#need to draw characters brooding in front of windows with space

[ambered-glazed-sheep]

today in: i spent the whole day starting to construct a spaceship in minecraft

[hualianff]

Untethered (Bonus I) 《III》

In the Shadow of Ghosts — The Newton Brothers

Three years ago….

Tap. Tap.

Xie Lian thinks he imagines it at first. After all, it had been a long day of handling commoners’ affairs, entertaining visiting royalty, and carrying out other menial tasks that are required of him as a prince. Not that he minds too much. Xie Lian thoroughly enjoys helping whoever he can and making the kingdom a better place for his people.

But it is exhausting work, and takes both a mental and physical toll on Xie Lian. This is why more often than not, on busy days like this, he requests the servants to have a bath drawn right before he retires to his room for the night. The steaming hot water mixed with Xie Lian’s favorite-scented bath salts loosen his muscles wonderfully, as well as clear his senses.

In the dimly lit washroom, Xie Lian lets himself unwind. It’s a gradual process, one that his body initially rejects after being so wound up for hours on end. Xie Lian lathers a dollop of lavender oil along his waist-length hair, holding it above the water to let the oil properly soak in before rinsing it under the spout.

Simply put, Xie Lian chalks the strange noise up to his restless mind making him hear things that are not there. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Besides, who in their right mind would dare break into a prince’s bedroom chambers, where royal guards surround the premise?

Tap.

At the dusk of twilight?

Tap!

Xie Lian is sure no one is crazy about him enough to scale the palace walls to the third level-

Tap.

-except for someone coming to assassinate him!?

Tap tap tap tap tap-

Okay, now that he didn’t imagine. That incessant tapping is very real.

“Goodness me-” Xie Lian mutters, dunking his head under the water in a lame attempt to hastily clean his hair. He then stumbles out of the tub to grab a gown, flinging it around his body to cover himself up.

Luckily, there are no windows in the washroom. The doors also remain shut, providing the prince with the utmost privacy during his bath times, but also serving as a protective barrier at this moment. However, the distinct tapping continues, clearly coming from the other side of the doors.

Against his better judgment, Xie Lian flattens himself against the wall next to the entrance and knocks back.

The tapping stops.

A muffled “Your Highness” follows in response.

Xie Lian’s stomach violently drops at the familiar drawl. It couldn’t be...

“Prince Xianle,” his tempter calls again.

Xie Lian quietly gasps.

The prince cautiously opens the doors leading into his bedroom. He spots a silhouetted figure standing outside on his balcony, and if the build and height were not a familiar sight, Xie Lian would certainly be freaking out more. By subconsciously wrapping the robe tighter around himself–Xie Lian realizes just how flimsy and inappropriate the garment is for others to set eyes on–and approaches the glass doors

He also realizes he does not care.

Xie Lian pulls aside the sheer, golden velvet curtains.

A lanky, strong-built man in dashing red attire greets him through the glass. Xie Lian’s eyes bulge impossibly wide, mouth parting in surprise.

Crimson Rain grins like the devil he is. He doesn’t say anything more, letting the devious look in his eye do the speaking. When the pirate captain lifts a palm to lay flat against the glass door’s surface, Xie Lian feels a growing urge to intertwine it with his own.

Xie Lian places his own palm on the opposite side of the glass. He knows how terrible of an idea it is to enable intruders onto palace grounds, to let Hua Cheng in and the detrimental repercussions awaiting if they were found out.

City of Stars – Yan Chaojie

Th-th-th-th-thump. Hua Cheng drums his fingers upon the glass, raising an expectant eyebrow. Xie Lian stubbornly shakes his head, making a cutting motion at his neck. The pirate seems to take this as a challenge. He can probably see how close Xie Lian is to giving in, just needs one last push to lure the prince in opening the doors to his chambers.

Hua Cheng frames both hands against the glass, blowing hot air in between, effectively fogging up the surface. He draws a massive heart in the condensation. Xie Lian fails to bite back his smile, yet another one of his actions Hua Cheng notices with a smug look.

The pirate proceeds to drag his finger through practiced strokes, writing backward so Xie Lian can read normally on his side. From where he observes, the concentration apparent on Hua Cheng’s face greatly amuses Xie Lian. The characters are still barely legible. Fortunately, Xie Lian has the experience in deciphering Crimson Rain’s infamous scrawl with the intermittent letters he receives.

谢怜 x 三郎

Xie Lian’s face twists in confusion. He immediately unlocks the glass doors, yanking them to the side.

“Who is San Lang?” Xie Lian demands with a pout, forgetting all about his current state of appearance. Hua Cheng smiles into his fist, then graciously enters Xie Lian’s bedroom.

“Another name I go by,” the pirate answers nonchalantly, sliding the door closed behind him. He towers over Xie Lian, dressed in his trademark black heeled-boots with silver chains, whereas Xie Lian’s feet are bare. Plus, Hua Cheng has only continued to grow since the first time they crossed past nearly two years ago. “Should the weather permit fog in the next few days and anyone happens to see, they will not be able to connect San Lang to me.”

“Hua Cheng, your fingerprints are all over the glass,” Xie Lian reminds in exasperation. Hua Cheng frowns when he is addressed, as if he had eaten something not to his liking. He seamlessly replaces it with a mischievous smirk.

“My fingerprints are not documented in the first place,” he says.

“Oh, I see.”

Pirates abide not by any kingdom’s rule but by the laws of the ocean.

Hua Cheng briefly turns to look back at the fading image of their names, his expression calculated but determined once he meets Xie Lian’s gaze again.

“I believe it would also be safest if you referred to me-” Hua Cheng points to the door. “-as such.”

“As what?”

“...”

“How should I call you?”

Hua Cheng narrows his brooding eye.

“Why ask when you already know the answer?”

“Just spit it out, Crimson Rain.” Xie Lian smiles cheekily.

“Your Highness, do not test me.”

Despite his threatening words, Hua Cheng’s posture is stiff, and can even be described as awkward. His arms have obediently remained by his side the entire time, keeping a respectful distance away from Xie Lian. The prince laughs out loud at how constipated Hua Cheng looks.

Without further adieu, Xie Lian throws himself at the taller man. He glomps onto Hua Cheng like a child grabbing onto a stuffed animal, straining his arms to grasp around the pirate’s broad shoulders.

“If San Lang ever wants a hug, he needs only to ask,” Xie Lian admonishes light-heartedly, squishing his cheek against Hua Cheng’s sternum. Hua Cheng chuckles happily, body finally relaxing into the embrace. He winds his arms around Xie Lian’s middle.

“Gege’s benevolence knows no bounds,” Hua Cheng murmurs tenderly. Xie Lian squeezes tighter around him, having no intentions of letting go soon. He missed his pirate dearly, after all. Three months apart had felt like three years. “This San Lang is gladly indebted to His Highness.”

Hua Cheng gently caresses Xie Lian’s head but pauses when he realizes how slippery the prince’s hair is. The pirate rolls the end of a strand between his fingers, droplets of water escaping the tips.

“Gege, did you recently wash?” he asks. Xie Lian shyly nods, containing his blush when Hua Cheng slightly pulls back to take in his satin gown.

“I was bathing when you arrived,” Xie Lian says. With some space between them, Xie Lan realizes with horror that his damp hair created a huge wet spot on the front of Hua Cheng’s robes.

Before he can apologize, Hua Cheng quickly ushers Xie Lian to sit on the cushioned stool in front of his vanity, muttering “please forgive this San Lang for his untimely intrusion” and “allow me to tend to gege’s hair as atonement for such despicable behavior.”

Xie Lian doesn’t know what to say. Hua Cheng’s submissive words render him speechless. It’s a stark contrast to the way Hua Cheng treated him in the beginning, when they were just rivals holding each other at swordpoint. Only in the last year have they been secretly meeting without the pretense of dueling, and even then, Xie Lian only sees Hua Cheng every few months, whenever the pirate happens to sail near Xianle Kingdom. It would be unfathomable for his past self to consider Crimson Rain anything less than a cunning, vicious pirate.

Now, Hua Cheng stands in the Prince of Xianle’s private chambers, offering to brush his hair.

Xie Lian stares wordlessly at Hua Cheng’s reflection. Hua Cheng’s earnest expression does not fade. How absurd it is that a captain of his own pirate ship would reduce himself to the duty of a simple palace servant. Though the thought often crosses his mind, Xie Lian hasn’t turned Hua Cheng in yet. It feels somewhat treasonous to excuse a pirate trespassing and sneaking around on Xianle territory.

Then again, Hua Cheng hasn’t stirred up trouble in public for one whole year. He merely comes back for Xie Lian. This notion alone makes Xie Lian giddy inside.

Xie Lian reaches for a lavishly jeweled comb, then presents it to Hua Cheng. The pirate accepts the comb with a grateful hum, then takes hold of Xie Lian’s wrist to press his lips to the top of his hand.

Xie Lian’s heart sings.

“Would gege be partial to sharing what a day in Prince Xianle’s life looks like?” Hua Cheng asks as he releases Xie Lian’s hand. He begins running the comb through the prince’s long, weighted locks, effortlessly detangling the lower ends. The sensations are heavenly.

“Only if San Lang tells me what a day in Crimson Rain’s life looks like after,” Xie Lian answers with a sluggish tongue. Through the mirror, he sees Hua Cheng smile in satisfaction. Xie Lian slowly closes his eyes as the continuous brushing motions to his hair send pleasant tingles down his spine.

“Whatever His Highness wishes.”

《Bonus II》

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.11}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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While Robin's wound really did only feel like a pulled muscle at this point, she still had had to agree that their last excursion which had been planned for this Saturday should better be canceled for the sake of her recovery. Thus they spent the remainder of the day mainly by reading, working on editing the handbook, and drinking too much coffee for their own good. However it was only when evening rolled around that they finally decided to take a look at the damage beneath the bandages that were still wrapped around Robin's middle, only to find that the only reminders of the previous evening were an admittedly horrendous bruise, and a pink scar that ran along the arch of her lowest rib at the length of about a finger. Oh well… it wasn't pretty, but considering the circumstances, Robin still found herself glad that it wasn't worse, and Snape simply didn't comment on it at all. Indeed, he seemed to be rather relieved when she dropped the hem of her t-shirt back down (and thereby covered the bruised skin of her stomach), which was a reaction Robin simply refused to think about in either direction.

After that the evening trickled by comfortably like most of their evenings did by now, calm and easy and filled with conversations about everything and nothing, and before long they made dinner like they usually brewed their potions; late at night, together, and each knowing their perfect place in the process wordlessly. Robin appreciated every single second of the evening, like she had loved every second of the day. But that made it all the more painful to think that this wouldn't last, not even beyond morning. Most likely was that it would never happen again, none of this, and that thought was what twisted her heart and put a lump into her throat as she was sitting on the sofa in front of the lit up fireplace once more, a good while after their meal.

It was a surprisingly cold and stormy night for late August, even for England, and while the rain was whipping against the windows now, and the wind howling through the small cracks and gaps in the walls, Robin couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. She had wrapped herself into the blankets again, trying to focus on the book in her hands while Snape in the armchair nearby was doing the same. But no matter how much she tried to keep the gloomy thoughts at bay, the feeling of painful loss just wouldn't leave her alone, and the fact that she couldn't possibly miss something she had never had in the first place irritated her enough to draw every focus away from the book and into her own head. Why was she feeling so sad all of a sudden? The day had been lovely, the evening too��� and yet here she was, trying not to cry over absolutely nothing. It wasn't just the realization that the day had been too good to be true, that it would never last, that it had only been an exception… none of that would suffice to upset her like this. They'd had times like this before, in a different way, and they would have them again. She wasn't concerned about that, not really… but then what was it that troubled her mind?

"Stop it." Snape's voice disrupted her downward spiral of thoughts, and Robin tried to open her eyes only to find that they were open already, and staring into empty space. Probably had been for a while at this point.

"Stop what?" She asked in mild irritation and looked over to him instead, not without taking notice that he had placed his book down and was returning her gaze. Probably had been for a while at this point, too.

"Getting lost in your own head. Letting your thoughts drag you to dark places you have no need to dwell in."

"How do you know that that's what I was doing?"

"Was it not?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

He sighed softly, then sat up straighter. "You haven't turned a page in half an hour, which is the time you usually would need for a quarter of an entire book of this kind. Then, while you obviously have been thinking, you did not make an attempt to share your thoughts with me, which is what you usually do with anything that isn't negative. In return, this means that whatever you have been thinking about is unpleasant for you. But if it was a problem of any kind, one that required solving or was at least possible to solve, you again would most likely tell me about it at this point, which you did not. This leaves as the only possibility that you were overthinking something of no immediate relevance, or at least were dwelling on something that made you sad. Which I would like you not to do, nor to be."

Robin's lips curled into a small smile before she could help it, and a little of the gloom melted away as it was replaced by warmth and adoration. "I didn't know you understood me better than I do."

"I merely pay attention to the details. Would be quite impossible to keep up with you otherwise."

"Am I really that complicated?" She couldn't help chuckling at least a little, deeming it more a compliment than anything, and seeing as finally enough tension had left her body, she let herself sink further into the cushions.

"No. Complex perhaps, and challenging. But complicated would be the wrong word for it."

"I'd really rather be complex than complicated; one speaks of intelligence and character, the other of drama and effort. Then again, I surely cause you enough trouble to be called complicated indeed."

"Life is complicated either way. The true art in it is finding what makes the trouble worth it."

Robin didn't even have to think to know that she had found exactly this for herself a long time ago. Primarily, the very person in front of her. Really, she had no doubt that she would go through absolutely anything for him, with him, no matter what. Then –on a secondary level, or a different kind of level rather– she had found her passion for her research. Either way, she wondered what made life worth it for Snape. His job perhaps, his work as well… she could very well imagine that it was potions indeed. But she could also imagine other things, and she would fare better if she didn't imagine anything at all. Time for a subtle change of topic.

"You really have learned to be more positive, you know that?" She smirked at him with a quirked eyebrow, hoping that it would suffice to act over her own emotions beneath the fragile surface of her facade.

"Say that again and there will be consequences." He drawled in a feigned scowl, and Robin had to grin even more.

"Like what? I'm already sleeping on the couch with a healing stab wound. There's little you can do." She teased on even though she knew very well that there actually was quite a lot he could do, giving him a sassy shrug nonetheless, which actually threatened to make him break his facade. Robin saw the humor in his eyes, so obviously that it almost screamed at her, until it suddenly was replaced entirely by neutrality. Half a second later he rose to his feet in one swift move, killed the fire at the same time, and was already halfway across the small room before Robin even knew that was going on.

But once her mind snapped into place, she jumped into action instinctively and lunged forward in such an uncontrolled quick impulse, to catch his arm before he was out of reach, that she couldn't catch herself anymore and tumbled over, off the sofa and onto the hard floor. An action that would've hurt even without a healing wound. But she had gotten a hold of his sleeve at least, even if it was of fairly little use now that she was in a heap on the floor once more, drawing in a sharp breath against the rush of pain.

"Bloody hell…" She groaned after the initial stinging had dimmed down, and found that when she opened her eyes, she was met with a deep and concerned frown.

"What, pray tell, were you trying to do?!" He asked a bit too harshly, but Robin figured that it was because he probably was as surprised as she was herself.

"Stopping you from leaving." She defended her own action rather weakly, feeling way too insecure as she let him help her back onto the sofa where he sat down next to her. "I… I don't know what it is that I did, but I swear I didn't mean to upset you."

"You did nothing wrong, and you certainly did not upset me. You worried me with that stunt right there, but that was entirely my own fault as it seems." He said, and if his facial expressions had ever been obvious, it was now. Regret, anger and concern, all put on display for Robin to see without a doubt. "I failed to come up with a decent reply to your tease, so I thought I might simply prove that there is one thing I could do to get a reaction from you after all, but I had no intention of actually leaving nor did I think it would end like this. I'm sorry for crossing the line."

