#( the gods favor my aim today—ic )

[ascherys]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒄𝒚: 𝑺𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅

𝒊. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒘 [𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒏]

word count: 2.2k

written: september 2022

story project: the hidden legacy

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𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 the undergrowth and trees; his bow and arrow loose between his fingers. He was nervous, he stood out against the white snow thanks to his dark clothing. He drew his bow quickly, focusing on the buck across the valley. Breathing slowly, he released the arrow, the slim object flew through the air like a bird, and pierced the buck in its chest. Lucian grinned, mother would be happy with either the feast or coinage it would bring, especially as it was winter. Reave was a plentiful city, most of the men took to hunting in the Clear Orchard Woods or fishing in the port, where they traded in their extra food for coin to get by.

Lucian softly walked through the forest to retrieve his catch, but not without hearing footsteps approach behind him, “Who’s there?” His voice was calm as his hand went to the sword latched to his hilt. “Reveal yourself now.” He demanded as he unsheathed his sword, whilst turning to reveal three men looming above him.

“There’s a rumor going around the realms, boy. Your mother is at the center of it.” This man was tall and skinny, Lucian was sure that he could knock him off balance. The other two looked more sturdy, one having broad shoulders and the other with a large belly — obviously from consuming copious amounts of beer. He would have to be nimble if he was to get away.

The man in the middle gave a short nod to the men on either side of him, and Lucian gripped his sword tighter between his hands and positioned it in front of him. “You are speaking falsehoods.” He was confused, their words made no sense. His mother was a simple maiden in Reave, how could there be a rumor circulating about her? “My mother is not involved in anything!”

The men chuckled, “You’re a fool.” Lucian narrowed his eyes at their words. He knew that taking all three of them would not be something he could do. He spun on his heels, dashing towards where he knew the main gate to Reave was, leaving the buck behind in the snow. “You come back here, boy!” He could hear the footsteps of the men from behind him, but he was quicker than they were. His feet found a tree stump which lifted him onto a fallen tree. Lucian kept his balance, even with his sword in hand.

As he leapt back onto the ground, he lost his footing, “Oh, fuck!” Lucian exclaimed as his feet met the slippery surface of ice. Landing on his tailbone, he winced as he slid over into the middle of what seemed to be a small lake. As he rose to his feet, he heard the ice crack under his weight, I knew eating that extra piece of bread this morning would cause issues in someway, he thought to himself.

“A little stuck, hmm?” The broad-man spoke. Lucian gulped, either he was going to drown in ice cold water or he’d be arrowed to death. No, he thought, he was not going to die today. Repositioning himself, the ice crackled more underneath him. Grimacing, he slowly walked backwards hoping the ice would stay intact as the taller one began to latch an arrow to his bow.

Unfortunately, the Gods were not in his favor as the ice broke beneath his weight, and his body plunged into the cold water below. It felt different. He didn’t feel cold, why did he not feel cold? Was this death? Before Lucian knew it, he resurfaced, gasping for breath just as an arrow was lodged into the piece of ice floating next to him. Lucian lifted himself back up onto the ice, the water dripping from his hair. He felt a course of anger rush through his blood while he clenched his fists, focusing his mind on the men aiming arrows in his direction. Their cunning smiles turned to horror as they stared at Lucian.

“It’s true. Oh, Gods, it’s true!” One screeched. That one turned on his heels, attempting to run, but was struck with an arrow that was sent through his chest. Lucian, shocked, looked left and right to see who had fired the arrow, but felt the anger morph into confusion as he saw sharp ice-shaped arrows floating in the air next to him. As his anger dissipated, the ice fell, smashing into shards on the frozen lake.

By the time Lucian looked back towards where the other two men once stood, they had vanished. Lucian took this as an opportunity from the Gods and scrambled carefully to the bank of the lake after grabbing his sword, making sure he had tree coverage in case the men returned. He knew that he needed to get home immediately.

Running through the forest, he made sure not to slip on any ice this time and managed to get back to Reave unscathed. Lucian crept through the gate by the West Gate, being careful to check whose eyes were on him as he made his way to The Cliff, known for its tower-like keeps.

The streets were relatively busy, the marketplace which was spread across both the West Gate and South Docks brought visitors from all over Finnan. It had plenty of trinkets and baked goods that travellers could purchase to increase the capital’s coinage. Lucian hoped that the groupings of people would help him hide from his attackers.

He continued through the narrow passageways, crossing over the bridge which separated the marketplace port and the rest of the town, including his home in The Cliff. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the familiar stone masonry building that he called home. As he bolted through the door, his mother let out a gasp and almost dropped the plate between her hands.

“Luc! There’s no need to come smashing in here.” His mother’s voice was stern, her brown hair seemed to be ruffled. As she took in his full appearance, her green eyes filled with worry, “Luc, you’re drenched in water, what happened?”

“I—” His stammering did not come out in full sentences, he could not process what had happened.

His mother did not need to be told anything, “It happened, didn’t it?” Now calm, Lucian could feel himself thinking about what had happened more clearly.

“What do you mean, ‘it happened’,” Lucian questioned, what did his mother know that he did not? Did the men in the forest speak some sort of truth?

Lucian’s mother went and sat down at the table, and motioned for him to sit down with her. He looked around and closed the shutters before taking the chair nearest to her, “It was your seventeenth name day only a week ago, my sweet Luc. That is normally when it begins,” his mother’s hand went to his cheek, “I’m sorry I kept you in the dark for so long. It’s time you knew the truth.”

“The truth?” He echoed.

“Your father, it begins with him. His name was Lucaen Raine, he came from a long standing line of Elementals.” She spoke softly, as if she was worried that someone would hear the conversation.

As Lucian listened, his eyes continued to widen. His mother described how his father and her had met, how she had once been the Princess of Aeston before fleeing the capital city of Krigh when she found out she was pregnant with an Elemental’s heir.

“My father and my brother, they are both men who hold power close to their heart. With power, they waged many wars. I’m sure you’ve heard of a majority of them, especially that of the Cleansing War and the Battle of Heth.”

His mother went on to describe how his grandfather, the Rampant King, and his uncle, had eradicated a majority of the Elementals in the eleven realms, worried that their power would one day take away the throne from the Aerin bloodline. They allowed for thousands to be killed, even wiping out an entire realm — Eelry, which was now a desert wasteland. From what she knew, his father, Lucaen, had been slaughtered in the dungeon below the castle, and she had feared for her future son’s life, for Lucian's life, leading her to leave the life she knew. It was not soon after this that the Rampant King fell to an illness, and his uncle, the Dark King, was crowned.

“Lucaen was overjoyed when he found out I was going to bear his heir. To bear you. He tried to get us away from Krigh before we were caught, and he told me what he could before he was taken away. ‘His seventeenth name day,’ he said, ‘That’s when it will begin.’” His mother paused before looking Lucian in his eyes, “That is when he will bear witness his powers.”

Lucian took a breath, “I’m an Elemental? So what, I’m the last one left? I’m going to be hunted and have my head on a spike for something I cannot control or that I never asked for?” His tone came out full of rage and sarcasm. Not at his mother, but at his kin.

“Lucian, you need to calm down.” He looked up as the sink began to rattle, the slow dripping of water from the tap had sped up. “In the beginning, your powers will be controlled by your emotions. You cannot let your emotions consume you.” He breathed out, trying to let his anger subside.

“I murdered a man! How can I be calm when I murdered someone only at midday?” His breathing had not slowed, his temper had subsided, but the frightening thoughts of what he could now do was consuming his mind. The sink continued to rattle before spluttering out segments of high water pressure.

“What?” His mother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, allowing the sink to return to its normal state. Her eyes were locked towards him before she pushed back her chair with haste. “Was there anyone with him?” She urged, “Lucian! Were there any other men with him?” Her voice came out worried.

“Y—yes.” Lucian stammered. “There were three men, I only killed one.”

“Three?” His mother whispered, before rushing off to the back room.

Lucian followed after her, “Mother, what’s wrong?” He got no response as she grabbed a sack from the cabinet and began shoveling clothes of his into the leather bag. He walked over to her and grabbed his mother’s hands gently, “What’s going on?”

“World will spread quickly, Luc. A raven would have been sent and King Roux will be notified within a day. You need to leave.” She kissed his forehead before moving back into the kitchen, filling up a water skin and wrapping some breads and cheese which were put into the satchel. “You need to take Luwin and head to Tarrin. You will find someone named Callith Sadlyn in Aber.”

“Aber is a two months ride from here, I would have to travel through Ilragorn which is infested with the Aeston Guard to get there. That would be walking into a death trap.” Lucian did not understand why his mother was trying to send him to the enemy, to his death.

“You can travel through Thyvar’s Chasm, take the route through Sior. It is your only choice.” His mother handed him the leather sack. “You need to go, Lucian. It is the only way for you to be safe.”

He took the sack gently as his mother wept a few tears, “Do not cry. I will make it to Aber. I promise you.”

“Now. I’m sure once the raven reaches Krigh, he will ask the Reave’s guards to search for you.” Lucian nodded, walking towards the barrel where his arrows were stored, attaching them to his satchel. “I want you to have this.” His mother handed him a curved dagger.

“This is made of Eosdae Steel, where did you get this?” Lucian gripped the blade, it was light but still felt sturdy in his hands. He traced the curves with his other hand, making sure that he would not cut himself on the sharp blade. Eosdae Steel was made in the farlands, and not many people travelled so far east.

