeeper was interested. I know he was!” Madara protested angrily, before turning away and crossing his arms, grumbling curses under his breath.

Rubbing at his nose— it was a wonder the shape hadn’t changed after all the times his frustration had him irritating it— he sighed explosively before swallowing a quick, calming breath. Younger Madara lacked maturity and sense apparently so Tobirama needed to gain patience.

“Madara, you trust me, correct?” he asked softly.

Madara turned back to him curiously. “Of course.”

“So why would anyone showing interest in me be a reason to get so angry unless you thought I would leave my courtship with you for them? That is a lack of trust towards me Madara,” Tobirama explained. He’d seen too many people treat their partners in such a manner and he detested it. He wanted to be able to be himself without worrying how others would perceive him— he had lived much too long with others in mind.

Madara fiddled at the braided bangs Tobirama had put his hair into, pinky finger touching his lip. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he whispered. “I just…don’t like it.”

Tobirama smiled softly. Madara, no matter his age, was always much too protective. He couldn’t fault him though. Not now.

“Let’s go, I have to get some shopping done. I think you already finished all the food I had in the house.”

Madara blushed fiercely, ducking his head so his hair fell in front of his face though he still took Tobirama’s hand in his.

“You said I could have whatever I wanted!” Madara’s free hand was back by his lips again.

“Ah right. Whatever, everything. I see how you could get the words confused,” Tobirama ribbed gently, easily pushing down Madara’s hand so the boy wouldn’t bite his nails. “That’s a bad habit, don’t do that.”

As they passed the still horrified shopkeeper, Madara stood upright, pout replaced with a haughty sneer. “You talking to him won’t change anything. He’s mine.”

Tobirama flushed, letting out an awkward laugh as the other villagers eyed him in curious amusement.

“New student,” he grimaced through an explanation. “You know how they are.”

“We know how they are with you Tobirama-sama!” Someone called out, drawing more chuckles from the crowd.

“He’s so cute!” A lady smiled, gently patting Madara’s head as she passed by. “If only people closer to our age were like this, hmm, Tobirama-sama?”

Madara preened under the attention, tugging Tobirama closer and intertwining their fingers, much to the growing entertainment of the entire marketplace. Tobirama thanked every kami for his happuri, casually activating the seal on the side to cool his flaming skin.

If he let Hiruzen test his monkey summon on Madara later that day, no one would have to know (something that was more terrifying without the ability to use his sharingan anymore, having been sent back to an age where he did not have them).

Not that that stopped Madara from yelling at anyone that showed a smidgeon of too much interest in Tobirama to “get their own boyfriend”.  ———————————————————

“Madara, you needn’t carry everything,” Tobirama sighed, watching fondly as the boy shifted the basket and bags about in his arms, stumbling along as they made their way back to Tobirama’s home. “I am perfectly capable of carrying my own groceries.”

It was only the fourth day of Madara’s stay and they’d run out of groceries again. Especially the few sweets he had bought just for Madara. Those were gone within moments.

Madara squawked suddenly, one leg tripping over the other, and went sprawling to the ground. With a quick shunshin, Tobirama dropped a scroll onto the dirt to catch all the groceries, letting his free hand shoot out to grab Madara and pull him upright. Straightening the young boy’s collar, he snatched up the now rolled scroll and tucked it into his pocket.

“Like I said, perfectly capable of carrying my groceries,” he drawled. Catching sight of Madara’s embarrassed pout— and oh, he made that exact expression as an adult too!— hair moving forward to hide his face again, Tobirama pushed the unruly strands back with an indulgent smile. “How about we get some dango?”

The word koibito hovered on the tip of his tongue but he bit it back. He was getting rather impatient waiting on this jutsu to let up.

He ignored the flicker of ire and almost-sadness, grinning as Madara’s face lit up. If anything, he was given quite the ideal opportunity to know his suitor. He could enjoy it while it lasted.

———————————————————

“Save me,” Mito snarled as soon as he and Madara stepped through the door. Her face was splotchy and she seemed less composed than ever. “Before I kill your brother.”

Tobirama blinked, eyes searching, landing on his brother sat in the corner and facing the wall. “Mito-nee—”

“Because Hashirama doesn’t realize being in his childhood body doesn’t mean he can act like a child. He keeps making messes and being too loud and, Hashirama if I hear you wailing one more time—”

“Breathe Aneue,” Tobirama held his hands up placatingly.

Mito heaved a breath, pushing her hair behind her ear before resting her hands on her belly. Her eyes were watering when she looked back at Tobirama. “We need to work on the jutsu Tobirama. I can't— with the Hokage duties and watching Hashirama and feeling sick all the time—”

Tobirama nodded. “Go sit, Aneue. Madara—”

“I can make you some tea, Mito-hime,” the boy said, bowing quickly and heading to the kitchen. “Ginger maybe? Or chamomile?”

Mito stared at him in wonderment. “How—I thought he’d be like Hashirama. I was sure of it. Has he been well-behaved this entire week?”

Tobirama smiled sheepishly. “More or less.” He frowned, sending a hard look to the boy all but wilted over himself. “Has Anija been giving you a lot of trouble?”

“Not really—” she glanced at the boy. “Hashirama, can you be a dear and help Madara in the kitchen please?”

Hashirama sprang from his seat, wiping his eyes and nodding hurriedly. “Of course Mito-!”

The rest of the sentence was lost as he scurried away.

“I just need my husband, Tobirama. Not this child who can’t keep his hands off my belly or food in his mouth. I— he’s not even being bad! Not really, just—”

“Overwhelming?”

Mito gave a small nod, looking horribly miserable.

“He was like that as a child. He only learned more restraint as an adult when he realized he kept accidentally hurting others in his enthusiasm,” Tobirama rolled his eyes, heart feeling a little too fond given the grievances his brother had put him through. Once, Hashirama had fractured his ribs with a hug. He’d hoped, however, that Hashirama would not fall back on childhood habits.

He should’ve seen it though— Madara had after all. The flailing, the quirky habits, threatening with fire— wait no, he did that as an adult— but everything else was so painstakingly innocent. Tobirama should’ve really kept a closer watch on Hashirama.

“I’ve been working on the jutsu, a little while longer and I believe I will be able to undo everything,” he reassured.

Mito sighed in relief, pulling Tobirama into a hug as best as she could around the swell of her stomach. Tobirama let her hold onto him for a few long moments, talking softly of the progress he made with the seals and making note of her suggestions, before coaxing her into the kitchen to eat.

And let Mito freeze, hiding his smile at her surprise. Dishes were neatly laid across the table, a cup of steaming tea covered with a small plate and placed by Mito’s seat. Madara grinned at them from beside the stove, turning at a pot.

“I’m making ramen! I know it’s nothing fancy but you seemed stressed and tired so I thought you might want something easier to eat so you can go rest sooner.”

Mito blinked. Settled herself into her seat and took a sip of her tea, humming appreciatively. “I didn’t even remember having those spices.”

“You didn’t,” Madara frowned. “I don’t know what the hell you two are eating but without these,” he gestured to the various small bottles he had set on the counter, “it can’t be anything good. I sent Hashi to Tobi’s. I made him buy these earlier.”

Hashirama grinned, swinging his feet from where he sat atop the counter. “See! I helped! I even set the table!”

He looked at Mito hopefully and she smiled. “Thank you Hashirama. Thank you Madara.”

Both boys beamed proudly though Madara quickly ducked behind his hair, adorably bashful. “It’s very simple. I hope you find it as pleasing as the effort.”

Mito smiled encouragingly, taking the pot from Madara and helping share it into the bowls. “I am certain it is delightful Madara.”

Madara blushed a bit brighter, settling quickly in front of his own bowl.

“Itadakimasu!”

Tobirama grinned, making sure to limit his own portion as he watched his brother’s and sister-in-law’s eyes open with surprise, noises of appreciation slipping past their lips as they dug in with a little more vigor than would be polite. Mito and Hashirama were sure to want seconds. Maybe even thirds.

Madara’s eyes darted to Tobirama’s bowl and he looked up with confusion, eyes silently asking if Tobirama were okay. Smiling gently, Tobirama glanced at their other two companions before dropping Madara a wink.

It was okay. He’d get Madara to cook for him later.

———————————————————

“I uh want to go look for berries at the river! From over there!” Madara called out awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other.

Hashirama looked up from the berries he and Tobirama were picking. He looked bemused for all of two seconds before his lips spread in a wicked grin that he hid behind his basket. “Okay!”

Tobirama, too busy separating the berries (and perhaps sneaking a few to eat) just nodded distractedly, only looking up when Hashirama stood up a few minutes later. “Anija?”

“Let’s go look at the river too, Tobi!”

Rolling his eyes, Tobirama let himself be pulled down the path Madara took, frowning when he heard something like a trickle of water when usually the river was silent during these times of low-tide. As they neared, he could just faintly make out Madara’s hair and, just before he could call out, watched Hashirama throw himself out of the bushes right behind the other boy.

Madara’s back went ramrod straight.

“Still can’t go when someone’s behind you?” Hashirama laughed loudly, finger pointing.

Madara whirled around just as Tobirama stepped through the bushes, face cherry red and mouth open to scream at Hashirama. Upon seeing Tobirama, he burned even redder, looking for all the world humiliated and betrayed as he hissed at Hashirama to shut up.

And suddenly so many other things made sense. Madara’s insistence to wait until Tobirama was far too distracted or not even in the house to use the restroom, mumbled excuses of needing privacy to go do something like clean or having to water plants of all things (“better for him to get the job done correctly”) keeping the bathroom door firmly locked even though Tobirama had not once known him to be body shy. Hell, just that morning Madara thought it appropriate to walk around the house with nothing but a small towel wrapped about his waist.

Madara was shy to use the bathroom around…anyone apparently. Tobirama bit back a laugh, frowning instead when he saw Madara hide more behind his hair, the tip of his nose reddening as he curled as much into himself as he could.

Tobirama could feel the headache coming. Why did he think agreeing to watch over both of them was a good idea? Oh right, so Mito could rest and Touka wouldn’t feel tempted to commit treason by killing one of the two brats. Especially given the fiasco that happened yesterday when Touka was in his shoes so he and Mito could work on the seal more.

He really was too kind for his own good.

“Anija!” Tobirama snapped. “Stop wasting time bothering Madara.”

“But Tobi—” Hashirama whined. “I—”

“We are going to pick berries at the river mouth—Madara already has this area covered.”

That would put them far off out each other’s sight so Madara could have his privacy and still be close enough for Tobirama to come if anything were to happen. He dragged his brother away without another word, missing the besotted and grateful look Madara shot him.

It wasn’t too long until Madara joined them again, flicking his hands through a much too familiar sign and setting the edge of Hashirama’s clothing on fire. Shrieking, Hashirama took off upstream before Tobirama could douse him with water, passing the place Madara had been and diving beneath the river surface.

“I suppose that was fair,” Tobirama mused. “I don’t think he got hurt at least.”

Madara scuffed the ground with his shoe, voice soft when he responded.  “Yeah.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. While I’m certainly surprised your bladder cooperated with your discomfort in quite the opposite manner than I would have expected—”

The boy flushed deeper. “No! I um yeah that’s odd but I um, I actually have something for you!”

“Oh?” Tobirama raised a brow. “Did you get something you were with Touka?”

Madara shook his head, determinedly looking at his shoes. “No I, I meant to give this to you earlier but then,” he waved his hand about awkwardly. “-all of this happened instead.”

Tobirama squinted, nose wrinkled. “Before you do that, did you wash your hands?”

The Uchiha squawked. “Of course I did! I’m not your brother! Stupid Senju—!” He shoved a small box in Tobirama’s hands as he continued his tirade against the Senju Clan.

Ignoring him— Tobirama had gotten quite good at that even before they began courting— he opened the box carefully and stilled. Inside was a small chain with a circular tanzanite pendant, a silver dragon figurine curled around one edge, its tail curling up to connect the pendant to the chain, and a silver leopard figurine stretched along the opposite edge. Their eyes were little red gems, pyrope, and almost exactly the shape and shade of his eyes. The only difference was the trace of black cutting through the red, carving Madara’s mangekyou into the dragon’s eyes.

Tobirama felt his breath catch.

“Madara—”

“You like both those animals! And, and you said I'm— that having me around is like having you’re own personal dragon so I…” his voice fell to little over a whisper. “I had that made for you. So it’s like I’m always around, like we’re always together.”

And now Tobirama’s eyes were watering, happy tears, and wasn’t that an idea. After so much grief, after never once even humoring such an absurdity as crying happily like his brother, Tobirama was well on the verge of doing the same.

Falling to his knees, he pulled the Uchiha into his arms, habit leading him to tuck his face against Madara’s hair. “I find myself really wishing you weren’t a child right now.”

Madara stroked a hand through Tobi’s hair, returning the hug tightly with a disgruntled pout. “Me too. This is fucking annoying. I want to kiss your pretty face, damn. Why’s that so much to ask for?”

“What!”

Hashirama stood gaping behind them, horror and anger twisting his features. “You’re dating my brother?”

“Anija—” Tobirama sighed, hand going right for the bridge of his nose.

“No!” Hashirama yelled, stomping his foot, childishly if not for the Mokuton poking through the dirt. “No, you don’t get to say anything! You were supposed to tell me before— don’t bother explaining or, or giving excuses now! I forbid it!”

Tobirama reeled back in shock. Not once, not even in the worse of Hashirama’s anger, had he ever tried to silence Tobirama.

“What?" Madara growled. "You what?”

Hashirama snarled. “I forbid you from dating my brother.”

The plants and grass were growing, leaves and stems thickening, hardening, and coiling up towards Madara.

“You can’t do that!”

“I can! And I will! I know you! I know your habits—”

“My habits?”

“All that damn time— you can’t handle a long-term relationship! And I’m not letting you use my brother, you backstabbing—” Hashirama was shaking with rage. “You, you bastard!”

With a yell, he lunged towards Madara recklessly only to be thrown over the Uchiha’s shoulder. Madara kneeled onto Hashirama’s chest, wrapping a hand around his throat, body also trembling with fury.

Tobirama moved to separate them, hands grabbing at Madara’s shoulders.

“I love him!” Madara yelled. “I love him! And you don’t get a damn say in any of it!”

Hashirama stopped clawing at Madara’s hands and Tobirama’s own hands went slack. Madara spun to look at him, sharingan burning in his eyes. Something like desperation seemed to spin in the commas.

“You hear me? I love you.”

Perhaps with the best timing ever, the air filled with smoke, startling them all apart. Tobirama covered his eyes as a bright light danced between the wisps and tossed the scroll he’d kept packed with Hashirama’s and Madara’s clothes into the fog, right at the red eyes looking back at him. When it dissipated, a Madara, an adult Madara (thankfully somewhst properly dressed) was standing there, sharingan still spinning in his eyes as he stared at Tobirama. No words passed before the two men pressed their lips together, hands tangling in each other’s hair. Something wet trickled down their cheeks and Tobirama couldn’t tell if the tears were coming from his eyes or Madara’s.

“I love you, I love you,” Madara whispered between kisses. And Tobirama nodded as of to answer some unspoken question.

“You love him?” Hashirama whispered, eyes flooding with tears. He tugged a haori over his shoulders. “You love my baby brother? You’re not just— Oh. Oh Madara I thought you were— oh I’m so happy!”

They weren’t paying attention to Hashirama’s babbling though, too transfixed and overly emotional at the admission of a confession they had been denying themselves.

“I’ve missed you,” Tobirama murmured, pressing his forehead against Madara’s. “Don’t ever go in my lab without me again.”

Madara laughed shakily. “Never. I’m never going anywhere without you ever again." 