Fear dropped from Robin's heart as suddenly as it had been placed on it, and perhaps that was why she gave in to this most desperate urge without resistance. In an instant, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly, kneeling on the sofa next to him as she buried her face in his neck and she hugged him as close to herself as she possibly could. Insufferable idiot… going too far while teasing was her speciality, not his! He never did… until now, it seems. It didn't matter, Robin still clung onto him with no intention to let go, and after a second of initial surprise, of freezing like he did so often, he placed his arms around her in return.

"Don't do that to me… Don't leave me like everyone else did." She breathed after a while, and as she spoke her lips barely brushed against the delicate spot of skin above the collar of his shirt. "You're… I… I can't have you leaving me as well."

"I would never." He replied so quietly, so seriously that a shiver ran down Robin's spine. "I am not going anywhere unless you want me to."

"You will still have to leave tomorrow, no matter what I want."

"If you want me to stay, I will."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Again, it took Robin a few seconds to process the overwhelming amount of emotions ebbing through her in return, to convince herself that he was only saying this because of what had happened yesterday. He only wanted to make sure she would be alright. And she would be, but only without the guilt of getting in the way of how things were supposed to be on her conscience.

"You have no idea how much that means to me… but it would be incredibly selfish of me to ask that of you when there's no good reason to stay, but many reasons to go. I will be just fine on my own, I have been for years. It's just one bloody week, and it's an important one." She finally said, in more or less certainty of her words. "You have to go."

"I know you will be fine." He returned calmly, yet in the same seriousness as ever. "You always are."

"Unless I get stabbed, or cursed, or tortured, or eaten alive by a bear, or-..."

"You are making it really difficult for me to go."

"Sorry." She breathed, but a smile tugged on her lips no less. It didn't matter why he didn't want to leave her… the fact alone was enough for now. More than enough, actually.

When he eventually started drawing tiny patterns on her back again, Robin finally realized that she was leaning against him with her entire weight by now, her head resting on his shoulder just like yesterday, and she knew that if she didn't put an end to that now, it would also end exactly like yesterday.

"I should probably let go of you now." She sighed under her breath, more to herself than to Snape, but as much as she knew she should indeed, her body would not obey her rational mind.

"And why is that?" He asked in return, and his hands stilled on her back while his hold on her however didn't loosen up in the slightest.

"I'm falling asleep." Robin breathed sadly. "And if you don't want a repetition of yesterday, I have to let go now."

For another moment neither of them moved at all, leaving Robin to wonder if she had even spoken up in the first place or merely dreamed her words, but when she finally forced herself to lift her head and then started pulling away, his arms around her tightened in an instant to keep her in place right where she was. An immediate shiver ran through her body when he leaned back into the sofa without a word and simply pulled her with him, their embrace never once faltering, while the movement left them in a far more comfortable position than before. Robin didn't mind in the least that it had her resting against him more than sitting like he still was at this point, and indeed, if there was such a thing as a highest place of comfort, she was sure to have reached it now.

Perhaps it was only a dream. Perhaps she had fallen asleep long before, and none of this was real. But when she focused on his chest rising and falling beneath her, on the scent that was so uniquely him, on his hands splayed out across her back… she knew that no dream could be positively overwhelming like this. Beyond anything she had imagined would ever be a part of her reality. Perhaps it would become one of those things they didn't talk about, that simply were without ever being addressed. Like their coffee habit used to be in the beginning… or the perpetual fact that they had been each other's not-date to the ball for years now. It likely would become one of those things, one of those wordless events neither dared to speak of… but Robin didn't mind at all. For once, she wouldn't question why he was allowing this to happen, wouldn't overthink what it did or didn't mean. She had given him the fair chance to escape the situation, and he had pulled her closer in return. It was easy as that, and allowing herself to simply enjoy it in return was even easier for once. Without the war within herself but with his arms wrapped around her securely, she was asleep within seconds.

… … …

Sunday came far too quickly and before long, Snape had to leave, which meant that Robin had all afternoon to explore the house she would have all to herself for a week now. Admittedly, she did understand now what he'd meant when he had said it was a telltale of neglect, but then again she absolutely didn't mind in the least, and actually found the aesthetic of it quite charming. The only thing she had to agree on was that the neighborhood was a literal nowhere. That much she discovered when she took a walk to get some fresh air on Sunday night, and she found that while the area was very much rundown and tainted by poverty, it otherwise didn't differ all too much from her parents' fancy Oxford suburb. Both were practically void of people, overcrowded with buildings and narrow streets and pathways, and most of all they both were so desperately void of nature that Robin was almost happy about the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement. And still, she was beyond happy to have a roof over her head for the time being, and even happier that the space was filled with more books than she could read.

The week went by surprisingly fast, Robin spent the first few days reading and allowing the remainder of her injury to heal, and only on Friday she went to London to do the mandatory school shopping with the precisely calculated galleons that she had put aside nine weeks ago specifically for this reason. Honestly, she had been surprised when she had found the yearly letter from school on the doorstep on Monday morning, but when she'd thought about it, she wasn't at all surprised that Dumbledore would know where she was currently staying. He had been aware of her friendship with Snape in the first place, so why wouldn't he know that she was staying at Spinner's End at the moment? That man had eyes and ears everywhere; or perhaps Snape had simply told him about it, who knew. Then on Friday evening her very last overall money had gone into dinner, the only meal of the day, and she was actually quite happy with the fact that she would only have to spend Saturday and half of Sunday without anything to eat. That still was better than what she had calculated a few weeks ago.

When Sunday morning finally lit up the sky with a beautiful sunrise, Robin made sure to leave the house as spotless as possible, going through every single room four times, and still she arrived half an hour too early at the platform. Gods, she didn't even know what she was more desperate for at this point… a meal, the castle and highlands, or seeing Snape. Probably a good combination of all three. This year, for the first time, she found Cas and Jorien in advance to getting on the train, and when they left London fifteen minutes later, Robin found herself sitting in a compartment not only with her two roommates, but also with Simon and his two friends. Honestly, Robin had all the understanding in the world for Cas and Simon; after not seeing each other all summer, they surely deserved to sit together now at least. It was only the two other boys who irritated her quite a bit, for they kept shooting her odd glances for wearing sunglasses inside and even for only bringing one backpack as her entire luggage, and Robin found herself wondering if they were just particularly judgy or if her antics really were that odd and everyone else she usually surrounded herself with had simply gotten used to it by now. Either way, she tried to politely ignore them and their stares.

"So, how did traveling and finding plants and stuff go?" Cas finally asked after half an hour of being too busy with Simon to even look at anyone else. Robin thought that half an hour was a new record; Cas was getting better at remembering she had friends too!

"Oh, the usual…" Robin replied with a sigh and a small smirk, as she leaned back in her seat. "Walked over water, went sightseeing in Greece, almost got eaten alive by a bear, got stabbed, went-..."

"Wait, what?!"

"Yeah, there was this bear-like creature in a cave in Sweden, but we could make an escape at last after-..."

"That's probably an interesting story, but I meant the part about getting stabbed!" Jorien gave her a look, and Robin sighed again while everyone else in the compartment grew suspiciously quiet. Why on earth could she never keep her mouth shut?!

"Well, it's no big deal." She finally started addressing the topic when even the two Ravenclaw boys were staring at her with deep frowns. "I kind of broke in somewhere and then someone stabbed me in the stomach. Or… the ribs, rather. Between both."

"YOU broke in somewhere?!" One of Simon's friends blurted out before anyone else could give a more subtle reaction.

"You seem surprised." Was all Robin returned with a perfect neutral expression that had both Cas and Jorien snorting within seconds. Yeah, Robin had missed the girls after all.

"Well, uh…" The boy fought for a decent reply, but it was his friend who finally answered. "The Robin Mitchell we heard about just didn't seem like someone who wouldn't break into places."

"Perhaps you shouldn't believe everything you hear, then." She replied calmly, with a condescending edge to her tone she just couldn't help. They were a year below her, sure, but also a head taller each.

"Rumor has it you're a total overachiever in your year, or… in any, really."

"And just because I get good grades I automatically have to be boring and more by-the-rules than the headmaster himself? Is that what you mean?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at them, and the giggles coming from her roommates almost made her want to break her facade and smile as well.

"No, of course not, it's just… your reputation, and…" The poor guys looked miserable under Robin's scrutiny, scared almost to speak up, and she found that she wanted to know why.

"What other rumors are there about me, then?" She asked with a pointed expression, staring at the two Ravenclaws so intently that they looked desperately uncomfortable.

"Well, people say that… that you can read minds, and that you can curse people without even a single word. They say that you're so good that even the professors are afraid of you! Some even say that you're insane, or straight out evil… and many say that you have no emotions." The first boy replied reluctantly, and when Robin's gaze didn't falter, he added, "But we never believed any of that! Seriously, we just… thought that you really must be an overachiever if you made it to honour roll in two subjects a year earlier than everyone else! Honestly, the entire school seems to believe that you're someone not to be messed with… But we only ever believed the things we had physical proof of!"

"Really?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" They both nodded. "We would never blindly believe any reputation someone has among the students…"

"Good. Honestly, I couldn't care less about my reputation, and it's everyone's right to think about me whatever they please. But it's not my responsibility to meet their expectations." She stated with a smile now indeed, and she was met with three smirks in return and two almost relieved faces. "I do get good grades, but I'm neither a bore nor an insane genius."

"It's so funny how people always seem to think you're either just a scary psycho or a walking library." Jorien chuckled and leaned back in her seat as well while she turned to the two Ravenclaws. "Guys, Robin is one of the nicest people I've ever met, and definitely the most caring one. She literally saved my life, which almost got her killed in return! And on the other side, if there's anyone who literally never follows any rules other than her own, it's Robin. Do you guys even know that she's been excepted from most of the school rules for literal years?!"

"Really?" Simon asked now, frowning first at Jorien, then at Cas by his side, and finally at Robin. "A-about the rules, I mean! Not the… the nice part. I know you're very nice, Robin. To the people you like, at least."

"Thank you for that very accurate assessment, Simon." Robin couldn't help smirking and shook her head to herself in amusement. "I feel honoured."

"I told you she's always gone until who knows when at night! Roaming the castle and working in rooms none of us even knows about! And I told you how she's given us detention before, or how almost all of the professors actually respect her! How she knows more about potions than Professor Snape! I told you, Simon!" Cas defended herself then, and Robin tried not to snort yet again. It all was true, in a way… Well, almost all. She didn't know more than Snape, she merely knew different things than he did. Perhaps she would have to explain that to them at some point.

"I know you did, Cas, but I thought you were exaggerating!" Simon replied, and while Cas pouted, Robin and Jorien just chuckled.

"I never exaggerate!" Cas finally tried, and now literally everyone in the compartment couldn't hold their laughter anymore. Even Cas had to see that it was pretty funny after a moment, and when she started laughing too, any of the weirdness between the two groups finally faded for good. Who knew, if Cas and Simon really stayed together for now, perhaps Robin would have to get used to spending time with his friends as well. But for Cas, she certainly could do that.

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[tata-is-the-name]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 8)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 7

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt seemed to always get involved for a royal favor; no matter how he avoids it, they keep slithering back until he agrees to accept. Though, the sorceress wants you involved in it as well. After the unlucky incident back in the marketplace, the witcher was keen on bringing you back to where you belong; sparking up an argument with the bard as Jaskier could feel that there was something palpable and precious with the odd like care you were receiving from the Butcher of Blaviken. Destiny just knows how to play the game well. 

Warnings: Sorceress and Tybalt being touchy feely. (I know you want Geralt being touchy feely as well. You’ll get it soon I promise. HAHAHHA) Jaskier spitting some truths. Geralt being hot and then cold again, you just can’t understand what he wants. *sigh* I can see y’all planning to get a razor and make Geralt bald. XDDDDD

Words: 5.5k+

A/N: DANG. GERALT OF RIVIA. YOU’VE TAKEN THE CURSE OFF ME. I usually lose all my ideas after chapter 5. But, here we are. This will freakin’ take 30 chapters (I said 25 in the last chapter? DID I? OH. AHIHIHIHIHI) and I think I won’t regret it because of how slow paced I am. AHAHHAHAHAA. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING ON THE LAST PART OF THIS CHAPTER? HEEHEE! WHAT ARE YOUR HUNCHES?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

In the other side of the town where it is all serene and neglected, a red carriage has been waiting in silence for the return of her aide. The sorceress peered out of the tiny partition used as a window to see people outside where her glowing purple eyes can only be seen.

Tybalt sat beside her with a grimace, huffing out breaths full of vexation at the events that has happened which ruined all of his plans for the night with the Duke and some noblemen who wanted their maidens.

"Is he---??" The sorceress trailed off, sounding fascinated as she squinted her glowing, purple eyes out in the open as she saw a child, a bard and a witcher who was carrying a small bleeding woman in his arms. Tybalt grunted his approval, acting so stingy by the change of events, "The witcher we'd been looking for,"

The vampire was heaving deep breaths because of his boiling wrath for the witcher; feeling a sudden need to feed was tempting him to calm down and he would. There were tons of maidens in the castle and he would take one or maybe a pair to satiate his hunger as always.

He rarely does this. Only when he was triggered or frustrated about certain things that kept his anger at bay.

"---Slaughtered all of my men for the sake of saving that little harlot," he continued with a grumble and a tight knot of his brows. The sorceress scoffed to the news that was given, expecting a successful gather of the women who were used as debts to serve the royalty or noblemen. "Even Terrowin?" she questioned with utter interest, raising a brow as she scrutinized the arms that surrounded the witcher who had ruined all of Tybalt's plans, "Even, Terrowin."

"Such a shame. He was one of the best horsemen for the king," Sorceress Ingrith tutted to her disappointment, sighing as the knight's death was nothing but a passing of the winds. Her wavy hair fell on her hips, swaying as she turned her head to watch you leave before loudly closing the partition.

"---But, not better than the witcher," the firm announcement was enough to tell Tybalt that the sorceress considered Geralt's skills as remarkable. She comfortably sat on her carriage and laid her glowing purple eyes on the vampire who had bowed his head as a sign of respect, "---Get me the witcher," she commanded with authority, "---and also the small maiden,"

Tybalt shook his head, a wince forming his features as he tried to get the witcher to accept his favors for years and years end. But, he was too obdurate. Never wanting to get involved by their hierarchy because of certain reasons he won't tell. The event that has happened was just a lucky shot for the vampire as it doesn't happen often, "He won't comply that easily because he has been avoiding us, my lady." Though, his opposition seem to be invalidated as she continued with a strong will to have the witcher walking to the path towards the castle, "---King Viduka must be mirthful for the news ahead," she ignored his statement, "---the prince will be healed soon,"

Sorceress Ingrith languidly blinked at Tybalt who was giving her a tight frown for her commands, "---As long as the witcher will be promising,"

The sorceress tutted for the second time, noting his foul expression that made her cross her legs as a sign that she was stronger and powerful than the latter; like her word is the law. She'd gave him a life back; even better than it ever did and now he wasn't hiding as he did back in his hometown.

Ingrith licked her cherry red lips and could feel the vampire's hunger grow more as she'd swiftly brushed her hair to the side, showing her delectable neck to him as a sign of approval to be used for his satiation again whenever it was full moon, "Use the maiden for him to comply," a sly smirk and a way to give him pleasure was all it took for him to nod in submission, "She...seems important for him to not hesitate and kill my men,"

The sorceress pondered in front of him, seeming to be in deep thought other than the fact that her men has been killed with just one man except for Tybalt because of his abilities. The latter languidly maneuvered till he'd given her no space in their carriage, their warmth embracing each other in a way that could get the devil laughing for their souls. "She...also feels different," Ingrith breathed in a deep breath, feeling Tybalt lean in close to that favorite spot of his on her neck, "What do you mean?" he mumbled against her neck, lightly giving a soft kiss to her sweet spot.