“Every Raine born is gifted a blade forged from Eosdae Steel, you are your father’s son. This is your birthright to keep. He gave it to me one day to hand down to you.” He nodded and attached the blade to his hilt. It was something he knew that he would treasure. “Now, go. Be safe. Stick to the quiet paths. Do not stay in more than one place for too long.”

Lucian nodded, before pulling his mother into a hug, “You be safe as well okay, I’m not the only one in danger.” He walked out the door towards the stables, where his dappled grey horse was nibbling on a round of hay. “Luwin,” the horse looked up at its name being spoken, Lucian took a breath before untying Luwin from the fence, leading him towards the gate at the end of The Cliff, opening into Snow Valley, the easiest place to slip out of Reave without being seen.

As he reached the Valley, he climbed atop of Luwin before giving him a swift squeeze to make the young horse trot. The sun, still high in the sky, looked as though it may be covered in clouds soon, which Lucian wished to the Gods that the weather would stay clear — travelling in a storm at the beginning of a journey was deemed as a bad omen.

[blothshedder]

@no-file​

Hammond Robotics had long been a THORN in Bloodhound’s side since their partnership with the Syndicate to occupy Hound’s own home planet with their planetary harvester. While the Games being moved to Talos had certainly been an advantage for the veteran, their prolonged occupation on the volcanic planet after the Games had moved AGAIN had not sat well with the tracker.

Since their hiatus from being an active participant, they’d set off on their own independent excursions to try and work out a way to push the tech company OFF of their homeland. While the tracking of TECHNOLOGY was not necessarily one of their tracking strengths, they were a tracker nonetheless and where there was a trail to be picked up, they found it. 

They landed themselves on on a Hammond supply ship en route to their said home planet and there had been every intention to take it over and make sure the supplies never saw their intended destination. If Talos, despite their energy-rich soil, could be proved to not be WORTH the trouble then perhaps Hammond could be driven away. 

Bloodhound crouched low near some supply crates; it was an easy enough task. A pilot and a co-pilot were the only occupants. Only NOTED occupants. “You hold too much confidence in the ability of the myrkrinu to shield you, félagi.” spoken quietly enough to be heard by the hidden occupant in the cargo hold but not loud enough to be heard near the cockpit over the sound of flight. “It would seem the fate of the gods has conjoined our paths once more. But for what purpose remains to be seen...” they regarded the darkness plainly, fingers covered by well-worn leather gloves tracing over the handle of their heirloom axe that still rested in its holster.

“Not as enemies this time, I hope?” a question to probe just what their interaction from here on out would be. Was Puppy working with Hammond? An entity guarding the ship from someone like Bloodhound? A fight, they had not boarded looking for but if a fight had found them...

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Five (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali and Rosé officially enter the arena.

A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing comments on the last chapter! It really does mean a lot to me, especially because this one has been a little challenging to write. I'd really appreciate any feedback you have on this chapter!

Denali opens her eyes to gray.

The arena is gray and wet, mist falling over the damp grass, fog curling around tall trees and a massive cliffside. A chill bites at her, but Denali doesn’t mind. She might even have an advantage here. The warmer districts don’t know this cold, wet weather, but Denali knows the cold like an old friend.

Rosé coached her for this part, said to find a bow and whatever she could grab, but not to go in too deep or engage in any fights. After that, her first priority is getting far away and finding water.

Denali repeats it to herself, avoiding how the other tributes tower over her. The gong sounds, and she runs—

“Denali!”

Rosé’s voice brings her back, and the world around her isn’t wet, but grassy, with forest all around. Pine hits her nose, and it reminds her of the hours in the woods back home, her dad showing her which plants were safe to eat. The odds just might be in her favor this year.

Rosé is on her platform a few feet away, and the Cornucopia looms in front of them, an enormous golden horn stuffed with weapons and supplies. The others are spread in a circle around the Cornucopia, waiting for the gong that releases them.

The gong sounds.

“Denali, run!”

Denali doesn’t think twice. Her boots fly over the grass, the other tributes just blurs in her vision. She reaches the Cornucopia seconds before anyone else, and in those seconds, she finds what she needs: a bow and a quiver stuffed with arrows. The quiver is a comforting weight on her back, the bow warm in her hand, and if it wasn’t for her pounding fear she could almost convince herself she’s back home. She grabs a backpack and two knives in another heartbeat before footsteps and shouts erupt.

The tributes have arrived.

Most brush past her, deeper into the Cornucopia, where the best stuff is--weather-proof tents, huge bags of food, medicine. Part of Denali wants to join them, but there are always a lot of deaths at the Cornucopia, and she has what she really needs. She can’t get killed on the first day.

Blood suddenly splatters over Denali’s boots, and she sees the District 7 man hit the grass with a knife in his back. Denali tugs it free and adds it to her weapons, running towards the woods. She can’t see Rosé among the bodies at war with each other, and her heart skips a beat at the thought that something happened to her--

A distinct flash of red comes on her side, and Denali almost crumples in relief. Rosé has a sword and two spears, plus a backpack. And better yet--four full water bottles. Denali doesn’t want to know what she went through for those.

“You good?” she asks Rosé.

Rosé nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

They go for hours, switching between walking and jogging, trying to get as far from the Cornucopia as possible. They haven’t run into any dangers yet--no murder-wasps or anything--and Rosé doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. They don’t want to be complacent, and they keep pushing themselves, not even stopping to check their supplies, taking only the smallest sips of water. Rosé’s grateful for all that running with Denali--she probably would have dropped by now without it.

When the sun sets, bathing the arena in a golden light so warm and peaceful it almost makes you forget where you are, they finally stop. They’re in a clearing, and Denali arranges thick bushes and leaves to cover them.

“Let’s see what we have,” Denali says, and they lay out their stuff.

A sword, two spears, a bow, thirty arrows, three knives, four water bottles, a tiny first aid kit, six packs of dried meat, matches, and a sleeping bag.

“Damn, we did good,” Rosé whispers. “I got a freaking plastic tarp and a sword I didn’t know how to use for my first round.” She doesn’t want to get overconfident yet--it’s still day one, after all--but there’s comfort in knowing they have stuff, in not ending the first day so hungry and thirsty it hurts.

Denali nods, splitting up the food, and it’s almost nice in their little hiding spot. If they weren’t in the arena, if they both weren’t constantly looking around for danger, it’s a place Rosé might like to be. Berries even fill the bushes, ripe and juicy-looking.

“You think we can eat those?” Rosé asks. Denali taught her the most common edible leaves and plants when they trained, but Rosé’s never seen berries like these.

Denali almost jumps in the air. “Do not eat those, Rosé. They’re nightlock, they’ll kill you instantly. If we--if we get separated or anything, promise me you’ll remember.”

“Promise,” Rosé says. She’s quiet after that, and it’s because of what Denali said. If we get separated. Rosé’s been with Denali so much lately that she can’t imagine her not being there. She did fine on her own last time, and figured she’d be on her own again this time. But they’ve somehow crawled back into each other’s lives, and Rosé doesn’t want to do this--doesn’t want to be here--alone. The thought of them getting separated, of losing Denali in the arena, is enough to make her sick.

The anthem cuts across the dark sky, and they look up to see the images of the tributes that were killed today. It starts with the man from District 3 and ends with the woman from District 11. Ten dead tributes ticked off on Rosé’s fingers. Pretty high for day one, but not the highest. She knows she should feel something, but she doesn’t. She didn’t even learn their names. It’s easier that way.

“Twelve more left besides us,” Denali says.

“Glad all that math help I gave you paid off,” Rosé teases, and Denali smiles big enough to show her dimples. God, those dimples. Rosé forgot how much she missed them. She grabs the sleeping bag and hands it to Denali. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Wake me in four hours.” Denali slides into it with a white-knuckled grip on her knife and her bow within arm’s reach. She keeps twisting in the bag--Rosé figures she’s right on Denali being afraid to sleep around people--but eventually settles down, exhaustion winning over.

It’s too dark to see much, and quiet enough to hear Denali’s gentle breaths. Rosé doesn’t think any tributes will attack tonight--they’d only be putting themselves in danger attacking in the dark--but she wouldn’t put it past the Gamemakers to spring something. Rosé is sure she keeps hearing noises, every muscle tense in preparation of an attack. The only thing that eases the tension is closing her eyes and listening to Denali breathe. It centers her somehow, helps Rosé figure out what she’s really hearing and what her mind is making up. As long as Denali’s here, as long as she’s breathing, Rosé is okay.

“Denali, wake up,” Rosé says softly after four and a half--she gives Denali some extra rest; she probably won’t know--agonizing hours. She’d tap her shoulder, but something tells her it’s not a good idea. Definitely not, because Denali immediately shoots awake and her knife hits Rosé’s chest. Even with the tip there, Rosé’s reluctantly impressed at how good Denali’s sight and aim are in dim moonlight.

“It’s just me. Rosé.”

Denali inhales sharply, yanking the knife away. “I--Rosé, I--I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rosé understands. She’d shoved Lagoona after a nightmare once, her brain convinced her sister was a threat.

Rosé crawls into the sleeping bag and feels Denali’s unease seep over her. Besides her family, she never has anyone around when she sleeps. What if something happens? What if they’re attacked before Denali can do anything? What if she has a nightmare in front of Denali? She doesn’t know if they’re on camera, but that won’t look good in front of the Capitol. They want strength and toughness from their tributes. Waking up screaming from a nightmare will only hurt their cause, make them question Rosé’s strength, and she can’t do that.