———————————————————

Omake:

Hashirama wailed, squirming against the chains and seals in vain to get away as Madara used his kama to shear his long brown locks down to the base of his scalp.

"I told you I’d chop your hair off, bastard!” Madara cackled. “Now stay still before I accidentally take your head off!”

“I can’t believe you disguised yourself as Mito!” Hashirama sobbed. “I can’t believe she and Tobirama helped you! Traitors!”

Madara just laughed louder and continued hacking at Hashirama’s hair.

#madatobiweek2020 #de-aged #fanfiction #submission

[and-it-freezes-me]

How To Make Mistakes

Summary: The ‘prologue’ to Accidents Happen, and should be read after reading the main series! AKA How Remus ended up being kicked out of his house for his brother’s crimes.

Content warnings: Hoo, boy, where do I begin? Very bad parenting, mentions of attempted suicide, references to self harm, nightmares, blood, character death (no main characters), claustrophobia, some injury detail, chemical burn (not detailed), animal death, car crash, fire, non-verbal character, accidental almost-murder, fighting, minor internalised acephobia, drug and alcohol use and misuse, some drunkenness, sensory overload, panic attacks, I believe that’s everything

Word count: 24,086 (yes, this got much longer than planned)

Remus couldn’t remember a time in his life before the nightmares. He assumed there must have been one - people don’t tend to be born with terror already flooding their veins and monsters lurking behind their closed eyelids. Besides, according to his parents the screaming had only really started when he had been six or seven.

By the time he was eight, he had been sleeping so poorly for such a long time that he had all but given up on anything that took extra effort.

They had dance classes together, him and Roman, since they were four - and he had really enjoyed them. Of course, he had preferred the faster, slightly more jumpy (for want of a better word) dances, where Roman had adored anything slow and stately, but they had still gone together. It had just been one of the things they did.

Then Remus had started waking up in the night and being unable to fall asleep again, terrified of the shadows that lurked in every corner and jumped every time a car drove past their house. His near constant exhaustion had carried over into his dancing, making him miss steps or stumble landings. Roman refused to move up a class without Remus, even though he was more than good enough, but he allowed Remus to hold him back for nearly three months.

He would have stayed in a class that was too easy for him for even longer, but Remus managed to get himself barred from ever returning to the dance studio. It had been a particularly bad night, and he had begged to stay home that morning. He hadn’t been allowed, of course: this was something he had chosen to do, a commitment he had made (when he was four! Before he was able to read the fucking fine print on these things!), he couldn’t just go when it suited him or not. He had made it all the way through the warm-up, all the way through the first few drills… In the first run-through of the performance piece they were focusing on that term, he had stumbled, and managed to trip into the girl next to him, and almost the entire class had gone down like a row of so many pastel coloured dominoes.

The teacher had taken pity on him, or perhaps been too pissed off to want to consider teaching him; the end result was the same, and he allowed him to sit out for the rest of the class. It had been as they were all filing out of the room to meet their parents that the girl he had knocked over earlier, now clinging to Roman’s arm, hadn’t bothered to lower her voice. He couldn’t remember exactly what it was she had said - he had been seven, and running on fumes - but it had been something about how Roman shouldn’t let his stupid, smelly brother hold him back, and Remus had snapped.

Their teacher had been on them as soon as she had started screaming, which had been almost immediately. He hadn’t even hurt her that badly: he’d bitten her arm, maybe, but not hard enough to draw blood, and her perfectly coiled bun was no longer so perfectly coiled or a bun, but he had still been asked not to return.

That was alright with him. Everything was a little easier when he didn’t have to put in the energy required to remember steps and stupid French words.

When they had been younger, he used to fight Roman over who got to choose the games they played, both at home and when they were with Virgil, who they had first met in preschool and tried to have a tug of war over. Now, it was easier to just let Roman dictate what they did, whether they drew or played board games or went exploring in the woods or enacted scenes from shows or books or out of Roman’s imagination. Roman would probably win anyway - this way, they cut out the needless half hour of arguing that frequently brought Virgil nearly to tears. It was easier this way.

Despite the fact that his teachers were constantly asking him why he couldn’t apply himself a little more, why he couldn’t work a little harder, why he couldn’t do what his brother so clearly could, Remus didn’t get properly labelled as a troublemaker until their class zoo trip at the start of third grade.

Even he wasn’t sure how he had managed to slip away from his Virgil, his trip buddy and usually so perceptive, three teachers, and the two guides taking them around the place, or how he had managed to get through not one but three doors marked ‘Authorised Personnel ONLY’ without detection. What he did remember was somebody in a hazmat suit yelling very loudly at him, startling him enough that he dropped the egg he had so carefully lifted out from under a large yellow heat lamp and had been cradling to his chest. It had smashed to pieces at his feet, covering his trainers in an opaque, slimy something that he could still smell in his nightmares sometimes, and there had been a few seconds of silence before a second person arrived, saw what had happened, and started yelling as well.

Remus had turned and tried to run away, and managed to knock over a shelf of what had turned out to be tanks containing various specimens of snakes being raised as part of a conservation program.

The zoo had asked him not to come back, and his parents had stopped his allowance for a year (which was fair enough, he supposed, given that they had had to pay for the damages).

After that, it was as though somebody had stuck a sign reading ‘Watch this kid’ to his back.

His grades had slipped further.

In the summer when he was nine, Roman started sneaking out in the mornings and spending the day doing who-knows-what, while Remus was left at home with the mountain of chores he had managed to accumulate for various misdeeds, some of which had been genuine accidents, some of which had been things that he just couldn’t help, like the row of Cs on his report card at the end of the year. He hadn’t minded so much at first, but it had gotten awfully lonely after a while. Virgil had been on some sort of summer camp, and Remus didn’t really have any other friends. Enough of the people at school were wary of him now, thanks to the occasional scuffle and the snake story, and the way he zoned out of conversations sometimes to just stare blankly at them.

One night, after having been woken by his usual nightmares and having calmed himself down enough to be comfortable getting out of bed and wandering around (nobody came when he screamed in the night anymore. They hadn’t in over two years. When the nightmares had first started - or when he had first started being aware of them, anyway - he had gotten up and slipped into his parents bed, managing to sleep the rest of the night away. But as the weeks passed and he was still doing it, still waking them up at stupid hours of the morning to lie beside them, they had put their collective foot down, warts and all. He was seven, a big boy now, he shouldn’t need to be lying with them to be able to sleep. Roman didn’t need to. The first few times, they had been kind about it. Then, less so), Remus had settled himself down outside Roman’s bedroom door to wait for morning.

Roman had practically tripped over him when he had come barrelling out of his room to go wherever it was he went all day. Catching himself on the opposite wall, he had frowned down at Remus before reaching out a hand. “What’re you doing, Rem?”

“I was-” Remus swallowed. “I was wondering if you’d wait for me. You don’t have to help with the chores, I just… I’d like to spend the day with you. Haven’t seen much of you lately, you know? Where’s my Ro-ro?” It was true. With Remus’ increased detentions and Roman’s increased extra curriculars, and their differing interests, they weren’t hanging out as much as they used to.

Roman had looked at him with no expression at all for a moment, and then he had grinned. “No, no, I’ll help with the chores. Just… Not just yet, yeah?”

Remus had nodded slowly, slightly confused. “I’m supposed to get them done before doing anything else, though.”

“It’ll be fine - just one game? Quickly?” Roman had glanced around, then grinned. “How about we play hide and seek? One game, you find me, I’ll find you, and then we do the chores. Then we can go mess around in the woods.”

This time Remus’ nod was enthusiastic. Turning to the wall, he began to count.

Roman hid behind the bathroom door, and Remus found him in only a few minutes. Remus tried to think of the best hiding place he could, and ended up climbing under the sink - it would take Roman ages to find him there! He’d look upstairs first, and then he’d have to look downstairs, so Remus would definitely win. Curling up into a ball, he let the door close behind him, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He didn’t own a phone yet, and his watch was broken after an incident in the quarry in the woods, so Remus didn’t know how long it was before it occurred to him that Roman might not be looking for him.

Pushing that thought away, he shifted to get more comfortable. The U-bend of the sink had been digging into his back. Of course Roman was looking for him. They’d have to get the chores done quickly if they wanted much time in the woods, but they could manage that.

But Roman never came, and eventually Remus grew bored of waiting for him. Stretching his legs out, he pushed against the cupboard door with his bare feet… And it didn’t open.

He pushed at it again.

Still nothing.

That was when he remembered that all of the kitchen cupboards had funny little latches on them, to stop younger versions of Roman and Remus (mostly Remus) from going through the cupboards after an incident involving the entire kitchen and a lot of washing up liquid.

That was when the space started closing around him.

Remus had no idea where his parents had been that day. Maybe they had both been working, and were comfortable letting their nine-year-old sons run around on their own: their town was quiet, and Roman at least was responsible. Maybe none of Remus’ screams, so loud at night, had actually left his chest. Either way, it was past six in the evening when his father finally opened the kitchen cupboard to find a tearstained, soiled, trembling child sitting in a slippery mess of washing up liquid and detergent and laundry softener, the U-bend of the sink broken from his earlier thrashing.

When Remus had tried to speak, to thank Hyun-ki for freeing him, to say it was his fault (strange, how his first thought was to protect Roman), to try to explain what had actually happened (Roman needed to be at least told off for not shouting to say that the game was over!), only a low whine had emanated from his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make words come out. His father had hugged him briefly, wrinkled his nose at the smell, and then sent Remus off to shower while he started cleaning up.

And then he was clean, and dry, and warm and safe in the biggest jumper he owned despite the heat of the day, and his parents were quizzing him on why the hell he had thought it sensible to climb into the kitchen cupboard, he could have been seriously hurt, he’d broken the sink and that was going to need a real plumber to repair, what was he thinking? Had he tripped and fallen in? (That question was a trap, and they all knew it). Words were still raw against his throat and unwilling to come out, and he didn’t really want to get his brother in trouble - it wasn’t Roman’s fault he had locked himself in, after all… So when they asked him if he had been planning on jumping out for a joke, he had nodded brusquely. It was easier than trying to come up with a story that made him look good but didn’t get Roman in trouble.

It was easier to take the additional chores for breaking the sink than to complain that it wasn’t fair.

The incident that had lost him his pocket money for good a year later had only half been an accident.

It had been getting more and more obvious, over the past few months, that his parents were favouring Roman. There was a chance that Roman didn’t realise exactly what was going on, but he definitely knew something was happening. He almost never invited Remus to do anything with him anymore, and once or twice Remus was fairly certain that he had blamed a dropped plate or wrongly pruned plant on him. He didn’t really mind. His parents didn’t bother adding extra chores to the ones he already had to do, so it wasn’t as though he was really suffering from it. It hurt a little, that their parents never seemed particularly interested in what he had to say.

There used to be a vase on the table in the living room. It had been made by their mother’s great grandmother, and had stood on that table for as long as Remus had been alive. They were frequently reminded not to play too close to it.

He hadn’t meant to drop it.

Remus had just wanted to move it. He was going to hide it in a cupboard, and then hide behind the door himself (he couldn’t go in cupboards or under beds anymore), and wait to see which his parents missed first. All he was trying to do was prove to himself that he was more important to them than some old vase. It was a simple test, one that didn’t need doing. He was their son, after all, even if he did have his… Quirks. 

But the vase had been heavier than he had expected, and he had tripped whilst carrying it to its hiding place, landing on top of it and crushing it into dozens of knife-like shards. If the sound of the vase shattering hadn’t been enough to bring his mother running, his howl of pain as broken china sliced through his shirt certainly was, and she stared at the pattern of shards, Remus right in the centre, for several long seconds before starting to shout.

Then he had sat up, and they both stared at his torso, which was becoming bloodier by the second. There was already a not insignificant stain on the carpet, and all over some of the vase fragments. That was when Dae’s training kicked in, and Remus found himself in hospital and being stitched back together a surprisingly short time later.

It wasn’t until the following day, when he was no longer woozy from blood loss, that he was treated to another Remus-curse-of-the-walking-disaster lecture. When they were finished - they had come to sit on the end of his bed to talk to him - they both stood to leave. Then his father turned back to him. “Why did you break it, anyway? It meant everything to Dae…” As though he had done it on purpose.

Remus didn’t know why he said it, but the words dropped from his lips before he had even thought them through. “I always hated that ugly thing.”

Maybe he said it because they were expecting something callous from him, something else they could use to weigh him down while Roman soared far above him in their eyes. Maybe it was because it was easier than trying to explain that it felt as though they just didn’t care about him anymore.

Yeah, that was it. It was because it was easy.

And so the pattern continued. Remus made a mistake and was shown no mercy, while Roman was given everything he ever wanted.

Somewhere deep down, Remus knew that it wasn’t Roman he hated. It was the way their parents almost never addressed him anymore unless it was to tell him off, for skipping school, for getting in another scuffle, for ripping his clothes, for staying out too late. It was the way they were constantly comparing the two of them, constantly pitting them against one another and then punishing Remus for coming out second when the deck was so clearly stacked against him.

When he was thirteen, he started drinking to try to stop screaming at night. It was one of the reasons his parents resented him so much - it had been implied often enough. What teenager screams through the night, every night? He couldn’t help it, but it wasn’t as though they seemed to care about that. He snuck into parties he was years too young for whenever he could (Remy always seemed to know when and where parties would be, even if he wasn’t invited to them, and Remus had taken to listening in on his conversations while he was with Virgil. Roman almost never spent time with their friend anymore), and if his parents noticed, they didn’t say a thing.

They didn’t say a thing when the screaming stopped. They didn’t seem to notice when Remus started getting sick from it, when he was a hundred, a thousand times more fidgety or sleepy during the day. It was though they didn’t care at all.

Sometimes, he would be lucky enough to snag a few bottles of whatever from somewhere, which meant that he didn’t have to go out. It was one of these nights that Roman snuck into his room, an almost unheard of occurrence these days, and sat on the end of his bed. Remus was already tipsy, but his brother didn’t seem to notice. It seemed like all Roman wanted was for somebody to sit and nod as he chatted aimlessly about school, about his classmates, about the theater parts he was going for. His most recent crush had taken one of the supporting roles in the play, and Remus was treated to a half-hour lecture on how his hair positively gleamed under the stage lights.

“... I mean it, Rem, he’s gorgeous. He’s the year above us, I think, first year of highschool - you know this year the highschool’s taking part, it’s amazing that I got such a large role, there are so many people…” Roman trailed off dreamily, and Remus’ head bobbed slowly. Then his twin looked at him, leaned forward and poked his nose, which he wrinkled in response. “What about you, Rem?”

“What about me… What?” Remus had to admit, he hadn’t quite been following the conversation.

“A crush!” Roman exclaimed, leaning forward to shake Remus’ shoulders enthusiastically. “Do you have anyone you like?”

“Uh… Of course,” Remus lied, because… Well, it would look stupid if he said no.

Roman practically started bouncing on the bed. “Who? Do I know them?”

Oh. Fuck. Now he actually had to think of somebody, and fast, because Roman had stopped bouncing and was looking at him as though he could see right through him. Remus was not about to get caught lying about having a crush on somebody, for fuck’s sake. “Remy,” he blurted, and Roman looked stunned.

“Remy? Virgil’s brother? Remy Spince? Why?” Remus would have been mildly offended on Remy’s behalf had his brain been processing fast enough.

“Uh… Well, he’s… Cool. Very cool. An’ he’s nice to me, so…”

Roman chuckled. “Ahh. I see, Rem. Older guys, huh? With the jacket and the glasses? I see, I see…”

Blurting a random name had been so, so easy. Was this all it took to get Roman to like him again? Pretend to be attracted to somebody unobtainable? He could do that.