She exhaled a breath of pleasure as she felt his sharp, wet tongue licking a stripe from the line that connects her shoulder till the back of her ears as Tybalt groaned in satisfaction and from her delectable scent, "Her...Her body is an embodiment that makes me feel baffling," Another hitch of her breath. "What are you suggesting, Ingrith?"

"Give her to me when she comes to the castle," she firmly pressed and felt him sucking her soft spot that made her whimper, "---I just need to be sure,"

They hurriedly taken you to a healer and it was the right time because in any more minute you would've lost a lot of blood that can get death defying for a mere human like you. After bandaging you up and with Geralt's persistence that you should be taken home rather than to stay with a healer got you what he wanted. The healer has given herbs to be taken to numb the pain when it hits you like a train.

The princess wasn't doing good as well; mentally. Thinking that it was all her fault that they had to play hide and seek with the kids and happened to hide on a part of the town that had been deserted. Geralt reassured her that it wasn't her fault and she should stop crying because you wouldn't like it that she would be weeping for your selfless integrity; especially that he knew you were there in Cirilla's room last night, comforting the princess.

The witcher was actually impressed that it only took you hours for her anger to die down rather than him and Jaskier who managed to have a block of wood thrown to them as they coax her to stay calm.

Jaskier was sat on the witcher's bed where he has laid you upon; Cirilla was in her room and trying to relax from all the events that has happened. Geralt stood on the wall next to his door; his hefty arms crossed as he was giving the bard a scowl as he continued to pat your sweat-filled face.

The bard's ocean blue eyes gave him a once over, grinning in the process of his continuous soft pats on your temples because of how vicious he appeared to be.

Jaskier puckered his lips and gave a low chuckle; swiftly throwing the towel in the bucket of water. He shifted on his side of the bed and was face front towards the brooding witcher trying to drown in his own shadows. "Oooh, the scary face," the bard gestured with his index finger; drawing a circle far from his face before abruptly rising to his feet and ushering to you whom was resting on Geralt's bed; looking slightly dull from all the blood lost from you, "---Will you do the honors? It seems like you're throwing daggers behind my back as I clean her face with a face towel,"

The witcher grumbled a rough hum, his eyebrows raising as he lifted himself off the wall and languidly passed by Jaskier with a frown etched on his face. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt dubiously sat on where the bard has been seated and reached out for the towel drenched in the bucket of water; mindlessly squeezing the excess with one hand before turning and actually planning to wipe those cold sweat running down your forehead.

The witcher ceased his actions before the towel even touched your skin. He'd cursed beneath his breath and deeply groaned to himself, scrunching his nose for his peculiar gestures, "You could've said something!" Jaskier crowed as a matter of fact and gave him the stink eye as he was restlessly cussing like a sailor.

He was just taking care of you because of the guilt that it was his fault for bringing you with them at the marketplace. It wasn't because his senses were telling him to do it because it was the natural thing to do.

There he was again, acting strange like he'd been when you've first arrived in their lives; offering to bandage your wounds for you when you could've done it without anyone's help.

Was this destiny fucking with him? He shouldn't have listened to the part where Durriken has spat shit about his destiny like he knew what was about to come.

The old man was probably inebriated when he had the talk with Geralt. Definitely had too much ale.

"You know what, Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly thought out loud, leaning on the wall where Geralt has been as he watched the witcher softly pat your forehead with the towel; like you were some fragile little thing. Though, the bard was sure he hesitated at first because it took him a minute of self meditation before cleaning to your aid, "This rat..." he trailed off as Jaskier had his arms crossed over his lean chest; voice solemn and with regret, "---I was actually frightened to have lost her,"

Geralt hummed in understanding to tell the bard that he was listening. But, his words made the witcher's bushy eyebrows knot together in intrigue; waiting for Jaskier to continue as he continued his gentle gestures; incapable of not studying your relaxed features as you slept.

You were at peace and utmost looking adorable as you slept, he was sure of that.

But, nobody needed to know his opinions about you. It was better kept unsaid because of the bothered feeling inside of him that wanted to swallow him whole; just like his soul, not like he even had one anymore.

The bard continued his comments and watched the witcher give care to another person without any second doubts aside from Cirilla and him. He never said it out loud but he does care for him, Jaskier was sure of it. That was just how he is, he never tells anything. Never wanted people to see through him because it would be a tough flaw. Other witchers grew old with having no emotions because of their brutal trials, but not Geralt. He had everything. The feeling of love, anger, lust, sympathy, joy, fear and a lot more. However, reading his emotions would be as difficult as to climb over that wall he was using for cover.

It takes years and expertise to read him like a book, and the bard knew that for sure.

Jaskier had a small smile written on his face as he honestly blurted out loud, "---But, not as scared as you happened to be,"

The witcher ceased his actions on cleaning your face. Jaskier's words echoing inside his head like a damn bell from a church. He languidly blinked and calmly breathed out of his nose at his accusations towards the witcher's feelings. Another feeling boiling that strange void inside his chest.

"You know that berk?" Jaskier managed to ask; completely unaware of the witcher deeply sighing before him. The bard held his chin as he looked at the ceilings; seeming in deep thought, "---If I remembered correctly, his name was Ty...Tyran---"

The latter evidently exhaled a deep; loud grumble of a name he started to hate since the moment he saw him again. His lips flashing a scowl in a way that says he wanted to burn the guy alive after all he's done, "Tybalt. He's a vampire feeding off the castle,"

Jaskier nodded as he lifted himself off the wall, puckering his lips as he hadn't let the thought process inside his head, "Oh, a vampire." Abrupt pause. Before his eyes grew thoroughly astounded, "---What?! You're not serious?! I thought vampires were much more...uglier and not looking like humans?"

"He's a more higher form of a vampire; much more higher than a Bruxa, Ekimmaras, Alps, or Katakans. A very rare species. It doesn't need blood to survive, but they drown in it preferably in full moon,"

The witcher straightened his back, hovering away from you as a soft, light snore resonated from your lips, putting back the towel inside the pail; thoroughly relaxed unlike when he had you in his arms, bleeding like a waterfall. It was a feeling he had been dreading as he'd already felt that fear before and the witcher didn't like it one bit as the hollow feeling that was knocking on his doorstep agitated him; thus, which leads to vulnerability that he never had after those events before you came along.

"He's the most trusted of the king," Geralt bluntly answered for the bard's question, trying to distract himself from those thoughts that would consume him like a never ending nightmare, "---Other than the sorceress leeching off the castle as well,"

Jaskier wandered across his room like he'd never before; he already did but he was trying to see if there was some new changes. Yet, there was none. Sadly.

"You know the sorceress?" The bard's question consists of shock, hearing Geralt tell him stories about the people in the castle like he'd known them when he never did. However, the way Jaskier said it seemed to be like it had a double-meaning, "---Of course, you do." he chaffed; voice lacing with sheer sarcasm.

Geralt gave him a look, shifting on his bed as he tried to force himself to shift his eyes away from you. It was the only time he could look at your face without you blushing like a virgin, "No, I don't." the witcher uttered; unenthusiastically.

"Well, that's a first!" the bard squeaked and stumbled from the witcher's sword that was leaning on a particular wall; snapping a lackadaisical glaze of his glowing golden eyes towards the bard who was muttering his apologies and actually hopping on one foot because it was heavy and it hurt his pinky toe.

Jaskier continued his hops of protest, ceasing once he'd heard the witcher surprisingly share something other than sparing one word answers to people's questions. He was finally sharing something other than the word 'fuck' or those displeased hums.

"I never wanted to get involved with their pestilential hierarchy," the witcher murmured, staring at the walls to his room. It had the same design as to what Cirilla had; but his was much more doleful. Technically, a room that couldn't give him comfort and warmth as he sleeps.

Geralt knew what happens around the kingdom. He knew how wicked and utter evil the castle can get; no matter how he tried to refuse their favors, he'd heard a lot of gossips about the king and queen, especially their son who happened to be the prince.

They were a family who outgrew the kingdom with fiend, corruption and selfishness. No kingdom has been perfect; though theirs were the worst of everything.

The witcher continued; heedful of the steady heartbeat of yours as you slept on his bed, "---It's their culpability to have a witch in wrath for their wrongdoings," he gruffly shared, a small smile creeping his face as he exhaled a sigh out of his lips; remembering the real reason why the prince was cursed; with jealousy being the actual reason of it all, maybe also a stab to the ego or dignity for the queen of Kaedwen, "--and I have no will to help people drowning in malevolence,"

Jaskier hasn't realized that he was gawking at the Witcher's back for so long as he talked; sauntering to the other side of the room where Geralt was as he weirdly eyed him with a judging look, "That's...the longest I've heard from you. It makes me want to shed a tear,"

"Hmm,"

The witcher's smile instantaneously fell at the ridicule that was sent. He firmly shook his head at the bard and huffed a breath before turning his head to inspect your state; calmly breathing like you had no worries in your life.

His lips straightened into a tight thin line, roughly saying his next words with those careless thoughts slipping out of his mouth and quickly staring back at the bard who was grinning, "The quicker we find a djinn, the faster she returns to her home,"

Jaskier's facial expression molded into disbelief. Exhaling one deep, heavy breath as he had his hands on his hips, eyes fluttering repeatedly from the words that left the witcher's lips like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Wait, wait, wait," he scoffed, "Why the sudden hurry, witcher?"

Geralt gave him a look that had hostility shading his eyes, "I thought you wanted me to help her?"

"I do, I do!" Jaskier nodded and uttered as a matter of fact before side-stepping till he was completely face front at the brawny witcher who had his normal grumpy face on show, "---But, I didn't thought you'll be tossing her away that easily,"

Geralt gave him a subtle frown, looking away from the bard as he sighed in tiredness because it seems like he didn't want her to go away as soon as possible; unlike the first day that Y/N appeared like a woman from the swamps; all soiled and dirty like she has been drowned by a Kikimore. "Do you really hear yourself right now? Are you sure you want her to leave?" it was a question he expected from the bard, yet a query he didn't want to hear from another person because it was frustrating him in some ways, "---After seeing you cradling her like a bairn, I suppose not."

The witcher ignored his protests and lowly emitted a groan that vibrated off his chest, his eyes sharp when it landed on Jaskier again. "She needs to leave," he sternly mentioned with emphasis and firmness. Jaskier noticed how the sentence was actually not for him, but actually for the witcher himself. He sounded like he was in need of thorough persisting about the fact that you needed to leave and so, the bard went on with his jabbers, "You don't sound too sure of yourself now, are we?"

Geralt hissed back, his brows in a tight knot; body posture turning rigid as he carried on. "Jaskier, she doesn't belong here. She never will," he gave a dour to his friend, "Have you seen what happened?"

"---and you handled it very well, might I add. Very heroic of you,"

"I can't always be available whenever she gets involved by whatever troubles she may bring,"

Jaskier lifted his eyes off from checking his nails, landing them on the rhadamanthine witcher who had a grim expression on his pleasing features, "Why do you sound scared?" he suddenly spat a question towards the upset trunk of a man. He'd seen how Geralt's nose scrunch in agitation, making the bard step back when the latter began to stand on his feet, towering before him with a nasty looking grimace, "It's because I am not, bard."

Jaskier probably struck a nerve this time because he was looking at him very differently; like he's done with everything; tired of even living.

He tried not to let him see how he swallowed the nervous jitters that stuck inside his throat; trying to confidently straighten his back as to not back down from his irk towards him, trying to stand for his point, "You always have a habit of shooing people away when you're actually already caring for the latter,"

Geralt's mouth twitched in exasperation; his annoyance coming out of his nose in deep breaths as he obviously struck a nerve.

"Jaskier."

Maybe, Jaskier's timing really did suck all the time.

Unaware of the witcher's piqueness and cynicism, the bard couldn't stop his mouth from trying to prove a point. Technically not disturbed that the witcher's nose was flaring in displeasure.

"Oh, alright! Whenever you're in the midst of questioning yourself, you always answer people with violence or brutally hurt their emotions!"

Jaskier didn't mean for it to go there. The bard's facial expression immediately scrunched to regret because of how it sounded out of his mouth. Harsh. Truly, it was better inside his head rather than being said out in the open. The bard couldn't help but flinch when Geralt stepped a cautious foot closer to him; his jaw tense and teeth clenching from complete vexation at what he has been saying. His golden eyes blazing in ire.

"What do you want me to do, bard?" he raved as he was trying to burn him with his death stares, "---What are you fucking implying?"

Jaskier has been avoiding his eyes at all costs, stepping back when the witcher stepped another foot close to scare him off; but the bard never does. He side-stepped to escape from his wrath when he was close to being cornered and opened his arms as he threw another fact that he'd already seen when he was with the witcher and his journeys before:

"Go on. Do your foolish actions by pushing her away or leaving a woman when she's in the right state of mind of being in her vulnerable best!" the truth was said without any pauses nor did the bard inhaled a breath, "---Treat the midget like how you've treated Yennifer and wait for her to leave you as well in the end because of your utterly boorish attitude!"

It was an utter mistake. Jaskier shouldn't have said that out loud because he could see fire burning behind Geralt as he heavily marched to where he was. He didn't intentionally wanted to mention Yennifer and what happened to his relationship with her before; and it was one ounce of patience that was snapped from the witcher himself when Jaskier began to even recall his mistakes in the past like having nightmares and that void inside his chest wasn't enough for his sufferings.

The bard shrieked as he dodged Geralt and slid under his arm; his lean body being an advantage from the wrathful witcher. "It...was a mistake! Although, it's not! I am sorry to have hurt your very much virile ego! You left Yennifer then! Not the other way around---Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked and contemplated whether or not to jump on the bed when he'd seen you laying with your bloody bandages; sequentially raising his arms in surrender and tightly closing his eyes shut for the blow; waiting for another strong punch in the gut for his rotten mouth.

Thanks to Cirilla who has entered the room, Geralt has ceased on choking the bard alive; sensing that the princess was irked by their foolishness as she entered with a frown on her face, "This is why you both must not be in the same room together," she scoffed and dashed her way towards where you were, seeing your bandages with blood made her upset yet again, "---I don't know when you're foolishly sharing banters or actually fighting already!"

The witcher was fiercely glaring at the bard, his cat eyes not helping the image that would certainly give Jaskier nightmares because he'll worry that Geralt would choke him in his sleep. Cirilla promptly sat beside your bed, scanning your wounded body as your eyebrows suddenly twitched together, straining your forehead in disturbance.

The bard continued his relentless, rational reckons while Geralt went on with giving him the stink eye. Your head was hurting with Jaskier's nonstop blabbers which adds more pain to your aching head as you felt a brisk, chilly wind caress your feet till it traveled in every part of your body.

You were breathing heavily. Dry chapped lips quivering like you were trapped outside the brumal night. Your consciousness knowing that your body was also trembling from the chills with a fever that came with the wound.

"Geralt," His child of surprise muttered, entirely alarmed by your noticeable quivers, "---She's shaking,"

Both men instantly snapped their heads from where Cirilla was. Geralt's senses catching your unstable temperature as he roughly spat coherent profanities; shaking his head. "Ugh--fuck,"

Geralt let out a baritone of a snarl which caught everybody's attention as he promenaded to where you rest. Cirilla promptly dragging herself out of your side as the witcher took place; covering your forehead with the back of his palm to check how hot you were.

You've keened before his touch; the witcher's hand so comfortable for you which aids to your shivers and sighing when he'd used his palm to check you better, a rough huff of breath escaping your lips as you've momentarily felt the warmth scurrying away.

The princess was kind enough to help Geralt, squeezing the excess towel out of the cold bucket of water. Her, being the good child she was; volunteering to wipe cold water all over your face. The witcher gave the child some space for her as you shivered like you were being thrown in a bath tub full of ice.