But she’s tired, really tired. The sleeping bag is surprisingly plush, so thick she can’t even feel the hard ground beneath her. Everything is warm and soft, and though she tries to fight it, she sleeps.

---

The sun wakes Rosé before Denali does.

Day two in the arena, and Rosé resists the urge to burrow back into the sleeping bag and sleep until it’s over.

“I was just about to wake you,” Denali says. She’s ready to go, bag on and weapons in hand, and Rosé thinks Denali gave her some extra rest too, paying back the favor. “There should be a water source nearby,” Denali continues.

Rosé nods and follows, trusting Denali to guide them. Rosé’s world was one of icing and sugar and butter, of kneading dough and sweating in front of hot ovens. But Denali knows forests better than anything, her childhood made of branches and trees and plants. Rosé is amazed at how she keeps track of it all. Those water bottles won’t last forever, and if anyone can find water here, it’s Denali.

They continue through the woods, and again they don’t encounter anything. It has to be deliberate. The Gamemakers want to lure them into a false safety so the danger is that much more frightening when it does come. Rosé doesn’t want to think about what they might send.

She makes a mental map of the arena as they go. The forest seems to be the largest part of it, leading to another large valley, and then the mountain. Not an obviously threatening arena, and again Rosé thinks it was a choice. When faced with tributes who’ve seen so many different arenas with so many different dangers, leave them guessing about what to expect. A basic arena like this could accommodate anything the Gamemakers want to unleash.

But nothing is unleashed the second day, and they trade uneasy sleep shifts.

---

Day three brings the first threat--a group of lizards in bright neon colors that roam down a tree when Denali and Rosé are resting. They're definitely a Capitol hybrid, and Denali isn't sure if they're poisonous, but she doesn't wait to find out. Five arrows, five dead lizards, before they even know what hit them. It's almost comforting, in a way, to have something to fight against for a few seconds. Instead of just wandering the arena and waiting.

They decide to move on in case more lizards come, and see the District 4 tributes crossing the field.

Denali freezes, grip tight on her bow. They're out in the open, and she could get them both before they even hear her arrows whistling by them. Two less tributes to worry about. More odds in their favor. But they're defenseless. No threat at all, just walking along. Denali knows that they'll have to be killed eventually if she wants to win. She just doesn't want to be the one doing the killing. At least not unless they try to kill her first.

She lowers her bow. "Rosé, I don't think I can do it. I'm sorry." She hangs her head, expecting Rosé to tell her she's being stupid, or get mad at her for blowing an opportunity most tributes would literally kill for. What if Denali's lost her nerve? Will she be able to kill when her life really is on the line, when she really has to?

But Rosé just nods. "It's okay."

And they move on.

---

By day four, Denali is on edge. She flinches at every rustle, every snapping of a twig, but they haven't run into anything or anyone since District 4. Two tributes die, cutting it down to ten more besides them. They’re at the halfway point, and that surely means something big is coming. The Gamemakers won’t leave things alone this long, won’t let the tributes stay separated. This suspense, this tension hanging over their heads, while intentional, has to break at some point, to the interest of the viewers and horror of the tributes. Something has to come.

And on day four, it does.

Denali senses the change in the air before the rain comes, reaching her hand up to catch a drop.

It sizzles against her palm.

“Run!” she barks at Rosé, cradling her singed hand to her chest.

Burning rain pelts off their jackets as they tear through the woods. The material offers some protection, but tiny drops make their way over Denali’s hands, on her face, down her back. She hisses against the burning, and Rosé curses beside her as they try to find dryness. In one direction, gusts of wind almost bring Denali to her knees, ruffling her jacket and making the rain pound down, and she glimpses a thick spiral in the distance that she numbly realizes is a tornado. A fucking burning rain-tornado combo. The Gamemakers really want their money’s worth today.

“There,” Rosé pants, and Denali realizes a valley to their left is perfectly clear. They sprint into it, collapsing on the grass, and Denali can’t even look at the blisters on her hands. There’s a plant that helps burns, her father told her, she just has to remember--

“Aloe!” She runs to the leaves. She finds the plant and cuts it with her knife, letting the cool gel soothe her hands and face, sighing in relief. She cuts more and takes it to Rosé, who’s bent over in the grass so no one sees her face screwed up in pain.

“Rosé, it’s okay. I can help.” She places the gel on Rosé’s hands, ignoring the tingle in her arm at the touch.

“Can I do your back?” Denali asks gently, and Rosé only hesitates a second before she nods.

Denali lifts Rosé’s shirt and jacket, letting her hands trace up the hard muscles of her back as she spreads the gel over her blistered skin. She keeps her touch gentle, not wanting to cause more pain, and she knows this has to be on camera and exaggerates her touches, makes herself seem extra caring, even if she hates herself for it.

“Let me do yours now,” Rosé offers.

Denali freezes. For the briefest second, her ankle tightens with the grip of the girl from District 4, but Rosé isn’t her. Rosé is only trying to help, not hurt, and Denali nods, even if she hasn’t asked for help in years. It would blow their cover if she refuses anyway. She holds her breath as Rosé moves her shirt, not letting herself tremble or show pain in front of the Capitol.

“I’m gonna put it on now,” Rosé says. Denali sighs when the gel hits, grinning when Rosé scolds her to stay still. She hasn’t had someone care for her like this since her mother died. In seconds, the pain is gone, and they watch the rain. Denali wonders how long they’ll be trapped here. Not to mention that finding aloe seems too good to be true. Too suspicious.

“Some rain, huh?” Rosé mutters.

“Don’t forget the tornado,” Denali laughs bitterly.

“Wait.” Rosé stills, ear toward the rain. “Do you hear something?”

Denali doesn’t hear anything before five tributes sprint into the clearing. The storm was clearly meant to send them into one dry spot, and even with the burns, a windswept tribute from District 1--Denali thinks his name is Castor--launches himself at her with a sword. It’s too late to string her bow, and he’s too close--but Rosé jumps in front of her, the sword cutting across her leg as she swings her own sword at him. Metal clangs as they go at it, and Denali can’t even process that Rosé just saved her life before the woman from District 4 comes at her. Denali grabs a spear that Rosé dropped and blocks the woman’s arm, sinking the point into her chest a second later. The woman hits the grass, and cannon fire joins the noises of battle.

“On your left, Fox!” someone yells. The voice is too deep to be Rosé, and Denali realizes it’s Finn from District 4, currently locked in battle with the man from District 8. She barely has time to thank him before the woman from District 1 pounces at Denali, nails clawing at her neck. Denali blocks her just in time. The world is sweat and blood and heaving breaths, and Denali just hopes Rosé is still alive.

The fight ends as suddenly as it started, when Denali stabs the woman and looks around and realizes the rain has stopped, and there’s no one left to fight. The man from District 8 escaped into the woods, but the clearing is littered with dead tributes from Districts 1 and 4. Her bloody hands still grip the spear, just in case. Her arm is trickling blood, and her neck stings with scratches from the woman grabbing at her, but she’ll survive. She hardly feels it, hardly feels anything, really, as she looks around. And Rosé--Rosé is still standing, thank God, limping over to Denali. The gash on her leg is huge, soaking her pants with blood, but she’s alive, and Denali’s knees almost buckle in relief.

“Are you okay?” Denali asks. “We gotta get out of here, then we can bandage your leg.”

Before Rosé can speak, a wheeze sounds from the ground, and they dart toward the noise. It’s Finn, clinging to whatever life he has left. The man from District 8 must’ve got him. As she looks at him lying there, golden hair stained red, she finds the numbness fading into emptiness, emptiness that swallows her heart. Sparing his life yesterday had been for nothing. But deep down she knew it would be. There's no escaping the fate of the arena. He had been kind, had offered her an alliance she barely considered, had warned her of an attack even when she killed his fellow tribute. And now he’s dying. Would things have been different with an alliance? Would they have protected each other? Would he have become a friend that she would inevitably lose? He was going to have a baby, she remembers, but hearing it in the training room and remembering it now are two different things, and she wishes she didn’t remember. She understands why Rosé avoided the other tributes and didn't talk to them, why she tries to avoid the Games entirely.

“You said he was having a kid,” Rosé says quietly. Her normally wary eyes seem sad.

It’s not a question, but Denali nods anyway.

Finn wheezes again, letting out a hoarse please. Please what, Denali has no idea, and watches in confusion as Rosé approaches him. She can’t mean to kill him--he’s good as dead. Instead she crouches down, takes his hand, and begins to hum something. It’s a simple melody, one that sounds like a lullaby. Denali understands--Rosé can’t help him, no one can, but at least he won’t be alone. Denali kneels with her and just listens, goosebumps on her arms, and pretends she’s somewhere else. Somewhere she never had to do this. Somewhere the two women she killed today never attacked her in the first place.

The cannon sounds, and they leave the clearing in silence.

---

They don’t talk again until that night.

They bandage each other up and eat some fruit Denali found as they walked, lost in their own minds. Rosé’s eyes finally lose that far-off look as she eats, though she keeps turning her apple over and over like she’s never seen one.

Denali doesn’t know what to say. The cold side of her has already calculated that six other tributes remain--both from District 2, both from District 8, the woman from 7, and the man from 9. But how can she focus on who’s left after this afternoon?