One week later, Roman spilled wax all over the floor and blamed him for it. Remus, in a fit of fondness for his brother (and also because he didn’t want Roman to have to suffer their parents’ disappointment), got up in the night to set fire to the curtains, just to make it look as though it really had been his fault.

Smoke coiled through his nightmares for weeks after that.

A month later, he regretted it, because Roman had gone and stuck his tongue down Remy’s throat at a party.

It wasn’t even as though Remus particularly liked Remy - not in the way he had told Roman he did, anyway - but it still hurt. As far as Roman knew, Remus had feelings (ick) for his friend’s elder brother, and he had gone and kissed him anyway. It had been partially betrayal (but mostly alcohol poisoning) that had had him throwing up in the host’s swimming pool.

And then autumn came, and school started, and Virgil didn’t come back. Remus visited him - of course he did, how could he not? He visited, and he visited, and he visited, first at the hospital during in the week Virgil had had to stay there while they made sure that the bottle of pain meds he had swallowed weren’t going to have any additional effects on him, and then at his home, sometimes skipping school to see him during the two weeks he spent at home.

Then they had gotten into an argument. It had been Remus’ fault, of course. And really, it was only Remus arguing, too. He had made some idle comment about how Roman was probably doing a far better job of cheering Virgil up than he was - they had been looking through a medical journal for rare and gross conditions, something that Remus found thrilling and Virgil found mildly unsettling but not enough so to make them stop - and Virgil’s face had shut down completely.

“Virge? Vee, dude, what’s up? Are you okay?” Virgil had nodded once, jaw tight and eyes not meeting Remus’, and it occurred to him that Virgil might be having another anxiety attack. They had been getting worse all year, but they had been more frequent than ever since he had tried to kill himself. “Hey. You’re safe, dude. Do you want to do the breathing thing? It’s just like stabbing someone, look, in, two, three, four, hold - that’s twisting the knife - two -”

“Not an attack,” Virgil interrupted, although he had pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay. What’s wrong?”

Virgil tried to stare him down, but that was a mistake. Remus had mastered the art of not blinking - it came from nights on end just staring into the corners of his room. (Virgil’s death was something that haunted his dreams now. He hadn’t seen him, hadn’t been the one to find his body - that had been Remy - but he could imagine, and once he had imagined, he couldn’t stop imagining). Finally, the taller boy sighed and shrugged. “Roman hasn’t visited,” he mumbled.

“WHAT?” Virgil flinched; Remus hadn’t meant to shout. “Sorry - what do you mean, he hasn’t- He’s your friend!”

“Hasn’t texted, either,” Virgil whispered, and Remus wanted to hug him until he felt his ribs crack. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore…”

“You are fucking kidding me! He -” Instead of hugging Virgil - because when could Remus ever do anything right? - he had started shouting. “That son of a bitch! He fucking -”

“Remus, don’t…”

“I’m going to kill him! How fucking dare he, I’m going to - I’m going to rip his guts from his body, I’m - I’m going to tear him into tiny, tiny pieces and -” He proceeded to get more creative, his sudden rage at his twin fueling his rant in spite of Virgil’s pleas that he calm down. Red, the same red that Roman wore when he needed extra luck, had filled his vision to the point that he didn’t see the fresh tears that started spilling down Virgil’s cheeks.

That had been when Virgil’s father had slipped into the room. He was a tall, skinny man, just as pale as his sons and with their same dark hair, and misery dripped from him in long, thick shadows and trailed behind him like a cloak. It looked as though he had been crying, too, although that wasn’t unusual. Although he had tried to keep it together for his sons, the loss of his wife at the start of the summer had taken a huge toll on him (Remus could be observant and emotionally sympathetic when he was trying), and Virgil’s suicide attempt hadn’t been easy on any of them. He looked at Remus for a long second. “I think…” Remus almost had to lean in to hear his words. “I would prefer it if that kind of language… I think you should leave, son.”

And just like that, he was barred from visiting his friend’s home. He still saw Virgil, of course, but it was harder - especially when Mr Spince had phoned his parents to say that Virgil had had one of his worst ever panic attacks after Remus had yelled at him.

He didn’t bother trying to explain what had really happened - he knew Mr Spince was just trying to protect Virgil, and that Virgil had just been trying to protect his friend, but he doubted that the elder would like to see him again after finding him making increasingly disturbing death threats in front of his son. It was easier just to allow another person to label him as dangerous and disturbed, and to meet with Virgil away from his home. 

He didn’t speak to Roman for a very long time after that.

Patton… Patton had been a mistake, although one of the worst ones he had made in a long time.

It had been a bad week for him, to start with. Remus was fourteen. He had been feeling constantly sick for the past three days, and he just knew it was the alcohol, but he had yet to find anything as effective for silencing him at night. He hadn’t been getting much rest, either, and had just left a particularly painful calculus lesson taught by a teacher that seemed to delight in comparing him to his perfect twin.

He was walking to lunch when he became dimly aware that somebody had mentioned his name just behind him in the corridor. Slowing his pace, he had tilted his head to listen better, and then wished he hadn’t.

“Remus Wang… Similar to Roman?”

“Yes, like Roman. Well, no, not really like Roman, that’s his twin.” It was Patton, and a voice that he didn’t recognise. He refused to turn to see who it was.

“I was not aware that Roman Wang had a twin. He has certainly never mentioned him in our tutoring sessions.” Remus smiled faintly at the stiff, formal speech - it was deep, calm, and would have been nice to listen to, had whoever it was been talking about anything else.

“Ah, yeah. He doesn’t talk about him. Remus is kinda…” Patton hesitated, and Remus took a slow breath through his nose. “Kinda the black sheep of the family, if you know what I mean.”

“I do not. The Wangs are Korean, not black, and all human. Remus does not look anything like an ovis aries.”

Remus had to suppress a snort of laughter at that. Patton, on the other hand, sighed and dropped his voice. “He’s the… Troublemaker. I heard from somebody that he’s even been picked up by the cops once or twice. Ditches school. Crashes parties. Picks fights. There’s various graffiti in the bathrooms suggesting he has a… Somewhat illegal job.”

“Oh - are you referring to the numerous grammatically incorrect scrawls implying that somebody named Wang is a prostitute? Those did not entirely make sense when I applied them to Roman, but I did not know whether there was another Wang here…”

Personally, Remus found those scrawls hilarious - but hearing himself discussed like this was anything but. He shouldn’t have slowed down to listen in.

“That would be him. You can see why Roman doesn’t really talk about him, right?” Remus had never heard Patton sounding so cruel before. “Roman resents him, I think. He’s always taking the spotlight away - that’s just what Ro said, I don’t really know. If they weren’t identical, you’d never think they were related. Roman is - well, Roman, and Remus is pretty much a criminal already, it’s not like Roman needs him around, so-”

“Patton,” said the owner of the other voice, who Remus had turned around to see was a tall, dark-skinned guy with thick-rimmed glasses and a tie, “you are being unusually cruel toward this-”

Of course, the fact that Remus had turned around when Patton had called him a criminal meant that his fist had collided with Patton’s jaw shortly after the new student had said his name. The rest of his sentence had continued coming out of his mouth despite the fact that Patton was stumbling backward, hand to his face (which Remus knew was going to bruise up terribly but couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty). A red haze had descended over Remus’ vision.

“I really do not think that violence-”

“Remus! I - I didn’t-”

“Can it, Specs. Patton, do you want to finish that sentence with or without your buckteeth?”

There was already a loose horseshoe of students around them, all staring at Patton - nobody was standing behind him. It was as though they didn’t want to be in Remus’ way.

“I - no, Remus, I was just-”

The snarl of rage that left Remus then was probably the thing that got him in the most trouble. That, and the fact that he dived at Patton fists first, catching him in the face once more. Patton’s head jerked back, and his body followed - and then Remus realised why there were no students behind him.

It was because they were at the top of a flight of stairs.

Patton didn’t just fall down the stairs. He tumbled, short curls over knee-length skirt; he practically bounced off the wall at the bottom with a sickening crunch, stumbled, and then slipped down the second flight as well.

And then Patton was lying two floors below them, limbs at the wrong angles, blood spreading out like a halo around his golden head and dripping from his nose. His blue eyes were still open - and he was blinking, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.

That image, of him standing at the top of the stairs while white noise roared in his ears, of Patton lying at the bottom like a broken doll, was one that never left him.

The crunch when he had hit the wall had Remus bolting awake within minutes of falling asleep for the next month, no matter how much he had drunk, or what he had tried to knock himself out with.

He had been suspended for nearly a month. It would have been longer had Patton not been informed that he was going to make a full recovery despite the severe concussion, the four snapped ribs, the complex fracture in his left arm, and the broken leg.

At first, when a teacher dragged him into an office and locked him in, Remus hadn’t been able to say a word. There were no words he could say.

Later, when they had been grilling him - the head teacher, three senior members of staff, his parents, and a police officer - he had barely been able to string a sentence together. Finally, the principal had gotten to her feet, had slammed her hands down on the desk in front of him, and almost yelled: “We have two dozen eyewitnesses, Wang! Staying silent isn’t going to help your case at all. Tell us what happened. Explain to us. Say something!” He had looked around, wishing that somebody would come to his defense, but nobody did. “Did you push Patton Grace down the stairs?”

That was when a smirk had spread across his face. He hadn’t wanted it there. It sickened him. He didn’t know why he said it. “Fuck yes I did.”

And then Remus started laughing. He couldn’t stop, no matter how much his parents yelled at him, how disgusted his teachers looked. He could barely even stop to breathe. He laughed as they settled his suspension, he laughed as his parents literally dragged him out of school - he was laughing too hard to walk straight, the sound being dragged from him as though by giant, steel hands with hooked fingers, shredding the inside of his throat - and he laughed as the police officer informed him that they would be keeping an eye on him. He laughed all the way home.

Remus laughed until he threw up, and then he laughed until he cried, and then he couldn’t stop crying either. He had cried until he had blacked out.

Then he had woken up, screaming harder than ever.

He was grounded, of course, but when had that stopped him doing anything?

Remus started walking through the woods instead of even trying to sleep. He walked until he couldn’t walk any further, and then he lay down on the floor and slept for as long as he could, and then he went home. He considered running away, but knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. He’d be arrested, or murdered, or something.

It was around then that he actually started using the razor he had stolen a few months before the incident. It wasn’t that he wanted to die. It wasn’t even that he wanted to see the blood that oozed from his arms.

Actually, he didn’t know why he did it.

He just knew that it was easy.

The first time Janus found him in the woods, Remus had managed to twist his ankle in the darkness and had fallen down a slope. He had gone through what had turned out to be a fence made of barbed wire and landed in a ditch, and hadn’t bothered trying to get up again. He wasn’t entirely sure he could move, actually. So he lay there, bleeding and bruised, and allowed himself to fall asleep. Maybe a rabid dog would find him and eat him. That would certainly solve a lot of problems for people.

And then Janus was untangling the metal claws from around his torso, was helping him out of the ditch despite the fact that he knew Janus knew every bad thing that everybody said about him, was letting him lean on him without acting as though Remus was going to maul him.

He took him into the largest house Remus had ever been invited inside (he may have broken in to one or two for reasons he could not remember), led him to an upstairs bathroom, and then sat him on the side of a truly massive bathtub to smear antiseptic all over him before wrapping him in an astonishing amount of bandages. Remus was dimly aware that Janus was speaking to him for pretty much the entire time, but he had no idea what the words were. All he could really understand was the tone, which was… Kind. Janus wasn’t shouting at him. Janus wasn’t being disdainful or cruel - at least, not in tone. Janus was talking to him as though he were a spooked, injured creature… And Remus started crying again. That was the first time he cried in front of Janus Sinclaire.

Janus lent him a spare change of clothes for him to get home. They were too long and too tight, but Remus accepted them anyway. He didn’t thank him, even though he knew he should. He did try to, but Remus found that he couldn’t speak again. All that came out when he tried was a hum that would have embarrassed him if he had been lucid enough to care.

Then Janus had walked him home.

The second time he came across Janus in the woods, it had been his birthday. March 17th. Remus was fifteen. When he had gotten downstairs that morning, there had been a small pile of presents in Roman’s place on the kitchen table, and nothing in his. He had cut a large, messy slice from the gorgeous chocolate cake that read ‘Happy 15th Birthday, Roman!’ and taken it into the woods. It was his birthday too, after all. He at least deserved the part that read ‘15th’.

He had been walking blindly, not really caring where he was going, when he heard the sound of screaming. With nothing better to do, Remus hurried in that direction. If it was a serial killer, maybe he’d see something gorey and cool. Or maybe he’d get murdered. It didn’t matter either way.

It was not a serial killer. Instead, Janus Sinclaire was standing at the edge of the abandoned quarry, screaming wordlessly into it. Frowning, Remus shoved the last of his cake into his mouth and chewed fiercely at it, then started moving forward. A twig snapped.

Janus must have heard it, because he span around, shoulders hunching defensively. They stared at one another for a long, long moment before Remus wiped his chocolatey fingers on his shirt and moved to stand next to Janus. He nodded once, as though screaming into a large hole in the ground was a perfectly normal thing to be doing at eight in the morning, and started yelling as well.

After a moment, Janus joined in once more.

They were friends after that.

They only met in the woods at first. Remus had no desire to drag Janus’ reputation through the mud by letting them be seen together, and Janus seemed happy enough as long as they were spending time together.

Some time in late May that year, they were sitting on a rock beside a small stream together. It was early in the morning - early enough that they had watched the sun rise together, both of them cradling coffee poured from a flask that Janus had brought on his early morning walk. They hadn’t been talking, preferring to sit and watch the ripples of tiny fish in the water in front of them, when Janus had leaned forward and plucked a leaf from Remus’ hair.

“There’s a lot of them in here. Did you roll down a bank to get here?” He pulled another one out, and the morning sun made his skin and eyes briefly glow.

Remus had no idea why somebody made of literal sunlight wanted to be his friend. “Nah, I slept here. Parents didn’t let me in last night.”

Janus frowned. His fingers were carding through Remus’ hair now, tugging at autumn’s pine needles and knots alike. “That’s not fair.”

“Eh. Happens often enough. An’ I was drunk last night, as well as past curfew. No biggie.”

Janus’ fingers caught, and Remus hissed out a curse of pain. “Sorry! Sorry… Rem, if that happens again, will you…”

“When.”

“Hm?”

“When it happens again.”

“Right.” Janus did not look pleased. “When it happens again. Call me, or send me a message, okay? You can stay at mine. What if you got hurt out here, and I wasn’t there to help? I’d rather not find you dead in the quarry because you slipped in the dark…”

Remus made a choked noise, then nodded rapidly.

It was weird, having somebody care about him like that.

Actually sending Janus the text wasn’t easy, but sneaking through his bedroom window was. Changing into the oversized hoodie and sweatpants Janus offered him was easy, and slipping into bed beside him was easy too. When he was jerked awake by his friend shaking him and instructed to hide under the bed, Remus did so. Letting his friend lie to his parents about the screaming, that was easy too.

Somehow, even apologising to Janus, explaining about his nightmares, and offering to leave was easy.

Melting into the hug that Janus wrapped him in and falling back asleep beside his friend, though? That was the easiest thing of all.

-

Life actually got a little better after that, even though Remus’ new attempts to find something to stop himself from screaming at night were having a broadly varied range of horrible side-effects on him. The only other downside was Virgil: Virgil was no longer as friendly as he had been before. It took Remus a while to figure out why. They had been friends, been good friends, even though Roman had stopped talking to Virgil altogether by the time he had gotten back to school, even though he wasn’t welcome at Virgil’s house anymore.

Eventually, he had expressed his concerns to Janus. Well, Janus had caught on to the fact that Remus had been extra twitchy for the last few days, and had finally sat him down on a fallen log and poked his shoulder with one long, graceful finger.

