Hi, I'm Pat ^-^ I like writing fanfics, but very often never finish longer ones. So I've been writing a lot of drabbles lately, of which you will hopefully find a handful on this blog in the near future. The drabbles posted so far are mostly about • bands (Queen, The Beatles, Fall Out Boy and Twenty One Pilots) • movies & games (FFXV, Star Trek, and X-Men) Ships include Joger, Mclennon, Peterick, Trohley, Joshler, RegClar, CorNyx, McKirk and Cherik. c; However, I also write gen fics/drabbles on occasion. ^^
Title: Very Distinguished
Fandom: One Piece
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 546
Summary: Luffy acquires a moustache. Law finds himself speechless.
AO3 ❤
With a crash and subsequent tumble, Law found his back hitting the deck of the Sunny the moment he appeared on board.
Luffy was grinning down at him happily, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Law's nerves stand on end. Before he could even start to guess what the Strawhat was planning, he saw it himself.
It was neigh impossible not to.
The monstrosity of what looked like Strawhat's best imitation of the famous Gol D. Roger's mustache sat over his lips, and he tugged at it with a grin as he held Law's (now horrified) gaze.
“Do you like it, Torao?” Luffy cocked his head to the side as he waited for Law to find his words again.
Law had nearly forgotten where they were until he heard the cook comment from further down the deck “Cat got his tongue, huh?”, receiving a grunt from the swordsman in response.
Doubly mortified, Law weakly breathed out a “Why?”, still unable to tear his gaze away.
He couldn't possibly see how this was a good idea. When had Strawhat-ya even started to grow facial hair? He had never looked the type to grow any for a long time yet. Had they truly not seen each other for so long?
“Shi-shi-shi, Torao, you should see your face right now!” Luffy snickered and his hands left Law's chest and found his own as his laughter inexplicably lightened the pressure in Law's chest.
“Eh?”
“I'm sorry, Torao, but I wanted to see how you'd react when you'd see it!” There were tears of laughter in the corner of Luffy's eyes and Law still didn't understand.
Until Luffy reached up and removed the mustache with a swift pull.
“Ah.”
Relief flooded through him as Luffy nodded in apparent agreement, explaining: “Usopp made it! I thought it grand but everyone else hated it so I never get to put it on! But it does make me look dist- desti- dige- … Robin!” He turned and called over his shoulder. Law felt his legs starting to grow cold under the pressure of Luffy still holding him firmly on the ground as Nico Robin answered her captain dutifully.
“Distinguished is the word you want, captain.”
“Thank you! Anyway-“ The warmth of Luffy's smile was turned back towards him and hit him like the sunlight after weeks spent underwater.
“It's all good fun, right?” When Law didn't answer immediately, a pout and the hint of a frown appeared on his yet-again boyish face. Law knew that eventually Luffy too would show signs of aging, but it wouldn't be today. But for now, none of his adventures and fights showed on his face bar one. So he leaned up at the same time Luffy leaned down, and pressed his lips briefly to the scar below Luffy's left eye.
“Luffy-ya...” He sighed, but there was an undeniable tug on the corner of his lips, and his hands found Luffy's waist, the presence of the Strawhat crew around them be damned. “Don't ever change.”
And with another burst of laughter, Luffy leaned in and locked lips with him again.
What a silly mustache. As if he'd need that. He was going to be the King of the Pirates, no matter what.
Shachi is staring in fascination from where they're standing at the shore as Penguin turns towards Nico Robin, who appeared next to him a few moments ago.
"What do you think is going on over there?"
Robin gives the scene in front of them a proper moment of consideration, Law's face painfully twisted, the deep pink flush unable to be hidden under his hat's brim. Luffy, on their own ship, is listening in rapt attention, grin wide and the wind ruffling through his hair as he's holding onto the railing.
"It looks like Torao-kun is having a heart attack."
She smirks, and Penguin can't hold back a snicker.
"I think he's finally trying to confess to Luffy."
Title: Reaching Out
Fandom: Discworld
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 721
Summary: His outstretched hand was met with another slow blink, then a groan.
A/N: By this year’s 25th of May, I have finally read Night Watch, so have a fic for a little post-battle headcanon I have of Vetinari and Vimes meeting for the first time. <3 This goes along with a sketch I made for it, which you can find here. ❤
AO3
One of the late Sergeant Keel's men was still lying at the far end of the street, folded up in a way that suggested that someone had given him a right smack to his forehead knocked him out cold. Havelock glanced at him briefly and paused when he saw the young man stir.
Putting his blades back carefully, he walked over. The lilac he had held between his teeth until now – now somewhat limp and stained with some blood splatters – he took into his hand.
As he walked down the street, he wondered if Madam already knew. She probably did, having had her finger on the pulse of the city ever since she had moved to Ankh-Morpork.
He considered what had happened. He had failed.
This was a new (and entirely unpleasant) experience for Havelock. He decided then that the only way forward was by moving on (and learning from the mistakes that had been made that day).
As he arrived at the other end of the street, he saw that he had been right- there was quite a big red bruise on the young man's forehead. One of Ms. Goodbody’s finest, Havelock added in thought as he looked at him. The Watch didn't use them, although he was sure it was only a matter of time for them to catch on.
No, this was the weapon of a man surprised, who had to act quick. The Unmentionables had been the chasers at first, they were not surprised- until Keel charged, at last.
Now, Keel, however?
The man had been somewhat of a riddle to Havelock, who usually took pride in being quick and accurate at reading people. But if there was something that had been clear as day even so, it was that he had been fiercely protective of his men.
Keel, he might have wanted that kid out of the way, out of harm's way.
A groan made Havelock lean back and straighten his already straightened back ever so slightly.
“Where-”
A confused blink.
“Am I- ?“
“You are quite alive, Lance-Constable. The same can't be said of everyone else... unfortunately.”
His outstretched hand was met with another slow blink, then a groan. A hand came to the other man's forehead.
“Gods, this hurts.”
But just as Havelock started to feel a stirring of impatience, the other hand reached out and held onto his, allowed him pull the short, lanky man to his sandaled feet.
A startle went through the Lance-Constable, even as he was still swaying and trying to keep his footing.
“You- you're an-”
“I'm here inofficially.”
The other man's gaze suddenly dropped as he spotted a hint of purple at the assassin's side.
The lilac.
Havelock was holding onto it more tightly than was wise. Some petals had started to fall off already. He had noticed, of course, but felt unable to unclench his hand right then. He would deal with this later.
“You should go join your comrades, Lance-Constable.”
He turned to go; Madame was surely waiting already. And here he was talking to an easily blindsided young watchman, who really way lucky to have survived this day. Why did Keel save this kid?
He took another step when- “Wait! What- what is your name?”
The man surely must've realized how incredibly stupid it was to ask that, given only assassins out to get you would possibly give you their name in advance, like a business card you didn't even ask for in the first place.
And yet, seeing both fear and determination written clearly all over his face, Havelock made a decision.
“Havelock Vetinari.”
The kid barely hesitated before pointing to himself. “Sam Vimes.”
“Pleasure, I'm certain,” Vetinari said. His gaze rested on Sam Vimes for a moment before it briefly flicked up to the rooftops, considering the what path to take. Quite some time had passed already since Madame had sent him to save Keel. It really was time to report back to her.
“I’m afraid I have to leave now, so do not let me detain you.”
Sam looked like he had many more questions he wanted to ask, but a spell of dizziness made him see stars for a moment. By the time his sight returned, the young assassin was already disappearing between two houses, making a beeline for the rooftops.
Title: Top Hats and Goatees
Fandom: Professor Layton games
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 379
Summary: The young man is waiting for a second, not wanting to startle the man. Then he says in a normal voice: “Professor.” And then, when seemingly not heard: “Professor Layton!”
A/N: Here's a ficlet I wrote last November, which started out as a sort of cut-scene script. Given the announcement of the new game (wooo :D ) I though I ought to finally post it. ^^ Please enjoy ❤
AO3
Fifteen to twenty years after Luke moved away, he is finally a gentleman of his own right. Prof. Dr. Triton just spent an adventure of his own searching for his old mentor. At last, he seems to have finally found him.
The scene is set in a cozy, semi-dark café.
We are looking over a young man’s shoulder. We see little of him, but his shoulders are pulled back a little, as if in anticipation. At the end of the room, next to one of the café’s wooden walls, a man in his late forties or early to mid-fifties sits, holding the cup of tea he is drinking to his lips. There is a top hat placed on the table beside him, as the café is too small to have a wardrobe for its guests.
The young man is waiting for a second, not wanting to startle the man.
Then he says in a normal voice: “Professor.” And then, when seemingly not heard: “Professor Layton!”
He steps closer.
The man puts down his cup of tea and looks up at him.
“Yes? And you are, young man?”
His eyes widen almost comically, but to the young man, they still do so in a gentlemanly manner.
“Luke? Luke, is that you?”
The man stands up and turns fully toward the younger man.
Luke’s face breaks into a smile as he nods.
“It is me, Professor. It’s so good to see you again, I’ve been searching for you so long.”
Layton takes in his sight: he looks travel-worn.
And...
As he gestures for Luke to sit down in the empty chair opposite of him, he has to ask: “Is that a monocle? And a beard?”
Luke gives a small, sheepish grin.
“It does help make people take you more seriously.”
He nervously tugs a little on the goatee, pulling off a corner before he catches himself doing so and presses it on again.
“I do not look silly, do I?”
Layton smiles at him kindly.
“You don’t, Luke. And I understand.”
He looks almost younger now that he has proven himself to the world over and over again and at last seems to be enjoying some time off from solving mysteries.
“You wouldn’t believe the wonders a top hat can do.”
Title: Fly High, Kid
Fandom: FFXV
Series: Big Sister Aranea ‘verse (Extras: 1/?)
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 414
Summary: She gives him a sloppy two-finger salute, which Cor has by now learned means he is not to have too high expectations.
A/N: Idk, I just really wanted to write a little space AU for my fave found family. <3 (This series isn’t discontinued, btw, I just need some free time to edit the next parts, aaah) Please enjoy ❤
AO3
Aranea tosses her little brother up into what looks to the untrained (toddler) eye like the infinity of space. She waits just long enough for him to giggle gleefully and reach for her with his tiny arms before she starts up her thruster pack and flies up to catch him.
(It is perfectly safe and easy to walk through space flat locks or propel yourself right from one end to the other with a well-placed jump. There are also handholds for those who can’t jump or are less experienced at crossing space locks. But where is the fun when you can use an ultra-light thruster pack instead?
That was Regis’s reasoning when he gave Aranea her own thruster pack for her last birthday.
“Rich kid,” Cor had said and Regis had chuckled.
Aranea had looked at them with wide eyes. Had Cor just... called the king of their federation a “rich kid”?
She hadn’t known them as well back then as she does now.
“I wouldn’t like him if he couldn’t take the truth,” Cor had only said as a matter of explanation.
Regis had smiled brightly at that.
“Or if I had sued you the day you almost destroyed my brand new ship.”
“The beginning of a wonderful friendship,” Cor had replied deadpan.
“Ya’ll are weird,” Aranea had muttered and had shown Prompto her shiny new thruster pack.)
She hugs him to her chest and decides to let the movement carry them to the end of the lock that connects the kitchen and the living room. Cor, having heard Prompto’s giggles, appears from the kitchen’s gate behind them.
Prompto decides at this moment to puke.
Cor sighs and turns around to get the vacuum cleaner.
“Nea, please be careful not to toss your brother around right after lunch.”
She gives him a sloppy two-finger salute, which Cor has by now learned means he is not to have too high expectations.
Ah yes.
What was he thinking the day he took in the two ragtag kids drifting around in an abandoned, half-wrecked Nif space freighter?
...he was thinking of his own time as a hitchhiking teen dodging fares when he couldn’t afford to get from one location to another is what. Of his own first abandoned, wrecked spaceship that he nearly crashed into Regis’s luxury vessel is what.
They’re his kids now and he swears to himself every day that they won’t ever have to worry about having a place called home again.
Title: The Great Escape
Fandom: FFXV
Series: Big Sister Aranea ‘verse (4/?)
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1731
Summary: One week later, they had only begun stuffing their pockets with dry rations and protein bars when a loud bang from the other side of the facility had them both stop dead in their tracks. Heavy boots could be heard stomping through the building as doors were opened and closed again. Somewhere, someone was whistling.