"---And now he cares again, ladies and gents,"

Geralt swiftly turned his head to Jaskier and gave him a scowl; thoroughly pissed off by his nonsense already and Cirilla did as well. Snapping back at the bard with tired pleads, "Jaskier, will you please?"

Soon, silence has engulfed the trio. The bard has already shut his mouth and actually pondered his regret on even uttering out those foolish things to the witcher with no reason. But, he'd given a little bit of positivity in it that maybe he'll actually consider that you weren't just an animal that he wanted to shoo away with no goodbyes.

Cirilla gave a soft sigh as she'd seen your shivering die down a bit; though, if you look closely, there was still some tiny quivering because of the cold wind coming from the opened windows.

She'd wondered out of nowhere, staring at the candle that was lit beside Geralt's bed before a shocking suggestion was said out loud to cease the trembles, "You need to hug her while she sleeps!" the princess excitedly announced like it was the best idea ever; standing in haste and spinning on her heel for effect to give her attention to the witcher who seemed to be staring back at her, unfazed.

"Hugs...aren't my forte,"

She raised a questioning brow at him, remembering how they hug whenever he goes somewhere and comes home safely, "She's having chills!"

Geralt sapped, languidly blinking back in exhaustion as he shook his head in negation, "It'll pass, princess."

Cirilla stubbornly crossed her arms; demanding in a way that sounded like how she was back in her castle, "Hug her!"

The witcher exhaled a long, heavy, perceivable breath. Sometimes, her requests could get to his head and make him want to just utter the deepest blasphemy he could ever say out loud. But, he always fought himself not to and tended to what she wanted as per usual before she throws woods at him again.

Geralt reached his arm out to gently pat on your arm, making your nose scrunch as you rested on his bed; wanting to wake up because of those warm pats on your arm, yet you had no power to as you wanted to continue and rest.

Jaskier and Cirilla stared at the witcher like he'd grown three heads, figuring out what the heck he was even doing. The witcher eyed them back with a look that tells them what was wrong.

"Is that a hug to you, Geralt?!" Cirilla managed to finally commented out loud in disbelief. Geralt shrugged his thick shoulders and cocked his head to the side, still tenderly patting you like he was dusting off some dirt on your clothed arm.

"It's close enough."

The princess of Cintra wanted to protest out loud, even wanting to start a petition about how patting someone on the arm was as close as to giving a warm hug for comfort, but no words were spoken as she massaged her temples like she was close to being stressed out already, "You're just patting her on the arm like an old man!"

Thus, it was Jaskier's time to shine. The bard took his time and started to tread towards where you were; "I can hug her, if you want? No malicious thoughts perceivable through the naked eye---" he was hastily stopped by the witcher who happened to clasp his strong fingers around his lean arms, ceasing him from circling around towards the space on the bed where he could give you a hug while you rest.

The ivory haired witcher gave another one of his snarls; voice grumbling so deep they could mistaken it as a growl, "It's my bed, bard." he lackadaiscally said, stating the obvious and that there was some kind of hindrance that shouldn't be stepped over.

Jaskier subtly gave Cirilla a once over, stopping himself from smirking as he tried to appear salty and just nodded back at the witcher. Leaving him to whatever solutions he had for you to stop from shivering.

Perhaps, finding a Djinn was not the best solution for you. It was a secret avant-garde for the witcher's heart as you started hopping inside that void with all smiles, ignoring the darkness that could possibly consume you as it was the only world he may bring.

Unbalance.

You felt like floating in thin air. Vision all blurry and hazy from an unspecified fog that made you squint your eyes shut as you walked into the sweltering path that had no possibility of reaching an end. It was murky and had no end; like a maze that give you entrance but promises that it has no return. There was voices reverberating like an echo in the deepest caves. Some voices were definitely unfamiliar and also sounding to be in rage while the last echo sounded a lot like Jaskier and Cirilla's laugh that made you snap your head towards where they were coming from.

Another delicate step along the path dusted in twigs, mud and rocks; the scene unexpectedly changed, bringing you to a glorious looking banquet. Scrumptious looking food plated in the most rakish way as strangers sat in front of you; their barbarous laughter and prattles completely opposite of how you were acting in the middle of it all. Thus, you've heard singing all around the place. Your curious self studying the whole setting as you noticed that you weren't in just some hostelry but rather in a huge great hall inside an unknown castle you've never seen before.

Your eyes immediately snapped to where the singing was all happening as you saw a familiar face who was strumming his lute with a smile. You've wanted to giggle at how he appeared to look ecstatic on entertaining everyone in the large room, yet from the moment you've opened your mouth; no voice could ever leave your lips.

One blink was all it needed for the event to change, seeing a silhouette of a man who stood beside you which caught your attention as your vision scanned the man who hurriedly snatched your cup of ale on your hands.

It was Geralt of Rivia and he was surprisingly dressed in something flamboyant that could keep him camouflage amongst the circle of people; though he appeared to be maddened by something as his golden eyes were flaring in hostility.

But, there was an eerie, disturbed feeling deep inside of you as he was smiling back at someone who he was toasting for. You wanted nothing but for him not to drink the liquor on his hands with no particular reason. The next two cups full of ale sat in front of you on the wooden table.

"For your imperishable, spectacular prosperity that runs in the castle," the witcher took a swig until it was empty as he gently lowered the cup with a soft thud. You've noticed the hesitance he held when it appeared to be like he didn't want to grab onto the second one; yet he still did as he gave you a once over with a strange, tender gaze that you weren't accustomed with.

You couldn't move, nor could get your fingers twitching as your head was the only thing motile. That eerie feeling molding into something greater; fear for what was about to come. Geralt grabbed onto the second cup of ale without blinking an eye, his smile falling for one second; only for you to see as he deeply stared onto the cup on his hands, "May...you have strength and faith for your majesty. For the fraudulent happiness you've always envisaged,"

Everybody was staring at the witcher who was giving wishes and you couldn't look at anywhere but Geralt who'd scoffed before chugging down the second round of ale. He'd subtly shook his head from whatever he was thinking, a forced smile lifting his lips that seemed phony.

"Your highness," he lifted the last cup for everybody else to see, giving a toothy grin as his smile consists of mischief and dread that only you could muster, "---and this...is for your son's shitless death to the fore,"

FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Y’ALL ARE PROBABLY HATING GERALT RIGHT NOW. AHONHONHON. PATIENCE, BB’S. PATIENCE.

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie​ @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​​ @marvelousell​​​ @kingniazx​​​ @angelias134​​​ @tapismyforte​ @chook007​

[huilian]

Character: Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Summary:  One person's hobby can quickly be the entire family's business, especially with a family like this (aka, Cass's adventures with ballet featuring her relationship with her siblings and Steph)

***

It’s rare that Cass would willingly sit in front of a laptop for an extended period of time for something that is not a case. It’s even rarer that her schedule would coincide with Tim’s enough to allow them to be sitting in front of their laptops together. (Well, separately, but in the same room at the same time. So, close enough to being together.)

It’s only because Tim has been expecting it for a few minutes now that the sound of a laptop being slammed closed doesn’t startle him. Tim looks up to find Cass putting her head into her hands while saying, “Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This… this damned website!” Cass all but shouts. “How am I supposed to know which shoes fit me best if I haven’t worn them ever? I’m reading your website to figure that out!”

“Umm… Cass?” Tim is now confused. Very confused. “Can you backtrack a little? What shoes?”

“Ballet shoes!”

“I thought you have them already? What shoes have you been wearing to class then?” Cass has been taking dance classes for months now. She must have ballet shoes, there’s little to no chance of her doing all those classes barefooted. Tim knows that ballet requires special shoes, which is about 50% of his current knowledge about ballet.

“Not those shoes. These are the… the… the pointe shoes!”

Tim is now even more confused. “So? There you go. The shoes you’re looking for are those pointe shoes.”

“No! There’re different kinds of them!”

“Huh?”

“Different brands and models and years and… and the endless modifications!”

“Okay.” Tim raises his hands placatingly. This sounds like an information problem, which he can help with. “Can I maybe, you know, look at the website? Maybe I can help?”

Cass slides her laptop to Tim. Tim closes his own laptop, then opens Cass’. Fifteen tabs greet him from the screens of Cass’s laptop. Tim sees that this is not the only window opened, and is then greeted with another three windows, each having tabs ranging from ten to thirty. Huh. It’s usually Tim who has that problem, opening too many tabs and windows and finding himself trapped in an information hellhole before he looks up to find that he has spent the entire day reading about the probabilities of oak tree getting struck by lightning.

Thankfully, that same thing has prepared Tim for this day. He quickly skims about every other tab. About a quarter of them is measuring tips, half of them are blogs with fitting and choosing tips, some are lists of pros and cons, and the rest are catalogs.

“Are all of these for choosing pointe shoes, Cass?”

“Yes,” Cass grits out.

“I… I never knew there are so many brands of pointe shoes.”

“Exactly! How am I supposed to choose if there’s so many of them!”

Tim, armed with his years of experience of sorting through bullshit on the internet, finds the most promising blog article titled ‘How To Choose Your Pointe Shoes: Guide to Getting the Best Shoes’ and starts to read.

“It says to go for a professional fitting? Maybe we should do that.” Cass makes a sound of protest. “I can start researching, but it’ll take ages and I’m not sure I’ll get it right. I’m pretty sure that poor pointe shoes fitting causes injuries, Cass. When do you need it anyway?”

Cass mumbles something. Tim, whose attention is now partially reading the section titled ‘Shank Strength’ and wondering what on earth a shank even is, doesn’t catch it at first. Then, the connecting nerves between his ears and his brain rebooted, and Tim screeches out, “Tomorrow? Yeah, no. We’re going to a professional fitting right now.”

“Ugh.”

“Cass,” Tim says, drawing out the syllable.

“Ugh.”

“Come on.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re seriously gonna make me read all of this before tomorrow? Have some mercy, Cass,” Tim teases. But seriously, he doesn’t want to have to read all of it in the short time-frame he has. He can do it, but then he’s gonna skip dinner and forgoes sleep and rest entirely and he just got Alfred to stop hounding him to go to sleep after his latest incident . He doesn’t want to have to do it again.

“You’re gonna do it anyway.” He is, but still. It’s the thought that counts. “Fine. It can’t be worse than comparing the box length of Grishko and Bloch.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

“Do you know where?”

Tim freezes. “Shit.” Now he still has to research the fitter in Gotham, and vet the places, and do all sorts of things he was hoping to not have to do by going to a fitter. Damn it.

Cass, being the absolute horrible sister that she is, just laughed at him.

“It’s your shoes, Cass! You do it!”

“No. You read about it. It’s your project now,” Cass smiles triumphantly.

“You are the worst.”

“I am the best.”

***

Jason only comes to the Manor to return Alfred’s pans, swear to god. There’s about half a dozen of Alfred’s pans (because even though it’s Bruce’s money that bought them, they are Alfred’s pans) in his latest apartment, and it’s getting ridiculous. Maybe take a book or two from the library while he’s there, because even with all of Bruce’s fault, he still keeps the library well-stocked with Jason’s favourite books.

So how come that leads to him being dragged by Cass to the Cave?

“Cass. Cass, please,” he tries.

Cass’ response is only to drag him even faster. How a girl half his size has the strength to drag him down the Cave’s stairs, Jason doesn’t know.

“Cass.”

“You said you don’t have anything else to do today. So you can do this.”

“Well, Cass, I-”

“It’ll be fun. You only have to sit. You can even read the entire time.”

“What if-”

“Alfred agrees.”

Jason sighs. “I doubt this is what he meant when he told you to go somewhere else to practice, Cass.”

“I asked him. He agrees.”

Jason sighs again. The problem is, she did ask Alfred, and Alfred did agree. Though why Cass chose to ask Alfred for permission to use Jason as a living, human barre for her ballet practice after Alfred banished her from using the kitchen countertop is a mystery. Maybe she thinks that Jason is not going to protest if Alfred said yes?

“Why me? You can have literally anyone to be your personal barre, Cass.”

“You are the right height.”

There’s nothing to say to that, is there? What’s Jason going to do, argue that he is not the right height? He doesn’t even know how high a ballet barre should be. Besides, Cass is right. Alfred already said yes, and he even went so far as expressing his delight in seeing Jason interacting with his siblings outside of their ‘nighttime activities’. So there’s that. There’s no arguing with Alfred when he had given out his verdict like that.

They arrive at the Cave, and then Cass drags Jason towards the empty space somewhere in between the sparring mats and the computer. Then, she lets Jason’s arm go, which should be enough of an opening for Jason to escape, but Jason knows what Cass can do. She’ll just catch him and drag him back. Jason accepts his fate and stays put even when Cass leaves his side to in search of a chair. Cass finds one, then drags it over, and then says, “Sit.”

Jason, who knows that this girl can easily force him to sit, sits. Cass smiles and nods her approval. She scrolls down on her phone for a while, and then music fils the Cave via the speaker system Bruce installed. Jason allows himself a small shake of the head. It’s just like Bruce to install a speaker system and then let it go to waste by preferring to brood in silence.

Cass puts her hand on Jason’s shoulder, and starts dancing. The hand is feather-light throughout her first combination, and Jason knows enough about ballet to know that this meant Cass doesn’t particularly need a barre to do the movements.

But. Well. It’s not half bad, watching his sister dance in between reading his book. That, coupled with the knowledge that Alfred is somewhere upstairs, most definitely preparing Jason’s favorite foods, made Jason relax.

“Stop moving!” Oh. Jason relaxing meant that his shoulder is now not in the same place it was before.

Jason smiles and says, “Sorry, sorry,” surprising himself that he actually meant the apology.

***

“Cass? Are you there?” Cass had promised to teach Steph a new throw today, but she’s not in the Cave, so Steph is now up in Wayne Manor, hoping she’ll find Cass in her room. “Cass? You promised to show me that throw, remember?”

Steph hears movement from inside Cass’ room, so she opens the door, considering Cass to be well and truly notified of her presence by her hollering in the hallway, only to be greeted with the sight of Cass with surgical tape and cotton balls in her hands. Steph goes to full-alert mode immediately, because anything or anyone that can get Cass to be hurt is a huge threat.

(Steph still hasn’t forgotten about Lady Shiva.)

“Cass, are you alright?” Steph says.

“I’m fine.”

“Where are you hurt? Do I need to call Alfred? Or dr. Thompkins?”

“I’m fine, Steph,” Cass’ voice is calm, but Steph has seen her take a bullet and still talks in the same calm voice as she is using now, so that is not an accurate meter to gauge Cass’ wellbeing.

“You’re holding bandages, Cass. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Watch out for the bucket.”

“Bucket? What bucket?”

“That bucket,” Cass points to her right.

“Why do you need a bucket?” Steph pauses, then the implication of a bucket in Cass’ bedroom hits her. “Are you sick as well?”

“No, it’s for my toes.”

Toes? What? “Okay, back up. Your toes?”

“Ballet.” Oh. Oh . Now that Steph is no longer worried that Cass is going to bleed out, she realizes that Cass is not putting on the tapes, but pulling it off. Oh, again. “Can you push the bucket here?”

Steph pushes the bucket, which Steph now notices is filled with ice, towards Cass with her foot. Cass puts her feet inside, groaning all the way.

“Ballet?” Steph asks. It seems weird that something so innocent can make Cassandra Cain react this extensively. But again, Steph has long learned not to underestimate anything.

“Ballet,” Cass answers.

“Is it the pointe shoes thing? I’ve read about it somewhere. That’s why I don’t want to go into ballet,” Steph says, lifting up a towel that’s next to Cass and replacing its position.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?” Steph puts her head on Cass’ shoulders, looking up a while to check whether or not this is okay.

“Yes,” Cass says, both as an answer for Steph’s question and Steph’s unspoken question.

“Can you still teach me that throw?”