They both jump when two parachutes appear.

The first contains a medicated cream, one that instantly starts healing their burns and soothes any remaining pain. The second is a platter of bread and fish, clearly from District 4, the fishing district, and Denali knows it’s because of what Rosé did for Finn. She swallows the lump in her throat, resenting the part of her that’s so hungry it wants to grab the food and shove it down without a thought. Another part of her doesn’t want to eat it at all, doesn’t want this reward when there’s blood on her hands. They don’t deserve this. They weren’t even friends with him, didn’t do anything to help. But Rosé made his last moments easier, and maybe that counts for something.

“I almost don’t want to eat it,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows she feels the same way.

“I know. But I think it’s disrespectful not to,” Denali says.

Rosé nods. She turns her head, because there’s clearly a camera on them, and thanks District 4 for their gift. They split the food and eat slowly, savoring each bite.

The silence continues until the anthem ends, and Rosé nudges the sleeping bag toward her.

“I don’t really feel like sleeping,” Denali admits.

“Me neither. Nightmares are a bitch.”

Denali had long assumed Rosé had nightmares, given that the lights in her house are on almost any time Denali wakes up in the night. Denali’s not worried so much about dreams--it’s more that she’s sure she won’t be able to sleep and will just be lying in the sleeping bag with nothing to do but think of today’s deaths, or how Rosé protected her. Denali’s come to rely on her, to enjoy her company, and today just proved how close she is to losing Rosé and doing this on her own.

“Things seem...different now,” Denali says.

“It feels more real,” Rosé says simply, because she understands.

Denali nods. “We left while everyone fought at the Cornucopia. We didn’t see the other deaths. But this time...”

There’s a difference between watching someone die and killing them yourself, and it’s a difference only a few people fully understand.

“We did what we had to,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, because it is true. She never wants to kill just to kill, only when she has to in order to live. And being in the arena again makes her realize how much she wants to live. She wants to go home and and watch the sunrise each morning instead of just ignoring it on her runs. She wants to invite Kandy and Kahmora over for dinner, and talk to Jan and Lagoona again, wants so many people in her house that she’ll need a whole new set of coffee mugs. And she really wants Rosé to be part of it. Maybe she can. Somehow.

Denali doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and she can tell Rosé doesn’t either, from how she’s picking at her sword.

“I--I’m glad we both made it,” Denali says. “I’m glad I’m here with you. Thanks, by the way. For saving me back there.” Her subconscious knows it's a good thing to say strategy-wise, to prove the romance, but she really means it. She’s used to fighting tooth and nail for what she wants, not anyone helping her or protecting her. She didn’t have an older sister running to the stage to save her from the Games, didn’t have an alliance in the arena last time. She really is grateful for Rosé.

“So am I,” Rosé says sincerely. “And you don’t have to thank me. We look out for each other, okay?”

“Yeah. What was that thing you were humming?” Denali asks before she can stop herself.

Rosé looks down at her lap. A shaft of moonlight falls over her face and bathes her in silver, and Denali’s heart skips a beat. “It’s a lullaby my mom used to sing us. I don’t actually know all of it. We were usually asleep before she finished. But I never forgot the melody.”

“Oh.” Denali’s mother wasn’t one for singing. She told stories instead, old fairy tales of princesses and knights that Denali used to fight sleep to hear the end of. Sometimes her father would join in, and when he died, Denali lost not one but two storytellers. Her mother became a half-finished story after losing him, one that ended abruptly eleven years ago. Denali’s hand goes to her necklace, but she meets empty space.

No. No no no--

“What’s wrong?” Rosé asks.

Denali hadn’t realized she was speaking aloud. She doesn’t answer, instead digging through their bags while her heart pounds. She’s making too much noise as throws aside knives and food packets, but she doesn’t care because it’s gone--

“Denali,” Rosé says, and her calm voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom's necklace. It’s gone. I must’ve lost it in the fight.” Denali remembers the woman from District 1 clawing at her neck. She must have torn off the necklace in her struggle, and Denali didn’t notice among the chaos. Now it’s gone and she’ll never get it back, when she has so little of her mother at all, and she angrily forces back the tears stinging in her eyes. She won’t cry. Not in this arena.

“I’m sorry. It's your mom's, right?” Rosé asks quietly, and Denali nods. “Tomorrow we can go look for it. It could still be in the clearing.”

Denali knows it’s a long shot, but the mere offer—an offer to go back into danger for something that’s not physically necessary—stirs something in her chest. It’s more kindness than she’s been offered in years, more kindness offered without any reward expected, just like Rosé sneaking cookies into her bag, and it’s too much to take. She mumbles a thank you and crawls into the sleeping bag, explaining that she’s tired after all. It’s an excuse to not look at Rosé, at the concern in her eyes, because Denali can’t bear it. No one has looked at her like that in years. She feels too exposed, just like at the interview, and looking at Rosé is impossible when every part of her is raw and laid bare.

Surprisingly, sleep comes easy, and it brings not nightmares, but dreams of Rosé.

---

The sound of trumpets wake Rosé the next morning, after a restless sleep of tossing and turning. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and sweat ran down her neck all night even though it was cool outside. Her head kept swimming with images of the fight, but what really kept her awake was her confusion over Denali. Why couldn’t she look at Rosé, and why did she throw herself in the sleeping bag minutes after saying she didn’t want to sleep? Maybe it was the stress of losing the necklace. Maybe she wanted to hide in the sleeping bag so no one saw her cry. The necklace is obviously a touchy subject for Denali, and she’s probably just stressed. They both are. Rosé won’t pry.

She sits up and rubs her eyes with a groan. “What’s with the trumpets?”

Denali shrugs, seeming back to normal. “Must be an announcement. Maybe because there’s only eight of us left? We’re at the last third.”

Rosé can’t believe sixteen people have died, that they’re already at the final eight. It feels like ages and yet like no time at all has passed.

“After we win this, I should be a math teacher,” Rosé says, heart lightening when Denali smiles. Announcements are usually done to bring tributes together for a big bloodbath. Though the rain accomplished that yesterday. Maybe this is something different.

Rosé listens as the announcer explains an unprecedented rule change. In light of three full teams remaining, the most ever at the eight-tribute-mark, both tributes from the same district will be winners if they are the last two alive.

“Does that mean…”

“It does,” Rosé answers. If she and Denali are the last two standing, they’ll both win.

“We can do this. We can really do this.” Denali leaps to her feet, all the sorrow from last night gone. Rosé hesitates, a dark part of her wondering if there’s a catch, or if this is a trick. But they can’t just announce something like this and take it back, not when the audience will expect a team victory. Not when the audience will expect a District 12 team victory, because the parachutes last night just prove that they’ve succeeded, that their love has won over the crowd. They can win this, and the audience is rooting for them.

Rosé nods. “Let’s move, before they send more rain.” She hauls herself up, but a sudden pain explodes in her leg. The world spins around her, blackness closing in on her vision. She hears Denali saying her name but she can’t answer, can’t do anything but close her eyes and let the darkness take her.

[blueprint-han]

one, two click! ↠ yjn.

genre: domestic au; fluff

⇥ warnings: none, not suggestive but a bit of kissing here and there.

wc: 1.03 K (yes finally !!!)

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: drabble.

taglist: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz @sunoo-luvs (send an ask if you’d like to be tagged, might as well make a taglist sduwegfd)

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @baby-innie​​​ (requests for this are closed now!)

↯ note: hope you liked it bubs, innie is literally a babie. 🥺🥰 This is me before writing the fic praying to all the gods that I don’t make this a 1.5k fic again T^T Okay dawn after this fic, YES FINALLY WOOO 🥳. ⇥ dawn.☀️

Walking on the sandy beach, feeling the cool, salty sea air hit you as you chattered along with your boyfriend hand in hand was all you could’ve asked for. A day off with your lovely boyfriend, away from all the stress that crept up your shoulders, away from all that hectic schedule in your office. You’d signed up in a heartbeat.

You’d squealed and pounced on Jeongin — your boyfriend — the moment he offered to drive you to the edge of the city, rent a cabin and spend two days with you, on a ‘mini-vacation’, as he’d called it. Mini or not, you were more than ready, packing your bags up in less than two hours before driving your way to the sandy outskirts.

And having a day where you didn’t have to wake up to that blaring alarm? Didn’t have to wake up early in the morning when the sun hadn’t even risen yet? Having the chance to wake up in your lover’s warmth, his hold? You were in bliss.

Right now, the grainy particles of sand seemed to envelope your feet in warmth — oddly comforting, which came of to you as a surprise. You’d woken up at about 9 in the morning, had a lovely breakfast in bed with Jeongin, and sweetly kissed his forehead before deciding to walk around the beach, perhaps even have ice cream on the way.

Hanging around your neck was your trusty camera, one in which you always captured photos of Jeongin. Well, the original context was to capture photos of sceneries, but who were you to blame? Yang Jeongin was a scenery in himself.

“It’s a little cold today...” You said as you felt another gush of cool air hit your bare arms. You untangled your fingers from Jeongin’s to rub back some warmth into your shoulders, only for Jeongin to pout at you.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so before?” Jeongin pouted, slinging a hand around your shoulder to pull you closer to himself, You giggled at his antics, then sighed when you felt him wrap the edge of his jacket around you, enveloping you in a bit of warmth. It was your fault for not wearing a jacket, especially after countless warnings from Jeongin that it would be cold outside — but deep down, you and he both knew that you’d prefer sharing his body warmth rather than any sweater.