A/N: A bit of an interlude in which we meet two young runaway royals! Luna is around ten, Ravus around thirteen years old in this verse. This is the third (fourth, if you count the drabble here) fic in the Big Sister Aranea verse! :D I’m so sorry it’s been so long, but some kind comments over on AO3 made me remember that I meant to get back to editing and posting the next parts months ago, aaaah. The title of this intallment comes from the song of the same name by We Are Scientists. Thank you as always to @moonraccoon-exe for the advice and encouragement to post this as a series of fics! <3 Please enjoy ❤
AO3
Ravus spent a good three months blaming the king of Lucis for what had happened, for his mother’s death as well as the predicament he and Luna found themselves in these days.
“She is right – the king wasn’t aware of the impending attack when he visited with his son. He wasn’t able to save your mother, and returning to you would have, unquestionably, led to the downfall of both Tenebrae and Lucis.”
Ravus sighed heavily as he avoided Gentiana’s gentle gaze. He knew that she was right. That Luna was right, and yet... Their mother’s death still weighted heavily on his heart and mind.
“Perhaps, yes.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Ravus could avoid Gentiana, but not his little sister’s inquiring gaze. She sounded nervous, but also set on changing their current situation. He turned around to look at her directly.
“We can’t fight them... They’re everywhere. They control all our public appearances and everything we do in between.”
It felt hopeless. But then Luna took his hand and gave him a reassuring smile she shouldn’t have to put on at her young age, even less so for her older brother. Ravus felt the fog in his mind, the feeling of numbness that had been present there ever since the attack, clear a little. For his sister, he was willing to try.
“We can’t fight them, but... we can run.”
He wasn’t willing to put as much trust in King Regis as Luna did yet, but he knew that Lucis was currently safer for them than Tenebrae. If they could only make it to the border, board a ship and cross the sea... Things might just get better at last.
He gulped and glanced at Gentiana before speaking up, feeling oddly like she was more certain of this decision than he was.
“We’ll leave and make for Lucis and everything will be alright.”
He squeezed Luna’s hand and tried to give her his most reassuring look. Luna nodded, firm in her belief in both the plan and her brother.
Later, long after Gentiana had left them again, Ravus lay awake in bed at night and began to devise a plan.
*
One week later, they had only begun stuffing their pockets with dry rations and protein bars when a loud bang from the other side of the facility had them both stop dead in their tracks.
Heavy boots could be heard stomping through the building as doors were opened and closed again. Somewhere, someone was whistling.
Ravus was the first to react.
He dropped the rations he had only grabbed from the shelf and took Luna’s hand in his, pulling her along as he broke into a run.
They reached the storage room they had come through soon after and Ravus helped her up into the ventilation shaft. They had accessed the Southern part of the facility this way when the doors wouldn’t open for them.
“Hide,” he ordered her.
The heavy steps seemed to have already crossed half the building and were coming closer by the minute. They weren’t running, but they were clearly searching. Whether they knew whom they were searching or had simply been alarmed of intruders in the facility, time would tell soon enough. But first, Luna had to get out of there.
“You have to be quiet and quick,” Ravus told her. “Don’t make unnecessary noise and once you’ve reached the entrance, you have to run for the woods and hide there, okay?”
Luna only looked at her brother with big eyes and a quivering lip. She was hungry, tired and scared and what her brother had just said sounded an awful lot like—
“You aren’t coming?”
He shook his head.
“They’d keep searching if we both left. We have to get them off our track, which means only one of us gets to go.”
Luna would, under different circumstances, surly have been able to think up a dozen reasons why this reasoning was stupid, but she was hungry, tired and scared and Ravus wasn’t following her into the ventilation shaft.
“I love you.” He reached for the necklace that now was a wristband dangling from her arm and clasped a hand around it for a moment. Please protect her. He then pressed a kiss to her forehead, with a feeling on finality.
“Get to safety. I’ll follow once I find a way.”
With that, he closed the ventilation shaft behind her.
“Go!”
And Luna, albeit still dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events and feeling like crying at leaving her brother behind, the only family she had left, started to crawl through the ventilation shaft, as quietly and quickly as she could.
*
Ravus looked outside and saw that the hallway leading to the storage room still was empty. He ran down the hallway as quietly as he could and slipped into another storage room several rooms down.
After quickly taking in the room, made up of three fairly empty shelves and a bunch of scattered cleaning utensils, he hid underneath a canvas cover behind the shelves. As the heavy steps neared the hallway, he crouched down and felt, more than saw, his elbow bumping into a broom leaning against the wall next to him.
For a long moment, he wasn’t sure if it had been enough to alert the attention of the people outside, but when a chain reaction also had a small bucket topple over, the footfalls and the eerie whistling outside in the hallway stopped.
Someone was saying something, but Ravus couldn’t make out the exact words.
As he tried to make himself even smaller and pulled the canvas cover more tightly over himself, he started to wonder if he had done the right thing.
What if the people outside knew who they were searching for? What if they wouldn’t stop searching even after finding him? And what... what would Luna do, all on her own now?
He felt hopelessness take hold of him and for once didn’t hold back when the tears started to pinch in the corners of his eyes.
Gentiana.
*
The people entering the room didn’t search long. The eerie whistling had started up again after the door had opened, and soon the person responsible for the noise pulled the canvas cover away from Ravus.
It was the chancellor.
“Oh my, look who we’ve got here.”
His smile looked like it could kill you if he wanted to, but Ravus tried to hold his gaze nevertheless. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. This was one of the people responsible for his mother’s death.
He turned his head away after only seconds.
“Why don’t you get up, dear, and tell us where your little sister is. You both must be terribly hungry and tired, I’m sure.”
He seemed to notice the plastic wrappers looking out of Ravus’s pockets.
“Living on ration bars, huh? Terribly clever of you.”
He took Ravus by the shoulders and pulled him up, not caring that the boy was tensing under his touch.
As he came to stand on both his feet, his balance somewhat wonky, Ravus noticed the group of MTs standing at attention and blocking the entrance to the room. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of six pairs of red eyes focused on him.
“Now, how about you finally start talking and tell me where your sister is, hm?”
Ardyn Izunia was smiling again, but this time Ravus managed to hold his gaze.
He clenched his teeth and ignored the feeling of tears starting to cool on his face.
“We got separated.”
He didn’t need to act to make his voice sound quiet, shaken. He genuinely felt as miserable as he hoped would be enough to make it seem believable.
“Ah, hm.” The man was scratching his chin in thought, but Ravus felt certain it was also only an act. Still, he rubbed off the cold tears and waited.
“You aren’t especially talkative. I think I’ve heard that said before. Alright then, come along.”
Ravus followed quietly and without haste. He didn’t walk slowly, as that was sure likely to raise suspicion, but the faster he walked, the less time Luna had to escape and hide.
“Say,” the chancellor started. “Your sister isn’t hiding in this building as well, is she?”
Ravus didn’t reply, but the chancellor apparently didn’t expect him to anymore. He could feel the man’s calculating gaze on him but tried to ignore the uneasy feeling.
“So, nobody would get hurt if I were to, say... set fire to this facility?”
Ravus tried really hard not to react. He didn’t turn to look at the grin that he was certain was plastered on the chancellor’s face.
“No.”
His voice felt thick in his throat and he continued walking. The chancellor did as well, after a moment.
“Alright, if you say so, Your Highness.”
Ravus growled at the sudden title and the memories it brought back.
The man laughed a small laugh.
“And here I thought you’d appreciate the formality. See, you won’t be hurt when we return to Tenebrae. I promise—” He lifted a hand and placed it over his heart as they left the building. Ravus didn’t believe a word of his but he doubted anything would get the man to shut up, really. “—the same would be extended to your sister, but alas. Since she is gone—”
He snapped and something inside the building... reacted. Smoke started to emerge from the main door and rise through open windows, and a heat wave rolled over them as the chancellor placed an arm over Ravus’s shoulder and pushed him along, smiling his terrifying smile.
“—no one but Iedolas will mind. And quite frankly, one batch less of his pathetic experiment won’t hurt the army, really.”
The chancellor seemed to be addressing no one in particular.
All of a sudden, he turned toward Ravus again.
“Are you sure your sister isn’t in there?”
Ravus felt terrible. He thought – he hoped and prayed – that Luna had made it out in time. He was almost certain that she’d had enough time to make it. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she hadn’t.
So he had to hold onto the hope that she was safe.
“Yes.”
He would go and find her the second he’d be able to run again.
She is snarling. The beast is snarling back at her. Good, she thinks. She bares her teeth a bit more and falls into a fighting stance that’ll allow her to easily attack or dodge depending on how the creature will react.
She doesn’t take her eyes off it, but she feels comforted by the fact that Prompto is quietly snoring against her chest, safe in his rag-cocoon, unseen by the beast and still blissfully unaware of the danger.
A year ago, she would have fought everything daring to threaten her. She was proud of having survived so far.
But now she is trying to avoid fights unless there really is no other option. She has promised to herself (and the baby, even if he didn’t understand a word of it) that she’ll keep him safe and alive and so far, she has never broken a promise.
She especially isn’t going to break this one, so she won’t start today.
She snarls again and pulls out her daggers when the beast breaks into a sprint.
Title: Darkness
Fandom: FFXV
Series: Big Sister Aranea ‘verse (2/?)
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 586
Summary: It was dark. It had been dark for a while already and he hadn’t minded much, had gone back to sleep when nothing had changed whenever he had woken up. But now he was starting to grow hungry and grumpy and he started moving around as well as he could in the little space he had.
A/N: The second fic in the Big Sister Aranea verse! :D This one’s a short one, but I really wanted to write a fic for this series from little Prompto’s POV, as well, and Aranea finding him at an abandoned Niflheim factory seemed like a good fit for that. ^^ The fics of this verse are loosely connected and focus Aranea and her found family consisting of Prompto, Luna and Cor. Thank you @moonraccoon-exe for the advice and encouragement to post this as a series of fics! <3 Please enjoy ❤
AO3
It was dark.
It had been dark for a while already and he hadn’t minded much, had gone back to sleep when nothing had changed whenever he had woken up. But now he was starting to grow hungry and grumpy and he started moving around as well as he could in the little space he had.
He couldn’t hear anyone though. Just the usual hum of some of the things filling the room when there was light, although it was much more quiet now.
He had no idea of the passage of time, but it was a long while later when muffled sounds came from …somewhere else. From somewhere that was not here.
He heard whatever it was approach and readied himself. Maybe he’d be given food soon. It was never a pleasant affair and he hated the tubes that they attached to his sides for that, but he would not cause trouble today if only he was fed soon.
Another short while later, the noise had become much louder and, with a start, light flickered on. He couldn’t see anything for a while then, the sudden brightness stung his eyes and made them water. During that time, he could hear an awful screeching sound and something on the other side of the room shifted.
He blinked several times and saw a small head poke through.
It wasn’t one of the usual ones. This wasn’t one of the usual ones and he started to feel distressed. What if she wouldn’t feed him?
The girl on the other side of the room took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but she seemed distressed herself. After a moment, she closed her eyes and put a hand over her face. Maybe she was hungry too? He didn’t know.
He had moved closer to the bars in the front, curiosity piqued. He fell forward, however, and one of his hands hit a bar. He let out a wail at the sudden pain. Things weren’t going well and he was tired and all this just added to the pile of things upsetting him.
He started to feel sad all of a sudden. The growing hunger in his stomach was almost the most upsetting thing right now, but not the worst. He felt so alone. He didn’t know why, just that there was an overwhelming sense of loneliness gnawing on his insides, on his heart.
He started crying, not noticing how the bars in front of him started shaking, not hearing the distressed words falling from the young girl’s lips or her frantic footsteps as she left him again, searching for something.
When two short arms wrapped around him, he all but choked on his tears, his sadness. Her eyes were big and green and filled with worry and fear, but she held him close and gently rocked him nevertheless.
It wasn’t good.
But it 4was better than before and he let his head drop against her chest, blubbering out another wave of sadness.
He let himself relax when, for the first time he remembered, someone carefully petted his head. The girl was running her hand through the little hair he had and kept rocking him as she walked around the room, sometimes tiptoeing, looking around.
“It’s gonna be alright, shortcake. It’s gonna be alright.”