“Yes. Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” They sit in silence for a while, until Steph suddenly has a thought. “Is it weird that you can take bullets without flinching, but groans at this, or is it just me?”

Cass hums. “It’s a different kind of pain. Never had it before. Not prepared for it.”

“Okay, but is it weird, or is it just me?”

“It’s weird.”

“Are you ready to teach me that throw now?”

“Sure.” Cass pulls out her feet and motions for the towel. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because of this.”

Steph hands her the towel, and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

Dick is walking down the hallways of the Manor when he hears Cass swearing from inside a bathroom. Normally, that wouldn’t be a cause of alarm, but since the only reason he’s at the Manor today is because Cass has a ballet recital and everyone is going to go watch it, Dick calls out, “Cass? Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Cass’ voice replies. “Yes! No! I don’t know!”

Okay, that warrants further investigation. “Can I come in?”

Cass makes an affirmative sound, so Dick opens the door, just in time to see Cass putting on false eyelashes in a truly dangerous fashion. As in, almost putting it straight into her eyes. Yeah, something is wrong.

Of course, the false eyelashes do not stick the way it’s supposed to, because Cass is not putting it on properly. Cass swears, again, and picks up the fallen eyelashes from the sink. Dick has seen enough.

“Do you know how to put those on?” Dick says.

“No! Why do they keep falling down? I’m doing it exactly the way they told me to!”

Dick takes a look to the false eyelashes on Cass’ hands, then to Cass’ eyes. “It’s too long for your eyelids, Cass.” Dick frowns. It has been a while since he has to handle false eyelashes. “At least, I think that’s why they keep falling down.”

Cass, who has been furiously dabbing glue to the false eyelashes, looks up to him with wide eyes. “You know how to do this?”

“I mean… I guess, yeah? My mom used to put this on for performances. She would let me help, sometimes.”

“You know how to do this!”

Dick takes a look at Cass’ hopeful face, then says, “Do you want me to do it for you?”

“ Please .”

“It’s been a while since I’ve put this on on anybody. It’s not going to be perfect.”

“ I don’t care . Just put it on.”

“Okay, then. Do you have scissors?”

Cass looks at him, and scrunchs her nose as she says, “No.”

“I’ll get one. Do you want to…,” Dick searches his memory for the times he helped his mom put on false eyelashes, “...clean the glue from the eyelashes? Too much glue will make it stick less, if I’m not wrong.”

“How come too much glue makes it stick less ?”

“I think it’ll make it stiff or something. My mom always cleans the glue off before putting it on. You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Dick says, but Cass is already picking off the dried glue from the false eyelashes.

When he returns with scissors that’s suitable enough ( not the kitchen scissors, Master Dick), Cass is already sitting down on the toilet.

“Are you still sure about this? I’m not sure I can do a good job, Cass.”

“You will not be worse than me,” Cass says, which, considering she almost poked her eye out trying to put it on, Dick is inclined to (grudgingly) agree.

“Alright. Close your eyes.”

Cass obediently closes her eyes. Dick picks up the false eyelashes from the sink and starts to measure it to Cass’ eyes.

“You did this a lot,” Cass says.

“What? Make-up?”

Cass hums. “ Stage make-up.”

“Oh. I guess, yeah, back at the circus. I didn’t have to put on false eyelashes, though.” Dick dabs on the glue to the eyelashes and starts to gently place it to Cass’ eyelids. “But everything else, yeah. Can you open your eyes?”

Cass opens her eyes, and that makes it clear that one of the ends is misplaced. Dick makes a motion for her to close her eyes again.

“Can you do the rest of my make-up too?” Cass says while Dick is pulling down the misplaced end.

Dick stops, surveys the state of Cass’ face, noting the base already on and the mostly done eye make-up, then says, “You just need some blush and lipstick, and you’re done.”

“Do it anyway.”

Dick exhales out a small laugh. “Fine, little sister. Is there anything else I can do for you, oh most talented princess?”

Cass’s response is to stick out her tongue.

“Don’t do that! You’ll make it harder for the lipstick to stay on!”

Cass opens one eye (one that’s not the one Dick is working on now, thank god) and locks eyes with Dick as she proceeds to lick her entire lip. Dick should be annoyed, but he just laughs harder.

***

Damian watches his sister dance in the exercise room. Not the practice and training space down in the Cave, but in the exercise room upstairs that Father remade to be a dance floor with floor-to-ceiling mirrors after too many incidents of pointe shoes flying in the Cave. Cassandra is truly a master of her body, and watching her do this, a very different use of her body than fighting, is mesmerizing. Damian has watched Cassandra’s dancing before, of course, the entire family went out to watch Cassandra’s recital, but that was with make-up and costume and stage-lights. This, just Cassandra with her leotard and tights in the bare room, is somehow a purer and more hypnotizing version.

It has been brought to Damian’s attention that he should do more moving sketches. Damian reviewed his drawings and concluded that that suggestion has value. He has been drawing more still-life lately, and it would be well to branch out from it. So here he is, debating whether or not to ask Cassandra to allow him to sketch her in her practice.

Damian is tempted to just start drawing, but Richard had said to ask for permission before drawing anyone after Damian had just started sketching his brother’s acrobatics practice. Before Damian can decide on anything though, Cassandra notices him and beckons him over.

“Cain,” Damian greets.

Cassandra tilts her head.

Well, now or never, Damian supposes. With her body-language reading capabilities, Cassandra might already know what Damian is there to do and is simply waiting him out. “May I sketch your dancing?”

Cassandra smiles. “Of course, little brother.” And without waiting for further clarification, she simply moves backward enough to not kick Damian with her dancing and starts where she left off. Damian, perplexed but satisfied enough not to make a fuss, sits down on the wooden floor and opens his sketchbook. He has never sketched a person dancing ballet before, and this is a welcome challenge.

As if she knows what is going on, Cassandra switches her routine, moving to a slower piece with lots of holds and balances, all without losing her graceful movements. It is infinitely easier to sketch this routine, especially with Damian never drawing ballet movements before.

Damian doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling that his sister already knows his appreciation for the change. Why be redundant and say it?

It’s a surprisingly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, especially when Cassandra grows tired of watching Damian sketch and drags him into joining her in a routine. He protests at first, only to give in eventually. And if he ends the session with laughter, well, nobody has to know.

(And if he plans on giving Cassandra a painting of her dancing sometime in the future, well, nobody has to know that either.)

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(I asked my friend @voxiferous​​ for a character to write about, since I already had the setting / mood / atmosphere in mind. It’s been raining in my city for the past ten days, with little letup.)

(Tag for this is now long rains. The stories aren’t related, they all just happen to have the same mood.)

Quick Fic Pick 64: pavements shine like silver (unshadowed by you)

Here is the thing about creating things, he thinks, as he falters, as he comes to an unquiet halt, stuttering streetlamp-light throwing black sheen and black glitter onto the puddles that shiver at his feet, rippling in the continuing fall of the rain: the thing is, now that he’s learned to stretch out his senses, now that he’s learned to take in a little more of the world than what he’s known, than what he’s been used to, he can see things that people might think to be -- strange or fanciful or exaggerated, and know them for genuine truth. 

The sky above him, for example, and the storm-clouds like gray and brown murk churning in the cold breeze, in the icy temperatures: the storm-clouds that throw back the light pollution of this restless neon-lit city. The storm-clouds that take in those glaring flashes of color, and absorb them, and then bend them every which way, so the colors vanish and turn into mud. Storm-clouds full of rain and hollowing cold, and he has to make himself move again, has to make himself get on with things, safe beneath his umbrella, but not immune to the heartless night and its freezing edges.

He turns the corner and the streetlamps throw white blaring light into his path, and the moment he passes the ramshackle mansion behind its brooding metal-work gates he’s swamped in the startling cold clarity of the night-air, and the scents of night-blooming flowers. Sharp fragrance that cuts through his sleeves, cuts past his collars and his cuffs, that seems to gather and collect beneath his heart, a painful sort of weight that he welcomes all the same. A different scent, this time: a different flower that’s come into bloom despite the overcast days, the skies that won’t even break to let the wan pale sunlight warm the scattered puddles, the running currents of overflowing gutters. 

He smells that fragrance, sharp bracing. A sweetness that still makes him think of clashing blades. 

Here is the front stoop and here is the door to his brownstone, here in this quiet neighborhood only a few blocks removed from one of this city’s heartland avenues. On the other side of those blocks: a hospital, a confluence of all-night-long restaurants, a bustling wet market. 

But he hears nothing of human voices, of the rush and the roar of the late-night/early-morning traffic, and he sees only the darkened windows in the neighboring houses, and he knows he’s awake only to witness the sleep of all these other souls, and so: into the heart of the house he goes. Into the one room he’s had modified especially for his own purposes. Anechoic tiles on the high-beamed ceiling, and the single picture window that looks out onto a tiny shared green space tightly closed and curtained. 

Cramped the room, despite the presence of the cabinet-desk in the corner. The bookcase: volumes upon volumes of sheet music and folios on the bottom shelves, and the black-matte cases on the center ones. 

He walks past those and he walks toward the mirror in the corner, and the single small table like a pedestal, a vase of flowers and bright green leaves next to it.

On the other side of the mirror is his chosen instrument, is the towering weight of it and its taut strings, precisely tuned as he grasps it at the neck and lifts. Grit and resin-scent to undercut the night-flowers that still linger on him, and the smell of cold dust on thick felt, and he doesn’t sit on the low chair.

He stands for this one, because he can, because he needs to, because he can brace his feet better this way: and the fingers of his left hand shape the chords on the strings of the cello, while his right hand draws the bow across and -- he plays, at the cello’s full voice, at his mind’s full cry, and the song that he plays is something that he’s composed for the shadow that lingers in the room. The notes of the music that he’s composed, that should have been interwoven and intimately twined into some other instrument’s cry.

He sees, in the flashes between the cadences and the measures, the movement of his shoulders, the bend of his neck. His hair’s growing out -- no amount of hair dye will last on its premature silver, the whole thing, shaft and tip and root on every single strand -- and it’s getting messy again. The scars on his arms continue to fade, as does the one on his face, that partway pulls down the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t see the tears in his eyes as he plays, but he plays, because that’s what he wants, that’s what she would want, and he gives himself over to the mournful lilt of the waltz that he’s playing, and he thinks he might be dancing, in a slow and sad circle, and he thinks he hears that voice that lifts along with the cello’s music.

In the corner, that he doesn’t see, next to the flowers in the vase: the owner of that voice that calls out to him, that reaches for him, that says his name. “Ravus.”

[thevampirediariesdiary]

1.09 History Repeating

The episode’s called “History Repeating”, so OBVIOUSLY it’s about the brothers, a perfect snapshot of their broken, broken relationship - with hints about just what parts of their history might come back around.  

This is the first episode with Alaric!  Despite being genuinely cool, he hits every single “new teacher trying to be a bro” trope like he’s checking them off a list: making fun of his name, telling the students they can call him Rick, and literally throwing the previous teacher’s files in the trash.  When explaining an extra credit history assignment to Jeremy, he literally says “make it sing”.  Rick.  That is not a helpful instruction.  

Stefan is giving Damon the cold shoulder...understandably...  Damon offers up a peace offering: coffee, to help with circulation.  I hereby offer a formal apology for making fun of the caffeine vampire fact two episodes ago.  It did in fact come back up again.  Show continuity, I should have had more faith in you.

Stefan ignores the coffee, so Damon offers a truly half-assed apology: “I got the town off our back, it was for the greater good, but I’m sorry, and to prove it, I’m not going to feed on a human for at least...a week?”  Shirtless Stefan, aka the Platonic Idea of Abs, wanders out of the closet and says “Because I realize that killing your closest and oldest friend is beyond evil and yet somehow...worthy of humor?”  Damon says, “Are you mimicking me?”  “Yes, Stefan,” says Stefan.  “Now that the secret society of vampire-haters is off our back, I can go back to my routine of ‘how can I destroy Stefan’s life this week?’”  Damon pipes up, “And I can go back to sulking, and Elena-longing, and forehead-brooding.”  And adds, “This is fun, I like this.”  “And I will finally reveal the ulterior motive behind my evil and diabolical return to Mystic Falls,” says Stefan.  “Yeaaah I’m done,” says Damon, then shifts back into dopey-Stefan voice: “That’s just like you Damon, you always have to have the last word!”  It’s a weirdly comfortable level of banter, given that Stefan was considering literally killing him one episode ago, but you get the feeling that this is the only way they know how to cope.  Plus, it’s a great bit, so I don’t even care if it’s out of character.  

Caroline yells at Matt for saying “hey” to her repeatedly, as it “reeks of awkward subtext”, and is a “lame guy move”.  He accuses her of reading into the same thing he’s said to her every day since the first grade, and says it’s a “lame girl move”.  I identify the heck out of the introspection spiral Caroline is clearly on.

Stefan tells Elena that he won’t be coming back to school; he’s gonna back off, keep his distance.  “Back off from school or from me?” Elena asks.  Stefan doesn’t answer, just says, “It’s better this way.”  “Yep, I got it,” Elena bites out.  “You’re angry, that’s good,” says Stefan, “it’ll be easier if you hate me.”  It’s condescending and paternalistic and I hate it.

Damon is still pestering Bonnie about the crystal.  “I’ll scream,” she threatens.  “Ohhhh noooo, don’t do that, let’s stay on point,” he says.  Started at the bottom...?  But it freaks Bonnie out enough that she tells Elena, and Elena tells Stefan, and Stefan promises to figure it out.

Jenna, staring at Alaric across the room: I like a man who can dine alone.  Quiet strength. Jeremy: I thought you were still in that Logan-depression thing. Jenna, in the Most Me sentence ever spoken: Oh, I’ve sworn off men forever, but it doesn’t mean I can’t observe them from a safe distance. 

Jenna says Jeremy’s dad had a box of stuff, the-Gilberts-came-over-on-the-Mayflower stuff.  This means the Gilberts and I have ancestors who were buddies!!  Or we would, if it was not Literal Historical Fact that my Mayflower ancestor was a terrific asshole whom No One Liked.

Stefan picks up the brother-impersonation bit again at the bar: S: So, Stefan! You know, I’ve been thinking. I think we should start over, give this brother thing another chance.  We used to do it oh-so-well once upon a time. D: I DON’T, Damon.  I can’t trust you to be a nice guy, you - you kill everybody, and you’re so mean...and...you’re so mean.  ...you’re really hard to imitate, and then I have to go to that lesser place.

Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena attempt to have a manicure night, but it turns into Bennet crystal drama, which I am 200% over.  “What is going on?” Caroline asks. “Why am I not a part of this conversation? You guys do this to me all the time.”  Elena says that’s not true, but Bonnie says it is - she can’t talk to Caroline, because Caroline never listens.  Caroline’s apology speech is fantastic: “It’s just not me.  I don’t believe in the *ooooohhh ghost noises*.  But if you do, then - okay.  I’m in.  That’s what it takes for me to jump on board, because I consider you my best friend, and I’m saying this knowing that Elena’s in the kitchen listening to my every word.  Look, I didn’t know how real this was for you, but I’m listening now, okay?”  I feel like this captures something important about Caroline - she’s not self-centered, precisely, she just assumes everyone’s seeing the same world she is, and placing importance on the same things.  But once she figures out that something is a big deal for her friends, it’s a big deal for her, too.  

Damon: I’m impressed, Stefan.  Fun with booze and darts, sentimental with football, and now: starry night.  ...what do you want, Stefan.  Stefan, seriously: It wasn’t real, Damon.  Our love for Katherine.  Damon, sotto voce: Oh, god.  Stefan, doggedly: She compelled us, we didn’t have a choice.  It took me years to sort that out, to truly understand what she did to us.  Damon: Oh, no, Stefan.  We are not takin’ that on tonight. Stefan: What do you want with Katherine’s crystal? Damon: How do you know about that? Stefan: Come on, you knew Elena would tell me. Damon: How’d you know it was Katherine’s? Emily gave it to her on her last night.  I was with her and you...weren’t. Stefan, defiantly: I was the last one to see her, Damon.  Now, what do you want with Katherine’s crystal? Damon, trying desperately to remain smug: She didn’t tell you? Stefan: We had other things on our mind. Damon: I could rip your heart our and not think twice about it. Stefan: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Damon: I have a bigger surprise, Stefan.  I’m gonna bring her back.