“Spit it out, arms.” The nickname had been earned when Janus realised exactly how long it had been since anybody had hugged Remus, and Remus had responded far too enthusiastically. Janus had said it was like hugging an octopus.

Remus spat the gum he had been chewing into his palm and offered it to Janus, who wrinkled his nose.

“Not the gum. What’s eating you, Remus?”

“About six mosquitos, far as I can tell. Why the sudden interest? Developed a taste for human blood and don’t want to share?” Remus put his chewing gum back into his mouth and leaned back over the log, forming a bridge with his body.

Janus sat down beside him. “Just because you dragged me out here to distract me from intense amount of extra work I have to do -”

“Have to do?”

“Am being encouraged to do,” Janus amended, smiling faintly. He prodded Remus’ stomach gently. “Just because you’re trying to distract me doesn’t mean we can’t talk about you, too. What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.” Remus sat up and rubbed the bark from his bare forearms. He only wore short sleeves around Janus.

“It’s bothering you, so it’s not stupid.” Leaning down, his friend picked up a small stone and tossed into a small pool that had formed between the roots of a tree in front of them. There was a small splash.

Remus sighed. “Virgil’s been avoiding me. No biggie. Told you it was stupid.”

Janus hummed quietly, digging around at his feet for another stone. When he straightened up, he handed Remus a worm before throwing the second pebble into the puddle. Another splash. Remus watched the worm twist on his palm. The way its pale pink, ribbed body moved always fascinated, and there was something bizarrely soothing about the slightly slimy feeling of it against his skin.

“Do you think it might be because you pushed his boyfriend down two flights of stairs?” There was no judgement in Janus’ voice.

Remus wasn’t entirely sure where to begin pulling that statement apart. His first instinct was to go on the defensive; his second was to claim that he was fully aware of the fact, and that it had been purposeful. He ignored both of those. Janus deserved better from him. He took a slow, deep breath.

“Virgil… Has a boyfriend?”

“Interesting thing to focus on,” Janus commented. He added a second worm and a small beetle to Remus’ now cupped hands. “But yes, Virgil is dating Patton. They’re together a lot at school.” Patton had returned to school in a wheelchair about two weeks after he had fallen. Remus had stayed as far away from him as he could.

He mumbled something.

“Didn’t catch that, Rem. Do you want an earwig? I always forget if you like them or not.”

Remus held out his hands for the earwig. “You know, earwigs were named for the belief that they would crawl in through people’s ears whilst they slept and lay eggs there, or else start eating their brains. It’s funny. These little dudes have no interest in your brain. They like eating rotten wood, that’s why you found one by this tree… I didn’t mean to push Patton, you know?”

Janus had been nodding along, clearly about to make some snide comment - possibly about some people needing to be concerned because they had brains made of rotting wood - but he paused when Remus said that. His face didn’t change. Remus was glad that Janus never seemed to mind his sudden jumps in conversation. “I… Had assumed that you didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said finally, and Remus smiled faintly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did think it had been on purpose, you know. I did own up to it, a bunch of people said they saw…”

Another earthworm in his hands. The earwig had crawled up his sleeve, but Remus didn’t mind. “Okay,” Janus said slowly, “do you want to tell me what did happen? The hysterical laughter as you left the school probably didn’t help your case.”

Remus groaned. “I know… It wouldn’t stop, I was trying… Not the millipede, thanks. If that goes up my sleeve and I bring it home by mistake, my dad’ll be pissed.”

“Not the millipede,” Janus agreed, returning it to the ground at his feet.

They were quiet for a time, but it was a nice quiet. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that felt as though Janus were trying to crack his skull into pieces to pick at his brains with his long fingers. “I… I did want to hurt him. But not… Not that badly.” Janus stayed quiet, and Remus found that he couldn’t look at him. Instead, he addressed the four worms, earwig, and two beetles that were in various positions on his arms. “He was showing that new kid around, the one that talks like a dictionary? Not that I’m complaining, he was nice to listen to -”

“Logan uses they-them, Rem.”

“Right. They were nice to listen to. But then they started talking about me - the two of them, not just Logan - and Patton said some… Stuff.” He shifted. “Saw red. Went to punch him. I guess I just… Wanted to hurt him a bit. I didn’t know we were by the staircase. It was an… Accident.”

They were quiet again. Remus waited for Janus to stand up and walk off, to say that he knew that it had been a mistake to drag him out of that ditch on the first morning. Instead, he leaned sideways and rested his head on Remus’ shoulder, his hair tickling Remus’ cheek.

“I’m sorry, Rem.” He murmured, and Remus felt his heart stop, and then overflow. Carefully, he put his handful of creepy-crawlies down on the log beside him so that he could wrap his arms around Janus.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry it happened like it did.”

Remus hesitated. “You still don’t think I’m a monster? I coulda killed him, and I just… Laughed.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that’s a trauma response, Rem. Doesn’t make you a bad person…”

It was very, very nice, being told that he wasn’t a bad person.

There had been an evening, about a month and a half after he had first spent the night at Janus’, that Janus had actually seen him pull the small box of assorted stolen tablets out of his pocket and shake a blue one and a green-and-orange one onto his palm. Janus had only been able to see because Remus had found that this combination of drugs made him really dizzy almost immediately, and if he didn’t take them whilst he was literally in bed he was liable to bump into things and collapse in the middle of the floor.

There he was, sitting on the edge of Janus’ bed, about to toss the brightly coloured somethings (and Remus genuinely had no idea what they were, only that they made him horribly dizzy and took all the flavour out of his food but meant that he didn’t scream when his nightmares took him over) into his mouth, when Janus’ arm looped over his shoulder and he closed his fingers around Remus’. “What’re these, Rem?”

Lying to Janus was not easy. It was actually very, very difficult, because Remus knew that Janus actually cared about him. He cleared his throat. “Don’t know.” A burning sort of silence followed, and he hurried to clarify. “They stop me screaming.”

Janus nodded slowly, then frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Shoplifted ‘em. Didn’t check the labels other than to make sure they weren’t caffeinated or poisonous.”

“That’s illegal. And you know most drugs are poisonous if you take them without knowing what they are, right?”

Remus groaned and tried to tug his hand out of Janus’ grip. “So? Not like anyone’ll miss me if I do end up dead. And in the meantime, these stop me bothering people and have fewer side effects than mixing the green’n’orange with the red oval ones. Can I take these and go to sleep now?”

“I’d miss you.” Janus’ voice was almost tremulous, and Remus glanced over his shoulder to see that his friend’s eyes had gone wide and glittery. Was he crying? Fuck.

“Jan, I’m not gonna die. I was joking, I…”

“Didn’t sound like you were joking.” The scared note was gone from Janus’ voice, and now he sounded almost angry. Remus swallowed. “Sounded to me like you’re mixing stolen drugs that you have no idea what they’ll do to you. And that you don’t give a shit if you end up in a coma or dead because you’re trying to make up your own nightmare cure. Are you about to look me in the eye and tell me that any of that is a lie?”

Remus swallowed again, harder this time, and tried to think of something to say.

“Didn’t think so. Rem, why don’t you just… See a doctor, or something? Instead of stealing shit and poisoning yourself with it?”

And now Remus chuckled. “Jan… I’m fine. I’ve been doing this for nearly two years, ‘n I’m not dead yet. And stuff’s better at home when I’m not waking everyone up every night.”

Janus did not look remotely reassured. “Didn’t your parents take you to see someone? If you were screaming every night?”

“Nah. It’s no biggie, I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember. It’s normal, Jan. Can you let me take my poisons now? You have an English quiz tomorrow, you need sleep… And you don’t need me waking you up, either.” Remus tried to tug his hand away again. This time, Janus’ fingers slipped into his palm, and then the small tablets were gone. Remus lunged for them.

“Nope. No. Nope, you’re not having these back.” Janus actually got out of bed, and Remus followed him over to the window.

“Jan, give them back. Let’s just go to bed and forget about this, okay? It’s no big deal.”

Janus opened the window, and Remus almost jumped at him. “You know something, Remus?”

“No. Close the window.”

“You say that a lot. It’s no big deal. No biggie. You said about your parents refusing to let you come home if you stayed out past curfew. You said it about everybody thinking you were a monster. You said it about your arms, and if that isn’t a big fucking deal, I don’t know what is.” Remus automatically folded his arms across his chest to hide them, and Janus gave him a look. “So I think that no big deal is actually code for this is the biggest deal ever and I am not okay right now. Am I right?”

Remus didn’t want to nod, but he didn’t exactly want to lie to Janus. In his hesitation, Janus cocked his arm back and then snapped his wrist forward, and the pills went soaring out of the window. Remus let out a snarl of frustration.

“Rem…”

“What the fuck do you want me to do, Jan? I can’t just give up! And it’s not like I can see somebody about it. What kind of loser gets nightmares every night for his whole life? They’ll lock me away, or drug me into oblivion.”

“Like you’re already trying to do?” Remus tried to ignore the sympathy in Janus’ voice that said he knew exactly where Remus’ worries came from. “You know, nobody’s going to think you’re -”

“Mad? Dangerous? Haven’t you heard, Jan? I tried to kill Patton Grace. I tried to burn down a house with my family inside. They’ll lock me up and throw away the fucking key if I try to tell somebody about the nightmares.” He was already leaning down to pull the bottle from his hoodie to replace the tablets that Janus had just thrown away.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

Remus shook his head once.

Then Janus was on top of him, wrapping his arms around his torso and squeezing, and Remus hesitated for the barest moment before hugging back. He hadn’t realised he was trembling until exactly that moment. “Okay. Okay, Rem, okay. I won’t. But you gotta promise you’re gonna be safer, yeah? I can’t lose you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Remus grumbled, trying to hide the fact that a lump had swollen in his throat. “‘Safer’?”

“It means, quit using shit if you don’t know what it is. And don’t mix’n’match, you idiot.”

Remus groaned and pressed his face into Janus’ shoulder. “Fine. Any recommendations? Or are you just talking out of your arse and hoping something sensible occurs to me? I warned you already, sensible isn’t my best feature…”

“Yeah, I got a recommendation.” Remus had a feeling that his surprise at Janus’ words rippled through his entire body, because his friend chuckled darkly and tugged him back toward the bed. “As much as I hate the idea of helping you drug yourself, I’d prefer I helped you do it safely than not. Have you tried Xanax?”

Remus snorted. “That’s prescription.” He sat down on the corner of the mattress and looked up at Janus in the dim light cast by the small bedside light, and discovered that he wouldn’t be surprised if his friend came out with flawless plans to rob every bank in a hundred mile radius. There was something sly and cunning in the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.

“My mother has it for work stress. I’ll grab some for you. If it doesn’t work, we can try something else, but we’re going to do it-”

“I am going to do it safely,” Remus groaned, “I get it.”

“We. I’m not entirely sure I trust you on this to just let you handle it…”

It worked better than anything else he had tried, and it didn’t make him sick, or dizzy, or always exhausted, or bizarrely miserable, or make him piss blood or get nosebleeds.

When Remus’ family was out, he would invite Janus over to his place, and they would curl up on his bed and watch movies on Roman’s laptop (Roman’s password, ‘Prince Roman’, was not only easy to guess, but also written on a post-it note stuck on his keyboard). Sometimes they’d explode popcorn in the microwave.

When Janus’ family was out, Janus would invite him over, and they would make cakes or buns in the kitchen, a volcano in the bathroom, a fire in a wastepaper basket in the living room on which they roasted marshmallows and tried to scare one another with ghost stories.

When Janus turned sixteen, Remus took him on a two-in-the-morning caving expedition in the forest, where they almost got chased through the woods by what Janus swore was a bear but Remus was certain had had six legs and eight eyes and teeth running down its spine.

He was very keen to go back to see what it was, but Janus decided that they probably shouldn’t bother it, whatever it was. (“A cryptid at the least,” Remus commented.) (“A bear, you fool”).

Janus’ birthday brought a new concern before them, though: his parents had suddenly started talking to him about the future.

“It’s not like they used to,” Janus confided one evening, a few weeks after his birthday. “It used to be this thing that was… Well, far away. It wasn’t so important, the important thing was doing well now.”

“Yeah?” Remus looked up from the chunk of wood he was trying to turn into something resembling the bear-monster they had fought. (“We ran away from it, Remus.”) “What’s changed?”

“Dad keeps trying to get me to look at syllabuses for different degrees… Do I want to do psychology? Sociology? Behavioral studies? Economics? Maths? I think he’s secretly hoping I’ll become a financial advisor like him…” Remus made a retching sound, then accidentally sent the bear-monster’s ear spinning away from him through the clearing.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. My mother isn’t doing that - yet - but she keeps giving me the prospectuses for different colleges. Says that she knows I’ll work hard and be successful wherever I go, and that I should pick somewhere I care about to aim for…” There was something in Janus’ tone that made Remus put down the knife and branch that was now going to become a fish-monster rather than a bear-monster, and reached over to nudge his shoulder.

“You don’t sound on board with that.”

Janus shrugged. “They have a point, I guess. If I don’t start making the right choices now, who knows where I’ll end up in a few years? This is the sort of stuff I need to look into.”

Remus frowned. “There’s no harm in taking a year off while you sort things out. You don’t even have to go to college, you know.”

“You don’t understand, Remus. Your parents don’t give a shit what you do - mine do. Besides, I… I want to go to college.”

“Rude, but fair enough.” He stood up and stretched, spine popping, and then scuffed his feet. “And, are you sure? Because you sound like you’re just saying that because they want you to.”

“No, I do. I just… I want it to be my choice, you know?”

“Sure,” agreed Remus, who didn’t have any inclination to go to college and knew for a fact that it would disappoint his parents. So what? He would be eighteen by then. “You want to go on your terms.”

“Exactly. I want to be able to do the research without them breathing over my shoulder, or… Or telling me that this course is for wusses, or that course will end in a degree that professionals are just going to laugh at, or…” He groaned and jerked a hand through his hair, which had been cut short about a week before. It was obvious that Janus had been less than happy about the change, and kept forgetting that he no longer had hair hanging down the back of his neck. “It would be nice if they didn’t expect me to be perfect all the time, you know? I’m a teenager. I’m allowed to make mistakes from time to time.”

Remus squeezed Janus’ shoulder sympathetically. “They must be being really pushy about it, if it’s bad enough for you to complain…”

Janus made a frustrated sound, then nodded. “I’m… It’s like every time I take a breath, they wait for me to exhale gold dust. It’s suffocating, you know?”

Personally, no, Remus did not. But now that Janus vocalised it, he had a feeling that Roman must feel like this at least some of the time. “Is there anything I can do?”

The next time they met up, Janus brought the large stack of shiny prospectuses with him, and they poured over them for hours together, a notebook in front of Janus for him to take notes on anything that looked particularly promising or should be further researched. Remus made stupid comments about the students pictured in the brochures and the quotes from the faculty every time it looked as though the sheer number of things to choose from was becoming overwhelming, and poked and prodded Janus every time he started saying things that sounded as though he were quoting his parents (Janus had a specific voice he used for quotes).

Over several long afternoons, they cut the pile of universities and courses down to only three or four, and then Remus had to watch Janus going to visit the places with his parents.

Watching Janus drive away and return overflowing with enthusiasm for these places that Remus would likely never see struck him with a strange melancholy, and eventually Janus seemed to cotton on to the fact that he was retreating into himself whenever Janus tried to bring the subject up.

“You know you could come with me, right?” They were in Janus’ room, Remus lying on the floor and painting his nails to look as though they were covered in blood, Janus on the bed, flipping through a book on applying for law courses.