Her voice didn’t sound as if she was very sure of that herself, but for the moment, he chose to believe her and, once again, closed his eyes.
Hi! I love your MASH fanfics, especially the ones with Charles and Hawkeye. Are you writing any more of them?
Hi there! ^^/
First off, thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I‘m glad to hear that you enjoy my fics (and art too, apparently!), especially my MASH ones with Charles and Hawk <3333 To answer your question - it’s pretty likely! I can’t say when exactly, especially since this year has been pretty busy for me, but I’ve loved MASH since I was a kid, so I always keep returning to the fandom and my ships within. ^-^ <333
Title: Darkness
Fandom: FFXV
Series: Big Sister Aranea ‘verse (2/?)
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 586
Summary: It was dark. It had been dark for a while already and he hadn’t minded much, had gone back to sleep when nothing had changed whenever he had woken up. But now he was starting to grow hungry and grumpy and he started moving around as well as he could in the little space he had.
A/N: The second fic in the Big Sister Aranea verse! :D This one’s a short one, but I really wanted to write a fic for this series from little Prompto’s POV, as well, and Aranea finding him at an abandoned Niflheim factory seemed like a good fit for that. ^^ The fics of this verse are loosely connected and focus Aranea and her found family consisting of Prompto, Luna and Cor. Thank you @moonraccoon-exe for the advice and encouragement to post this as a series of fics! <3 Please enjoy ❤
AO3
It was dark.
It had been dark for a while already and he hadn’t minded much, had gone back to sleep when nothing had changed whenever he had woken up. But now he was starting to grow hungry and grumpy and he started moving around as well as he could in the little space he had.
He couldn’t hear anyone though. Just the usual hum of some of the things filling the room when there was light, although it was much more quiet now.
He had no idea of the passage of time, but it was a long while later when muffled sounds came from ...somewhere else. From somewhere that was not here.
He heard whatever it was approach and readied himself. Maybe he’d be given food soon. It was never a pleasant affair and he hated the tubes that they attached to his sides for that, but he would not cause trouble today if only he was fed soon.
Another short while later, the noise had become much louder and, with a start, light flickered on. He couldn’t see anything for a while then, the sudden brightness stung his eyes and made them water. During that time, he could hear an awful screeching sound and something on the other side of the room shifted.
He blinked several times and saw a small head poke through.
It wasn’t one of the usual ones. This wasn’t one of the usual ones and he started to feel distressed. What if she wouldn’t feed him?
The girl on the other side of the room took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but she seemed distressed herself. After a moment, she closed her eyes and put a hand over her face. Maybe she was hungry too? He didn’t know.
He had moved closer to the bars in the front, curiosity piqued. He fell forward, however, and one of his hands hit a bar. He let out a wail at the sudden pain. Things weren’t going well and he was tired and all this just added to the pile of things upsetting him.
He started to feel sad all of a sudden. The growing hunger in his stomach was almost the most upsetting thing right now, but not the worst. He felt so alone. He didn’t know why, just that there was an overwhelming sense of loneliness gnawing on his insides, on his heart.
He started crying, not noticing how the bars in front of him started shaking, not hearing the distressed words falling from the young girl’s lips or her frantic footsteps as she left him again, searching for something.
When two short arms wrapped around him, he all but choked on his tears, his sadness. Her eyes were big and green and filled with worry and fear, but she held him close and gently rocked him nevertheless.
It wasn’t good.
But it was better than before and he let his head drop against her chest, blubbering out another wave of sadness.
He let himself relax when, for the first time he remembered, someone carefully petted his head. The girl was running her hand through the little hair he had and kept rocking him as she walked around the room, sometimes tiptoeing, looking around.
“It’s gonna be alright, shortcake. It’s gonna be alright.”
Her voice didn’t sound as if she was very sure of that herself, but for the moment, he chose to believe her and, once again, closed his eyes.
Title: Down in the Underground
Fandom: Good Omens & Labyrinth (1986)
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 4675
Summary: Ten minutes after he had been given the basket with his charge and short but clear instructions on what to do with it, Crowley pulled his car over and panicked. There had to be another way. There had to. In which Crowley wishes the Antichrist away to a not very thrilled Goblin King.
A/N: @szappan wrote an amazing fic about Crowley being a Bowie fan (please do check it out, it’s great! ❤) and it made me wonder what would happen if Crowley and Aziraphale met the Goblin King. Which I then just had to write because Good Omens and Labyrinth are two of my absolute favourite books/series/movies. Thank you so much @blue-ravens for the help with editing this fic! Please enjoy ❤
AO3 & a drawing I made for this fic
Ten minutes after he had been given the basket with his charge and short but clear instructions on what to do with it, Crowley pulled his car over and panicked.
There had to be another way.
There had to.
*
Sometimes, the ideas we have when under distress, later on prove themselves to not be among the brightest we have.
*
“This child is not from the Aboveground.”
Jareth held the baby a bit farther away from himself and looked at him with curious eyes.
“Wha– Of course he is!”
The Goblin King gave Crowley a wary look.
“He reeks of a strange kind of magic.” He pondered Crowley with narrowed eyes for a moment and Crowley felt himself shift, wanting to slither backwards under his scrutinizing gaze. “As do you, for a fact.”
“Well, ha.” Crowley shrugged. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to conceal what he was from another powerful being, shouldn’t he? “Comes hand in hand with fallin’ from the skies above, I guess.”
Jareth stared at him with an unreadable expression for a moment. Then, Crowley could practically hear the cogwheels turn in his mind and his gaze darkened.
“So this is–” Jareth paused and held up the baby a bit, so that he could look into his eyes. “This is him then, isn’t it? Remarkable... If he didn’t smell just like his people, I wouldn’t even have noticed that he was different.”
He turned back to Crowley.
“I cannot give him back as the Labyrinth’s rules forbid me from doing so, but I do not wish to take him in permanently. I’m sure you understand that I don’t want my kingdom to be destroyed by his powers or... for it to eventually be overrun by folks from Heaven and Hell, when it comes to it.” He sighed. “Do traverse the Labyrinth and take him back, demon. Otherwise, we might be faced with a far greater measure of destruction than is already likely to follow him Aboveground.”
Crowley, who had found the grass at the tips of his shoes especially fascinating the last minute or so looked up sharply when the Goblin King sighed loudly.
“Think about it, demon. You still have thirteen hours from now to come and claim him back. Trust me that I will make your life living hell in new, creative ways if you don’t.”
Crowley hadn’t been listening to everything Jareth had said, too busy still panicking about the impending end of the world while wondering several times why the Goblin King looked so familiar, but he had heard the last part.
He gulped and forced himself to smile.
“Sure. I guess I’ll think about it. Uh... See ya!”
He gave a wave of his hand as he turned and sauntered with dangerously shaky steps back to his car.
He’d have to call Aziraphale. Aziraphale would know what to do.
In hindsight, maybe he should have called Aziraphale before wishing the boy away.
Oh well, it was too late for that line of thought now.
As Crowley drove away (in search for the nearest phone booth), Jareth kept holding onto the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness and scowled.
He had planned to relax today, maybe enact only two boggings (the goblins in question had taken the chicken tossing too far and had hit him square in the face the other day. They had escaped but Jareth had found out their names, which would be enough). He had planned to have a Good Day.
This however? This didn’t look like it was going to be one.
*
The world wasn’t, as most people would have you believe, influenced by two great powers.
The lack of knowledge about the third wasn’t all that surprising, given that it had itself wished to not be involved in Heaven’s and Hell’s meddling with humanity or get tangled in their “weird kind of codependency”.
The third of the powers that be was neither good nor evil – much rather, it was a wild sort of chaos that was able to be precisely just what you imagined it to be.
And when you knew the right words, you might just be lucky enough to call on it.
*
“You did what?”
To say that Aziraphale sounded flabbergasted was an understatement like calling the melting polar caps a minor problem of Earth.
Crowley ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair, not noticing that he ruffled it up.
“I wished away the Antichrist. Sent him to the Goblin Kingdom.”
The voice on the other end of the phone call remained silent for a long moment.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice now was much more quiet and had an almost desperate edge to it. “You can’t just– wish away the Antichrist!”
“But I could, couldn’t I? I did, in fact, and now he’s being babysat by the Goblin King himself until the time’s up.”
“Crowley! You don’t even know what might happen after– even during those thirteen hours! We have no idea how his powers might react to wild fae magic! It might just bring about the end of the world faster than originally planned for all we know!"
Aziraphale was starting to sound frantic and Crowley’s hand was, by now, shaking noticeably as well.
“Alright, so what do we do now?”
“Go get back the Antichrist, I suppose.”
*
“You realize I can’t change the rules even for... people like you, do you?”
“I guess I can see why, yes.”
Aziraphale nodded and nudged Crowley’s arm when the demon didn’t respond to the Goblin King’s question.
Crowley, however, had been deep in thought, resulting in him asking the one question that had been on the tip of his tongue since he had first seen the Goblin King about an hour ago.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like David Bowie?”
The Goblin King didn’t reply, just gave him a terrifyingly wide smile in response as he held the Antichrist in his arms.
“Alright, the child. The Antichrist.” Aziraphale tried to get their attention back to the urgent matter at hand. “I’m aware that the rules give us thirteen hours to–”
“Twelve hours and ten minutes by now.”
“—solve the Labyrinth and get back the child you have taken. Right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat as the Goblin King continued staring him down.
“Uhm.”
“Usually, only the one making the wish gets to run the Labyrinth, but as the rules aren’t very clear on this, I can twist them somewhat. You may run together. Let’s hope for all of us that it’ll help.”
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who had remained silent after asking his strange and out of nowhere question.
“I don’t want Hell’s Antichrist here any more than you do,” Jareth continued, sounding vaguely annoyed despite continuing to calmingly rock the baby in his arms.
“So you better make an effort – a successful one – and take him back.” He looked at them both, individually, before adding: “I’ll be waiting in my castle in the center of the Labyrinth.”
With that, he disappeared.
“Well, that didn’t sound too difficult.” Aziraphale smiled nervously at Crowley. “We can do this, we’re an angel and a demon, after all! What is a magical labyrinth to us, right?”
“...”
Crowley didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking out over the vast expanse of the Labyrinth in front of them. Inwardly, he cursed himself for his own stupidity.
Wishing the Antichrist away like a nervous teenager unwilling to babysit their baby brother.
In the oddest sense of the word, he supposed, that was exactly what it was.
He was only pulled out of his thoughts when a warm hand grabbed his and Aziraphale smiled at him reassuringly.
“Come on, Crowley, let’s get the boy back.”
Crowley managed a weak nod and followed Aziraphale, who clearly was doing better at trying to convince himself of the upsides of their current situation.
“Come on, feet!”
Crowley sighed but couldn’t resist a tiny smile at the comment.
Together, they made their way downhill.
*
Glitter.
The damn glitter was everywhere. On his jacket, his shoes, his glasses...
Aziraphale either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the light silvery glitter making him shimmer in the light as they walked down the seemingly endless corridor.
Crowley sighed but refrained from commenting on the obvious.
*
“’ello!”
“Oh, hello there, my friend!”
Aziraphale crouched down to be on eye level with what appeared to be a little blue worm.
“We’re trying to cross this labyrinth, but we can’t seem to find our way out of this corridor.” Aziraphale smiled at the tiny worm, who looked at him with big blinking eyes.
“Oh, you should come inside an’ meet the missus. The tea should just be ready.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, somewhat at a loss. “We’re a bit in a hurry right now, I’m afraid ...but maybe on our way back?”
Crowley nodded, although there were more important things than tea dates with magical worms on his mind right now. Such as finding the Antichrist in order to ensure his own continued existence, for one.
“Lovely!” the worm exclaimed. “You two are the first who didn’t outright decline the offer, the missus an’ I do appreciate that, really!”
Crowley nodded again and gestured for Aziraphale to get on with it, becoming impatient.
“Uhm, the exit to this corridor, kind sir?”
“Ah yes, the exit! You aren’t looking for a door an’ you will have to look from the right angle to find it!”
Crowley nodded and, without another word, turned into his old form.
“Oh, fancy that skill!” The worm commented and nodded in approval.
Crowley slithered along the wall, turning his head this way and that way, until the wall seemed to give way beneath him. Or rather, disappear.
“There’sss another pathway right here, angel.”