“You’re such a baby...” You cooed, reaching out to boop his nose, almost melting at the adorable way he scrunched his nose. Leaning in for a quick peck on the lips, you wrapped your hand around Jeongin’s waist before pushing yourself away. Eyes glinting in awe when you noticed the way the sea reflected the sun rays perfectly, creating an almost-golden glow around your boyfriend. He was absolutely ethereal, even in this lighting.

“Wait, stand here.” You pointed out, quickly wriggling yourself out of his hold and running a suitable distance away from him, camera in hand. Pointing at it, you positioned it at your eye, almost rolling over laughing when Jeongin pouted at you.

“Stop being such a baby and smile!” You yelled at him through the sound of the sea-waves hitting the shore.

“It’s cold without you here.” Jeongin’s pout intensified as he huffed, managing to give you the most awkward smile he’d ever given. None the less, you rolled your eyes before clicking on the button, watching the bored expression be captured and immortalized.

“Gosh you seem so bored.” You looked up from the camera. “Smile a little!”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes again, tucking his hands into his sleeves as he smiled brightly. You almost felt your knees go weak at the smile — for you it was even more bright than the sun. But that was Yang Jeongin for you — he was your sun, the light of your life. “Okay one, two...”

The sound of the camera going “Click!” echoed throughout the space, and a frown knitted through your eyebrows when you saw the photograph. 

“You closed your eyes!” You whined, mirroring Jeongin’s previous pout.

Jeongin’s shoulders slouched before he ran over to where you were, pulling you close to himself as he sighed. “How about this.” He snatched the camera from you, quickly pecking your lips one more time before turning the device around so the lens faced the both of you. “I’d look much better with my pretty girlfriend by my side, you know. Now say cheese~”

You huffed, feeling the heat creep up to your cheeks at the impromptu compliment your boyfriend had just thrown at you. A soft smile took over your lips, eyes sparkling in the sunlight as the camera clicked again, once again, capturing the moment forever. 

Once Jeongin showed the picture to you, he wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you close to himself (of course whilst whining). You yelped but nonetheless melted into his embrace, propping your chin against his chest as you gazed into his eyes.

“Wasn’t I the one who was cold?” You asked, a smug, knowing look on your face.

“And?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m just being proactive and a concerned boyfriend so you don’t end up contracting hypothermia.”

“What?” You burst into a fit of giggles, almost falling out of his embrace which only lead him to whine for the fourth time of the day. In all honesty, you knew Jeongin enjoyed having you in his embrace — he wasn’t trying to hide it anyways, especially the way you’d be pounced on every time you visited the studio.

“You’re such a baby,” You said for what seemed like the millionth time of the day, rubbing your cheek against his chest as you let yourself revel in the feeling of the warmth that seeped through skin.

“But I’m your baby.” Jeongin finally gave in to your advances, leaning in to swoop another kiss from you. You lingered on his lips for a second too long before pulling away, both of you beaming at each other.

“That you are, baby. That you are.”

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[hoxc]

Gwyn ap Nudd is a Hunter. Diana Wrayburn, a strong Warrior. Together, they are a force to be reckoned with. The series kick off at Alec and Magnus’ beach wedding at the end of QOAAD in which Diana and Gwyn are lying on the beach shore, remote from the crowd. Discover how their romantic, intimate and adventurous relationship is evolving since the events following the downfall of the Cohort and see what their future holds over the course of several chapters. The first Chapter is inspired by The Archer by Taylor Swift.

The view was unparalleled, though Diana found herself caught adrift in her partner’s compelling and heterochromatic gaze. Every fleck of color in both eyes a constant reminder of the being Gywn was, who he’s long ago been forced to become and continue to be, as the leader of the Wild Hunt. Centuries of bloodshed, plagues and warfare planted in the crevisses of his irises like organic warpaint with which to fend off enemies. Almond-shaped eyes sculpted to hunt through an endless night.

Somehow he did not scare her for he was not the monster the folklore tales painted him to be. Underneath the curse and the dark artifices is the male who made her feel seen for the woman and warrior she truly is. A feeling that would never go away, no matter how grotesque the fables or atrocities he’s committed on behalf of the Wild Hunt. In the Shadow world, nothing is as simple as black or white. She cannot fix the person he was, though she can help him become the person he could be.

She herself has lived a life full of lies, secrets and deception toward others whilst he has been forced to run and hide in the shadows for what could be a millenia. Somehow, they had more in common than meets the eye.

“Trouble in paradise, my Angel?” echoed Gwyn’s sultry voice on the shore of Diana’s thoughts, instantly bringing her back to herself.

A minute or an hour could have passed, Diana could not tell. She slightly tilted her head in the ocean’s direction to hide her smile, the color in her cheeks turning as red as the surrounding flames. Gwyn gripped her chin ever so gently so as to bathe in the sight of her raw emotion. Diana reciprocated the motion and held him by the neck, her fingers brushing his pointed and delicate ears.

“Just realized we are almost out of that delicious iceberg cider. Let me get something else to drink.”

“Then let me get drunk in you,” whispered the Hunter on his lover’s lips. A laughter erupted from the Warrior’s mouth before she leaned to put her legs around his waist, intiating a heavy make out session.

Their time on the run from the Cohort brought them closer, though they were never completely alone. Or completely together. Gwyn wrapped his corded arms around her and laid his hands on her lower back, giving into the passionate kiss that spoke words that could not be said in public. Fireworks exploded in her bowels as shooting stars rained over the beach like arrows being shot down from Heaven; piercing through the veil of our world.

When the hour got late, they decided to bid congratulations to the newly weds again before making their departure. Emma was slyly approaching their direction, Tavvy cradled in her arms. Wait, was she winking at them?

“He’s had too much cake,” said Emma, pointing at the icing and crumbs sticking to the boy’s cheeks, “and Cristina cut me off from playing the Lover album on repeat so we are officially leaving this party,” joked the girl.

“Thank you again, for everything you did to help us through this War, Gwyn. Diana, Julian is waiting in the car. Are you coming with us?” For an instant, Diana saw the ten year old girl who’d just lost her parents, pleading her to return to the Institute with her. Her heart sank. Emma made to turn back slowly when Gwyn caught her by the elbow and steadied the girl.

“Stand straight child, better days are coming,” riddled Gwyn, the squint in his eyes giving Emma the eerie feeling he could forsee better days ahead that she couldn’t. The blonde warrior smiled her usual grinny smile.

“Tell my scoliosis that” she chuckled back. There, she reappeared; the young woman who’d defied all the odds to be happy for herself.

“Matter of fact I am not coming back with you,” admitted Diana, surprising herself and Gwyn whose eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Suit yourself. See you early tomorrow for training then!” Emma made to turn back, waving Tavvy’s sleeping hand for him. Diana held the girl’s hand tenderly, and, for a second time, Emma was denied the chance of a semi-dramatic exit.

“Emma, a Shadowhunter married a warlock – the most amazing Warlock – today and made history. Tonight calls for celabration. I will see you when I see you,” added Diana with a wink at Emma.

“Gwyn, be a dear and call in your horse. We’re going for a ride.”

There are no amount of words to describe the pure freedom of riding a horse through the skies, under the stars and above the sea. Diana held the reins, Gwyn holding onto her wilderness. The wind made no sound in the presence of the Hunter. His next words cut right through her ears.

“Why am I worthy of you, lady Diana?” asked Gwyn in a shy yet commanding voice.

Her pull on the reins would have sent an actual living, breathing horse riding on land into a frenzy of confusion similar as the one she was expericing right now. She was not actually leading the horse anywhere, it responded to Gwyn’s commands without speech or action. She turned her head around to face him and embraced his radiating warmth.

“If you don’t expain yourself more clearly, this sentence won’t even apply.”

The ancient war God inhaled deeply before delivering his thoughts carefully into her inquiring eyes.

“I’ve been the Archer,” revealed Gwyn, pointing at his antler helmet that declared him King of no Courts. “I’ve been the prey,” he continued on, feeling the roughness of the powerful cape many have died attempting to steal, while others have died for daring to look at it for too long. “Who could ever leave me,” he added on, angling his head closer to hers, indicating his one colored eye. A result of the curse he suffers and shares with the other members of the Wild Hunt. A pack from which one may never leave unscathed or alive. His eyes watered at the corners which only amplified the hues of eyes. His words cut deep and profound. For the first time since she’s known him, she felt him vulnerable, and oh so sexy. She brushed her lips against his and closed her eyes. Her lashes gently scraping Gwyn’s cheeks like butterflies laying on a delicate flower. He pulled back from the embrace to absorb the look on her face. Something he would aim to do for centuries on end. He peered directly into the eyes of her face, also paying attention to the tattoed Koi fish’s eyes as he continued- “,but who could stay?”

Diana was equally moved and couldn’t keep herself from giggling at the Hunter quoting Taylor Swift’s song The Archer, which must have been played heavily that night. She reminded herself to thank Emma for her unitentional favor. A promise of love weighed on each word he sought to share and every touches he landed on her skin. She had to oblige.

“All the King’s horses and all the King’s men, couldn’t put me together again, either Gwyn. Combat. I am ready for combat,” declared Diana as her heart and body were lifted higher into the clouds, out of sight from prying eyes.