Remus looked up briefly, then snorted and returned to adding globs of red varnish to his cuticles. “Even if I had any desire to go to college, Jan, I couldn’t. I’m not smart enough for a scholarship, I don’t have much cash, and my parents aren’t going to pay for me.”

“You are smart, Rem.”

He snorted again, and Janus made a distressed noise. “Okay, fine, I’m smart. But I haven’t worked hard enough for that to show at all, so it amounts to the same thing.”

“I could kidnap you. Make you live under my bed for the duration of the school year - you could pretend to be a ghost and haunt my roommate or something.” Janus turned a page, but from where Remus was lying it looked as though he had only done it to have something to do with his hands.

“So what you’re saying is that you couldn’t last a year without me to help?” Remus rolled onto his back and started flapping his left hand in an attempt to dry the paint. “I’m touched. Nice to know you’re willing to be so vulnerable around me, Jan.”

Janus flipped him off without looking up, then sighed. “I just… I’ll miss you, obviously. And I don’t like the idea of you being here without me.”

“Managed just fine without you,” Remus replied defensively - although he was more flattered than offended.

Janus just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, I’m a mess. But it’s two years away, Jan - don’t worry about it so much. You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

“That’s not how strokes work. And I do worry about it. I worry about you a lot, Remus…”

Remus groaned quietly and sat up. “Janus.” Janus nodded to show that he was listening. “No, Janus, look at me.” Nothing. “Janus…”

Finally, Janus lifted his grey eyes from the paper before him and met Remus’ gaze.

“Do you really think there’s anything keeping me here if you’re gone?” Remus had allowed all of the bravado to drop from his voice, and he knew that Janus could hear how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be. “I’ll find a job or something, the same place you end up. I’ll be there for you when you need me.” He allowed his face to crack into a smile again. “I know you couldn’t really last a year without me, don’t worry.”

Janus threw the brochure at him, but he was laughing. They both were.

Then Remus turned sixteen, and a number of things happened, mostly bad.

About a month after his birthday, Janus texted him at four in the morning with three words.

<Virgil’s place. Now.>

<Sent 03:57>

Remus should have been asleep. On most nights, he would have been. But the clouds that had been rolling over their town for the past few days had finally burst into the most spectacular thunderstorm he had seen in a long time, and Remus was awake. He was watching the sky, first and foremost, watching it be rent in two with searing near-purple light that left lines across the insides of his eyelids when he closed them. He was trying to figure out a way to be hit by lightning without actually dying, because that sounded honestly thrilling. And because Janus had put his foot down and said that he wasn’t allowed to just go and get struck with a billion volts of raw electricity because it would probably kill him. The last reason for him being awake was not one liked admitting, even to himself: he was staying awake in case Roman needed him. His twin was terrified of lightning storms and although Remus could never quite figure out why, he didn’t want to leave Roman alone if he woke up to the storm.

Remus was fully aware that he was disgustingly soft for his brother, despite how much of a jerk he was.

Then Janus’ text came through, and suddenly Roman didn’t matter so much. Remus was climbing out of the bathroom window within seconds, wearing only a pair of shorts and a sweater that were soaked through almost immediately.

At a sprint, it took him less than fifteen minutes to reach Virgil’s home, although he could barely see when he arrived. The woods were not meant to be navigated at top speed in a storm in the middle of the night, and it was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t tripped over a root and broken his ankle (and now was really not the time to see bone poking through his skin, as cool as that may be in different circumstances).

All the lights were on.

Muddy, soaking wet, covered in leaves and twigs and scratches from brambles and not caring in the slightest, Remus barreled toward the back door and hammered on it. Virgil’s dad could call his parents later: this was an emergency.

The door swung open with no resistance at all, and Remus swallowed hard. Dread was pooling in his stomach.

Remy was in the kitchen, along with a pink-haired guy that Remus didn’t recognise, and so much grief that Remus could feel it trying to force itself down his throat, to drag him down into its depths. If Remy was like this, the worst had to have happened, right? It was just like in his nightmares. Remus could feel his hands trembling, and it wasn’t the chill of being wet to the bone making them shake.

“Where-”

The guy Remus didn’t know had an arm around Remy, and he had never seen Virgil’s brother look smaller, curled up against him. They were practically on the same chair. Remy looked up with bloodshot eyes, then jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Upstairs.”

It was easy to find Virgil after that. Remus just had to follow the sound of crying, audible even over the way his heart was pounding in his ears. He didn’t care how mad Mr Spince would be at the trail of mud and foliage he was leaving in his wake.

When he saw that Virgil wasn’t dead, didn’t even seem injured, Remus almost put his fist through the wall out of sheer relief. Then the rest of the scene in Virgil’s room came rushing in, and he didn’t feel so happy anymore.

Janus and Patton were already there. Janus was sitting on the end of the bed, squeezing Virgil’s calf gently. Patton was with Virgil at the head of the bed, rubbing his back, looking as though he were about to burst into tears as well. Virgil himself was the source of the crying, curled up into a tight ball as sobs tore through him. His hoodie was draped over his shoulders, presumably by Patton (who had looked up when Remus had entered, paled briefly, and then turned his attention back to Virgil).

Remus had pretty much figured out what had happened even before Janus turned to him and murmured, “Car crash. The rain, wasn’t anyone’s fault…”

Mr Spince wasn’t going to tell Remus off for tracking mud up his stairs and into his son’s room. He wasn’t going to be telling anybody off for anything.

When he climbed onto the bed and slotted himself between Virgil and the wall, on the other side of Patton, who flinched briefly, nobody complained that he was damp and filthy and getting mud and blood onto Virgil’s duvet. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but it wasn’t really a night for being comfortable.

They stayed with Virgil all night. At some point, he and Patton fell asleep, and Janus joined them soon after. Remus didn’t sleep, one arm holding Virgil as close as he could, the other squeezing Janus’ fingers gently.

The funeral was small, with only a handful of guests, mostly middle-aged men and women in business-wear who Remus assumed had worked with Virgil’s dad. They stared openly when they saw Remus, who hadn’t been able to find anything suitable to wear and ended up showing up in a pair of tight black jeans (the least ripped pair he owned) and a black t-shirt (one that actually went right the way down to his waist) under a long-sleeved mesh shirt. Neither Virgil nor Remy had batted an eyelid. Both had hugged him tightly.

He and Janus had spent a lot of time with Virgil over the coming weeks. It got to the point that although Patton wasn’t entirely happy talking to him, he no longer flinched when he came near him.

The second thing that happened when he was sixteen surprised him, and actually in a positive way: his parents had gotten Roman driving lessons for his birthday, and in a fit of generosity had actually done the same for him. Maybe things were going to be better this year.

He should have known it wouldn’t last, of course.

Remus had been on his best behaviour, hoping that maybe he could wring some form of affection from his usually distant parents, hating himself for wanting so desperately to finally gain some form of approval from them.

Roman had had no such concerns - but he didn’t need to, did he? Whenever it looked as though their parents might turn against him, he could just shuffle their disappointment sideways onto Remus; that was exactly what had happened.

When their father had marched him outside to look at the dented, reeking mess that had been his car before Roman had gotten his hands on it, and demanded to know why Remus had thought taking it out was a good idea, Remus hadn’t answered immediately. Instead he had looked up at Roman’s bedroom window (“It’s no good being angry with your brother, he did the right in telling us,”) and found that his twin was staring down at him, his eyes wide. He looked scared.

Remus still should have defended himself. Instead, he just shrugged, swallowed down the fury that was building in his chest, and went back to his room. No more driving lessons for him.

By that night, his anger at Roman had cooled and hardened into fury at their parents, for pitting them against one another like this. He took the easiest, pettiest revenge he could think of, slipping out of his bedroom window with a letter opener and dragging it along the side of their mother’s car.

He had been caught, of course. His parents weren’t about to let him get away with trashing both cars in the space of two days. When Dae found him out there, crouched by the passenger side door and already having left several long, deep scratches in the baby-blue paintwork, he had genuinely thought that she might hit him. She didn’t. Hitting one of her sons would be a bigger mark of shame for her than merely resenting the child’s very existence, and they both knew it.

Remus almost wished she would hit him. At least then he could have some sort of victory, bitter though it would be.

About three months after his birthday, Janus actually called him.

They never called one another, partially because Remus hated the way he could hear his voice echoing down the phone line with a passion that made him want to claw his own ears from his skull, and partially because it was harder to have frequent secret phone calls. (Remus maintained that their friendship being discovered would be very, very bad for Janus’ reputation. Janus hated it, but agreed that his parents would not be at all impressed). It was thanks to this fact that Remus knew something had to be wrong even before he had swiped his finger over to answer.

“Hey, Jan. What’s up?”

Remus was met with silence, and then a noise very close to a stifled sob, and felt his hackles rise.

“Janus. Do I need to kill somebody?” Another sob. It sounded as though Janus was trying to calm down for long enough to say something, but was entirely unable. “I will, you know. If somebody hurt you, I’ll hurt them so much worse.” Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t kill them - Remus wasn’t keen on the idea of being a murderer - but he was more than happy to beat somebody into a pulp so fine that their teeth were the largest recognisable pieces if they hurt his best friend.

“N-No, don’t, don’t do that,” Janus finally managed, his voice cracking again on the last word. Remus slowly moved his sketchpad off of his lap and hid it under his bed. “It’s - It’s stupid, I…”

“Can you get to the log behind your house? I’ll meet you there if you can.” There was silence - well, not silence exactly, but nothing more than a few hiccups and sobs. “If you can’t, that’s okay. Tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there.”

Janus didn’t speak for such a long time that Remus was on the verge of calling Virgil to see if he knew anything (Virgil had an uncanny knack for knowing everything about everyone, or at least guessing very accurately) and then running a solo town-wide search starting from Janus’ house. “I… Yeah, I’ll… Meet you there, if th- that’s okay…”

That was all Remus needed to climb out of his window and dive barefoot into the forest behind the house. (He was still grounded, and his parents seemed to think that preventing him from keeping his shoes in his room would stop him from going out. Ridiculous. He could survive with torn-up feet for a few weeks). (And Janus had lent him a pair of old trainers as soon as he had found out; Remus kept them in a plastic bag under a rock just beyond the treeline). Janus’ house was about half an hour away from his if he were walking fast: Remus sprinted, only slightly less urgently than he had two months ago to get to Virgil’s house, and made it in twenty. Janus was already there, sitting against the fallen tree with his knees hugged tightly to his chest. He had stopped crying but looked as though he might start at any moment, and leaned against Remus the second he threw himself down beside him. Remus didn’t protest. If Janus needed to hug him when he was sweaty and could barely breathe, he could cope with that.

When Remus found that he was breathing more or less evenly again, he wrapped both arms around Janus’ torso and pulled him closer, resting his chin on the top of his head. Janus pressed his face into Remus’ chest. He didn’t really fit in Remus’ lap, being almost a head taller than him, but neither of them really cared. “Hey… You’re… I’m here, Jan, you can cry if you want… I don’t mind… Whatever you need…”

Gently, he lifted one hand to tug Janus’ chocolate coloured beanie from his head so he could start carding his fingers through his hair; Janus’ shoulders started shaking a second later. Remus made a soft crooning noise in the back of his throat, then started murmuring reassuring nonsense, very glad that nobody else was ever going to hear how soft he was letting himself be.

When Janus finally straightened up and took his hat back to wipe his eyes on, Remus squeezed his side gently. “Hey. Do you want to talk about it?”

Janus sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Remus didn’t see why he didn’t just use the shirt Remus was wearing, which now had a very large gross patch on it. “‘S stupid,” he muttered.

Remus held up a stern finger. “No. If I’m not allowed to call my problems stupid, Janus Sinclaire, you definitely aren’t. Got it?” Janus nodded. “You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not. That’s okay.”

“No, I…” Janus sniffed again, and rested his head against Remus’ shoulder.

Remus reached up to rub his fingers gently against Janus’ skull again.

“You remember Phillip Junior?” Remus did. There was no Phillip Senior to explain the name Janus had chosen for the old, stuffed boa constrictor toy, but Janus had admitted that he had only been four when he had named it. Phillip Junior lived on the bookshelf in Janus’ room - it was practically the only thing other than a picture on his bedside table that made the room look as though it really did belong to Janus.

Remus nodded, and Janus took in a long, shuddering breath.

“You’ll… You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.”

Janus looked at him as though he wasn’t entirely sure that he believed him, then sighed. “He wasn’t on my sh-shelf when I got home, an’... I looked for him, I checked he hadn’t - y’know, fallen down the back or anything, an’ he still wasn’t…”

He sniffed again, and Remus ripped a strip from the bottom of his shirt (it had been falling apart anyway, ever since he had gotten caught on a splintered fence, and he had been planning on turning it into a crop top for ages anyway) and handed it over. Janus stared at it as though he had just handed him a live lizard rather than a sandwich (and Remus had actually experienced the expression for that reason, so he knew what he was talking about).

“What’s this for?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Blow your nose on it. Duh.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Janus snorted faintly, did as he was told, and then cleared his throat. It didn’t help much, given that he still sounded pretty choked up when he spoke again. “Um… I went ‘n’ asked my mother if she had seen P.J. ‘N’ she…” He sniffled again, but this time Remus didn’t take the pause as an opportunity to interrupt. “She said I’m too old for… For, y’know, stuffed animals. So she threw… She threw him out. The trash was collected earlier today - so he’s - he’s gone…”

His voice broke on the last word, and Remus sighed softly before pulling Janus closer to him. It wasn’t as though he needed his shirt to be clean for any particular reason, after all.

Remus wasn’t about to laugh at his friend for this. (Actually, he was a little offended that Janus thought he would be so insensitive, but this wasn’t really the time). He knew how stressed Janus was, how much pressure his parents kept balanced on top of him like the world’s most fucked up house of cards: it didn’t take something big for things to come crashing down. The destruction of a connection to a younger self, though - that felt fairly big.

There wasn’t much Remus could do just then, aside from offering Janus a place to let himself cry and listening to him talk.

When he got home later, though, he started looking at part-time jobs - in the city, of course, where nobody knew him - and eventually landed one lugging crates in the back of a supermarket. Three days a week, he’d get on the bus into the city rather than heading into school (he had been skipping a fair amount anyway, so it wasn’t as though anybody would miss him) and loaded boxes onto and off of the back of a delivery truck rather than struggling through algebra or calculus or history or whatever it was that everyone else was doing. He had had to lie about his age to get the job: they wouldn’t hire somebody that was meant to be in school whenever their shifts were scheduled regardless of whether he turned up or not.

Two months later, he found himself waiting outside Virgil’s house for a delivery box. He had asked Remy if he could put their place down as his delivery address, given that as far as his parents knew he had no money (he was technically still paying them back for the vase he had broken, as well as numerous other things, and didn’t get an allowance like Roman did) and any packages arriving for him would be regarded with immediate suspicion. Initially, he had only been going to order one animal (a snake, obviously) to replace Phillip Junior physically if not emotionally, but he had gotten carried away when the website had shown him a large, fluffy looking octopus as well.

For the first time in years, Remus had money, and friends that he wanted to spend it on - so he did.

Virgil had pretended not to be, but Remus could tell that he was thrilled by the large spider plushie that he handed him almost as soon as he had opened the box. He actually tried to play it cool.

“Oh, nice, Remus. That’s… Real sweet of you,” he had said, clearly trying to hide the way a grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth; Remus leaned in and hugged him anyway, and after a second Virgil returned the embrace tenfold.

To Janus he gave the snake, as planned, and also the octopus. Janus had taken one look and almost started crying, which Remus thought was a slightly over the top reaction but didn’t complain. The feeling of knowing that he had made his best friend so happy was so much more than worth it.

“Keep them under your bed,” he suggested, “that way your parents are less likely to find them.”