He turned back into his human form and went to take Aziraphale’s hand in his to pull him along when he didn’t move.
But Aziraphale didn’t budge even so.
“We don’t even know what direction to take yet, Crowley!”
Crowley sighed heavily.
“Alright, Mister Worm, what direction should we take?”
“Take a turn to the right, this should fit your purpose. The path to the left is filled with grave dangers!”
His eyes widened comically and Crowley grinned at him.
“What dangers might those be?”
Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand twitch in his own and became aware of the heat rising in his cheeks when he realized that he was still holding the angel’s hand.
“The path to the left ...it leads straight to the center of the Labyrinth!”
Aziraphale turned sharply toward Crowley.
“Then the path to the left is the one we need to take!”
“But–”
“Thank you again, kind sir. I will keep your offer for tea in mind.”
Crowley turned toward the new path and felt, just as he was trying to let go of Aziraphale’s hand unnoticed, that the angel held on tighter to his own. Unsure what to say – or if he should say anything in the first place – he continued on, Aziraphale by his side.
The worm looked torn as they left, unhappy to see them choosing the more dangerous of the two options. But they had asked the right question and gotten their answer.
In the castle, the Goblin King nodded at a crystal sphere in satisfaction while rocking the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. They might very well make it in good time.
*
“Crowley, I’m starving!” Aziraphale was wailing and Crowley rolled his eyes.
“You can’t starve, you’re an angel.”
“But still, I very much feel like I am.”
Crowley got distracted by something to his right rustling in some sparkling bushes, so he didn’t notice Aziraphale moving on ahead and looking around the corner of the pathway.
He didn’t see Aziraphale’s delighted facial expression at the sight of an apricot tree that was yielding a lot of beautiful, ripe fruit.
He also didn’t see Aziraphale’s plucking an apricot from the tree or how he pulled out a handkerchief to quickly clean it.
And he didn’t see Aziraphale take a bite of the apricot or the moment of realization he had, mirrored in his widened eyes.
He did hear Aziraphale’s physical form hitting the grassy ground beneath his feet and was running toward him before he could even see what had happened.
He felt the panic rise in his chest.
“Aziraphale! Aziraphale, what happened?”
When Crowley reached him he still hadn’t gotten a reply or any other reaction, so he let himself fall to his knees to take a better look at the angel.
He was still breathing, which... Wasn’t a requirement for a heavenly being, but at least seemed to indicate that, albeit unconscious, Aziraphale hadn’t been discorporated... or worse.
Crowley frantically looked around, trying to figure out what had happened.
Then he saw it and froze.
Lying on the ground not far from Aziraphale’s outstretched arm and clearly bitten into – a peach.
Crowley growled in frustration.
They should’ve brought sandwiches.
A clearly magical sphere floated by him and Crowley managed to get a glimpse at the translucent image it showed.
It was Aziraphale, looking confused and kind of lost, in a ballroom, surrounded by ballgoers whose faces were covered with masks.
The people were staring at him, making it hard for him to pass through the mass. Then, music must have started playing, because several people started dancing and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up in delight.
“Damn it, angel,” Crowley hissed to himself.
A second glance into the sphere showed him Aziraphale dancing among the crowd and... a very annoyed looking person who could only be the Goblin King himself, albeit disguised with a mask. When said Goblin King turned to stare up at him through the magical sphere, Crowley cursed again and took a step toward the apricot tree.
They were all round and ripe, the perfect apricots. Since they would all hopefully lead to the same thing, however, he plucked one at random.
He hissed in his best snakely manner at the fruit he held with his fingertips and reminded himself that he was doing this for Aziraphale. So that after that, they could continue searching for the Antichrist.
Damn hell.
He took a bite and felt himself falling.
Damn all fruit trees.
*
When he came to, the first thing he noticed was that the world seemed brighter than before. Looking around, he decided that hundreds of candles seemed to be to blame for that. Second, things seemed rather... peachy. But not in the all-is-well kind of way, but in the way that the taste of the godforsaken peach he had eaten was still lingering on his tongue, coating his mouth and, quite oddly, also affecting his other senses, almost... clouding them.
He didn’t like that one bit.
He continued down an already quite crowded hallway and reached a big double door that presumably led to the ballroom he had seen. He pushed it open and shuddered momentarily at the sight in front of him. There were way too many people attending this ball for what he considered to be his comfort zone, if one were to ask him. But since nobody was asking him, he went on inside, hoping to find Aziraphale as fast as possible.
People were laughing and giggling almost manically as he made his way through the crowd, having to push more than a few of the ballgoers aside when they seemed to intentionally block his path or hold onto his sleeves.
He was getting rather annoyed by the time he spotted Aziraphale, standing rather lost in the middle of the ballroom. The spark Crowley had momentarily seen in his eyes in the crystal was gone and he looked rather worried as he unconsciously fussed with the hem of his coat sleeves. When his eyes met Crowley’s, however, they seemed to light up again and he started to make his way toward the demon.
Crowley felt relief wash over him when he came to stand in front of Aziraphale and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Don’t. Don’t ever just do something so stupid ever again! I thought you had died or something for a moment!“
Aziraphale’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened and he looked so sorry and–
“Aargh, stop it, angel! I know you’re sorry, let’s just. Find a way out of here.”
Crowley turned around and started looking for the ballroom door, just to find it was ...gone.
“What in all seven –”
He turned back to Aziraphale when he felt the angel’s hand gently on his shoulder.
“It’s gone, Crowley.”
“What do you mean, it’s gone? It was right over there mere minutes ago!”
Aziraphale shook his head.
“I checked after I appeared here, as well, but the door was gone again moments after my arrival.”
“So what do we do now?”
Crowley was starting to feel antsy. Things were not developing in their favor.
Suddenly, music began to play. There were no musicians to be seen, except for–
“I’ll eat a damn hat if that isn’t the Goblin King himself.”
Aziraphale followed his gaze to the other side of the room where Jareth the Goblin King was standing in an inexplicable beam of light and, by all appearance, was about to start to sing.
The two of them were so surprised by his appearance, however, that they noticed only too late that the crowd had started to close in on them, pressing in from all sizes and leaving them surrounded by a slowly moving circle.
“I’m sorry, Crowley. If not for me, we weren’t stuck in this mess of a situation.”
Crowley took a sharp breath when Aziraphale reached out and held his hand.
He obviously didn’t mind holding the angel’s hand, but he also feared the treacherous color that rose to his cheeks the last few times it had happened.
Aziraphale must have noticed his intake of breath, because he let go of Crowley’s hand all of a sudden, a quiet sadness overtaking his eyes.
“There’s such a sad love,
deep in your eyes...”
Jareth was, in fact, singing now, and Crowley felt awful. They were running out to time to fix the mistake he had made and now they both were stuck in this place with Aziraphale looking like Crowley had kicked him.
Crowley remained quiet for a moment, lowering his gaze to the ground when he noticed Aziraphale turning away his gaze.
The Labyrinth was a place full of riddles, going by what Jareth had told them at the beginning. So maybe being stuck in a ballroom meant...
He looked up with an apologetic smile and held out his hand to Aziraphale.
“There’s such a fooled heart,
beating so fast in search of new dreams,
a love that will last...”
“Come on, angel.”
Aziraphale was looking at him and then at Crowley’s extended hand. He looked back at Crowley and, after a moment of hesitation, took his hand and let himself slowly be pulled in.
“Maybe this is gonna fix things.”
Aziraphale frowned slightly and Crowley let out a small nervous laugh, his breath brushing over Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“...maybe it’s not, but it seems worth a try, right?”
Aziraphale met his gaze and nodded.
He looked back at the ballgoers surrounding them, a sort of dancing carrousel by this point, and frowned in thought.
“Perhaps we’ll manage to get closer to the Goblin King, that way. We should try to ask him what to do.”
Crowley nodded and felt warmth rise in his cheeks when Aziraphale squeezed his hand and took a step closer.
“I’ll paint you mornings of gold...”
“Let’s dance, my dear.”
“I’ll spin you Valentine evenings...”
Crowley nodded and took the first step.
And they danced.
*
While they were slowly swaying to the rhythm of the music, the ballgoers around them were still talking and pointing and moving around them.
Crowley tried to focus on the warmth that Aziraphale was giving off and not on ...everything else. He hoped that this would work. Things had obviously gone too well previously and...
“But I'll be there for you... as the world falls down.”
...Aziraphale was holding him, not letting go.
They made their way across the room in a slow pace, the crowd around them letting them move as long as they continued dancing.
“Falling... Falling...”
“It’s working,” Aziraphale breathed out in astonishment when he realized what was happening.
“Falling...”
“Yeah,” Crowley agreed quietly and held on for dear life.
“Falling in love...”
*
By the time the song ended, they had also reached the Goblin King, who was giving them a long, contemplative look. In one hand he was holding a ball mask, which he made disappear in exchange for another crystal. He let it run up and down his hand as he looked at them a moment longer, before this gaze fell to their still joined hands again.
“You’ve made it all the way here. What do you want?”
The astonished look must have been similar on both their faces.
“We want out, obviously,” Aziraphale stated.
“Are you certain of that?” Jareth asked. “Even if out of here and out there might mean a less pleasant life for both of you?”
Crowley cocked his head in inquiry.
“The whole doomsday situation. And–” Jareth nodded toward their joined hands. “–that, perhaps, even more.”
Crowley saw Aziraphale blush and look away out of the corner of his eye, but the angel didn’t withdraw his hand.
Somehow, confidence at last got a hold of Crowley and he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand as he grinned at the Goblin King.
“We’ll figure it out.”
To their surprise, the Goblin King threw the crystal up in the air.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Jareth grinned back at them and around them, the world fell down.
*
After that, finding the castle in the center of the Labyrinth was a piece of cake.
They ran into a bunch of goblins and other fae folk, but for the most part, the direction they had to take was clear and their path free of dangers.
They had talked some and both realized that they were “absolute morons”, as Crowley had put it, smilingly. Aziraphale had returned his smile, equally radiant in its nature, and had gently squeezed his hand. They would talk about this once they had left the Labyrinth (‘this’ being their strong mutual affection that they both had previously been too nervous about to realize that it was reciprocated; ‘previously’ being the past four thousand years, give or take).
They also talked about the Antichrist and what they would do once they got him back from Jareth.
“Bring him to his new parents, of course.”
“Yes, of course, but what... what about his upbringing?”
“You aren’t suggesting...?”
Aziraphale nodded and, as they continued walking, they formed a plan.
*
They still had more than enough time to spare by the time they entered the castle together, only letting go of each other’s hands for the first time in hours to push open the big front gate.
They found the Goblin King and the baby in a big room at the center of the castle.
“At long last, here you are. And here ...you are.” Jareth grinned a toothy grin as he handed over the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness to Crowley. Then, he let himself fall back onto what appeared to be a fairly uncomfortable big chair that, on a second thought, seemed to function as a throne.
“You did it, great! And with four hours to spare, on top of that!”
As he shifted the Antichrist in his arms, Crowley heard Aziraphale exhale in relief next to him. Quite frankly, if the end of the world weren’t as immediate as it unfortunately was, he would have gladly spent the next two decades sleeping.
“So– any further... life-changing happenings or the like since you left my ballroom?”
When the two didn’t reply immediately, Jareth flashed a grin that only lasted for a moment, before being replaced by a more neutral expression.
“I have been told that it seems to be somewhat of a common experience among runners.”
Aziraphale turned a lovely shade of red and Crowley found himself rather tempted to just ...Ah, to hell with it.
He took Aziraphale’s hand in his as gently as he could while not jostling the baby on his arm and felt Jareth’s gaze on them even as he finally allowed the love he felt for Aziraphale to show when he looked at the angel.
When he looked back at Jareth, the Goblin King was smiling.
“So, there’s hope for you lot yet.”
*
With the Goblin King’s help, the three of them reappear Aboveground somewhere in the outskirts of Tadfield a short time later. The Bentley stood waiting for them a couple of meters down the road.
“Well, here we are.” Aziraphale looked down at the basket that was now, once again, holding the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.
“Here we are...,” Crowley mumbled, when, suddenly, the thing that had been nagging him at the back of his mind for the past few hours finally surfaced.
“Oh, crap, we’re late for the birth of the other baby!”
Aziraphale paled and Crowley felt the panic rise in his veins.