In that moment, she let herself be spun into the darkness and all the broken bits of lights fighting their way through. That evening, he showed her the past of his broken bones and she let him foresee the scars in her future. In the present, they found love. It was not for their eyes to see, but it was felt in their hearts the pure courage to start. Broken, but together.

[nvvermore]

Songbird vs Rattlesnake

People get mean when the chips are down, and Amaryllis and Vesper were no exception to the rule.

words: 2115

cw: fighting, descriptions of burns/cuts/blood, manipulation, abuse, misgendering/deadnaming (for context, this is set in a period before anyone had ever come out)

—

“Hey Mal,” the greeting is snarled from behind directly behind Amaryllis. Whirling around reveals Veronique, leaning against the wall, nonchalant, positioned like she’d been just waiting for them to pass by. They wouldn’t be surprised to learn that was the case.

“What do you want?” they spit back. Really, they didn’t have the capacity for her antics today. Amaryllis hated being caught off-guard by their sister, anxiety now bubbling in the pit of their chest.

“Wow, I can’t simply seek out my baby sister for a little chat?”

Her arms are folded over her chest, and Amaryllis notes she’s in her riding clothes; her long, violet hair had been braided back, knee-high riding boots giving her short stature a boost, and well-tailored jodhpurs and dark riding jacket perfectly in place, not a wrinkle in sight. Clearly, she hadn’t come from the stables.

“No, you can’t.” 

Veronique couldn’t, because her days of sitting and chatting pleasantly with Amaryllis were far behind them. They couldn’t imagine a single reason why she’d have a sudden change of heart.

“Gods, you really are such a fucking diva,” she pushed herself away from the wall, “I get it, the precious little songbird has much more important things to do than entertain the likes of me.”

“All I do is entertain the likes of you. That’s the only reason anyone keeps me around.”

“And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“Why would I appreciate being treated no different from a circus animal?” Kept in a cage and only let out to play for a selfish crowd, then shoved back in until the next show.

“I don’t know what the hell they all see in you,” she began to close the distance between them. Despite Amaryllis being the one who towered over her, they were intimidated. It was hard not to be. Though they wouldn’t let it show, even if Veronique surely knew the unease they instilled. “You get the entire crowd's love and attention and yet you don’t even give a damn about it!”

“You’re right, I don’t. It’s all just smoke and mirrors; I couldn’t possibly care any less.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Veronique was right before them now, had to tilt her head all the way up to look at them properly, but it didn’t detract from her imposing aura. Amaryllis returned their ice-blue glare, refusing to falter before her.

Over the years they’d gotten better at standing up to her; or at least standing their ground when she taunted them. Amaryllis didn’t like fighting— with anyone— especially not someone so unpredictable. Someone who, despite how illogical the feeling was, they loved. Someone who was supposed to love them, and possibly did once, but had been ruthlessly turned against them.

Veronique was never hostile to them before Amaryllis had started to take the stage; she might have been the only person who was nice to them who didn’t have to be. As a child their concept of ‘nice’ had been skewed, sure, but they were certain no one was forcing Veronique’s hand when Amaryllis would stumble upon her stargazing in the estate‘s gardens.

 She’d invite them to sit and tell them all about the constellations. Or point out the bush nearby full of lilac-colored hydrangeas, and how they were her favorite. She’d explained how they symbolized heartlessness, and all flowers had a special meaning. Once, long before they ever saw themself as ‘Amaryllis’ or even a them, they’d asked her what the scarlett flowers in the garden meant, to which she replied ‘pride’.

The siblings were only six years apart in age, ten and sixteen around the time in question, but Amaryllis thought she was so much older and wiser. So gentle compared to the rest of the family, a trait they admired and constantly tried to emulate. 

Amaryllis wasn’t allowed at parties, but that didn’t stop them from eavesdropping, inspired by the way everyone in the room seemed to gravitate towards Veronique. Showering her with compliments on her excellent riding form or her perfect aim with a bow, and how every word made her smile shine as bright as the stars she’d pointed out to them. They had very little understanding of familial relationships— and most social situations— and how they were supposed to work, but they understood that she was their big sister, and it made them happy to see her happy.

And then Amaryllis’s talent was exploited, and everything shifted. So they knew very well why Veronique hated them so much. The spotlight that once illuminated her belonged to them now, involuntarily snatching it away from her. And unfortunately for the both of them, their parents had made sure it was not a beam large enough to share. 

Amaryllis was wracked with guilt at first, but it faded along with Veronique’s kindness towards them. After a while, they stopped feeling guilty. It wasn’t their fault, and like Amaryllis, her anger should have been directed at their parents who’d decided to pit them against each other. With every new act of disdain, the interactions they’d shared as children became irreparably tainted. It began to make sense why she favored hydrangeas, with their callous meaning.

“It must run in the family,” Amaryllis folded their arms in front of their chest. Clearly mimicking her posture, Veronique didn’t look pleased.

“Yea, on your mother’s side.”

The jab was misplaced, Amaryllis didn’t know their birth mother and never had; and when they gave no reaction Veronique scowled. Despite all her intimidation, she’d never been good at masking her expression. Before Amaryllis could retort at all, they were shoved backwards, just barely keeping their balance from the harsh action.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You! That’s what’s wrong with me. You! You’ve ruined everything for me! Always have!”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, take it up with my superiors.”

Another shove, and another, and then Amaryllis was thrown against the wall and Veronique’s hands were circling around their neck. Their hands shoot to seize her wrists, nails digging into her skin as they attempt to pull her away. She’s strong, strong enough to hold Amaryllis a good inch off of the ground.

Their toes point down, reaching, but brush uselessly against the marble flooring. Amaryllis doesn’t want to fight back but there’s little choice, she’s actually trying to cut off their air. With regret even now, they slam a knee up into her stomach and she lurches back. Veronique is a skilled fighter, a star athlete, but now she’s angry and distracted and has left herself open in the process.

Their other knee slams into the floor as they’re dropped, and Amaryllis thanks their perfect breath control for the fact they aren’t breathless in the slightest. Veronique isn’t hurt, just surprised and irate. It wasn’t as if they had any other option, but Amaryllis may as well have just jabbed an already riled up rattlesnake with a stick.

“What the fuck? Escalating from tormenting me, to what? Attempted murder?”

Unhearing, she bends down to unsheathe a dagger from her boot. Certainly, they’re royally screwed. Amaryllis could keep up with a frenzied and unarmed Veronique, but they’re no match for her armed.

Amaryllis rises and quickly backs down the corridor, not sure if it's better to keep their eyes on her or turn and make a run for it. They’re cursing themself for not spending more time learning combat magic. Maybe they could charm her, but they’re terrified and unfocused, and when they open their mouth to scream, nothing comes out. The only things that could be heard were the clicking of boots against the tiling and Amaryllis’s rapid heartbeat.

In the blink of an eye Veronique is caught up to them, and effortlessly lands a kick to their chest that sends them crashing to the floor. Then she’s on them, pinning them to the floor, eyes dark and dagger poised with intention. Their hands catch her wrists again, and there’s a power struggle over the blade’s proximity to Amaryllis’s neck. They flail and kick but it’s no use; Veronique knows how to keep someone down, and is dense with muscle that makes her heavy.

“If you’re so miserable, let me do you a favor and put you out of it.”

It wasn’t a joke, it never had been, but the revelation sunk further the closer Veronique’s blade came to its mark. Amaryllis let their head fall back to the flood as the struggle continued, desperate to conjure up something, anything, to get out of this impasse. But they were afraid to the point of tears, already so tired, and magic didn’t come easy in such a state.

If they so much as took too deep a breath or flinched, the tip of the dagger would graze their nose. They weren’t trained for this, their stamina was impressive but they didn’t use it for fighting, but Veronique was trained for this. Amaryllis’s eyes fluttered shut and they wondered if it would be so horrible to just give in; she wasn’t wrong, they were miserable.

Just when they were debating on letting go, a raucous scream rang out and Amaryllis recoiled. They had thought it might have been their voice, but then they felt the sharp sting of the dagger slicing their cheek open as Veronique was dropping the knife and jolting away from them.

“You witch,”

Distantly, Amaryllis noted how warm their hands felt, and when they opened their eyes to the view of their palms turned searing sanguine, like iron fresh from the forge. A gasp falls from their lips, but the motion tells their brain the pain wasn’t coming from their hands. Slowly, they pick up a faint, but repulsive scent, and as their shock fades, they start to put the pieces together. 

The screams were still sounding, and when they finally looked to Veronique, there were angry, bright red handprints burned into her wrists; enough to cause notable damage, but too little to have damaged the nerves. Somehow, at the last possible second, Amaryllis had mustered up magic capable of drastically heating up their palms. They weren’t even entirely sure if they had even known such a thing was possible.

It saved them, but it felt wrong. Never before had Amaryllis used their magic for something so destructive. The worst they’d ever done was place harmless charms on ‘noble’ guests. Despite Veronique’s full intention to gut them, they felt a conflict stirring, and for a moment wondered if they were capable of any healing.

Suddenly Veronique was approaching, and Amaryllis sat up and snatched up the dagger that had been abandoned nearby. As they held it, their touch began to rapidly heat the metal, and soon enough the weapon complemented their hands. There was a low hiss as their blood that had decorated the blade heated too, boiling away and leaving it congealed. Amaryllis was shaking and crying and bleeding, but they were unyielding as they turned the dagger on its owner.