Janus hadn’t said anything for a few long moments - or if he had, Remus hadn’t been able to hear it because his face was pressed into the domed crown of the octopus. Then he had straightened up a little, arms still wrapped tightly around the stuffed animals, and smiled broadly at him. “Remus, you didn’t have to do this… You should be saving your money, not wasting it on me…”

“It’s not a waste - besides, I never do anything for you.” Remus punched Janus playfully on the shoulder, and Janus shook his head. Putting the toys down on his bed, he shoved Remus gently, and Remus pretended to stumble. It was only polite.

“You do, though! You’re always here when I need you, and…”

“Look, Jan, don’t make this into a big deal.” Remus was almost blushing now, shifting awkwardly. People never really complimented him like this, and it just felt… Wrong. Nice, but wrong. “You were upset, so I wanted to help fix that. I know they’re not PJ, but…”

Janus held up a hand. “They’re perfect.”

Remus beamed at him.

He hadn’t only bought the spider, the snake, and the octopus, although when he pulled the stuffed lion out of the box to inspect it, he wished he had. This, more than any of the others, had been an impulse purchase. He was being stupid, sentimental, wasting time on the pointless wish that things could be different and that they’d never had to grow up and grow apart - and knowing all of those things had not stopped him from adding the lion to his basket. It had reminded him of Roman, probably because lions were pretty much the only animal Roman would draw, the same way he would always draw an octopus and Virgil a small army of spiders. Remus didn’t know whether he was planning on giving the toy to his brother; the decision was pretty much made for him when he arrived home that evening with it stuffed into his backpack. Roman was talking on his phone and barely glanced up when Remus came in. In fact, he didn’t look at Remus at all, so it took him a few seconds to realise that Roman had ended the call and was talking at him.

“... Cast dinner tonight, probably be out late. You don’t mind if I take the emergency cash mum and dad left us, right? If they call, don’t tell them I’m out - didn’t technically ask permission - they won’t call, they only left this morning, but just in case… That’s all fine, right?”

Remus blinked at him, trying to process the words into something that made sense (Roman talked fast when he was in a rush), and Roman seemed to take that as assent because he scooped the small pile of emergency cash that had been left on the counter into his pocket.

“Have a good evening, Rem, see you later!”

Oh, wait, no. Remus had caught that. “Ro, wait, I was thinking -” Thinking what? That they could do something together? They never spent time together anymore. Roman didn’t even look at him as he brushed past him on his way out.

“Later, Remus! I’m going to be late!” He left without another word, and Remus stared at the closed door behind him.

Well. Well, that was okay. Roman didn’t really need his screw-up of a brother to mess things up for him, did he? It was probably best that he didn’t associate with Remus much. For all Remus knew, the next thing that Roman blamed him for would end up getting him arrested, and it would be better if Roman wasn’t known to be close to him at that point.

No, that wasn’t fair. Roman wasn’t going to do something stupid that would get one of them arrested. Roman would just make little mistakes and shift the blame onto him, because he wanted their parents to keep loving him. That was okay.

Roman probably wouldn’t be able to take it if the disappointment usually reserved for Remus came down on him. He wasn’t built the same way, hadn’t had time to build up a proper roof against the acidic deluge - it would destroy him, and Remus knew it. He was pretty sure that Roman knew it, too, although probably more as a subconscious thing.

So whilst he couldn’t really blame Roman for any of it - he was nine minutes older, it was his responsibility to take care of his younger brother - he didn’t exactly have to like it.

In short, he was keeping the lion for himself.

The fourth thing that happened in the space between Remus’ sixteenth birthday in March and Janus’ in November was possibly the worst of all of them - although that was just what Janus said. Privately, Remus was pretty certain that Virgil’s dad dying was worse, but he wasn’t about to go and argue who had it worse with the captain of the debate team.

It wasn’t as though Remus had even been hurt, not properly. A few busted knuckles were old hat by now, the scabs never really fading between fights. And whilst he had been getting into fewer scraps, it wasn’t as though he were actively trying to stop picking them. It was just easier, when he was still spending four days a week lugging boxes (he had picked up Saturdays now, too) and wasn’t around people that could really do with a knuckle sandwich all the time.

Unfortunately, the fact that he had been trying to show some self-restraint whenever he actually did turn up to school seemed to give the impression that he was now on the table for anybody looking to earn a little fear by poking at a known danger.

Remus hadn’t been paying attention, so it was his fault, really. It had been an unnaturally sleepless few nights - although the Xanax induced paralysis had held and it had been a long time since his nightmares had made themselves known to anybody else - and he was looking forward to getting out of school and disappearing into the woods for a few hours with Janus. They had found a small crate in the stream a few weeks ago, and upon opening it had discovered that it was full of now-soaked fireworks probably left over from some summer carnival or other. They had carefully dried them out, and now that it was autumn and the nights were rolling in earlier they were going to head out to the quarry and see how many would still work.

Remus had only half listened to his morning physics lesson, too focused on decorating the pages of his textbook with a climbing pattern of thorns to take in much about the duality of light or whatever it was they were supposed to be learning, and was looking forward to not having to worry about paying attention in his next class, which was art. His art teacher had more or less given up trying to stop him from depicting gruesome dissections now, and tended to let him get on with it.

He was just leaving the science block, already wondering where he would find some good references for intestines, when somebody charged past him, knocking him off balance. Remus growled a few choice curses under his breath at them, righting himself - and then something hit his shoulder, and he stumbled sideways. In the time it took for him to realise that he had been pushed, there was the sound of a door slamming, and then he was in darkness.

At first, he tried to be rational. Somebody had thought it was funny to push him into a cupboard - fine. That was fine. He could get out, find whichever brat had thought it was a good idea, and make them swallow their teeth. He could do that. Feeling around, he found that the cupboard he was in was full of shelves - and rather smaller than he had been expecting. That was okay, that was okay, there were shelves on his left and in front of him and behind him, so the door must be… There, to his right, in a gap between the shelves. He pushed it, more than ready to be out of the small, dark cupboard. 

It.

Didn’t.

Open.

No matter how hard he pushed it, no matter how hard he rattled the handle, the door stayed closed.

Okay, okay, that was fine, that was - he could just take a run-up and bust it down. It was fine. He’d be out in just a minute. Remus could hear his heart beating in his ears, his breathing much, much too loud in the quiet space - he needed to calm that down. What if he ran out of air in here? No, no, that wasn’t going to happen. He was fine.

He took a step backward, and his back collided with the shelf behind him. Stretching his hands forward, he could press them against the door - and was the door closer to the back wall than it had been before? Remus blinked hard, the black of his eyelids indistinguishable from the black of the storeroom, and slammed his fist against the door.

He missed. Something shattered, painfully loud, something damp splashed against his shirt, and then there was an awful, itching, burning feeling across his chest.

With a strangled cry, Remus lurched backward, and there was the sound of more things shattering as he crashed into the shelving.

The door was locked.

The door was locked, and the walls were closing in on him, and nobody was going to find him this time.

It was a Friday - if nobody found him, he could stay in here all weekend, the walls pressing against his chest - only he wouldn’t, would he? He’d use up all the air in the room long, long before anybody let him out.

He was going to die in here.

Between the crushing walls and the suffocating blackness and the way his ragged breathing was refusing to slow or even out, he was going to die.

Remus wished he could have blacked out.

He almost did, in a way: when he forced himself to think back to it, he knew that the rational part of his brain had checked out shortly after he had tried to punch the door and ended up slicing his hand open.

He was only half aware of the hours he spent huddled against the shelves, although they seemed like years upon endless years as he gasped for breath around horrid, wrenching sobs. His knees had given out, although he didn’t remember when, and everything hurt, there was no space, he couldn’t think or see or hear or speak or-

And then there was light, and somebody was gripping his shoulders, and it was too bright too much too loud and they just needed to get off, he didn’t know who this was but they were only going to hurt him more and he just needed them to-

That was when he remembered how to push, how to dive forward. That was when he remembered how to make a fist. That was when he remembered how to swing his arm back and snap it forward, again and again, and that was all he remembered until there were burning, painful, agonising hands around his arms again, and he was being dragged away from the person he had been on top of.

Logan’s glasses were broken, and their nose looked as though it probably was as well. There was blood all over their face, and they looked more than a little groggy as Patton helped them into a sitting position.

Remus just accepted the two weeks suspension he was handed. He couldn’t speak - how was he even supposed to begin to defend himself? He was still trembling, still breathing hard, unable to meet the headteacher’s eyes when she demanded he explain his behaviour. (He didn’t know why she bothered. She never listened to his side of a story). When she finally gave up and asked, frustrated and clearly rhetorically, if Remus just enjoyed destroying school property and hurting other students, he nodded. It was easy.

He needed easy just then.

Whether it was because his father thought he was too shaky to try running away (he was) or because he was just too disgusted to do so, he didn��t take Remus’ arm to drag him out, and Remus was grateful for that. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle any more physical contact just then.

And then he was in his room, where he was able to draw the curtains so that the October sunlight couldn’t hurt his eyes anymore, where he was able to huddle into a small ball on his bed and wrap his duvet around himself and just stare, blank and unseeing, at the octopus relief he had carved into his wardrobe door.

“Remus?”

Remus flinched and jerked backwards. Janus was right in front of him - he hadn’t seen him come in, hadn’t heard him approach, but now he was right there. How much time had passed?

Janus gave him a small, relieved smile. “There you are…” From the expression on his face, Remus guessed that he had been saying his name for several minutes.

He tried to ask him when he had arrived, but all that came out was a sound like a garden gate being ripped from its hinges.

“Hey, it’s okay… Can I touch you? Just nod or shake,” Janus added, clearly reading the frustration on Remus’ face.

Remus considered the question, trying to order his scattered thoughts, and then shook his head slowly. Janus didn’t seem annoyed.

“Can I sit?” Remus nodded, and Janus climbed onto the bed and sat about a metre away from him. “I came as soon as I heard, I… Holy shit, is that blood yours? Remus, can I see your hands?”

Remus hesitated, then held out his arms. Janus looked faintly nauseated, and Remus looked down to see that the back of his left hand and arm were red and glittering. Frowning, he looked closer to see several large cuts along the back of his hand and up his wrist (they had stopped bleeding by now), and a lot of glass splinters embedded in his skin.

He swallowed hard, a distressed sound slipping from him, and Janus immediately reached out to touch him before pulling back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, arms. Do you still have that kit at the back of your wardrobe?” Remus nodded, and he stood up. “Alright. Can I clean you up a little bit?” Nod. “Can we go through to the bathroom, or would you rather stay here?” Remus’ whine of frustration made Janus look up from the open wardrobe. “Oh, right. Sorry. Would you be more comfortable staying here?” A firm nod. “Okay.”

Janus pulled the small metal box out of the hoodie Remus had last wrapped it in and returned to sit next to him, then opened it. He put the lid down beside him, then put the broken razor on top of the lid without a second glance.

“May I have your hand, Rem?” Remus offered it up, and Janus squeezed his fingers ever so lightly before resting it on his knee.

The improvised ‘first-aid’ kit contained a pair of tweezers, a needle and thread that Remus had never had to use but had wanted on hand just in case, a large amount of plasters, several strips of fabric that Remus had torn off of various shirts and used when plasters weren’t really enough, a tube of antiseptic cream that Janus had nicked from his parents’ medicine box for him, and, of course, the razor blades that usually necessitated the use of the rest of the box. It had been Janus’ idea to assemble the kit. It had been a good idea.

Holding the tweezers carefully in one hand and gently gripping the underside of Remus’ forearm in the other, Janus leaned in and started picking the fragments of glass from his skin. They made a quiet ‘plink’-ing noise as he dropped them onto the lid of the box.

As he worked, Janus spoke quietly, and Remus found himself relaxing. “I heard halfway through my last period. Said I felt sick. They sent me to the nurse, so I came here instead… I’m sorry it took so long, Rem.” Remus twitched his fingers against Janus’ knee, and Janus glanced up to smile at him again. “Logan’s going to be fine. Chipped tooth, smashed glasses, broken nose, a few bruises, damaged pride. Nothing serious.”

He let go of Remus’ arm for a moment to pull a water bottle from his satchel and dampen one of the strips of fabric, then offered the bottle to Remus. Accepting it, Remus took a few small mouthfuls, the cool liquid soothing against his raw throat and a distraction from the drag of wet cloth against his skin as Janus started wiping the blood away.

“I was worried when I didn’t see you at lunch. I’m glad you’re… Well, not ‘okay’ - this is going to sting a bit, are you okay for me to use the antiseptic now?” Gritting his teeth, Remus nodded. He still flinched as Janus spread the white cream across his arm, but didn’t pull away. “You’re doing great, Rem. Nearly done. I’m glad you’re safe now. That’s what I mean. Okay, plasters going on now.”

Remus hummed quietly. Now that Janus had managed to catch his attention, he was suddenly aware that his chest still felt as though it were burning, and that his back wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” It seemed that Janus was thinking along similar lines. Remus hesitated, then tried to remember how to speak.

“Ch… Chest. ...Mm, back.” The words hadn’t wanted to come out, and it looked as though Janus could tell that.

“You don’t have to talk, Rem. It’s okay. Can I take your shirt off to get a better look?”

Shuffling closer, Remus nodded. Janus would be gentle, he knew. Janus knew how to touch him when he was too overwhelmed to cope with anything around him. He still flinched when his friend’s fingertips brushed the skin of his stomach, and Janus froze. He didn’t move until Remus had nodded at him, and when he did he was careful not to touch Remus any more than he had to.

Remus was so, so grateful for that.

Janus let out a low whistle when he looked at his chest. “Shit, Rem. That looks bad. Can I persuade you to let me take you to the hospital to get you checked out?” He shook his head so hard he could feel his brain rattling against his ears, and Janus bit down on his lower lip. “Okay. Okay, that’s okay. Can I have the water? I want to clean this, but I don’t… I don’t know what else to do. A hospital would be best…” Remus shook his head again.

Sighing, Janus tipped water onto the fresh rag and then leaned forward, hesitating just before the cloth touched Remus’ chest until he nodded. “I think it’s gonna scar. What were you doing in the chemical store, Rem? … Sorry, you don’t have to answer yet. At all, if you don’t want to.”

Remus swallowed hard, trying to force the words around the knot in his chest and the lump in his throat. “Pushed. Mmm… After Physics.” That was good. The words were coming easier than they had before, although not in any great quantity.

Janus swore, finally pulling his hand away from Remus’ chest and getting up. A disgustingly pitiful whine left Remus’ chest, but Janus merely carried the first-aid kit around so that he could start putting plasters on Remus’ back. He was quiet for several long seconds, and Remus pulled his arms into his chest and hunched over. Then Janus swore again.

“Fuck, Rem. You’re telling me you were in that closet for four hours?” Remus shrugged. “Fuck. Text me next time, okay? I’ll come get you out.” Remus nodded, but he doubted it was a promise he could keep. At no point in that closet had he been thinking rationally enough to reach for his phone. “No wonder you went for Logan… Did they put you in there?”

Remus shrugged. Then he shook his head. It didn’t make any sense for Logan to have locked him in. They had never shown him any sort of aggression before. It didn’t feel like the kind of thing they would do, honestly. “Think… Think they were tryin’ to help…” He mumbled thickly.

Janus made a sympathetic humming sound, and the knot in Remus’ chest pulled tight and snapped. The sob that left him was almost silent - Remus had long since learned to cry silently - but Janus must have felt the way it rushed through his body like a tidal wave.

“Remus?” He shifted, and then Janus was in front of him again and Remus allowed himself to slump forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him and ignoring the ache of the cuts in his hand. “Oh, hey… I’ve got you. You’re safe now, just… Just let it all out…”

That was the second time Remus cried in front of Janus, and Janus held him until the last sobs had drained from him. Then, spent, Remus curled up against his friend and fell asleep.