“I’ll have to reorder time, though I don’t know if I can manage to turn back all thirteen hours, but I’ll have to try and–”
“Perhaps I could help with that.”
An owl sitting on a nearby tree branch turned into Jareth casually leaning against said tree’s trunk.
“Time is easily affected by my magic, Aboveground and Underground.”
A clock appeared in the air next to him, as if required for the impending demonstration.
The Goblin King snapped his fingers and for a split moment, Crowley and Aziraphale felt air and time rush past them. Then, it was night again and the clock on Crowley’s watch – just like Jareth’s flying clock – indicated that it was still 11.24 pm, mere minutes after Crowley had originally left Hastur and Ligur at the graveyard.
“Well, go then!”
Jareth made a shooing motion with his hands when the two others just continued staring at him for a moment.
“In that case... Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled and looked like he wanted to step forward and shake Jareth’s hand before coming to think better of it.
“Yeah, thank you, I guess. Spared us a lot of trouble if that had come out.” Crowley gave him what he hoped looked like an appreciative nod.
“Nevermind, I’m glad he’s not going to grow up with me. I have enough on my plate as it is.” The Goblin King sighed and shook his head.
“You still look like David Bowie, though,” Crowley couldn’t help but mention again.
Jareth just grinned at that and, within a blink of the eye, was gone.
Aziraphale sighed as they began walking toward the Bentley.
“You just had to point that out again, didn’t you?”
“Well, he does look an awful lot like David Bowie! Don’t blame me for stating the obvious!”
They continued their friendly bickering as they approached Tadfield, smiles on their faces and a plan for the upbringing of the Antichrist in the works. It was bound to go wrong, of course, before it would go right again, in the end.
A barn owl followed the Bentley down the street for a minute before disappearing in a light shower of glitter.
Title: Farra Highwind
Fandom: FFXV
Series: Big Sister Aranea ‘verse (1/?)
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1290
Summary: Farra Highwind was a practical woman. When she found out at age nineteen that she was pregnant – a fact that became obvious to everyone else as well soon enough – she already expected the discharge she got without comment a few weeks later. She had started to become fed up with the Nif army a good year ago already and, together with some of her equally unsatisfied messmates, stole a couple of decommissioned dropships and made them their new home.
A/N: The first in a series of fics I’ve written (and drawings I’ve drawn - but those will follow later) for this verse since late July! In this verse it isn’t Cor or another member of the Crownsguard who finds and rescues Prompto, but Aranea! ^^ The fics are loosely connected and focus Aranea and her found family consisting of Prompto, Luna and Cor. Thank you @moonraccoon-exe for the advice and encouragement to post this as a series of fics! <3 Please enjoy ❤
AO3
Farra Highwind was a practical woman. When she found out at age nineteen that she was pregnant – a fact that became obvious to everyone else as well soon enough – she already expected the discharge she got without comment a few weeks later. She had started to become fed up with the Nif army a good year ago already and, together with some of her equally unsatisfied messmates, stole a couple of decommissioned dropships and made them their new home.
She didn’t like talking about the past, so the most some people knew of her was that she had joined the service at age fifteen, a solid fighter who had been ahead of many other recruits who had a year or two on her. And that was enough, in her opinion.
She was a levelheaded leader and treated her mates fairly, not like subjects to be commanded around for her entertainment, but like a group of skilled people who had to work together to fulfill a purpose – and that purpose was to earn enough to keep them all alive another week.
*
The empire had likely been displeased about the theft of the old dropships, if they ever had found out about it in the first place, but none of them had ever come after the group, so most of them considered their airborne homes safe. Farra still liked to listen in on the few army radio channels they had managed to reactivate, just to make sure their ways would not cross on accident.
*
Her daughter was much like her, Farra reckoned, and, most of the time, she was happy about it. Aranea was practical, knew when told to dodge and run without questioning her mother and overall was a fairly independent child.
Farra tried to spend more time with her every once in a while, whenever they had enough money to not be hunting things (or dangerous people) down or simply had time to kill. That wasn’t the case very often.
Aranea didn’t seem interested in that a lot, however, and spent a lot of her free time training with the two other kids on board. Most of the time, though, she trained alone.
There wasn’t a terrible lot to do on a dropship, after all.
Farra sighed and hoped that her daughter wasn’t too much like her.
She didn’t want her to experience the regret she still felt sometimes.
*
The day Aranea turned ten, Farra woke her up with a kiss on her tangled hair and smiled at her.
“Tell me what you want to do and we’ll do it.” She grinned and Aranea thought, for a moment, about how young her mother looked all of a sudden.
“I want to...” She paused. What did she want?
She wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to interfere with their ships’ destination, not go anywhere too far that it would inconvenience them if they had to return...
“Can we just watch a movie together?” she asked instead and smiled hesitantly at her mother.
Aranea could tell that she was trying, trying to be there, but she was gone a lot, always had been for as long as Aranea could remember and... while Aranea tried not to take it personally, tried not to let it affect her... she felt like she didn’t know her mother all too well beyond who she was when she was working and trying to keep everyone safe and alive.
Aranea didn’t have much to talk about with her. So a movie was probably the safest option.
*
Halfway through the movie, Farra got a call. Aranea paused the movie and watched as her mother’s face went through a set of different emotions – excited, assessing and, in the end, serious and determined.
“We’ll take it. We can be there by early afternoon.”
Aranea waited for her mother to explain what she already suspected.
“A new client. The job’s a big one, so it’s going to take a while. But it’ll pay us enough for us not to have to take any further jobs for several months after.”
Aranea’s eyes widened. That did sound like one big job.
“Can I come along again?” She had been helping out in hunts for the past two or three years now, as a bait or distraction at first and recently also as part of the attack group.
“It’s going to be too dangerous for you, I’m afraid.”
Farra looked at her with a gaze that told Aranea that arguing was pointless. She still wanted to come along, though, prove herself to the others and show them how her technique was improving.
Farra’s voice made her close her already opening mouth. “You’ll look after the dropships while we’re gone. The area where we’ll land will be rather close to the frontlines and if they shift, you’ll have to take the ships out of there until we’re back.”
Aranea nodded.
She hated the frontlines. They’d been near them several times already and every single time, the noises of war made her skin crawl with fear.
“Okay.”
Farra left to inform her people of their new mission. They didn’t finish watching the movie.
*
“Malu and Tirr are going to stay in the other ships. Feel free to turn on the comm to chat while we’re gone. No leaving the ships though, alright?”
Farra ruffled Aranea’s hair as her daughter nodded.
“When will you be back?”
Farra sighed. She truly didn’t know, could only guess. “Three or four days, at max. Five, if things get ugly.” She grinned, feeling certain that things would look up very soon.
“We’ll be back in no time and then we can finish watching the movie together. How about that?” She smiled and Aranea nodded.
“Sure.”
“Okay, alright then.” Farra hugged her goodbye and waved at her with a final look over her shoulder as the adults left the ships.
*
They hadn’t returned by the end of the third day, or even the fourth. Not even after the fifth or an entire week.
Aranea didn’t know what to do.
Her mother hadn’t told her what to do when they didn’t come back.
She was stressed and worried and had already packed a bag to go look for them, when she heard something up above them, familiar and deadly, slowly coming closer.
She was running a second later, shouting while she made for the exit, hoping that Malu and Tirr heard her over the open comm channels.
*
In the end, she made it out alive. The other two didn’t.
Turned out the Empire knew about the stolen dropships. And found them conveniently landed near the frontlines they kept pushing toward Insomnia these days.
They didn’t hesitate long and instead of reclaiming the old ships, destroyed them.
Aranea didn’t sleep for three days as she kept running, hoping to find anyone of the people she knew. But everyone was gone and she didn’t have a home anymore either.
She cried another two days and, when the provisions she had packed started to run out, forced herself to stop and began searching for food.
She learned quickly that, while staying in them for too long was unsafe, there were more than enough empty houses and abandoned research facilities with more than enough provisions for her to survive on.
She wasn’t sure where to go, but considering the situation... She bagged the first map she could find, some two weeks in, and made into the direction she hoped Lucis was in.
There was a frontline to avoid, however, so she would be taking the long route.
If nothing else, she thought as she pushed back tears that were starting to sting her eyes again, she was persistent.
Title: Shelter from the Storm
Fandom: FFXV
Pairing: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 5934
Summary: After Niflheim attacked Galahd, only one Galahdian stays behind in the worsening storm, unshakably sure that his people will return eventually. He makes a deal with a god… and waits. People come into his life as the years go by, but only one of them becomes a constant. A Nyx stays in Galahd AU.
A/N: Inspired by the title of Bob Dylan’s song “Shelter from the Storm” and line “But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts”. (For reference, Nyx is around 18 and Cor is around 23 the time they first meet.) Please enjoy ❤
AO3 & a sketch I made for this fic
“Nyx, there’s no time to stay any longer, there’s nothing left to stay behind for!”
Those were the last words from Libertus that Nyx remembers hearing before he stopped in his tracks and let his friend continue without him. Libertus had yelled, but his father had just dragged him along.
When he closes his eyes these days, years later, Nyx can still hear Crowe’s angry and desperate voice.
“Nyx!”
*
The storm had picked up as more dropships landed and houses were ground to the ground.
*
He had stayed behind, just a child in the middle of the devastation the Nifs had left behind. The ground was burning and when the fires were eventually extinguished by the rain and storm that never once stopped here in Galahd, the daemons had started to appear from the dust and ashes.
He had started to yell in desperation and anger himself then.
He shouted at Ramuh so long until the Astral had at last deemed to appear.
He hadn’t really been willing to listen to Nyx and had disappeared again mere moments later, but if Nyx was known for something, it was his persistence. He didn’t like giving up easily. Even less so if the matter was something he cared about deeply.
And Galahd was, at the moment, everything he had left.
*
Eventually, Ramuh began to listen to the kid in torn clothes covered in ash and blood that kept yelling at him. A kid who had lost everything and had decided to stay despite it all. Even though he could have followed his friends and people to safety.
They made a deal.
*
At least one person will have to decide to come back and stay here, genuinely wanting to, and make it through the next day.
Nyx thought that this shouldn’t be too hard to achieve. Someone of their people at least had to decide to come back and try to salvage what was left, even if nothing really was left. But it had never been possessions that had made up Galahd after all. It had always been the storm and its people.
*
If not, the only other chance for you and my land is if a single person is willing to return twenty times. If they do, that too will be enough for me to lift the worst of the storm and see to Galahd’s liberation myself.
It was a good deal, a fair deal, Nyx reasoned. He was certain of his people’s loyalty to their home and even if that hadn’t been enough to convince him to agree, it wasn’t like he had much else to lose anymore.
*
There is a hut, facing the rage of the storm even though it shouldn’t be able to, even though it should not have been there in the first place after the Nifs’s thorough devastation.
*
There is a hut in Galahd and none of the people who have seen it and were taken in by a kind yet weary-eyed young stranger are later able to pinpoint where it was located on a map. They wouldn’t even be able to if the storm weren’t as strong as it is these days.
*
There is a hut in Galahd and it appears to all those who need shelter, because they were willing to come in the first place.
*
Nyx isn’t allowed to tell anyone why he wants them to stay. Quite frankly, during the first couple of visits, his firm belief in his land and people has him absolutely sure one of them is bound to stay eventually.
He actively tries to convince them to stay, a few years in, but after a night of nightmares that every single one of them seems to experience, they all leave again.
All seven of them never returned.
The hut has become something of a myth by the time the third of them returned to Lucis soon after.
*
There is a tall man outside the hut. He is breathing heavily and is dripping wet, barely able to lift one foot in front of the other anymore. The storm is raging outside, but Nyx has noticed that he always hears when something or someone passes his home. Always has, over the past ten or so years since he built his hut from scratch with what he had been able to salvage over the course of weeks.
The man can’t be Galahdian, Nyx reasons. The storm seems to threaten to pull him under.
The others who had come had done so in the hope of finding something, anything, that’d make them willing to stay but hadn’t found it.
This one? Nyx doesn’t know what brings him here, but he has a duty, so he gets up from the rumpled blanket on the floor and goes to open the door to the stranger.
“Come in,” he says, trying for an inviting voice even though he has to shout to be heard over the storm. “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”
The man practically falls through the door and collapses.
*
When the man is conscious again, Nyx urges him to strip off his soaking wet clothes and take one of Nyx’s self-made blankets to cover and warm himself.