Amaryllis watched her face carefully, telling themself they were prepared for her next move, so when something in her expression shifted, they saw. Like she had been in a trance, captivated by her rage and misplaced hatred, and it just hit her exactly what she’d done. Veronique gasped, the tears that had come from the burns now falling for completely different reasons. Frantically her eyes flitted between the red of Amaryllis’s eyes, the red of the wound marring their pale skin, the red of the blade leveled at her.

“Mal…” she choked out, and then she was dashing down the hall, gone as abruptly as she had seemed to appear.

Then, a scoff sounded from behind Amaryllis and they spun around, still on edge. Standing a few feet away, looking thoroughly disappointed, was the madame. She looked down upon her ward, bloodied and on the floor, and rolled her eyes.

“What a pity,” she said simply, and in that moment, Amaryllis reconsidered their stance on violence. “I had assumed she was more capable, but perhaps I had too much faith in her.”

It was the first true confirmation Amaryllis had of the woman’s crime; her carefully planned manipulation had fallen short, and she couldn’t even pretend to act like it was an accident.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered, and then left without another glance.

After that day, even long after the cut across Amaryllis’s freckled face had healed and faded into an unsightly scar, they never saw very much of Veronique again. Sometimes at night— however illogical it was— they’d find themself at the hydrangea bush in the garden, eyes trained on the stars, wishing they’d both been dealt a different hand in life.

—

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 109

Happy Spooptober, everyone!

I’ve been planning since about February to do another camping trip this month, for the season.  I was super fortunately back in May to have some stories left over to share, that I didn’t have the opportunity for last time.  So thanks go to @catolicabuena for your submission, and to @dierotenixe for the PERFECT character to add to this chapter.

As always, thanks go to @zazen-rabbit, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being the beta readers and cheering section I need every day, no matter what.

As a reward for the clear, focused argument Charly gave in favor of Shalt-kri’i/Ekomari hostilities being over cultural misunderstandings earned her a reward of her choice.  I don’t know what Arthur expected, but part of me expected her to ask him something like throwing the class a party, showing up to teach class in sparkly footie-pajamas.  Her response, instead, left me convinced there was a conspiracy between her, Conor, and other mysterious parties to keep track of the Terran holidays.

“It’s almost Halloween,” she immediately pointed out. 

How? How did she say that so certainly? I wasn’t even sure it was Friday.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Today’s Tuesday - “ See!? “Which means Halloween is just under two weeks away? I think?”

“Your guess is probably better than mine,” I admitted. “Between the extra long days, artificial light, and consistent temperatures, I have no idea anymore.”

“She’s spot on,” Tyche confirmed, without even looking up.  We were sitting in my living room, digging into ice cream while all the guys were at work.

“How - “ I sputtered. “How are y’all keeping track of this?”

Tyche rolled her eyes, while Charly snagged my wrist and shook it. When my datapad popped up, she gave me the deadest stare I had ever seen on her face. “There is a calendar on this thing. You do know that, right?”

My face and neck burned so hot, I was surprised my hair didn’t catch on fire. “I keep it on the daily view, so I can see all my appointments.”

“Which is why she has me and Alistair,” my sister pointed out lazily before scooping up another spoonful of dessert. “By the way, this pumpkin ice cream is pretty good.”

I nodded, having had a scoop earlier.  We had been trying every flavor we could think of.  

True to form, Charly’s was a screaming purple that honestly scared me, sprinkled with gummy bears and some kind of acid-green syrup. Every time she leaned my direction, I couldn’t repress the flinch. “Pumpkin is a good point. We should go camping again, and carve pumpkins.”

I could almost feel my ears pick up. “You mean like jack-o-lanterns?”

“Duhhhhh,” she scooped up a large enough bite to convince me it probably wasn’t toxic. “I know we can’t have open flames in the lab, but we can still put emitters in them.”

“Where are we even going to get pumpkins in time?” Neither woman would look at me. “What did y’all do?”  I sighed.

“We did nothing,” Tyche insisted, chin jutting out stubbornly. “Now Sam….”

An audible smack sounded when I dropped my forehead to my palm. “How big?”

Charly gave me the widest puppy-dog eyes she could. “How big are what?”

“The pumpkins…”

“Pretty big,” Tyche smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen even you carve any this big, honestly.”

I wasn’t a professional carver by any means, or even competitive, but I had done some pretty big ones in the past, so I was a little excited to see these.

 A couple nights later, sure enough, several of us were carrying our camping gear to the now-less-eerie clearing where our previous camping trip had taken place.  Even though Sam had decided not to join us, we were greeted by the sight of six enormous pumpkins around the edges of the space.  In awe, I approached one and ran my hand over it - I actually had to lift my hand, seeing as the thing came nearly up to my hips. “How long has he been growing these?” I asked.

“Just over three months?” Conor huffed, setting down our gear. “The things love our best guess of Von’s environment, turns out.”

“No shit,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “I don’t think we have large enough containers for the guts and everything in these.”  The deal with camping in the Lab was that we had to take out everything brought in with or for us.  While Grey agreed to allow the jack-o-lanterns to decorate the area for the next two weeks - ostensibly as a study of decomposition - if we couldn’t remove the waste from the pumpkins, we couldn’t carve them.

Something that felt like plastic beaned me in the face. While I rubbed my face, I glanced down at my feet where whatever-it-was fell. 

Maverick started apologizing before I could figure out what I was looking at. “Oh god, Sophia, I’m sorry! I meant to toss that on top of the pumpkin!”

With a joking scowl, I glanced at the vegetable between us. “How bad does your aim have to be to miss that thing?”

“Are you okay?”

“Only if you tell me what just hit me in the forehead?”  I tried leaning over to pick them up again, but Conor beat me to it.

“They’re composting bags,” Maverick admitted. “I brought them just in case. They were the only thing large enough and portable enough to at least get in here.”

“It looks like a roll of garbage bags,” Simon pointed out skeptically, poking the roll of pseudo-plastic Conor was holding.

Conor smiled and shrugged. “Pretty similar.”

Soon, we were spreading out and setting up our gear in  a familiar pattern. Just as the last bit of gear was stuffed into the tents or spread on the ground, Antoine’s head snapped up and over his shoulder. “Does anyone else hear that?”

Silence fell as we strained our ears to listen.  The others started looking around, searching for something, before I was able to actually catch what they were hearing.  Finally, I was able to hear what sounded like music, but it was in a minor key that sent shivers up my spine.  It was another minute or so before I could make out words drifting through the trees. 

“ -  a year, and then

A few weeks, doubled, and tripled again,

A fire was struck by a warrior’s band

Meant for food, warmth, and a place to stand”

“What the - “ Tyche started wandering toward the music, clearly expecting us to follow. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.”

Reluctantly, I followed, reminding myself that this was a lab, that the faerie ring we were standing in was manufactured as a prank.

 “Yet one bough too many was placed inside

The flames roared to life as they screamed and cried

Tore down the trees as the warriors fled

And only ceased by the river’s bed

 The warriors slain, charred skulls and bone

Have remained in the forest for years, alone

Yet a magic imbued in their ashen remains

That entered a child who hid in great pain”

 I glanced over my shoulder, and saw about half our group behind me, including - “Arthur, why do you have your sword?”

“Because it’s steel,” he shrugged, like that actually answered my question. “Which means it has iron in it, and we’re in space, so any fucked up space-fae might not know the difference.”

 “In order to warn those who may stay

In the trees embrace, and walk away

The girl reads the thoughts of those who stand

On the ashes of noses, bowels, and hands

 She sends them away with a haunted scream

That tears into souls with a power unseen

No one has entered who has not fled

Only to drown in the river’s bed”

 Because that line was reassuring as I realized we were getting toward the artificial lake. Totally want to hear about drowning in a river bed, on a Halloween camping trip, sang by a creepy voice I didn’t recognize.  A voice that we were steadily getting closer to, no less.

 “For what place is safer from fire and flame

Than the rushing of water, a power untamed

The danger evaded, the human is saved

As their lungs are filled with a liquid depraved

 To step foot in the forest is to invite death

For though the child has drawn their last breath…”

 Tyche came to a sudden stop, both hands abruptly on her hips.  She glanced back at me, one eyebrow arched, and twitched her head toward the lake.  The voice was incredibly close to us at this point, so I peeked past her as carefully as I could.

Even in the low light of the BioLab during simulated-night, I saw a bright gleam of silver trailing through the water, interrupted only by a thick, red-gold cable draped halfway down.

“Their soul remains as though chained to the ground,” Nixe smiled with her eyes as she wound the song to a close. “And they’ll tear you apart until you are drowned.”

“Very funny,” Tyche half-scolded. “You did that on purpose.”

A lazy flick of her tail accompanied a cool glance over the surface of the water. “Perhaps,” she replied calmly. “And perhaps not. I often swim at night. And I like to sing, it’s in my nature.”

“But a song about ghosts, and vengeance, and drowning?”

“I’m a siren, Administrator Reid.” A bright flash of teeth that my brain told me were sharper than I knew they were. “All of my songs are about love, and revenge, and how else do sirens take revenge?” Another lazy splash. “I can’t exactly burn people at a pyre.”