OKAY SO ABOUT THIS.  First of all, how have they never talked about this before???  It has almost been one and a half CENTURIES.  Second: For someone who starts off trying to convince Damon that all the Katherine feelings weren’t real, Stefan sure seems like he’s still invested in which of them was loved by her more.  Instead of saying “I knew it was her crystal because she compelled me to be there that night and not tell you”, he says he was the last one to see her, like it’s some competition and he won?  And “we had other things on our mind”??  What are you doing?  This is a particularly dumb strategy because it’s CLEAR that Damon has not achieved ANY distance from the whole love triangle; his face when Stefan tells him he was with Katherine that night goes from this:

Shattered trust and suffocating inadequacy, to this:

You can SEE HIM deciding to play his last card, to finally one-up his little brother whom everyone loved more.  And then RIGHT BACK to the sudden-but-inevitable-betrayal look when Stefan basically says they were too busy having sex and bein’ in love to talk about jewelry.  EDIT: I just realized maybe Stefan did this on purpose to get Damon unsettled and angry enough that he would spill his secret?  If that’s the case, it was half brilliant but also insane...since unsettled and angry Damon, at this point in the show, tends more to violence than he does to truth-telling. 

Anyway, we get the tomb spell revelation.  “Did you know witches can use celestial events to draw energy into their magic - pssh, me neither!” says Damon, perfectly proving the point I made here.

This shot, of Jeremy being super pissed when he opens his front door and Elena and Caroline are standing there screaming? 

That’s how I felt through the whole seance sub-plot in this episode.  Also in aww-poor-Jeremy moments, he’s minding his business going through his dad’s boxes when his aunt and his history teacher come home like this:

The show is HEAVILY implying Alaric is a vampire, by the way.  He has a gaudy ring which he says belonged to his father (spoiler alert, that’s a lie), and he does the whole look-pensively-at-the-lintel thing while standing in the doorway.  “You know what, I’m not gonna invite you in,” Jenna tells him.  “Some other time,” says Rick, looking cocky as hell.

Emily Bennet possesses Bonnie and takes everybody to the woods, where Stefan learns there are multiple tomb vamps.  “I don’t care about them, I just want Katherine,” says Damon.  “This isn’t about love, is it, this is about revenge!” Stefan accuses.  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive!”  Emily-as-Bonnie destroys the crystal, despite Damon’s agonizing pleading, and then when Emily leaves, Damon attacks Bonnie. Stefan saves her; Elena gives Damon dagger-eyes which are somehow still a little...disappointed?

And here’s what’s arguably the biggest revelation of the episode, delivered by Damon, tears in his eyes: “Katherine never compelled me.  I knew everything, every step of the way.  It was real for me.”

Elena makes another bid for togetherness with Stefan: “I thought I couldn’t be with you, but I can!  You don’t have to push me away, I can do this.”  “I can’t,” says Stefan, and tells her he’s leaving town.  The back and forth is already driving me insane, and we’re only on episode nine.  Oh, long-form television and your contrived stalling.

Matt climbs into Caroline’s window to tell her “We cuddled, and it creeped me out.”  He needs to improve his communication skills.  But they figure it out, and then eat junk food in her bed, adorably.  Damon sits where Stefan left him, and stares into space, broken.  Stefan throws an old journal across the room and breaks down crying, looking like he’s finally lost control.  Elena confesses everything to a very shaken Bonnie.  And last but not least, Logan Scum-Bucket Fell turns up on the Gilbert doorstep, and asks, “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

Music Moments: Barcelona’s “Come Back When You Can” plays over the closing scenes, presumably referring to Katherine - “come back when you can / let go, you’ll understand / you’ve done nothing at all to make me love you less / so come back when you can”.

Eyebrow Watch: “Yeaaaah I’m done”

And a Very Special Edition of Eyebrow Watch, featuring Stefan-as-Damon:

previous episode  next episode

[breathings-of-the-heart]

I’m not a Monster (Peter Pan OUAT x Reader)

(Gif not mine)

Pairing: Peter Pan OUAT x reader

Word count: 1666

Prompt: You always thought that Peter Pan was terrifying, and that he hated you to the largest extent of his frostbitten heart, yet you were curious about him. You wanted to know if there was a humane boy underneath all that power. Trouble is, you’re too scared to pursue that quest.

A/N: I wrote this one a while back, so it’s not my best, but I need to fill up my feed with things. It’s kinda cute and fluffy, so I thought, why not? Peter Pan was a phase I had in the beginning of 8th grade, but I still think he’s a great character to write about. I hope you guys like it!

Warnings: None :)

 My mouth tugs downwards, forming in the comfortable frown that I had grown used to since I had been dumped on the shores of Neverland. That day, seemingly so long ago, I thought I had escaped my poor excuse of a home and had come to a place where I could be accepted for once. Yet, what do I find? Instead I was welcomed with the cold shoulders of neglect and degradation. Instead of feeling like I actually belonged somewhere, I was back to where I started. I stand out, and in a bad way, according to the others. And although Wendy was another female who was considered a part of Peter Pan’s group, she was always kept locked away in some off limit area, leaving me to be the only girl amongst a collection of practically feral “Lost Boys.” The source of this frown, which now acquaints my face on its own accord, is caused by the person who had brought me here in the first place.

The idea of being a carefree child for the remainder of my existence, as I originally believed the purpose of Neverland to be, flew out the window the instant Peter Pan looked at me through his “filtered” eyes. He walks through life was in such a way where he perceives things in a malicious manner. The angled way of his thoughts centered around that malevolent nature, so it was natural that he saw me as weak. And the source of this perspective was also of course his unfamiliarity of his opposite gender, but with the ways that his own pride tugged at his conscience, I know Peter is tormented with the idea that there is something on his island that he didn’t know everything about. The idea of taking me back to the mainland is tossed around between Peter and Felix many times. Of course while it would be wiser to pretend to care, if I had to be completely honest with myself, it wasn’t much better on Neverland than it was in my old home (if you could call it one). Yet, he never did take me back. And I never knew why.

But enough about that. There’s just something about the boy that draws me towards him. Not in a romantic way, though. Oh no, after everything he has done to me, there is no way I could ever see him in that light. There’s a thrill in the unknown, and nobody, not even Felix, has any idea who the real leader of this island is. It’s probably naive of me to see Peter as an adventure instead of the demon everybody refers to him as. I am afraid of Pan, for I have seen what he is capable of doing, but I look past it. Perhaps my ability to see the humanity in people has made me immune to the actions that try tell me to leave the subject alone.  

My father always told me that I was seeing my own emotions reflecting off of other people’s eyes, but there’s no way that can be true. There’s a difference in seeing something, and seeing nothing. And while I’ve never looked Peter directly in the eyes, that’s what will determine if I want to stay or not. I’ve been too afraid to look before, because for some reason I’m afraid that I won’t actually see a human in his eyes. It’s unexplainable. Anyway, curiosity is a powerful thing. Through all the torture and humiliation I’ve experienced, verbally and physically, that’s the reason I’m still on this dreaded sland. I should be getting something out of all this.

I am foolish for thinking these thoughts, that I understand. My curiosity will lead to my own demise, I’m sure, but what do I have to live for? I know not of family, friends, and I have no purpose but this one. Perhaps this is what shall give my life meaning. All I yearn for is a purpose, and right now this is my only opportunity to grasp one. And while the odds are slim, and while I probably will never figure out Peter Pan, at least I tried. I would rather die tomorrow than live a thousand years knowing my existence been used up without taking any risks. You cannot live life freely if you are confined by the boundaries of fear and doubt.

“(Y/N)!” a voice called. You jolted, startled, on the log where you sat, your head snapping towards the source of the sound. Closing your journal quickly, you stuffed inside of the log and threw your pencil alongside it. Sucking in a breath, you stood up, seeing Pan walking towards you with an angry expression on his face. He stopped inches from you, causing you to look down at the ground. Yes, you were curious about what you would see if you actually, fully, really looked at Peter Pan. Yet that would probably anger him more. He got angry at you for the smallest things. So you looked at your feet.

“How many times have I told you that you can’t leave camp without another Lost Boy with you?!” Peter scolded. You swallowed, hard.

“Too many to count,” you answered, biting back bitterness. Pan grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him. You stiffened as he leaned into your ear, his lips brushing along them ever so slightly.

“Always in one ear and out the other with you, (Y/N).” You backed up, shivering.

“I just wanted to--”

“--I don’t care what you wanted to do, (y/n)! You will follow my orders, without question!” Pan interjected. You whimpered softly, your gaze falling to the ground. Pan walked towards you again, lifting his arm in the air. You flinched and closed your eyes, waiting to see if he would throw you to the ground like he did to most Lost Boys who refused to obey his rule. Instead, Pan gently stroked your hair, making your gaze fall to his chest. That’s as high as you dared to let it go. Puzzled by his actions, you wanted to read the expression on his face, but were too scared to try at the moment.

“I do everything on this island for a reason, (y/n),” he sighed, pushing a strand of hair away from the front of your face. “Do you understand?” He was speaking as if he was talking to a scared young deer. As if he was extra careful that you wouldn’t run away. Your posture hadn’t relaxed, for it was still stiff with fear. Pan had seemed to feel it radiate from you, and you could feel his gaze burn more intensely into you. You knew he was giving you a chance to cooperate, and if you didn’t speak soon, you would lose it.

“Y-yes,” you choked out, knowing you had no authority to ask for personal space. The closeness made you uncomfortable, for the hands that touched you had done things far beyond the worst forms of evil you could imagine. Pan studied you for a moment longer.

“Come on, then. We’re going back to camp,” he instructed, pulling your arm. Glancing back at your journal, you bit your lip and inhaled.

“You’re not going to... punish me?” you asked disbelievingly.

“Of course not. That would defeat my whole purpose,” Pan answered.

“Purpose?” you echoed curiously.

“I told you I have a reason for everything I do, didn’t I?” He stopped and turned around, an eyebrow raised in question. You would’ve seen it, had you not averted your gaze due to your own cowardice. You nodded to answer his question instead, hoping that would be enough to please him. “(Y/N), look at me. You’ve been on this island a while now, and not once have you looked me in the eye.” Pan stepped gripped your chin with his fingers, tilting your head upwards. Your eyes were wide with fear,  but you knew better than to fight back. Preparing yourself for the worst, you bit your lip. When your own (eye color) eyes they met with soft green ones, though, every negative feeling drained from your body. Gentle, reassuring green eyes. Pan smiled at you when he noticed the awestruck expression on your face.

“I’m not a monster, love. The reason I never let you leave camp alone is because I care.” You were shocked. Shocked by the smoothness in his voice, the sincerity laced into his perfect facial features.

“Why? I thought you hated me. I thought you never let me do anything on my own because you hated me.”

“Hate is a strong word, (y/n). There's a fine line between hatred and protectiveness," Peter sighed, running his hand down his face. "Maybe I have a funny way of showing that I care, but you’re my Lost Girl, (y/n). I’m not as dark and brooding as you think I am. Not when it comes to you.” Your cheeks burned as soon as the statement passed his lips, and you stared at the ground to try and prevent him from seeing. He let out a chuckle, and as if your body was acting on its own, you looked up at him again, still memorized by his beautiful eyes. A small smile playing on your lips, you wrapped your arms around the boy’s neck and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened under your touch, as if he didn’t have experience with such physical contact. As if he hadn’t been hugged many times in his life. Slowly, his own arms snaked around your waist and pulled you closer. Your head snuggled into his chest as he rested his chin on your hair. He sighed contentedly, as if he was actually happy for once in his life. With his lost girl in his arms. Alright. So maybe it was me who had “filtered” eyes. I’ll have to change that in my journal later, you thought, unbelievably relieved to have been so wrong.

[erstwhile25]

On The Subject of Truly Awful Jokes.

((The following is a lead up to why Aedos is in trouble with the Holy See. Pro tip: Never let Kail do the talking))

It had been a good night, one of those rare refuges from the world outside and any sorrow it could muster to chill the spirit. Kail wasn’t fond of the cold, anyone who had spent more than a day in his company could have guessed as much. He preferred the sun beating down, the sand between the toes of bare feet, and just a hint of salt in the air. However he had to admit, that when the freezing winds blew outside with a force to turn marrow to ice, the warmth of the fire inside was simply that much more enjoyable.

Enjoy it they did. Brave, Hyrtwyda, Aedos, and himself had a days worth of chill to chase from their shivering bones. They laughed at the events of the tourney, when Brave and Hyrtwyda had finally faced each other with their summoned carbuncles. They guffawed when Aedos related to them the events of the previous week’s expedition. Through it all they attempted to play cards, but each game seemed to break down when it was realized that Kail was finding new ways to cheat. Every time he was caught cheating, he was made to pay for more drinks, and the more drunk he became, the more he cheated. It was a vicious cycle.

With the coin Kail had won at the day’s festivities (or rather that Brave had won, and he had capitalized on) there was little pause in the drink that flowed to the table. There was no desperation to their foray into libation, as you saw with many fighters and explorers. That almost frantic need to be drunk that caused more trouble than it was worth wasn’t for them. Rather they eased into it, as if drunk was a wife waiting for them at the end of the day. Noses and cheeks turned slightly more red, despite their seats being right next to the fireplace, and their voices slowly and steadily grew louder and louder.

For the most past the crowd at the Forgotten Knight accepted this with good grace, some were even swept up by it, adding to the growing din. It was after all a fantastic night to be drunk. There was however one table at which frosty silence reigned. Kail didn’t know any of the Elezen seated there, but he knew the type. There had been no end of changes in Ishgard of late, recent events had shifted the very foundations of the city. Where once had been a nation ruled by the iron law of the Church of Halone, now stood a republic governed by houses of the people. As with any power struggle, those who were given power were content, and those from who it was wrested were not. While the multitude of the church had been more or less docile in stepping down from the seat of power, not all did it with a smile.

The Inquisition had been the branch hit hardest by the change, before now their purpose had been clear cut, their power absolute, and when there was very little argument as to what constituted a heretic in the faith of Halone. Kail could only wonder what it was like to chisel such lines in the stone, only to see them shift like so much sand. By the symbols of Halone stitched into their cuffs, and the frosty silence between them that matched the outside chill, he suspected the table of Elezen knew from first hand experience.

It wasn’t long before one, a tall drink of water even by their standards with coal black hair and features sharp enough to cut yourself on, rose to his feet and sauntered over to their table. He offered a stiff bob of a bow to Aedos and then spoke in a rum rich voice that cut through the din with the ease of one used to public speaking. “Madam Valleritignon?”

Aedos looked up mid-sip, swallowing in a fit of giggles that was passing around the table, she shushed the others before straightening out her tunic and comporting herself. “May I help you ser…?” “Costos…I am a friend of your sister, and I simply wished to introduce myself and meet the woman she speaks highly of.” Kail didn’t know much about Aedo’s home life, but there was something about that statement that unbalanced the woman. She was struggling to reach for words, her composure showing cracks. Costos spoke on “She spoke at length on the impeccable nature of your character..” his eyes swept with barely hidden disapproval at the other faces at the table “and of the sterling character of those you surround yourself with.”