By the time Nyx presses the second mug of hot tea into the stranger’s hand, the other man finally really meets his eyes.
“Huh.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, so Nyx decides he won’t ask, even though he’s itching to know what brought him here. He watches the man quietly stare into his mug of tea for quite some time. Nyx catches him staring at him a few times as well.
At some point during the night, the man speaks up at last. Nyx and him had both moved on to a glass of something strong and bitter that Nyx had been given by the last visitor before she had left.
The man doesn’t say much, but it’s enough for Nyx to understand.
He learns that the man lost his sister.
She was important to him but apparently important to many others as well and thus he was supposed to hold a speech about her or something.
So he ran away, before someone – it sounds like the man’s friends – would have been able to stop him.
Nyx puts a hand on his shoulder and the man starts to crumble beneath his touch.
When he stops crying, neither of them says a word, but Nyx pours them another drink.
He hasn’t cried about Selena and his mother in a long time now, but now he suddenly can see their faces more clearly again when he blinks and he feels the old wound inside him reopen.
*
The man leaves in the morning, another drink and not many words later.
*
The man returns around the same time the following year.
Nyx doesn’t have a calendar and his feeling of time is shit and Galahd always looks the same, rainy and dressed in an impenetrable storm, but he has a feeling that a year has passed since the man last visited. No one else has come here ever since. Still, he didn’t give up hope.
*
“I am hallucinating, am I not?” Cor – he has learned the man’s name is Cor – mumbles into his drink. He brought it himself, a whole bottle for him and Nyx to share.
Nyx pulls out one of his knives and teasingly presses the blunt edge to Cor’s tight.
“Nope, don’t think you are.”
He stashes the knife away again, always close to his body because that’s just what the place he lives in demands if he wants to live another day, and smirks.
“I’m very real.” He sees Cor’s raised eyebrow. “And very alive.”
He isn’t willing to cut into his finger to prove that he bleeds blood the same as he suspects Cor does unless it’s really necessary, but –
Cor’s shoulders drop.
“It’s alright, I believe you.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.” Cor shakes his head. “You’re too much –“ Cor gestures vaguely before settling on a shrug. “– for my mind to have made you up.”
“Too much of a what?” Nyx smirks and leans in. He can feel the hot air of Cor’s exhausted huff on his face. Huh.
Cor chooses to ignore his question and they spend most of the night drinking in silence.
Nyx doesn’t wake up in time to see him leave, but when he does, there are two additional blankets wrapped securely around him.
*
“I never asked why you are staying here, when really any other place would be a… nicer place to stay at.”
Nyx shrugs and doesn’t explain. He can’t tell half of it and the other half he could, he isn’t sure Cor would understand.
“Alright.”
*
It’s the fourth year since he first met Cor.
“You know, I’ve been thinking you should perhaps start attending this commemoration event for your sister after all. Maybe it’d help.”
Cor leaves in the middle of the night already this time and Nyx isn’t sure he’ll see him again.
*
He arrives later in the year than usual the next time.
“I stayed, this time.”
“Did it help any?”
A sharp nod even though his eyes won’t meet Nyx’s. Then a bottle is handed to him.
Cor falls asleep leaning against his shoulder soon after. It doesn’t seem like he has nightmares, despite it all.
*
The next time, Cor arrives looking grim. He was doing better the last times he visited, but this time, his eyes look especially weary and his mouth is a thin line.
He breaks down moments after Nyx wraps the blanket that has pretty much become Cor’s by now around his shoulders.
He swears and shouts and tells Nyx about a prophecy he despises before he allows Nyx to pull him into a tight embrace on the floor.
Nyx holds on tight and doesn’t let go. He notices he wakes up in the morning that neither did Cor.
*
The seventh year, Cor doesn’t open the bottle he brought that has become kind of traditional early on.
He sits down at the table Nyx has been ornamenting with traditional Galahdian designs over the past two years and looks at him in silence for a long time. Nyx can’t stand the intensity of it and looks away before too long.
Cor sighs.
“You didn’t ask for it, but I guess I’ll tell you the whole story tonight.”
And so, Nyx learns about Aulea Lucis Caelum, née Leonis, a queen and mother to a young prince with terrible destiny. He learns about all of that and slowly, by that, about the place Cor has in his own small world. He has never heard Cor talk so much before, so he doesn’t interrupt to ask questions.
He learns implicitly that night that Cor trusts him more than anyone else or, at least, tells him more and shows him more of himself than even his closest friends.
He tells himself that it’s nothing. That he’s just like the diary Selena used to keep for things she wanted to put somewhere safe and didn’t want anyone else to know. She explained it to him once and he thinks that maybe he is Cor’s safe place for confessions.
*
He prepares himself mentally before Cor arrives the next time.
Cor can apparently tell that he wants to talk and so he lets him.
He talks about Selena and his mum and the day the Nifs destroyed everything they had.
He is a wreck of ugly sobs in the end and can feel hot tears running down his face and the wound is open again, as open and painful as it was back then.
He holds onto Cor as he tries to find himself again in the storm of his feelings.
Maybe the wound will heal properly this time.
Cor hugs him before he leaves the next morning.
“I think I am starting to understand,” he says quietly and Nyx wonders if maybe, to a surprising degree, he actually already does.
*
The ninth year, he realizes that there is a chance, so he prepares himself to ask, no matter whether it’ll turn out to be a hopeless case.
Cor and him are having yet another mug of tea and the night is drawing to a close when he finally dares to speak up, though.
“So, please excuse me for asking so bluntly, but you’re pretty high up in the Lucian hierarchy, right?”
Cor only arches an eyebrow at him, in a way that Nyx has learned means that he is willing to listen.
“I need a favor. Could you please see if you can find two people for me and tell them I’m still here?” Tell them to come back, he doesn’t say, but he can see in Cor’s expression that he understands.
When Cor stands up to leave a while later, Nyx hesitates a moment at the door before he pulls Cor into a tight hug.
He feels hands wrap tightly around him in return and it’s… nice. He hasn’t felt this kind of safe in a long time.
*
When Cor comes back the next year, it’s with an expression that has Nyx slightly on edge when he opens the door to him. He looks like someone who has to deliver the news that someone’s dog died and Nyx waits impatiently for Cor to shrug out of his clammy clothes and shrug over the clothes and blanket Nyx prepared for him as usual.
Only when they both have tea with a shot of whatever Cor brought this time, he tells Nyx.
“They told me that I must have seen a ghost.”
Nyx lets himself slump forward, resting his head on the table, hidden behind his arms.
“These darn, stubborn idiots.” His voice is muffled against the table but the anguish in it is audible. When he sits back again, he lets out a sad, bitter laugh. “I’d have reacted the same if either of them had pulled a stupid stunt like that and had stayed behind in all the destruction. Of course they think I’m dead.”
He sighs, then shakes his head.
“I just hope I’ll see them again someday.”
It’s quiet, but he doesn’t mind Cor hearing. It’s not like he hasn’t already figured that Nyx misses his friends.
He closes his eyes and doesn’t open them immediately when he feels a hand on his shoulder, lighter than he would have anticipated.
“Nyx.”
It’s the first time he’s heard Cor use his name. He cracks open an eyelid to look at him, a light, pained smile on his lips.
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t told you all yet.” Cor takes a breath and looks away when Nyx’s gaze bores too intensively into his own. “I found them fairly easily because they chose an, ah… profession similar to mine. They’re serving as part of the King’s Kingsglaive now, fighting against the Nifs. They’ve both made names for themselves as some of the best they’ve got.”
Nyx sighs fondly and nods, his eyelid sliding close again.
“Of course they did.”
“I could… tell you about Insomnia’s Little Galahd, if… you want.” If it’s not too painful, is what Nyx hears.
He nods.
He can hear Cor taking some steps away again and the other chair being lifted up and put down next to his.
“You need a couch,” Cor grouses in a joking tone before settling down next to him.
Nyx doesn’t notice when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up again, Cor and him are both on the floor, leaning against the wall, covered by blankets, and Cor has an arm around him.
There’s something in the pit of his stomach that wants Nyx to pay more attention to it, but he doesn’t dare to.
His thoughts begin to drift.
He is already grateful for Cor’s annual visits and it’s not even due to the deal he has with Ramuh. He is simply glad to have someone who is so easy to talk to come by every once in a while. He missed that.
He knows very well that Cor is someone who could easily (or, well, not so easily, but more likely than regular people) wind up dead any day and he. He likes Cor for whom he is.
He closes his eyes in annoyance.
Yes, it would be nice if Cor’s returning to Galahd would change anything, but even so.
He just wants him to come back every year and not stop.
Even when Ramuh’s and his deal will eventually be fulfilled. Even thereafter.
And that realization makes Nyx kind of want to slap himself.
He thinks he might have a name for this thing he is starting to feel.
“Fuck.”
(Of course, that’s the moment Cor decides to wake up with a confused, sleepy “Huh?”. Nyx looks at the sleep-clouded blue eyes and knows with a startling certainty that he is starting to fall for Cor. He hides his silent scream behind his blanket.)
*
The eleventh time Cor visits, he reeks of death that even the everlasting rain couldn’t wash off him.
He tells Nyx about the family of coeurls he met when he passed through Leide. A mother and her two young.
Nyx feels compelled to yell at him, but Cor holds up his hand, knowing more about Galahd these years, and doesn’t stop his explanation.
The blood no longer visible on Cor’s clothes belongs to two behemoths that had attacked the coeurls, seeing how the mother animal was injured and slow.
Cor tells him he’d have brought some of the behemoths’ remains to last Nyx for a while but that the rain was too heavy and he had to give up most of it except for a little. He hands what is left wrapped in a piece of cloth to Nyx.
“Sorry I couldn’t bring you more. It’s gotta be shit to hunt in the rain out here. …I feel kinda stupid I never thought about that before.”
Nyx nods, feeling the increasingly familiar warmth inside him resurface, and yet, he can’t help but also feel like laughing a little.
Of course the heavy rain was enough to stop any Lucian – even Cor, whom he knew to be a pretty resilient guy.
The storm has never stopped Nyx before, though. He needs to hunt to survive, yes. But he is also Galahdian. The storm is his home.
*
He makes them food and realizes he hasn’t had much to eat around to offer to Cor before. They had mostly drunk tea or something alcoholic, or both. He guesses he’ll have to change that in the future.
He drops the wooden cooking spoon he is holding when Cor leans over his shoulder to see how the cooking is coming along. Cor has the decency to snicker and Nyx really, really would like to have his blanket to scream into right now.
*
He hugs Cor goodbye automatically this time and shivers when Cor’s lips brush against his ear as he tells him goodbye until the next year. He feels the ghost of that and the touch of Cor’s hand on his shoulder after that for weeks.
*
The twelfth time Cor visits, Nyx is almost sure he’ll manage to tell Cor… at least something. He hasn’t been sleeping well recently, the storms are slightly stronger than usual these weeks, and often when he lies awake late at night, he starts seeing Cor in front of his inner eye and that really doesn’t help with falling asleep again either.
*
But Cor is surprisingly distant this time around, at least for the first few hours. Eventually, Nyx sighs and puts his hands on Cor’s shoulders, attempting a makeshift massage.
“What’s got you in such a mood?”
He doesn’t expect an answer so soon, but then again, Cor is an awfully honest person and has, with only a few exceptions, when he needed more time to mull a question over, almost always answered him directly.
“Regis found a way to perhaps stop the prophecy from coming to happen as it’s intended to.”
Nyx’s hands still.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Nyx realizes with a start that Cor is leaning back into his touch, as if silently asking him to continue his massage. So Nyx does.
“Is it safe?”
Cor laughs.
“Nothing about this whole family is safe – but then, when has it ever been?”
He makes a sound that has Nyx shiver right down to his boots and places his hand on Nyx’s right hand.
“Right here. Could you please do that again?”
And Nyx might be a masochist, because he caves and keeps working the knots in Cor’s shoulders loose and tries not to cramp his hands down when Cor keeps making all sorts of quiet noises.
*
By the time of Cor’s thirteenth visit, Nyx is angry. He hasn’t been sleeping well in months, the storm having remained worse than it was before last year, and he keeps waking up with Cor being the first thing on his mind. So yes, he is angry.