He actually tried to apologise to Logan a few days later, approaching Virgil after school to ask if he knew where they lived. Virgil had cocked an eyebrow at him, a wary expression on his face.

“Why? You planning on beating up my boyfriend again?” Remus supposed he couldn’t blame Virgil for being wary of him, not when he snapped like that sometimes and- Wait.

“You and Patton broke up?” He blurted the question without thinking, then swallowed. “Uh. I’m sorry.”

Virgil smiled faintly. “Nah. I’m dating Patton and Logan. Patton’s dating me and Logan. Bet you can’t guess who Logan’s dating.”

“You can do that?”

Virgil actually laughed at the slightly stunned expression on his face. “Yeah. They’re both coming over later, actually. Why did you want to talk to them?”

“I wanted to…” Remus trailed off, shifting awkwardly.

“Didn’t catch that, dude.”

“I wanted to apologise. For… For last Friday. It was… An accident.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, and Remus shifted again. “You accidentally slammed your fist into somebody’s face a bunch of times.”

“Yeah.”

Virgil stared at him for a little longer, then shrugged and held the door open for him. “Alright.” Remus followed him inside and sat nervously on the couch. Virgil sat on the coffee table.

The actual apology didn’t go quite as planned.

Patton arrived first, let out a small squeak when he saw Remus, and took several sharp steps backward. Remus sighed. It looked as though he had lost a lot of progress there.

It took several long moments of Virgil whispering in Patton’s ear for the chubby boy to come and sit in the armchair, as far away as he could get from Remus.

Then Logan had arrived, both eyes blackened behind their glasses - and he had smiled at Remus, albeit slightly nervously.

Remus stood. “Logan, I- I’m sorry. About Friday. I - I guess-” Logan had held up a hand, and Remus had stopped abruptly.

Then Logan spoke, and he was left gaping at them. “No. I should be the one apologising, Remus.”

“Like hell,” Patton spat.

At the same time, Remus said, “What the fuck? I broke your nose.”

Logan crossed the room slowly so that he could sit down on the table beside Virgil, leaning forward to look Remus in the eye. “It was clear that you were having some form of panic attack, and I reacted incredibly poorly. I should not have just grabbed you, and I do not blame you for lashing out.”

Everyone had gone silent. Patton looked as though he had just been kicked in the stomach, and was very obviously mouthing the words, ‘panic attack?’ at Virgil, who just shrugged. Remus licked his lower lip nervously.

“Uh… I mean, it could have gone better, but I still… I turned your face into roadkill, Logan. And you’re apologising to me? Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“I assure you, Remus, I am not an idiot.” Logan frowned briefly, considering the plaster on the back of Remus’ hand (he was pressing his palms against his knees to stop them from shaking), and then smiled at him again. “I propose a compromise. I will accept your apology if you will accept mine. Does that sound acceptable?”

Remus made a slightly choked noise, then nodded. “Okay. Sorry I fucked up your face.”

“It will heal; you are forgiven. I apologise for no doubt adding to what must have been a particularly unpleasant experience.” Virgil wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist, and they turned their smile toward him before glancing back at Remus.

Remus swallowed. “Um. Yeah. I guess I… Forgive you for that. I… Thank you.”

As horrible as the experience itself had been, Remus had come out of it with something approaching a new friend - so how could Janus be right when he argued that it was the worst thing that happened in the eight months between their birthdays?

A few nights after Janus turned seventeen, they met at the quarry and made a bonfire. It was a little cold for them to be properly comfortable, given the fact that the winter seemed to have arrived early that year and it was now the end of November, but between the fire, the beer Remus had snagged from Remy, and the whiskey Janus had smuggled from his house, they barely noticed it.

Virgil joined them for a while, long enough to roast a few marshmallows and then get twitchy about the fact that there was probably a monster sleeping somewhere in the quarry (“It was a bear, Remus, for the last time!”). Eventually, he had made the decision to leave while he was still conscious: Virgil seemed to be constantly running on caffeine, a trait he had probably picked up from his brother, but when he had a few drinks he got very mellow very quickly.

That left Remus and Janus passing a silvery flask between them, side by side and as close to the campfire as they could get without burning their feet on it. Remus had already set his hair on fire leaning in in an attempt to rescue a fallen marshmallow, and Janus was keen to avoid further injury. He was more than a little drunk: since he had stopped using alcohol to knock himself out, Remus didn’t drink very much anymore and had lost a lot of his tolerance. Janus looked more steady, but he was still leaning against Remus - although that may have been to stop Remus from pitching forward and burning to death.

“How’s it feel t’be seventeen, Jan?” Remus asked quietly, absently picking at some marshmallow that had gotten caught in his teeth.

“Hmm…” Janus handed him the flask, and Remus took a large mouthful from it before trying to hand it back. Janus shook his head. “About the same as being sixteen, dummy.”

“Disappointing. Was hoping you’d get the instruction manual.” Leaning down (and feeling Janus grab the back of his shirt so he didn’t fall), Remus picked a large stone up from the ground and tapped it a few times against the flask, then tossed it in the fire. Sparks flew at them, a few landing on Janus’ hat. He brushed them away.

“What instruction manual?” Remus could feel Janus’ eyes on him as he found a smaller stone, this one with a pointed end, and tapped it against the flask again.

“Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead.”

“The Human ‘Struction Manual.” Remus found another stone, and started using the pointy one as a chisel to carve a line into the flask.

“Oh, that one. Were you looking for tips?”

“You know it.” Janus chuckled, leaning over his shoulder to watch the curved shape that was beginning to appear under his hands.

They were quiet for a while. The silence went on long enough that Janus had leaned forward to throw more wood on the fire twice and Remus had finished his octopus before Janus spoke again.

“Remus?”

“Mm?” Remus swallowed another mouthful of whisky and handed the flask back to Janus, who accepted it this time.

“Have you ever…”

Janus hesitated, and Remus grinned faintly, nudging his side with his elbow. “Y’know th’answer’s prob’bly yes, right? Spit it out.”

Janus elbowed him back. “Okay. Have you… Ever had a crush on somebody you know you shouldn’t?”

Remus blinked slowly at him, his heart sinking. With every bone in his body desperately hoping that Janus wasn’t about to say he liked him, Remus licked his lower lip and then looked back at the flames in front of him.

“I… Told Roman I liked Remy once. He asked me if I liked anyone, so I… Said Remy.” Remus chuckled nervously. “Jerk went ‘n kissed him ‘few weeks later. Rude.”

Janus seemed to have gotten the answer he wanted, because he leaned his weight against Remus again. “So you like Remy? Virgil’s brother?”

He could have just nodded. He could have nodded, and kept the weird part of himself that he was sure was broken out of the light. But this was Janus, and Janus was his best friend, and Remus trusted him with everything.

Besides, lying to Janus really wasn’t easy.

“No…” Remus muttered. He reached for the flask, and Janus gave it to him without complaint. “Don’t like anyone. Never really have. Not r’lly sure if I will ever.”

“Okay,” Janus said, as though that was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Janus didn’t seem to care, and Remus felt briefly stupid for having worried about it. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and passed the flask back.

Silence.

Oh. He should probably ask Janus what that had been about? “Why?”

“Uh…” Janus sighed quietly and took a small sip of whiskey, then seemed to notice the weight of the flask in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “How much of this have you had? It’s gotta be almost empty.”

“Not that much,” Remus replied petulantly. He tugged at Janus’ sleeve. “Why’d y’ask about crushes?”

This time, Janus was quiet for so long that Remus thought he wasn’t going to reply. Finally, he rubbed his fingertips together and held them up to the fire. “Roman.”

“How drunk are you? I’m Remus.” Remus poked Janus’ cheek, and Janus exhaled through his nose before batting his hand away.

“No, Remus, I meant… I like Roman.” Janus shifted a little, and Remus realised that he was trying to look him in the eye. He tried to return the gaze, but couldn’t figure out whether the Janus on the left was more real than the Janus on the right or not. Huh. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought.

“Roman?” He asked stupidly.

“I… Are you mad? It’s just a crush, if you… You know, if you think your best friend and your brother would be weird, I can never mention it again - I mean, I doubt anything’ll happen, it’s just a crush…”

It occurred to Remus then that Janus was probably waiting for him to say something, and he tried to work out what was expected from him. Would it be weird if Janus dated Roman? Well, only because Roman was a self-centred jerk. It would be a lot weirder if Janus had decided he liked him - that would make their being friends really difficult. Or would it? It would probably be just like being friends, but they’d have to do… Other stuff. Nope. Remus would rather not do other stuff with his best friend.

But Roman… Roman could be an absolute arsehole. He had already ditched Virgil when he had needed him most, and Remus had no doubts that he would ignore Janus unless Janus was actually useful to him.

“Rem?”

“Hm?”

“Do you hate me?”

“Why’d I hate you?”

The Janus-es in front of him frowned. “Because… I just told you I have a thing for your twin?”

“Oh. Huh.” That didn’t really explain why Janus thought he’d hate him. Remus shook his head and went to lean against Janus’ side again. “Nah… You c’n like Ro-ro if you want… He’s a dick, though… Lotsa pressure, fr’m th’ parents...”

“I know you don’t get on with him. If you’d rather I didn’t… Talk about this, or whatever…”

“Don’t mind. Jus’... Jus’ don’t want ‘m hurting you… You d’serve better than Ro-ro… You gonna give the flask back?”

Remus made a grabby motion for the flask with one hand, and Janus shook his head and held it out of his reach.

“Gimme.”

“Rem, you’re really quite drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Your eyes haven’t focused on me once in the last half hour. I don’t think you should have any more…”

Remus pouted. “C’mon, Jan… Let’s ‘t least finish the flask?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Janus tucked it into his satchel, then started collecting the few empty beer bottles and marshmallow packets piled by their feet. “I’ve gotta make sure you don’t die on the way home, and I’d rather it if I didn’t have to carry you.”

“Spoilsport…” Remus complained, but gave up after that. He was fairly certain that the middle Janus - there were three of them now - was the real one, but not certain enough to push his luck. “We goin’ back to yours?”

“I don’t think you currently have the capacity to walk back to your place alone, let alone get in through the window,” Janus replied dryly, leaning down and wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist to pull him to his feet.

Remus woke up the next morning knowing two things. One, that he had never had a worse hangover, and two that his best friend had the misfortune to have a crush on his asshole of a twin.

The latter he could manage - he just had to make sure to warn Janus that Roman would probably just hurt him. The former he could manage as well, given that Janus had handed him some aspirin as soon as he had woken up and kept trying to give him glasses of water, but was a far bigger problem.

“These are really good, Remus.” It was February, and they were in Remus’ room for once. Spending time in Remus’ room had become more difficult now that he no longer had a door that locked or even had a handle, but everybody was out today. Their parents thought that Remus was running errands for a neighbour of Virgil’s - Remy had done an incredibly convincing old-lady impression and had managed to create three afternoons a week where Remus was ‘volunteering’ as payment for breaking some windows - and hadn’t made sure that there was anybody in the house to make sure he didn’t do something stupid.

(Remus wasn’t allowed to be home alone anymore, not since he had succumbed to the overwhelming need to see what would happen when he put various different fruits in the microwave and ended up breaking the thing beyond repair).

Remus was on his stomach, sketchbook open in front of him, working the tail of a cat that was in the process of curling up inside a half-finished open skull, where the brain should be. On the opposite page were several sketches of a possum Remus had found in the woods the other day. Janus was sitting next to him, a psychology textbook open in his lap but clearly no longer of interest to him.

“You really think so?” He tried to keep his voice light, but they could both hear the uncertainty in it. This was the first time Remus had actually allowed Janus to see inside one of his sketchbooks.

“Uh, hell, yes.” Finger hovering just millimeters above the page, Janus traced the curving spine of one of the possum studies, one where the small animal was twisted around and hissing at something behind it. “They’re awesome. I didn’t know you could do this…”

Remus smiled and moved down to add shading to the hollow eye sockets. “You do now.”

“I do.”

Janus squeezed his shoulder gently, and Remus tilted his head to rest it lightly against his hand before straightening his neck and continuing. “I’ve been thinking… When you apply for college, in October… I’ve been thinking about apprenticeships. I’ve borrowed Roman’s laptop and had a look around, and… Well, most places require good grades, but if you look for more arty things…” He knew that Janus hadn’t gone back to his textbook and was staring at him, but he didn’t want to look up just yet. “Well, a lot of tattoo parlours just ask for art portfolios, pretty much. A few basic reading and maths skills, but nothing difficult. Hairdressers ask for similar things, but I refuse to cut hair for a living. Fuck no. God.”

He was trying to deflect from the heart of what he was saying, and they both knew it. Janus didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he plucked the pencil from Remus’ hands and grabbed his shoulders, shaking them gently.

“That sounds brilliant, Rem! Do you know what you’re going to need for your portfolio? Is there anything I can do to help? I will, obviously - and you can get your boss to give you a reference if you need it -” A faint chuckle left Remus, and he sat up. Janus’ enthusiasm was akin to a ball of sunlight, perking him up. It was amazing how much difference it made, having somebody that had faith in him like this.

Things just felt easier, with Janus as his best friend.

When Roman let their dog dash out into the woods and pinned it on Remus, Janus helped him scour the woods whenever he could get free of revising. Although Remus didn’t say a word to Roman, the sudden lack of time in which he could be planning and putting together a sketch portfolio grated on his temper.

He wasn’t about to go and tell his parents that it had been Roman who had let Filo out - but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to sink his fist into Roman’s stomach, his jaw, his teeth, every time he saw him.

Remus had liked Filo. He had really liked her. And now she was probably dead, and it wasn’t Roman’s fault that she had run out (although he could have been more careful) but it hurt that he was taking the blame for it. It hurt that he would get home after ‘school’ - which was sometimes school and sometimes work but never anything more, because if he was late then he ended up getting yelled at again, and it was just easier for that not to happen… - and have to check in with one of his parents, whether by text or in person. It hurt that he was then sent out into the woods behind the house to search until he found the dog, or until it got dark, and not to come back until one of those things happened. It hurt that he had to answer a phone call every hour to make sure that he really was searching (of course he was, and was Roman helping? No, of course he wasn’t) and not just goofing off. It hurt, especially when the long hours of the summer rolled around, that if he arrived home before it got dark then he was sent straight out again, and not allowed dinner until it was properly dark.

When school ended and the holidays began, he spent the mornings working through a never-ending list of chores, and the afternoons still searching for Filo. For the days where he worked at the supermarket, he had persuaded Remy (read, bought Remy coffee every morning for a fortnight) to call his parents pretending to be some irate neighbour demanding Remus help out in his garden as payment for setting his sweet-peas on fire.

It was August when he finally found what remained of the dog.

She was halfway between the quarry and the train tracks, and it was almost impressive that she had made it that far before succumbing to whatever had finally killed her. Remus couldn’t be sure: all that was really left of her was a skeleton, a few scraps of fur and rotted flesh clinging to it in places, and her collar. He hadn’t cried, but it had been a very near thing. Remus had sat with her for almost an hour before finally getting up and heading home to fetch a spade.

He left her collar on the kitchen table when he got back.

It was gone the following morning, as though she had never existed at all - except in Remus’ mind, where her corpse haunted his dreams relentlessly.

Things were quiet after that.

Roman applied to study classics at a number of prestigious colleges. Their parents showered him in praise.

Remus applied to several apprenticeships, all in the same cities as the colleges Janus had applied to (hopefully, when Janus’ first choice accepted him, Remus would discover that he had been accepted to one of the apprenticeships in the same place). He didn’t tell his parents - he didn’t tell anybody other than Janus, although he had a feeling that Virgil knew, and by extension his small collection of dates.