Brave started to rise, the look on her face spoke clear as to what purpose. Hyrtwyda’s hand found her shoulder halfway out her seat though, and a slight shake of the Roe’s head dissuaded her from anything rash. Before anyone could look his way or suggest any sort of sense, Kail was out of his seat, and alighted upon their table with a slight drunken sway. Costos immediately took a few frantic steps back, his hand going to a cross-hilted sword on his belt. No attack came however, instead the grey haired pirate grinned at the collection of eyes now upon them. The entire inn was silent, waiting for violence to ensue.

“Ye ser…are obviously a fella in need oh a lark.” Kail grunted and swayed dangerously towards the edge of his perch, strangely enough his feet wove deftly in between the cups, cards, and piles of coin there, spilling neither. Recovering he gave a low bow and swept an arm out that seemed to draw in the onlookers even closer. “Fortunately for ye…I’ve jokes aplenty!”

Both Hyrtwyda and Brave attempted to signal Kail as to the poor footing of his current path, with warnings that ranged from the covert cough and glance, to the overt hand signals of impending doom. He barreled on however, clearing his throat, if these lads were going to hate him, he was going to give them a damn good reason.

“There once were three dragon siblins that lived in a mountain above a valley. Eldest Brother Kyrwyn, Middle Sister Saffyrn, and Least Brother Boswyk, shared their cavernous home in relative peace, with the occasional bout of boredom only every century or so. They amused themselves during these centuries, by watching the folk that lived below in the valley, much as children watch ants building a mound. They enjoyed watching the people scurry too and fro, workin in their fields, bakin their bread, and buildin their houses, their town shifting back and forth like a river in the immortal eyes of the dragon brood. Sometimes the three dragons would even disguise themselves and walk amongst the people of the village, Least Brother Boswyk in particular was fond of stealing pies from window sills while lookin fer all the world like a fair haired little cherub. It was in fact, during one of these outings that he saw something both strange and unsettling. He heard a great bell tollin in the middle of the town from a great stone building, suddenly every townsperson young, old, small, and tall, dropped what they were doing and headed fer the immense stone vault.

They lined up in the wooden seats and packed in full. When the last of the available spaces were finally filled, they waited in silence till a tall man with a long beard and a great staff went to the front, and began to talk. He spoke of virtue and he spoke of guilt, of the great tall mountains, and the wee fishes. He told them how men could stand tall if but to trust in the skies, and he spoke of men’s cruelty to those he loved. Most concernedly t'Least Brother Boswyk, he told of how stealing pies was wrong, and only the most cruel punishments awaited thieves.

Now Least Brother Boswyk had never heard of stealin afore. He’d thought those pies were fer anyone who came along, but it scared him something frightful t'think what those folks would do t'him iffin they found out. So’s he ran as fast his little legs could carry him back t'the cavern oh his siblings, wailing all the way there.

Well Eldest Brother Kyrwyn heard his brother snuffling and asked him what was wrong, so’s he told him. Only it didn’t come out quite right cause of all of Least Brother Boswyk’s blubberin. Well cause he loved his little brother, Eldest Brother Kyrwyn decided to go down and see what all the fuss was about, disguisin himself as a strappin young man taller than most. He waited till the folk gathered in the great stone house, and went on in to have a talk with the old man therein.

He returned later that day, with a strange look on his face, and his siblins asked him what was wrong. ‘I asked the old man how one might atone for crimes committed. He said that crimes were forgiven unto those who picked up a sword and fought in their family’s name. I have no wish to fight though, for surely pies are not worth spilling blood.’

To this Middle Sister Saffryn heartily agreed, and suggested that perhaps Eldest Brother Kyrwyn hadn’t asked in the right manner. She said she would go back t'town the next time they gathered and ask in his stead. So eventually the day came, and the bells rung, and Middle Sister Saffryn went t'town disguised as a beautiful young willowy lass, dressed in sunshine and wreathed in flowers.

Well it wasn’t too long before she too came back looking crestfallen, and a little shame faced. Her brothers asked her what was wrong, to which Middle Sister Saffryn replied 'I asked the old man how one might avoid violence, and he told me I should wear more clothes, and not put wicked thoughts in the minds of young men. Am I so horrible?’

Her brothers assured her that she was not. Twas at this time that Least Brother Boswyk had decided his family had gone through enough on his behalf, and iffin they could not reason peace with the old man in the stone vault, then they would buy it. He loaded a satchel with some of the gold they hoarded in the back, enough to buy hundreds of pies, and six bakeries on top of that. Dragging the satchel behind him, he went to go reason with the old man in the vault.

Twas later that day that he returned, with no satchel, but more or less in one piece. His siblings ran out to greet him, happy their brother was whole. They asked him if all was well, if all was forgiven. 'Well I don’t know about that..’ said Least Brother Boswyk 'but my pockets are empty and my ass sure is sore’”

Kail finished with his arms spread wide, as if he’d just unraveled the mysteries of life and the universe. Aedos snapped her mouth shut, for it had been wide open, and started to look like she wanted to crawl into her tankard to escape the moment of silence that followed the joke finishing. Brave and Hyrtwyda both shook in their chairs, and kept their hands clamped on their mouths. If looks could kill, Costa’s would have been loading the trebuchet. It started small and in the back, the snickering. It caught though, like a small fire that realized it wasn’t destined to be smothered. Soon it was full throated laughter, to which Hyrtwyda, Kail, Brave, and finally Aedos joined in. The other tables of the inn began howling and clapping their tankards on the table, asking for another round. Well…all except the table with Halone’s devout, they simply stared on, clutching their glasses, while the room laughed as one.

[kellyhaycock]

The Measure of a Man - Chapter 4

So a few people who’ve had this for proof reading and stuff may well be confused. Chapter 4 had reached 17 pages long and I still hadn’t finished so it’s been split. This seemed like a good place to do it anyway. So here’s chapter 4 and know that chapter 5 won’t be too far behind. Just not sure how far.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Weeks turned into months. Never once did the Tracys stop looking for their missing father, but they all knew they had to continue on with their mission of International Rescue in his honour. Every person they saved, they did for Jeff. Every parent returned to children, every sibling returned to their family, every life that was not lost through their action was because they all knew that Jeff Tracy would not have wanted them to stop just because he was no longer with them. But that didn’t mean they stopped looking. While the majority of their focus was on the task at hand, there were sensors running in the background of their vehicles, looking for some trace of him wherever they went. There was always searching going on, whether directly through the deployment of a Thunderbird, or John’s incessant scanning.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Scott looked up to see his middle brother approaching, a travel mug clasped in one hand and a gentle smile on his face.

With a nod, Scott moved over a little so that Virgil could sit down next to him. “How exactly do you manage to climb up here without spilling the coffee?” he asked, taking the offered beverage.

Virgil chuckled. “I’ve gotten very good at climbing up here after you.” He looked out at the view around them. Scott’s favourite place was to sit on the wide ledge of Tracy peak, just above the treetops so the Pacific Ocean stretched as far as they could see in every direction. “Though I’m glad you’ve stopped flying all the way to the top.”

Scott smiled as he took a sip.

“So,” Virgil said, leaning back on his hands as he looked out. The sky was turning pinks and oranges as the sun lowered towards the horizon. “Wanna talk about it?” Even without looking back at him fully, Virgil was aware that Scott had looked away from him and was focusing on the lidded mug. “It’s alright. I got time.”

There was a sigh and the sound of the loose stones on the ledge being disturbed as Scott placed his cup down. “It was a close one today.”

“I know,” Virgil said, looking back round at him to see him examining his fingers. They’d only been home from Taipei a few hours but Scott had retreated straight up the peak once everyone was home and safe. He noticed the way his shoulders were hunched and he kept his gaze averted. “I gotta admit when I heard you over the comm. earlier I was worried.”

Scott nodded. “That moment when I realised the pack had been damaged by the heat from that dish…” He shook his head. “I should have kept my mouth shut. Just flown back to One as I was going to, but I realised it had been damaged and I just spoke without thinking.”

Virgil put his hand on his arm. “You have good instincts, Scott, and quick reflexes. Yes, I was worried, but then when I saw you on top of One I relaxed again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, quietly, looking back out at the horizon again.

“That’s not all, though, is it?” He watched as Scott seemed to shrink into himself a little. To most people, the gesture would go unnoticed, but to Virgil it was as obvious as if he’d curled up on the ground like a child. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? The Hood.”

Scott looked round at him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. He cleared his throat as he went on, his tone rising slightly. “It was like he was taunting us. I know he’s the one who was responsible for Dad’s crash! I know it!”

“I know, Scott,” Virgil agreed. “And I’m with you. We all are. But you need to come back home now. No more hiding up here and brooding every time a lead goes cold or comes back empty. Kayo brought him out of the shadows and right onto the GDF’s radar, so now they’re focusing resources on capturing him.”

A small smile managed to find its way onto the older brother’s face. “We’ll find him.”

“We will,” Virgil replied. “Now, come on. I think you’ve been up here long enough to get away with not having any meatloaf surprise.”

The small unsettled smile broadened into an easier one as Scott nodded once again.

With every rescue they carried out, they were all constantly on the lookout for any sign of their father, which was why, when Gordon had found that signal transponder, Scott had gotten his hopes up. He should have known that guy would have planted it there to pique their interest.

With a sigh, Scott shook off the thoughts. They now had the GDF convinced which meant a renewed search on their part too. Hopefully this would mean Jeff Tracy would be located soon.

He looked round at Virgil as he stood up. “Thanks, Virge,” he said.

“Anytime. But will you please stop assuming this is all on your shoulders? Let us help share the burden. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know, Virgil, I know,” Scott responded.

“Good. Now, I assume I’ll be meeting you at the bottom?”

Scott looked over the edge. He wasn’t anywhere near the top of their little mountain island, but, similarly, they weren’t particularly low down either. “Hmm, do I feel like climbing down there?” he mused.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna fly off, aren’t you?”

“I’d never fly off and leave you,” Scott said, smiling at him as he stepped off the ledge, hovering in the air in front of him. “How about I just follow you as you climb back down?”

“Fair enough,” Virgil said with a chuckle. He looked down, judging the best place to start his descent then slid himself off the ledge, his strong fingertips grasping the ledge as he began his steady climb back to the base.

Several weeks later, Virgil sat at his piano, his fingers drifting over the keys. He wasn’t really playing, wasn’t really focusing at all. His mind was wandering, thinking over all that had happened recently. So many rescues they’d had to attend. An undersea laboratory. That dislodged solar collector in Taipei. A space mine gone rogue. A reopened uranium mine. A sabotaged Fireflash. The widespread power cut in London. A runaway train. To name but a few. But it was the most recent one that was on his mind.

Alan had not long returned from his mission. Normally, the youngest Tracy would be chomping at the bit for a chance at a solo mission to space but when it’s your own brother you have to rescue… Well, Alan was understandably shaken up when he returned home.

A twitch of a digit and a note rang out louder than Virgil had anticipated, making him jump. He looked down at where his hand lay, the ‘E’ note still fading in his ears. E… Eos. She called herself Eos.

Only a few hours prior to Alan’s necessary sudden departure, this ‘Eos’ entity had impersonated their brother and convinced them all that there were no calls, that all was good in the world and nothing was amiss. He still felt a touch of guilt that they’d all been taken in by the subterfuge. How had none of them recognised that this wasn’t their brother? Why did it need to be a phrase so out of character before they noticed?

His fingers curled up into fists as his guilt became frustration that he’d been duped. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and closed the lid over the keys, protecting his precious instrument from the sudden need to bang his hands down on it in anger he felt at himself.

He got up and walked away, heading over to the other side of the room. The sun was setting, casting soft warm light over their garden and he could feel the gentle breeze as he approached the open windows.

“You alright?”

For the second time that evening, Virgil jumped at a sudden unexpected noise, though this time it wasn’t from an errant movement of his own.

“Whoa, sorry, Virgil,” Gordon said as he neared his immediately older brother. “I thought you’d heard me coming.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, I hadn’t.” He looked back out over the garden.

“John’s alright, you know,” Gordon said, standing next to him and looking outside.

“I know,” Virgil replied.

“But you’re still worried.” Gordon sighed as he sat down near the edge, his eyes scanning the view ahead of him. “I am too. But he is alright.”

“But what if we’d been too late?” Virgil asked, sitting next to him.

“Dude, you’re sounding like Scott. Isn’t it his job to worry and overthink everything?”

A small smile formed on Virgil’s lips. “He has been.”

“He’s not up the peak again, is he?”

“No, I think he’s with Alan. And I think that’s the only reason he’s not up the peak. Al was so shaken when he got back.”

“I know, I saw. He’s alright now though. They both are.”

Virgil nodded. “I know. Alan was brilliant up there and John has made a new friend. Okay, so said friend tried to kill him earlier, but…”

Gordon chuckled. “Well, from what I can gather, they’re gonna do each other a world of good. John won’t be alone up there anymore and she can learn from him.”

“Wow, Gordon, when did you become wise?”

“I always have been,” he said, leaning back on his hands and crossing his ankles on his outstretched legs. “I just choose not to flaunt it.”

“Right…” Virgil smiled at him, then returned his attention to the garden.

They sat together in comfortable silence for a while before Gordon looked round at Virgil again. “Virge?”

“Mmm?”

“Where do you think Eos came from?”

“John reckons the code was one he’d written years ago.”

“Yeah, but how did an old gaming code end up sentient?”

Virgil frowned. “Well, he did say the code evolved.”

“But how?” Gordon asked, drawing his legs closer to cross them underneath himself. “How does a computer code evolve into a sentient being like Eos is?”

“I wonder…” Virgil mused thoughtfully, his finger rubbing his chin.

“What?”

“Well, what if the code evolved because of John?”

“You mean he wrote some kind of evolution subroutine into it?”

“That sounded a bit technical for you, Gordon,” Virgil commented with another smile.

“I do know computer stuff,” he answered.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, I know. But no, I don’t think it’s that at all. What if this has happened because of John’s ability?”

“You mean when he created that code he somehow wrote some of his ability into it?”

“Something like that,” Virgil said. “I’m not certain how his ability even works. It seems to be the most complex of all our abilities.”

“I’ll say,” Gordon agreed. “Flying, strength, breathing underwater or in any atmosphere… Okay, they’re not exactly normal traits but compared to his, ours are pretty basic.”

“When things have settled down, perhaps we can ask him,” Virgil suggested.

“Mmm, I think the last I’d heard after Eos had been throwing bagels at him, he was going to turn in.”

“Yeah, she did put him through the wringer a bit, didn’t she?”

“Uh huh. Turning up the gravity in the centrifuge? What’s that gonna do to him?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know but it can’t be good for him. I’ll see if I can convince him to come back down for a check over soon.”

“Yeah, good luck with that one,” Gordon said, grinning.

Scott sat in Alan’s room, watching him pace back and forth. “Alan, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” he said, realising, even as he said it, that that’s exactly what he did when he was stressing over something. Aside from flying up the peak that is. “You got there in time, John is fine.”

“But I was only just in time, Scott,” Alan said, stopping and looking at him. “He can’t survive without his air supply, not like…”

“Not like you, you mean,” Scott finished. “Believe me, I know how you feel. I frequently wish it’d been me in place of one of you when things have happened.”

A hand reached up to cover his forehead as Alan let out a long slow breath. “I only just got there, Scott.”

“Yes. I know. But only just getting there is still better than getting there only just too late. John is fine. You did an amazing job under very difficult circumstances and I’m proud of you, Alan.”

The young blond looked up at his oldest brother as he stood and approached him. “I mean it, I am. And Dad would be too.”

“You think so?” he asked hopefully.

“Seriously? You saved your brother’s life all by yourself, of course he would!”

“I didn’t really, John’s the one who convinced Eos to stand down,” Alan responded.

A smile crossed Scott’s face, his eyes softening as he looked at his youngest brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But John didn’t save himself from being trapped outside Five with no air. That was you. No one else, just you.”

Scott watched as Alan thought about that. “I guess so,” he replied slowly.

“No guessing, Alan, you were a true Tracy today.”