*
Cor looks at him in confusion but follows behind without asking when Nyx all but drags him inside.
He doesn’t even get the chance to change his clothes before Nyx begins, sounding oddly frustrated.
“Fuck you! Just – why – argh.”
What.
Nyx turns away from him and pulls on his hair in frustration, grumbling below his breath, before turning back sharply and accusingly pointing a finger at Cor’s chest.
“You’re the reason I’m always sleep-deprived these weeks! And I’m done not saying anything, because I only see you once every year and it fucking sucks.”
Oh.
Cor can’t stop the laugh from falling from his lips.
“I almost thought you weren’t interested after all, after last time.”
Nyx keeps pointing, his finger waving lightly in the air as he gapes at him.
“You…? Oh, fuck you, Cor, you put me through this intentionally?”
“It’s called flirting, if I’m correct. Not that I seem to be very good at it, but that was the intention.”
Nyx swears up and down more curses than Cor thinks even he has ever heard, but he delightfully shuts up when Cor steps closer and kisses him.
Only when their kisses are becoming handsier, Nyx pulls away all of a sudden.
“Oh, fuck, you’re still wearing your wet clothes. You’ll get sick if you keep them on much longer.”
Cor considers this, agrees and looks at Nyx with his eyes a shade darker than before and a tiny smirk on his lips.
“Mind helping me get out of ‘em?”
He hasn’t seen Nyx blush before, furious red creeping up his cheeks, and he vows to himself that this won’t be the last time.
Nyx just splutters in betrayal but starts freeing him from his wet clothes just the same.
*
The fourteenth and fifteenth year are similar in the respect that they find themselves making out like teenagers all through the night until Cor has to leave again and Nyx has hickeys to prove to the darkness outside that he isn’t alone anymore. He leaves Cor with some of his own, especially when Cor present him with the Galahdian talisman for good luck and safety that he got for him in Little Galahd.
*
Cor has told him that he hasn’t had much of a relationship before either, unless you count a handful of stolen kisses in free minutes he barely ever had in the years before he met Nyx, and Nyx feels relieved none of them is at a disadvantage here.
Even when Cor huffs out a labored “’not playing fair, huh?” when Nyx grinds down against him on top of their pile of blankets, hands all over Cor’s body and not in the least feeling apologetic.
He starts to apologize when Cor starts kissing down his throat, though, and Cor eventually laughs, a full-body laugh, against his skin. Nyx shivers but can’t suppress the laugh at the back at his throat for long.
“Alright, you name the place and time if you wanna take this elsewhere,” Cor says, more quietly, and Nyx names his date.
*
The next time Cor arrives, he arrives earlier in the day. It’s always dark in Galahd these days, of course, but Nyx only had lunch a few hours ago, and he appreciates it when Cor can stay a few hours longer than usual.
Cor takes his time undressing and drying himself off, this time. Then, he stands there wrapped in only his usual blanket and gives Nyx a look that has a shiver run down his spine.
“Today still stands or would you prefer –”
“Yes!” Nyx blurts out. “I mean – ah, fuck.”
Cor is still laughing when Nyx is coming closer, unsuccessfully trying to get off his boots and repeating “Yes, of course I still want this, fuck, why doesn’t this come off?” over and over again.
Once they’re face to face, Cor drops to his knees as gracefully as he can and looks up at Nyx.
“Let me help you?”
Nyx’s helpless, furious blush and nod is all the agreement he needs to start pulling on the damn shoe.
When this endeavor ends with both of them tumbling to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs, blanket and boots, Cor just snorts when Nyx buries his laughing face in his chest.
They’ll be fine.
*
The seventeenth year, Cor comes to the hut looking as close to triumphant as Nyx has ever seen him.
“Regis and the Queen of Tenebrae did… well, they did some magic shit, I guess, and the Astrals themselves apologized to them. The – the scourge isn’t gone, obviously, but they said they’d remove the threat to the prince’s life and –”
“Take a deep breath,” Nyx instructs, when Cor begins stumbling over his words.
Their gazes lock and Cor takes the advised deep breath and another.
“Noctis is safe. He won’t die for their fucked up games, after all. I –”
Cor takes another deep breath, then smiles at him wider than Nyx has ever seen him smile before.
“There’s a chance things will end up fine after all. I just wish I could tell Aulea. She always told me things would be alright in the end.”
He shakes his head and Nyx sees tears of relief and happiness starting to form in Cor’s eyes.
“Tea?” He asks and Cor nods and follows him inside.
*
It’s been eighteen years. Nobody else is visiting these years, has since Cor first started coming, and Nyx is casually leaning on the window ledge waiting for Cor to arrive. He grins when he sees the familiar silhouette approach in the rain, puts the kettle on the stove and opens the door with a smile.
“Hey there.” He leans in and pulls Cor into an embrace and down into a kiss, both of which Cor returns immediately.
“Good day?” Cor asks with a smirk dancing over his lips.
“It’s always a good day when you’re stopping by.”
“Can you attest that to me somehow?”
Nyx snorts and it’s one of Cor’s snorts, he realizes with a start. How about that?
“I think I love you.”
It was meant to be a silent thought, but Nyx finds it feels right once his mind stops racing.
Cor is looking at him and he seems so much closer all of a sudden, his eyes widened.
“I –”
“You don’t have to say it back if this is too fast for you,” Nyx rushes to say, but Cor only shakes his head.
“No, I actually – I actually think I love you as well.”
Nyx’s heart stutters and he can’t look away from Cor as he takes in his words.
Now, how about that?
“Tea?” Cor asks when he has apparently been silent for too long, just gazing at Cor with so many damn feelings.
He nods before the words and the whine of the kettle in the kitchen register. Ten seconds later, when Cor has turned off the stove and is turning to pick up some mugs, Nyx catches his wrist and stops him.
“Got the order wrong, sorry. You first, and then some tea and cuddles?”
Cor snorts and then smiles at him.
“Sure, hon.”
Nyx splutters and blushes before he hides in Cor’s chest and it’s Cor’s favorite look.
*
The nineteenth year, Cor is later than usual. Nyx knows him and his fighting skills well enough to trust him to be okay, so he tries not to worry.
He opens the door quickly when he sees him approach.
“You are late this –”
He interrupts himself, noticing the tight set of Cor’s shoulders, and steps aside after a moment of shock to let the man inside.
There are dried blood stains on Cor’s clothes and it seems like the blood isn’t only his own.
“What happened?”
Cor is quiet for a long moment and Nyx steps closer to put his arms around him. Eventually, he feels Cor’s shaky exhale against his face and the warmth of Cor’s forehead against his own.
“Insomnia fell.”
*
He has already taken care of seeing his nephew – the prince, the only heir to the Lucian throne – off safely on his journey to collect his arms. There isn’t much more he can do to help Noctis and it’s driving him crazy, Nyx can tell.
Cor is angry at himself, angry at Regis.
“I could have been there.”
“You would be dead now if you had been.”
“Regis once said that I attract danger wherever I go. And yet that idiot-“
“Is that true?” Nyx interrupts him.
“What? The danger?” Cor falls silent, mulls it over for a second. “I suppose so, even though I’d never tell Reggie- Fuck.”
Nyx can see the tears in the corners of Cor’s eyes. As he caresses Cor’s back as calmly as he can manage, a plan starts to form in his mind.
“If I told you to attract as many dropships and MT force here, to Galahd, as you can, would you do it?”
Cor looks at him like he lost his mind for a moment, and maybe he has, but if Nyx knows something, then it’s that Ramuh hates the Nifs for what they’ve done just as much as every Galahdian and Lucian does. When he doesn’t say anything further, Cor seems to consider his question.
“I would certainly try, if I knew no harm would come to you.”
Nyx laughs and it comes from deep in his belly.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. It’s the Nifs that won’t be.”
He doesn’t look away when Cor gives him an – understandably, he supposes – worried gaze. But Nyx is Galahdian and it’s not him who will encounter the Nifs. He’ll stay in the back, safe in the storm and out of harm’s way, and watch them fall. He is Galahdian – he doesn’t have to fear the storm.
*
“Promise me you won’t turn around and won’t come back until it’s over. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t understand why you’d want that,” Cor admits. “I’d rather be by your side through this. But you have my word.”
“Thank you.”
Nyx pushes himself up and pulls Cor into a deep kiss that once again ends up with them both in a tangled mess on the ground between his and Cor’s blankets. He feels the strong urge to crawl into Cor’s skin, not ever let him go, but he needs to for the plan to work.
He just hopes that Cor will return, after it is over, and maybe, maybe stay even when the storm abates.
*
Cor leaves the next morning, wearing a talisman Nyx hastily made for him, nervous despite his faith in his plan and wanting Cor to be safe, the first and only thing he ever wanted in so many years, really.
Cor leaves and doesn’t turn around, and the storm picks up after him.
*
It takes several weeks until the first signs of MTs and other Nif military arrive, but the storm is ready.
He can hear some of them over their radios, volume turned up loud enough for them to be able to communicate over the noise of the storm.
“The prince is said to be hiding here somewhere. All trails led to this… place.”
It’s said with disgust and the storm seems to retaliate by becoming even worse.
*
Two weeks later, it’s only the storm that is howling still. A huge part – at least it looks like it has to be a huge part to Nyx – of the Nif army is destroyed, deformed wrecks on the ashes of the ground they wreaked havoc on over two decades ago. A bitter feeling of irony and satisfaction forms in Nyx’s mouth at the sight and he turns around to return to his hut.
*
Cor returns a month later, as if he was trying to make sure it was really over before he did, and as he walks, the rain around him seems to let up.
He doesn’t get around to asking Nyx about the rain or the victory, though. Because the moment the hut appears in front of him, Nyx comes running through the door and the rain and pulls him into a kiss that is both a promise and a confession.
Nyx drags him inside and out of his clothes and instead of a blanket wraps himself around him. He pulls him on top of their blankets and whispers against every part of his skin as his hands won’t stop running over Cor’s wet skin.
Cor can make out “I love you’s” and “Please don’t leave again” and realizes Nyx wouldn’t hear him were he to reply to him right now.
So he settles on pulling Nyx closer and kissing him – his hair, his face, his lips – until Nyx is willing to let Cor peel him out of his wet clothes as well.
“I love you too. And I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.”
It’s quiet, but it’s enough to make Nyx’s eyes look up sharply and there’s so much relief in them.
“…even though I attract danger.” Cor smirks, the corner of his lip lightly pulled up, and Nyx lets out a teary laugh.
“I really don’t care, as you should know by now.”
So maybe there are still dangers out there that Cor might attract, that might hurt him on some days. Hell, even Nyx has to admit he is guilty of attracting more danger than any other person he has ever known, Cor aside.
But he thinks they’ll be just fine as a lighter rain covers Galahd’s ground outside and Cor wraps his arms around him in a way that makes him feel safe and at home.
*
Cor is standing right by his side when the first group of his people arrives and asks if there is anything they can help with to make the place habitable again, and he smiles when Nyx nods enthusiastically and shows them how to get started.
The storms aren’t as harsh as they used to be for almost three decades anymore these days. They’re much more like they always used to be in Galahd, the same after the war as they used to be before it.
Before long, two figures approach over a hilltop and stop in their tracks for only a moment before breaking into a run. Cor gives him a gentle push against his back and then Nyx is running as well.
Hello! Came from AO3. I love your writing! I've since fallen in love with Dylarrison, and you're to thank for that! :)
Hello!!! ^^/
Sorry for the late reply – I first saw your message a while ago already, but then life got busy and I didn’t get around replying until now! D:
Thank you so, so much??? <3333 For letting me know that you enjoy my writing – and came over from AO3 to tell me! I know it might not seem like a lot, but I have mentioned my fic blog in the notes section for years already, and before you, no one ever reached out to me over here? – and also?? That my writing made you fall in love with this wonderful ship? >u< That’s seriously so sweet to hear, omg <3333
Really, I just. Appreciate your kind message so very much, it made me so happy, aaaah <3333
I hope you have a most lovely day, and thank you so much again!!! <3333
Hi! I love your Traveling Wilburys fics so much, especially the Dylarrison ones! I’m not sure if you take prompts or requests, but in case you do, could you maybe write about the Wilburys doing a public appearance, when George notices that Bob can’t take the stress anymore and has an anxiety attack, so he pulls him aside as soon as possible to calm him down. Thanks a lot and please keep going, your writing is great!