(Virgil knew everything, and it was terrifying. Two days after the bonfire they had had for Janus’ seventeenth birthday, he had turned to Remus and told him to look up asexuality and aromantic to see if either of those helped him. Remus had immediately accused Janus of telling him (although he hadn’t asked him not to, he had hoped that Janus could keep a secret) but both Janus and Virgil denied that that had happened. When Remus had asked how he had known, Virgil had grinned widely and said that his spiders had told him. Creepy. Remus loved it).

The downside of this, of course, was the way that disappointment practically dripped from the walls and ceiling of their home. It wasn’t even as though anybody had been expecting Remus to apply to college, so why his parents were acting as though it was a shock similar to biting into the last candy in a box and discovering that it was coconut (and Remus was always the coconut candy) he had no idea.

He didn’t care. In a year’s time, he would be out of here and away from the twisted, toxic mess that their family had become.

Things didn’t go to plan.

Things never went to plan.

Christmas came and went. Their parents gave Roman a leatherbound collection of his favourite plays, and Remus nothing. Remus, who had started saving money to put toward an apartment, got him a small glass paperweight that looked like a snake, and spent hours on a picture of him, Remus, and Virgil of them that he copied from a picture Patton had taken of them a few months ago. They had been in the woods, leaning over a stream and searching for frogs to poke at. Janus had bought him an encyclopedia of famously gruesome deaths throughout history, and Remus loved it.

Roman got accepted to his favourite of all of the universities he had applied for.

Janus got accepted to his first choice.

Remus, to his great surprise, got an offer from not one but three tattoo parlours, one of which was in the same city as Janus’ course. He accepted that one, ready to start the following September.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, Remus found Janus staring at a box of chocolates in his room when he climbed in through the window. “Are those for us? Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it? I thought this week’s movie was accompanied by sushi.” It was Janus’ favourite, and Remus adored the fact that they were eating raw fish. It was so cool.

Then Janus blushed, and Remus wanted to bury his face in his hands.

“Janus, please tell me they’re not-”

“They’re for Roman,” Janus blurted, and Remus groaned theatrically and threw himself down onto the fluffy rug on the floor as though he had just been shot. Janus chuckled.

“I wouldn’t, Jan, I really… Wouldn’t.” Remus rolled over, still clutching the spot on his stomach where he had been ‘shot’ to look at his friend. Janus had stood up so that he was standing over him, appearing to be upside down.

“You’ve said that before, Rem. And you won’t give me a good reason not to - you’ve told me on multiple occasions that you don’t care that -”

“Correct, I don’t mind care that you want to fuck my brother.” Janus rolled his eyes, and Remus knew he had been planning on saying it a little more delicately. “But I give you the same good reason every time, Jan - he’ll hurt you, and I don’t want to have to kill my own brother. My parents will kick me out for good.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Janus’ voice was suddenly stern, and Remus sighed, sitting up.

“They won’t really. That would bring too much attention, you know that…” Accepting the hand Janus was offering him, Remus got to his feet and followed his friend over to his bed. Sitting down, he waited for Janus to join him before leaning forward to pick up the laptop. Their usual boxes of sushi were on the bedside table. “If you really want to do it, I’m not gonna stop you, I just… I want you to know I’ll pick your side, when it goes wrong and he hurts you. I’ll pick you every time. You’re my best friend.”

Janus had beamed at him. “You’re my best friend too, arms. Now pipe down and pick a movie - I think the eighth one in that zombie series is on Netflix? The one with the gratuitous guts?”

“You know I’m always up for gratuitous guts, softie.” Janus had elbowed him, and Remus elbowed him right back.

In the end, it probably wouldn’t have mattered whether Remus had warned his friend again or not. Janus had been too nervous to give Roman the chocolates and they had ended up eating the box together the day after Valentine’s Day.

And then Remus was eighteen, which meant that in two or three months he would be free of school, and a few months after that he would be starting a new life where people didn’t know him as Roman Wang’s screw-up of a brother.

He was so, so close to getting out, to being free of this hell-forsaken town -

But Roman had to fuck up again, just one last time.

Remus hadn’t even had time to prepare. Usually, he would see the aftermath of hurricane Roman and at least be prepared for his parents’ wrath; this time, he got home after a double shift at work to find Hyun-ki sat at the kitchen table and his mother leaning against the sink, arms folded, both clearly waiting for him.

His voice died in his throat.

He wished it wouldn’t - but it had gotten to the point that whenever he saw the hateful disappointed creases between his father’s eyes, whenever his mother folded her arms and pursed her lips in just that way, his voice fled and it was all he could do to keep his body from following.

“What is this?” Dae’s voice was ice cold as she pointed at a small, clear bag on the table.

As though he were in a dream - no, not a dream, Remus knew what dreams and nightmares were like. As though he were a ghost, Remus approached the table and stared down at it.

The dark green flakes in the bag were easily recognisable as pot. It was as though Remus had gone back in time to the few weeks when he had tried using the stuff to help him sleep - but he had gotten rid of it as soon as he had decided to try to find something better. Which meant that this had to be…

“Roman’s.” He hadn’t realised that he had said it: the words had left his mouth without permission, and oh, wasn’t now just the worst time for his voice to show up?

If it had been just his mother, he might have gotten away with it. She was far enough away, and his voice was so quiet… But his father was right beside him, and he heard the word as clearly as if Remus had shouted it.

“Don’t you dare blame your brother for this!”

Oh, the irony, Remus thought, and, I guess we’re going straight to shouting.

It only took a few minutes for the words his parents were shouting to cease making any sort of sense. After that, it was just Remus, just Remus and a wave of sound that hurt his head, and then he was nodding, because what else was he supposed to do? Tell the truth and be accused of making more excuses?

He opened his mouth to try to force some words out - anything, anything from “I’m sorry” to “I’m a rather well known drug dealer by now, please call the cops” - and nothing came.

What was going on? Now Roman was in the doorway to the kitchen, and the shouting had stopped.

Remus blinked hard, and intelligible sound returned to his surroundings.

“-sweet of you, saja saekki, but he brought this on himself.”

“But - but he’s… He’s your son,” Roman protested. What a strange thing to say, Remus mused. Roman had never bothered trying to stick up for him before.

“Not anymore.” That was his father, and Remus must have heard wrong, because that just didn’t make any sense.

Then his parents turned back to him with twin glares, and Dae made a flapping motion toward the door with one hand. “Why are you still here? We told you to go.”

Roman was staring at him, stricken, and Remus could suddenly hear his own heartbeat in his ears. “G… Go?” He whispered, and his mother looked even more irritated than before.

“Get out of here, Remus! You’re not welcome here - you bring shit like this under our roof, and you expect us to welcome you in with open-” And then the shouting was too much again, and Remus didn’t hear anything else.

Instead, he turned and headed back toward the door. It felt like walking through treacle, thick, sticky, unreal. His father was standing by the doormat, one hand outstretched, and Remus stared at him for a long second before figuring out what he wanted. Digging in his pocket, he dropped his house keys into Hyun-ki’s palm, and watched his fingers close around them.

Then the door was open, and he was outside.

Now what?

Remus made it a few steps, then found that he was sitting down.

It was getting dark. Could he walk over to Janus’? He didn’t think his legs would carry him that far. No one part of his body felt like it was connecting to any other anymore.

There was a snap in front of him, and he flinched back. Roman was right in front of him. How long had he… It didn’t matter.

Roman was saying something, and Remus nodded, because what else was he supposed to do? Nodding was easy. If he could just go along with whatever was happening now, maybe it would be over soon.

Maybe he would wake up, screaming, and find that this was all just a nightmare.

There was something cold in his hand. Looking down, Remus found that Roman had pressed something black and oblong into his palm - his car keys. Roman had given Remus his… Car keys?

Now he was pulling Remus to his feet, and suddenly there was a blanket in his arms.

Then Roman had gone.

That was… Weird.

Remus just stood there for several long seconds.

Then it occurred to him that if Roman had given him his car keys and a blanket, maybe he meant for Remus to spend the night in the car. That didn’t seem unreasonable - a little out of character for Roman, but maybe he was changing. It wasn’t as though he had ever tried to stick up for Remus before, either.

Even so, the inside of the car was cold and lonely, made even worse by the numbness filling Remus’ stomach.

Eventually, it occurred to him that he should probably tell Janus what had happened. Not because there was anything Janus could do, of course, but because… Well, Remus didn’t really know. Janus was his best friend. He’d probably want to know.

<Parents found weed in Roman’s room. Been kicked out. Sleeping in Roman’s car for tonight.>

<Sent 21:48>

It was only a few seconds before his phone beeped in response.

<What the FUCK>

<No you are not>

<I’m coming to get you, you can stay at mine>

<Where’s the car? You’re not walking alone>

<Sent 21:49>

Remus bit down on his lower lip.

<I can walk alone.>

<Sent 21:49>

He didn’t want to - and he wasn’t entirely sure his limbs would last that long, either. Janus seemed to know he wasn’t being entirely truthful. It wasn’t easy, lying to Janus.

<Stay where you are, I’ll be right there.>

<Sent 21:50>

<Just outside my place. Bright red car. Can’t miss it.>

<Sent 21:52>

Then time did that strange skip again, and Janus was knocking on the car window. Remus scrambled for the handle to open the door, and he slid into the passenger seat beside him and hugged him. Remus hugged back. Janus smelled faintly of alcohol - wine? What day was it - Friday? Remus wasn’t sure.

“Are you alright?” Remus nodded, and Janus raised his eyebrows.

“...No,” he admitted.

“Let’s get back to mine. We can figure out what to do long-term from there, okay?”

Remus nodded slowly, allowing Janus to pull away from him to walk around the car and slide into the driver’s seat. Key in the ignition - and then Remus’ hand on Janus’ shoulder. “You sure you should drive? Don’t mind walking…”

“Rem, you look like it’s taking all your energy to keep speaking right now. I’m not making you walk. I’m not really drunk, okay? It’ll be fine.” Leaning over, Janus took the blanket that had fallen by his feet and wrapped it around Remus’ shoulders, then squeezed his hand gently. “You hold tight. It’s going to be okay.”

Remus nodded, too tired to care anymore. It was easy to just lean back in his seat, let Janus put the car into gear, and pull out from the kerbside.

Janus made light conversation as they drove. Remus found that he didn’t listen to most of it, focusing instead on the comforting sound of Janus’ voice itself and allowing the warmth in it to melt the numbness filling him into a deep, cool wave of misery.

He had just been kicked out. He had never thought that that would… He had never thought they would actually kick him out. He had been planning on leaving in a few months, yes, but… Didn’t you already need an address to get an apartment? And he couldn’t just live at Janus’ place full time. His parents would find out, and he’d get in trouble… Maybe Remy would let him stay with him and Virgil?

Remus lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, and found that his face was wet. He was crying. The second he realised it, he couldn’t stop realising it, couldn’t stop the tears dripping down his cheeks or the sobs building in his throat. He tried to stay quiet, but a hand on his knee suggested that he hadn’t done a very good job. That was the third time he cried in front of Janus Sinclaire.

“Remus, Remus, I’m so, so sorry…” Remus turned his head to find that Janus was looking at him, one had on the wheel to keep them going straight, the other rubbing his leg gently.  “It’s going to be okay. We’ll sort something out, I promise… You can let yourself cry, it’s-”

That was when

the world

ended.

-

Remus awoke to the smell of smoke and something burning, and the feeling that he had just been slammed face-first into a wall. Everything hurt. Everything was much too warm.

Groaning, he opened his eyes, and found that there was a strange, red tint to the world. Wiping his hand across his face revealed a cut on his forehead that throbbed painfully and had been dripping blood into his eyes - when had that gotten there?

Then he realised that he was still in the car, and that an orange, flickery light was illuminating the cracked windscreen before him. Had they… Had they crashed?

Fumbling awkwardly, Remus undid his seatbelt and scrabbled for the car door, pushing it open. There was a crackling in his ears as he crawled out of the wreck that had once been Roman’s gorgeous car, and it took him several long seconds to realise that it wasn’t just his brain. It was coming from the mess behind him.

Remus turned his head.

The car was burning.

How had he not noticed that before?

Where was Janus?

The driver’s side door was still closed - he could just about see it through the flames feasting on the car’s bonnet. Did that mean - 

When he saw the dark shape still in the driver’s seat, Remus felt his heart stop.

He was moving back toward the car before he even knew what he was doing, feeling his fingers blister on the hot metal as he jerked the door open.

It wasn’t just the car that was on fire, the grass around them. Janus’ clothes were on fire, that stupid hat he was always wearing was burning away merrily on his head, and the side of his face nearest Remus was already scorched and blackened, and Remus was certain he would never forget this image for as long as he lived.

He was glad for the hours he spent hauling boxes at the back of the supermarket. It meant that he was strong enough to carry what he really, really hoped wasn’t his friend’s corpse away from the acrid-smelling bonfire.

Janus’ phone was in his pocket, miraculously untouched by the flames, and Remus stared at the lockscreen for a long second. It was a picture Janus had taken when he had gone to visit his college, long before he had applied, when he had decided that that was where he wanted to be.

If Remus didn’t get an ambulance there fast, he didn’t think Janus would see it again.

Janus was breathing now, he could tell, but only just. It sounded painful, and Remus looked down as he dialled the emergency number to find that Janus’ eyes were open, one of them reddened and stark against the burned skin around it.

“Don’t worry, Jan, you’re - you’re gonna be okay, it’s -”

“Emergency services, how can we help you?”

Remus was crying again. He could see the tears dripping down onto Janus’ face - and Janus didn’t seem to be able to feel them. It didn’t look as though his eyes were focusing.

An ambulance wasn’t going to get there fast enough.

“P-Police! And an ambulance - I just saw two boys hit a - a telephone pole, the - the car’s on fire, I think the - the passenger, I think he’s seriously injured -” Remy had been teaching him to disguise his voice.

Janus was frowning beneath him, mouth moving and only strains of air whistling between his teeth.

“I - I think the driver was that kid - that kid, the bad one, Wang, Remus Wang, I think he’s killed somebody-”

Now Janus was shaking his head, and those horrible, silent tears were still coursing down Remus’ face.

“We’ll have somebody with you as soon as possible, sir. Could you give us your name and location, please?”

Remus looked around desperately, and was lucky enough to see a street sign almost immediately. He rattled it off, and then hung up, attention returning to Janus.

It looked as though Janus was struggling to breathe. It looked as though he were only seconds from passing out again, but he must have been conscious enough to hear the conversation, because his mouth formed the single word, “why?”

Remus let out a shaky laugh. “Police’ll get here faster. Ambulance’s gonna be too slow. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Not letting anything bad happen to you - ‘n they’re gonna want to arrest someone. You just gotta sit tight, okay? I’m gonna handle this. ‘S all gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine. It was my fault, it was all my fault, jus’ tell them that, okay? You’re gonna be fine, Jan. You’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay. It’s all…”

Janus’ eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Remus had never been more terrified than he was in that moment.

And then he could hear sirens in the distance, getting louder.

They were going to arrest him - but Janus would be okay. They would take Janus to a hospital, they would make sure he was okay, and that was all Remus needed. As long as Janus lived, as long as Janus got to keep his future, Remus didn’t care what happened to him.

When the police car arrived, ambulance in tow, releasing Janus’ still form and allowing himself to be cuffed was the easiest decision Remus had ever made.

Taglist:

@bloodymari-0666

#roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #AccidentsHappenAU #drug and alcohol use and misuse #suicide attempt tw #referenced self harm tw #nonbinary logan #trans patton #this was meant to be 6k #why is it so long #i was possessed by the spirit of writing