There was the smile that Scott had been trying to induce in his brother, that bright smile that starts off small and builds up until his whole face lights up.

“Now, no more worrying about the ‘almosts’ and ‘what ifs’. You got there, he’s safe and you did your job brilliantly.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Alan said, leaning forward and resting his head against Scott’s chest.

A small sigh and Scott wrapped his arms round him. “Anytime, Kiddo. Now go on. Try and get some rest. I got a report to write.”

“Alright,” Alan whispered, looking up at him as he stepped back.

Scott reached out and ruffled his hair, grinning as Alan swatted his hand away.

The following morning when Virgil walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see Scott already there and by the look of him, he’d already finished his run.

“Morning,” Virgil greeted as he went to the coffee machine.

Scott raised his bottle of water as if in salute while he swallowed the mouthful he’d just taken. “Good morning,” he replied.

“Good run?”

“Mmm hmm,” the elder answered. “Right round the perimeter.”

“Hmm, I think your flying ability helps your running.”

“How do you know I’m not just fast?” Scott asked.

“Because it’s barely 0700, Scott. Now, unless you got up about two hours ago for your run, which I doubt, I reckon that ability of yours helps.”

Scott chuckled. “I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest,” he conceded. “Maybe it does a bit. But oh well. Yeah, it was a good run.”

“And the divide?” Virgil asked, referring to a rocky outcropping that split the beach around the back of the island. It was tall, made up of jagged rocks and started at the cliff face, reaching far out into the ocean.

“What about it?”

“Well, I tend to climb over it and I know for a fact that Gordon swims round it. Did you climb?”

Scott could tell by the smile on Virgil’s face as he sipped his freshly made coffee that he knew full well there was no climbing or swimming involved. “You know I love that jump.”

Virgil laughed. “Next time you go out on a full perimeter run, I want to come too. I want to see you jump it.”

“If you like,” Scott said, finishing his water with a smile as Gordon walked in from the garden. “Hey, how was your swim?”

“Refreshing,” Gordon replied. “The ocean is nice and cool today.”

Virgil smiled at him as he sat down with his breakfast before looking over at their elder brother. “Scott, Gordon and I were discussing what happened yesterday last night.”

“Mmm, I had to have a chat with Alan, too,” Scott said, sitting next to him.

“I know. But we were thinking we should see if we can convince John to come back down, even if it’s just for a day. You know, so we can check him over.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right.” Scott brushed a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “After everything that happened yesterday, oxygen deprivation, extreme gravity, being tossed around by the mooring claw-”

“He what?” Gordon spluttered, putting down his orange juice he’d just started drinking.

“I called him last night to see how he was doing with Eos. He genuinely seems to be alright having her up there but he did disclose some of the things that happened before we were aware of a problem.”

“Then we definitely need to get him to come back down,” Virgil reinforced.

Scott nodded. “I’ll get a shower and change then I’ll call him. Unless you want to do it?”

“If you like,” Virgil agreed.

“You want me to come down?” John said, frowning in confusion. “But why?”

“Did you actually just ask me that, John?” Virgil asked, folding his arms over his chest. “Think it through.”

“If this is anything to do with yesterday, I’m perfectly fine.” He admitted he felt a bit drained and stiff, but it was nothing that some painkillers wouldn’t resolve.

“We’d like to be certain, John. That was quite the ordeal you went through.”

John just shook his head. “I don’t need to come down, Virgil,” he insisted.

“Are you certain, John?”

Green eyes rose to meet one of the approaching camera units that now served as Eos’ eyes. “You’re siding with them?”

“I believe what I did to you was wrong and I could have damaged you. I believe I may in fact have damaged you and for that I am sorry.”

“It’s alright, Eos,” John said softly. “I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you, John, but I still agree with your brother.”

“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he asked.

“No,” Virgil said, smiling.

John sighed and shook his head. “Alright, fine, I’ll come down, but-”

“I know, I know, it won’t be for long.”

“You know I find it easier to focus up here. Especially since we moved to the island.”

Virgil nodded. “I do know, John. But you know that we need all these systems down here, right? We’re not trying to keep you off base.”

“Of course I know that, Virgil. For one thing, I helped Brains to design the systems. It’s just that trying to keep my mind on my own systems with all the extra ones I’m not used to running at the same time…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, already concerned about the return. The gravity sickness he suffered due to being out of the atmosphere for too long was awful, but coupled with the white noise of all of Tracy Island’s systems, he frequently ended up with a migraine on his first day back. Even the microwave was a distraction he wasn’t used to.

“Want me to get the others to turn off all the non-essential systems?”

John lowered his hand and looked back at his immediately younger brother. “Would you?”

“Of course I will, John. I don’t want you to feel unwell if I can help it.”

“Thank you, Virgil,” he said, his posture relaxing just slightly at the prospect.

“Alright, see you soon. Give me ten minutes before you start your descent to make sure I’ve gotten to everyone and they’ve started shut down procedures.”

“FAB, Virgil.”

“Shall I initiate a time-delayed activation of the space elevator, John?” Eos asked, her camera lens dipping as she regarded him.

“Please. Ten minute delay from now. That’ll give me time to sort myself out.”

“What do you need to sort out, John?” the AI asked curiously.

“I need to transfer the systems scanning for distress signals and the early warning systems down to the hub in the villa, reroute the signal scanners so I don’t miss any leads that might point us to Dad’s whereabouts and put the station in sleep mode basically.”

“Sleep mode. Powering down to save resources by shutting off lights and life support until prior to your return.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Why waste power lighting and heating this place and pumping the air supply if there’s no one up here to benefit from it. The gravity ring will be halted too.”

“A sensible course of action,” Eos agreed.

John smiled at her then made his way towards his living area, adjusting what he needed to as he went simply by thinking about each system.

“John? I have some questions.”

“Go right ahead,” John said, entering his bedroom and taking a small case from beneath his bed. He had a few items he always took to and from Earth with each visit, including books and holophoto-displays.

“My first is what shall I do while you are gone?”

John looked up from unzipping the case. “Oh. Um, I, uh, I don’t know.” He frowned, thoughtfully. He’d never had to consider anything like this before. “I could leave the database running if you like. You can access it and do some research while I’m gone. When I get back I can go through your findings with you.”

“What do you recommend I research?”

“Hmm, well, I said I’d show you how good the world can be, so why not look up some good things?”

“Good things?”

“Kindness, love, family, a really nice cup of tea,” he suggested, not entirely sure.

“You suggest I should research caffeinated beverages?” Eos asked after a brief pause.

“You must have already started some research if you knew what tea is,” John pointed out.

“I looked it up as I was unsure how it was relevant.”

“It’s not really, I suppose, it’s just something I consider good. Everyone has different opinions. Perhaps you could start by looking through our family photo albums. There is a lot of good in there. You could always contact me on the island if you’re uncertain.”

“So I will start with looking up what it was like to grow up with your brothers?”

John chuckled. “Hopefully you’ll see that we were happy. For the most part we still are. We’re always there for each other and we support one another and we care about each other.”

“Alright John. I shall contact you with my thoughts if I may.”

“Good idea,” John said, returning his attention to his bedside table to retrieve his books. “You said you had questions, plural. Was there something else you wanted to ask?”

“How is it you can alter the systems here without a direct interface?”

John dropped his book and turned to face her. “I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m, well, I’m different to most people. Me, my brothers, Kayo, we’re all different to most people.”

“Because you can access the systems?”

“That’s unique to me, I think. We’ve all got different abilities. And, well, there are some people in the world who’d want to use us the way I was worried they’d want to use you. Our abilities make us special, I suppose, which some people would try to take advantage of to gain power.”

“I understand, John,” she said quietly. “Just as you said could happen with me, I agree could potentially happen with you. So, you say your abilities are all different?”

“Mmm hmm, my ability seems to be technological in nature. I’m pretty much linked to Thunderbird Five and I can access any of her systems just by thinking about them. I can pretty much access anything technological and interface with it, everything from a massive computer system like the Thunderbird Five control hub right down to a basic calculator.”

“Impressive, John,” Eos said. “And what of your brothers? Are their abilities similar?”

“Not really,” John said, sitting on the edge of his bed as he started explaining to his new friend everything his brothers and Kayo could do.

"What took you so long?” Virgil asked as John stepped out of the elevator.

John looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Eos was asking about you guys,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s curious,” Virgil commented, then put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Already?”

John nodded. “Is everything shut down?”

“Only the refrigerators are still running pretty much. Aside from the stuff in the hangars and the transmission receivers.”

The space monitor nodded again, sighing. “Alright,” he murmured.

“Come on, bed,” Virgil insisted, slipping an arm gently round his brother’s shoulder and guiding him towards his room. “We can check you over when you’ve gotten used to being back down here.”

“Thanks, Virgil.” He allowed himself to be steered into his bedroom and flopped down onto his bed, a hand covering his eyes as Virgil closed his blackout curtains.

“Anytime, John,” Virgil whispered, unplugging the digital clock by the bedside. “Want me to grab some painkillers?”

“Please,” John replied.

“Alright, I won’t be a minute.”

“Thank you,” John whispered sleepily.

Virgil smiled at him as he backed out, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned as he exited, walking straight into Alan.

“Whoa, Virge, watch where you’re going, Bro,” Alan said, staggering slightly. “It’s like walking into a wall with you.”

Virgil chuckled. “Sorry, Alan, you okay?”

“Yeah, I take it John’s back?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“You going for painkillers?”

“Yeah,” Virgil replied.

“Poor guy. It’s no wonder he’s always up there.”

“He deals better with only the systems he’s directly linked to than all the others we have operating,” Virgil reminded him.

“I know,” Alan said. “Oh! I forgot to turn my game console off!”

“Well, go! His headache is already worse than usual.”

With a concerned nod, Alan ran off back to his room as Virgil made his way down to the kitchen.

Upon entering, he saw Gordon and Scott sat at the table with Kayo. “Was that John we heard coming back?” Kayo asked.

“Uh huh,” Virgil said, heading towards the medicine cabinet. For the most part, they kept medications in their infirmary below ground in the hangars, but there was also a supply in the kitchen to ensure that the infirmary supply was kept fully stocked should an emergency arise.

“Oh dear, already?” Scott asked, watching him.

“I think that as well as his usual return to gravity groans as he calls them, coupled with the sensory overload of our systems, he’s also suffering with whatever happened to him yesterday.”

“You’re probably right,” Gordon said.

“Want me to take the meds to him?” Kayo asked. Virgil turned to face her after closing the cupboard. “I’m the logical choice, after all.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that?” Scott questioned curiously.

“I don’t need to open the door to get into his room, meaning I won’t let in any light if he’s suffering with photosensitivity.”

“He is,” Virgil said. “As soon as we got to his room, he laid down and covered his eyes so I closed the blackouts.”

“Then I go.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Gordon agreed.

“Of course it does,” Kayo reasoned, taking the medication from Virgil and the glass of water he’d poured, and headed out of the room, leaving the three brothers looking at each other.

John lowered his hand from his eyes and looked around the darkened room. His head felt heavy but he was glad there was little light. He was used to the glow of his holographic systems, even the sunlight up on Five, but somehow the light through the atmosphere felt different to him. It was out of the ordinary and he didn’t like it at all.

Taking a deep breath, he held it for just a moment and released it slowly before frowning. He wasn’t alone anymore, he could hear someone else in his room.

“That you, Virgil?” he rasped quietly, not wanting to raise his voice much further. Perhaps his brother had returned while he’d had his eyes closed. But normally he’d have heard him enter. Feeling a little on edge, he eased himself more upright and looked around, his eyes struggling to adjust to the almost pitch darkness effected by the blackouts at his window. His shoulders sagged slightly as his aching mind finally caught up with him. “Oh. That’s you, isn’t it, Kayo?”

“You really are out of it if it took you that long to figure it out,” she murmured quietly, sitting down beside him on his bed.

“I’m not normally this bad,” he admitted. “Let me get the lamp.”

“Virgil unplugged everything in here earlier,” Kayo reminded him.

“Except the clock,” John said. “I felt him turn that off as I entered. He probably just missed that one.”

“It’s plugged in behind the unit, isn’t it? Easy to miss.”

“He’ll remember all the plugs eventually,” John mused, a hint of teasing in his soft voice.

“Perhaps,” Kayo said, putting the water down on the unit and reaching down to plug his lamp back in for him. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he said, his mind focusing on the device. Soon, a small soft glow lit up just around the bed. “I can’t manage more than that I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Kayo said. “Anyway, I brought you the painkillers and some water.”

“Thanks,” John repeated, taking them from her as she offered them. “By the way, how do you take things through walls with you?”

Kayo shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” she answered. “Not really thought about it, to be honest. But I guess I just have to be holding something for it to be able to pass through with me. I mean, it’s gotta work something like that. Otherwise I’d have trouble with my clothes every time.”

John spluttered on his water, having taken a sip to swallow the tablets as she’d spoken. “Oh, uh, yes, well… khmm…” With a slightly shaking hand, he put the glass down on the unit, trying to hide the colour rising in his cheeks.

Kayo smirked, laughing slightly. “Sorry, John, but it’s true.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that theory does sort of cover it.” He smiled awkwardly then glanced away, reaching out to take another sip of the water.

Her smirk softened into a fond smile. “Want me to bring you some more water?”

“I’ll be alright,” he replied, handing her the now-empty glass as she held out her hand for it. “I think I need to try and sleep off this headache and let my mind adjust to the change in system presence.”

“Alright,” she said, standing up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you again, Kayo,” he said, laying back down.

“Anytime,” she said, watching as he reached down to unplug the lamp before retreating from the room.

“John, sit still,” Virgil admonished for possibly the fifth time in the space of half an hour.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t exactly comfortable,” he replied with a frown. He was lying on a bed in their infirmary while Virgil and Brains checked him over, the paper lining crinkling beneath him and feeling horribly rough against the bare skin of his back. “The floor of the gravity ring is better than this thing.”

“Well, the paper is there for, uh, hygiene,” Brains pointed out. His focus remained on the data screen he was regarding before he finally turned back to his would-be patient. “There seems to be n-no permanent damage from your, uh, encounter yesterday.”

“Permanent damage?” Virgil asked, helping John sit back up.

“Well, the pressure caused by the heightened gravity will leave him feeling pretty m-muscle sore and there seems to be no lasting effects from the oxygen deprivation. He wasn’t deprived long enough for-for any damage.”

John reached for his shirt and pulled it back on as he listened to Brains. “I do feel quite achy,” he agreed, reaching up to cradle his forehead almost without thinking about it.

Virgil noticed and looked at Brains. “Are we finished with the systems?” he asked, aware that they’d been running almost constant scans on him since he entered the infirmary.

Brains looked up from his readings to look at the two men in front of him. “Huh? Oh, oh yeah. Sorry, John,” he replied, saving the information to John’s records before shutting it all down.

The astronaut smiled gratefully at them as he lowered his hand again. “I’m sorry you have to do this for me,” he said softly.

“These systems aren’t urgent,” Brains reminded him. “Better we turn them off than have you suf-suffering from sensory overload.”

John nodded. “And to think I used to struggle at school in the IT labs. In comparison, that was nothing!”

Virgil chuckled slightly. “You’ll get used to it again,” he reminded him. “I know you rarely stay down here more than a few days at a time, but the overload never lasts the whole time, does it?”

“You’re right,” John said. “I guess it’s like the equivalent of jetlag for my abilities or something. Or needing to be acclimatised.”

“Exactly. Now, come on. You need something to eat.”

“I’m not really hungry, Virgil,” John murmured, shying away slightly.

“You’re never really hungry, John, but still, you need to eat something.”

John sighed and slid off the bed. “Alright.”

Virgil smiled at him. “And anyway, once you start eating, you might find you were hungrier than you thought.”

“Maybe,” John said as he followed his younger brother out of the room.