Hi!!! *waves*
I’m so sorry it took me so long to reply – life has been kinda busy since I first saw your message! D:
First off – thank you so, so much???? <3333 I’m seriously delighted to hear that, the Traveling Wilburys are one of my favourite fandoms to write for (and probably the one I have written the most for – counting both posted and unposted fics)!
Regarding prompts – I usually don’t open prompts on here, but I’m never averse to getting sent some! It all depends on whether or not I’m currently inspired to write and – just as importantly, sadly – have time for it, so! Sending prompts is absolutely fine! (Plus, it really makes me happy that you care enough about my writing to ask for more?? <3333)
Aaaaaah~ Anyway, I absolutely love your prompt, and while I’m currently pretty busy, I’ll def write it down for when I have more time again :D I do miss writing for these two (*looks longingly at my 15k long, but far from finished Dylarrison WIP*) <3333
Anyway, pardon for rambling a bit and thank you so very much again - your message really made my day!!! *hugs* Have a wonderful day, dear anon! <3333
As the title of this post already suggests, I am planning on making a sort of fanfic Advent calendar this year. I did this with a comic I drew many years ago once and it was super fun! So I thought hey, I have so many unposted fics I could finally share, why not make a fanfic calendar this time round? ^^
The fics will be for multiple fandoms: among others M*A*S*H, The Traveling Wilburys, FFXV, Jeeves and Wooster, DA:I, Queen, as well as Marvel (the first four especially). Some are shorter ones, but I also have fics up to 4k, so on the whole, it will be a whole lot of writing I finally get to share. ^u^
I’ll always add links to AO3 in my self reblogs of the fics, but I’ll also reblog try to update this post daily, so that there’ll be a masterlist of links in the end.
I hope you’ll have as much fun reading the coming fics as I had writing them! ^-^/
* * * *
❄️ No. 1: 5 Love Languages (The Traveling Wilburys; Dylarrison)
❄️ No. 2: He Protects and He Attacks (Jeeves and Wooster; Jooster)
❄️ No. 3: Nosebleed (Queen; Joger)
❄️ No. 4: Not Leaving Till You Smile (M*A*S*H; Hunnihawk)
❄️ No. 5: I Love You (The Traveling Wilburys; Dylarrison)
❄️ No. 6: The Old and New Friends Bowling Evening (FFXV; CorNyx)
❄️ No. 7: Roger Knows Best (Queen & M*A*S*H; Hunnihawk)
❄️ No. 8: I Won’t Even Ask (Jeeves and Wooster; Jooster)
❄️ No. 9: Come and Hold Me Close (The Traveling Wilburys; Dylarrison)
❄️ No. 10: Ghost in an Old Haunt (Marvel; Steve & Bucky)
❄️ No. 11: Come Back to Me (The Traveling Wilburys; Penne)
❄️ No. 12: Snow Kisses (M*A*S*H; Charles x Donna)
❄️ No. 13: Nosebleed 2 (Queen; Joger)
❄️ No. 14: To Love and Cherish (Jeeves and Wooster; Jooster)
❄️ No. 15: A Different Life (FFXV)
❄️ No. 16: In Every Universe (Queen; Joger)
❄️ No. 17: Why This Mug (DA:I; Cassandra x Varric)
❄️ No. 18: I Spy a Spy Spider (M*A*S*H; Charles x Donna)
❄️ No. 19: Confessions (Jeeves and Wooster; Jooster)
❄️ No. 20: He’s Mine (The Traveling Wilburys; Dylarrison)
❄️ No. 21: Stellar (M*A*S*H; Charles x Donna)
❄️ No. 22: A Winter Night (M*A*S*H; Hawkeye x Charles)
And that’s it, folks! ^-^ I ended up skipping two days because I was too busy to edit/write more, but I think it’s alright. ^^ I hope you enjoyed this calendar as much as I enjoyed making it! ❤️ Merry Christmas! 🎄🎁 ❄️❤️
Title: A Winter Night
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce/Charles Winchester
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 4094
Summary: The last person Charles expected to find on his front door steps at 9pm during a Boston snowstorm had to be Hawkeye Pierce, wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf and looking like he was about to pass out. Aka Utter Fluff with all the Good Tropes: clothes-sharing, conversations over hot beverages, bad pick-up lines and slowdancing :D
A/N: Part 22 of my Daily Fanfic Chocolates calendar :D I got the lovely prompt “slowdancing” for Hawkeye and Charles from the wonderful @blue-ravens! <3333 Thank you so much for this prompt, because this fic ended up being one of my favourite things I’ve written this year! ^-^ Please enjoy ❤
(links to AO3 and the DFC masterpost are in the reblogs!)
The last person Charles expected to find on his front door steps at 9pm during a Boston snowstorm had to be Hawkeye Pierce, wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf and looking like he was about to pass out.
Charles was literally rendered speechless for a moment – a moment that Hawkeye used to hoarsely mutter, “Had nowhere else to go, Chuck.”
And Charles doubted that Hawkeye had no other place to go, at least, generally speaking. But before he could utter his incredulity, Hawkeye was already stumbling forward. Charles managed to catch him just in time, because as he looked down to ask him what the heaven he thought he was doing, he realized that Hawkeye had passed out.
Charles’s predominant reaction was worry and, after shifting Hawkeye in his arms somewhat, he pulled him inside the house as carefully as he could, given that he was handling a grown adult of no little height.
After a short trip, he put him down on the couch in the living room. He took a long look at the thin, lanky man in front of him, his hair even grayer than it had been the last time Charles had seen him. There were still lots of snowflakes all over his hair and coat, only slowly starting to melt now that he was in the warm. Charles shook his head in wonderment. Then, he got to work.
Hawkeye was regaining consciousness by the time Charles had spread a warm, cozy blanket over him and moved his head to rest against a soft cushion. The smell of tea and warm pastries already filled the room, as he slowly blinked his eyes open and was met by the sight of Charles, who sat in an armchair opposite of him, wearing a cozy-looking sweater and a concerned expression.
“I passed out, didn’t I?” His voice seemed to surprise him with its scratchiness, and Charles silently pushed a mug of tea over the coffee table between them and toward him.
“Thank you, Charles.” Hawkeye smiled at him, but his smile was met by a raised eyebrow.
“I have to admit that I have some questions. The most important one, as you can probably imagine, concerns your being here.”
Hawkeye took a slow sip from his tea and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of the hot drink running down his throat. Then he opened his eyes again and looked straight at Charles.
“I think I managed to tell you before Morpheus got the better of me.”
“That’s one way to put it. But it doesn’t explain why you are here, in Boston during a snowstorm, of all places.” He paused and looked at Hawkeye, whose gaze wandered down to the floor for a second. “Please, do go on.”
Hawkeye took a deep breath, holding onto his mug of tea with both his hands like a lifeline. “Alright. But the story isn’t as dramatic as you might expect it to be. Sorry if I disappoint you.”
Charles didn’t let it on, but he felt relieved somewhat. The humorous Hawkeye Pierce he had known in Korea wasn’t a pale, cold icicle anymore, but thawing instead and crossing his legs as he made himself more comfortable on Charles’s couch.
“You know, there was this medical conference at the Boston General that ended earlier today.”
It was a question and Charles nodded. “I gave a lecture there today.”
“I know.” Hawkeye gave him a little smile. “I was there, in fact. In the back.”
The room had been rather large, so Charles didn’t feel bad about not having seen him. He was surprised though.
“You came down all the way from Maine to attend a two-day conference in Boston?”
“I heard you were giving a talk and I didn’t wanna miss it.”
Both of Charles’s eyebrows rose of their own accord, and he blushed. Then, rationality returned, and he shifted in his armchair, hands interlocked as he looked Hawkeye in the eyes.
“I’m not sure if you’re planning to play a very strange, very elaborate sort of practical joke on me five years after we last saw each other, Pierce, but–”
Hawkeye sighed.
“I am not.”
He didn’t meet Charles’s gaze as he raked his hands through now his slightly wet hair for a moment.
“I will gladly explain everything to you, but… ah.” He looked at Charles sheepishly. “Could I perhaps borrow some dry clothes from you first?”
Charles was beginning to itch to know more about Hawkeye’s sudden arrival, but, after a closer look at Hawkeye and his damp-looking clothes, he relented.
“Give me a few minutes, Pierce. You can already discard your damp clothes in the bathroom; we can wash them and put them in the dryer later.”
After showing him where to leave his wet shoes, he pointed Hawkeye, who was looking around the house in badly hidden curiosity, toward the bathroom and left to select some clothes his visitor could wear during his stay.
Charles found himself rummaging through his closet for a good couple of minutes until he settled on an old but soft beige sweater and some warm, black pajama pants that he hadn’t worn in ages. He also picked out a warm pair of socks – he had no idea how long Hawkeye had spent outside in the snowstorm, but judging by his boots’ state it must have been a rather long time. As unexpected as his visit was, Charles wouldn’t let anyone coming into his house get sick due to a lack of care on his part.
He knocked on the bathroom door and placed the folded clothes on Hawkeye’s outstretched hand. Then, the door closed again, and Charles turned around to return to the living room.
“Thank you, Charles.”
Charles paused and turned around halfway.
“Don’t mention it, Pierce.”
Somehow, Hawkeye’s last name came out softer than he was used to saying it.
Charles made for the kitchen and placed the croissants he had been warming up in the oven on the table in the living room, as well as two glasses of red wine, and waited.
About ten minutes later, a much more comfortable-looking Hawkeye returned to the living room. He had his hands stuffed into the pants pockets awkwardly and gave Charles a smile when their gazes met.
“Thanks again, Charles. I don’t think I’ll turn into Frosty now.” The joke fell flat somewhat as Charles gave him a court nod and indicated for him to sit down on the couch next to him.
“Wine, Charles?”
Charles nodded as Hawkeye sat down on the other side of the sofa.
“I thought you might enjoy some later. Now, how about you finally explain to me what had you come to my house of all places?”
Hawkeye nodded slowly, then turned slightly toward Charles, not quite looking at him.
“I booked a hotel in the outskirts of the city… I had only heard about the conference pretty late, and most hotels in the city center were either full already or overpriced.”
Charles nodded, even though he kept wondering what had Hawkeye make such a last-minute decision. It couldn’t have only been his lecture.
“Anyway, as you surly noticed, the snowstorm outside kicked in some time after the conference ended. Just when I was about to return to my hotel.”
Hawkeye still wasn’t looking at him, fiddling with his fingers instead.
“I, ah–” he started. “I looked up your address in my address book and saw that your place would be closer. I thought I could make it before the storm got too bad.” He laughed drily. “Well, I miscalculated.”
Charles didn’t notice that he was leaning in closer, interested in hearing how Hawkeye’s story continued.
“I realized halfway here that my money wouldn’t be enough for the entire cab ride, so I walked the rest of the way. The storm caught me and I spent the last forty minutes or so outside in the lousy weather. …the end.”
Hawkeye gestured to dramatically underline the end of his story. He blinked in surprise when Charles caught one of his hands in his own hands and carefully ran a thumb over it.
“May I?” Charles said, then shook his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I should have asked in advance.”
Hawkeye mirrored him.
“No, no, it’s alright, Chuck. Nothing warms me up more than a little hand-holding.”
“You could have gotten serious frostbite on your hands, Pierce,” Charles commented with a hint of worry in his voice. “Your hands are still cold and red, despite how long you have been in the warm already by now.”
He let go off Hawkeye’s hand and looked into the distance pensively for a moment. When he spoke again, Hawkeye was quietly staring at his own hands as if he was trying to figure something out.
“How long are you staying in Boston?”
Hawkeye looked up and shrugged.
“I don’t know. Depends on a couple of things, I guess.”
Charles looks at him, disbelieving.
“Such as the snowstorm out there. I obviously can’t fly back as long as it’s still wreaking havoc across the city.” His answer sounded almost defensive and Charles leaned back again a little.
“How long have you booked your hotel room for, then?”
“…two more nights.”
Charles nodded, not knowing what to add, or rather, how to ask what Hawkeye was planning to do in Boston the next two days. For some reason he wanted to know if there was anything else to Hawkeye’s visit besides a medical conference and perhaps some sight-seeing.
“You can stay here for as long as the situation outside remains this bad,” Charles found himself offering without thinking.