“I loved it!” Charly spoke up from behind me. “We’re camping for Halloween, so it was perfect!” I had to admit, at least to myself, that she had a point.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one. From over my shoulder, I heard Arthur murmur “Siren or not, you’re insane.” A brief pause. “But I love the spooky music…”

I couldn’t be certain that she heard the comment, but Nixe’s eyes suddenly snapped over my shoulder to the side where it sounded like Arthur was standing. “Iron has no effect on me, Educator,” she stated firmly, flicking her tail to make a point. “But I mean none of you any harm, so please put the blade away. One near-death experience is plenty, thank you.”

A metallic rasp told me Arthur had acquiesced. “Apologies, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Were it anyone else, you still wouldn’t need that sword.” She tilted her head. “I would be there first.”

“Okay!” I interrupted, trying to break the tension. “Nixe, we’re camping and carving pumpkins.  Did you want to join us?”

Another smile, this one less terrifying. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have plans tonight.  I do apologize for interrupting your evening.”

“We were just surprised,” Charly explained. “But it was beautiful and perfect and thank you!”

With a nod, Nixe turned her body toward the artificial lake. “I am glad the song was appreciated.  Good night.”

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[yodawgiherd]

Thunderspear

>>>Read on AO3<<<

I totally forgot to crosspost the new chapter of my story yesterday, blame the leaks and the memes that those created :D

The hospital was busy, as it always was, yet Eren had trouble focusing. Here he was, back as functioning member of society after having a hedonistic break over the weekend. Sure, he lost the endurance contest to Mikasa but with her being an Ackerman and a professional athlete he would lie in saying that he didn’t see it coming. Then again, who cares who won, when the free time was spent doing what they were doing. Mikasa made even eating fun, and Eren smirked when he remembered licking ice-cream from her defined abs yesterday evening. When she complained about the cold, he apologized like the perfect gentleman before dumping the next scoop right on her left nipple.

No, get these thoughts out, no more thinking about the pretty contrast they made, when his tanned skin rubbed against her porcelain one, or the stark difference between the blackness of the ropes and the whiteness of her body. It wasn’t easy for Mikasa either, half a city away, because keeping your mind away from the memories was nigh impossible. Eren was so good with the rope, he managed to create beautiful patterns while making it look so easy, effortlessly integrating other toys into it too. Among other things, it was the spreader bar between her legs, rope around her torso, and Mikasa remembered being unable to move an inch which put her straight to cloud nine. She tried returning the favor, but her ropework was clumsy at best and while she managed to restrain Eren, it was nothing compared to what he could do. He created art with her body and was damn proud of it too. Wanting to see herself from his perspective, Mikasa asked him to snap a few pictures of how she looked in those intricate designs, and she still had them saved on her phone. Scrolling through them while having a lunch break was far from the correct workplace etiquette, but Mikasa couldn’t help herself.

In the hospital, Eren was guilty of the same sin, sitting in the break room while his fingers gently stroked the screen of his phone. While Mikasa was swooning over his bondage skills, Eren told her that a great deal of the act was her doing too. It was Mikasa’s toned body that allowed him to create these beauties, bend her in all those angles knowing that she could take it. She was the perfect model, the peak specimen, with strong arms and legs, incredible thighs and all the lean muscles that bulged under her flawless porcelain skin, not even mentioning the ass that was to die for. She was so strong, yet so delicate, her trusting Eren enough to let him tie her up was a privilege he treasured. What an amazing experience that was, any time it happened.

God damn it, now he was sporting a boner in the break room. Eren mentally slapped himself with a clear message to his libido - back to work. He had a lot on his plate today, not only the usual but in the afternoon he was expected at Hizuru for a meeting with Kiyomi. Only a tad bit intimidated by the old lady, Eren was very glad that Mikasa promised to meet him in the lobby and show him the way because just seeing her filled him with strength. Other people had lucky charms, he had his wonderful girlfriend.

His shift went fine, with only Ymir and Onya doing some mocking comments when they noticed the bruises on Eren’s neck left behind by Mikasa’s affections, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Before long, he was on his way to the agency. Once there, it was the matter of finding a parking spot and going inside, and Eren entered the same world that Mikasa got into.

The lobby was big, much bigger than Eren expected. Luckily, he wasn’t forced to do such a humiliating thing as asking for directions because a familiar figure pushed herself from the receptionist’s desk, where she was leaning, to make a line straight for him. Mikasa looked a bit strange today, her clothes were done in a futuristic cut and the jacket even had small led lights in it. It did fit together with the red stripe in her hair, so whoever made the decision for her to dye it was good at his job.

“I take it that you are working on the cyberpunk thing today?”, he asked when she came closer.

“What gave it away?”, her lips, painted purple for some reason, curled upwards.

“A simple hunch, nothing more.”

She didn’t answer that. Instead, her hands, purple nails too, he noticed, sneaked up into Eren’s collar and pulled down. Yanked down to her height, he was assaulted by a kiss that was most definitely more than the usual “Hello” one. Not one to question his fortune, Eren surrendered to her, letting her tangle her deft fingers into his hair while he anchored himself on her hips. The futuristic jeans she was wearing had little cutouts there, allowing him to stroke her porcelain skin directly, so maybe cyberpunk wasn’t such a bad fashion trend after all. When they finally broke apart, Mikasa was still wearing the satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Any reason for this?”, he asked, getting a firm shake of her head in return.

Eren didn’t need to know about the dreamy look that entered the receptionist’s eyes when he walked in. He didn’t need to know about the “Damn” the woman muttered under her breath while devouring him with her gaze. He didn’t need to know any of these things.

“Nope.”, she thumbed the corner of his mouth, purposely smearing the lipstick stain she left behind even more, “I’m just happy to see you.”

With that, she grabbed Eren’s hand and pulled him behind herself, passing very close to the reception. Petty, but who cares. Together, they made their way up to Kiyomi’s office, with Mikasa effortlessly navigating through the many corridors of the building. Eren was quite sure that he would have gotten lost even after getting the directions, so he was very glad that his fiancé had decided to save him.

Kiyomi was sitting behind a large desk in a throne-like chair, evocating the feeling of a director at the center of her power. What Eren noticed was that there were several pictures of his fiancé over her office, in various clothes, even a framed photo on Kiyomi’s desk. Apparently, he was not the only one bewitched by the beautiful martial artist. Seeing the two of them enter, Kiyomi narrowed her eyes at Mikasa.

“I didn’t realize that you are Mr. Yeager’s mother, Mikasa. Or is there other reason why he needs you at our meeting?”

Taking the hint, the raven let go of Eren’s hand.

“I’ll take my leave, but please be nice to him.”

“When am I not nice?”

Mikasa chuckled at that, pressing one last kiss to Eren’s cheek before disappearing through the door. When he sat down, the first thing Kiyomi did was hand him a wipe, gesturing at his face.

“Your girlfriend left a mark.”

Blood rising to his cheeks, Eren quickly cleaned himself to the best of his ability, getting the purple away from his skin. When he was deemed clean enough, Kiyomi nodded in satisfaction, letting Eren take the word. Free to speak, he decided to straight on tell her what he thought about this whole thing.

“I just want to tell you that I’m not thinking about a career change, this is a one-time thing for me.”

“I understand that.”

“Good, so when do we start shooting?”

“Today? Oh no Yeager, today we talk.”

“What about?”

“You see…”, Kiyomi’s eyes were trained at him, piercing through the mind, “I believe that you should get the most fitting setting for your photoshoot that I can provide, considering it is, as you said, a one-time thing. I want to talk to you and know exactly what is best for you individually, what will help my photographer get the most out of you.”

“The way you say it, makes me think that there is a much more to this job than meets the eye.”

“Most definitely. Anyone can snap a few pictures but what I aim at is to know your soul.”

No, that was not creepy at all.

“Okay…”

Seeing that he was taken aback by her intensity, Kiyomi went on.

“Look at Mikasa and tell me who in their right mind would ever want someone like her to be a model.”

“Are you saying that she’s not pretty enough?”

Kiyomi shook her head.

“We both know that her body was never a problem and her face is flawless - Mikasa is physically perfect. Her mind, that is a different story altogether. She is too rigid to work with, too closed up.”, the old woman tapped the side of her head, “Still, I knew that there was a diamond hidden inside, and I commissioned my best digger to get it out. It took time and effort, I won’t deny that, but the results are oh so worth it.”

Sitting back, the tycoon continued.

“Mikasa is a beautiful soul, and while she has trouble expressing herself when she does the emotions are incredibly powerful. She isn’t my best girl just because of how she looks, but also because of how she can feel herself into the scene, only a few other models can do it so perfectly. I attended several of her photoshoots, and I agree with Dot when he says that Mikasa could be a grade-A actress if she put her mind to it.”

“I don’t think she would be into that.”

“I agree, that is too much exposure for her liking. But this job, this is just the right amount. Mikasa has fire in her, and she can be incredibly creative when she wants to, but she hides it. It’s the same thing as her beauty, she doesn’t flaunt it at all. I don’t think I remember a single occasion when Mikasa came to work wearing something else than comfortable clothes. Also, it doesn’t help that she keeps dressing in that long-dead style.”, Kiyomi pursed her lips, saying the next word as if it would be an insult, “Goth.”

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?”

“Some of us keep up with the fashion trends, it’s more or less expected in this business.”, she sighed, “I won’t lie, it changes so fast that it’s almost a suffering.”

While not so sure about the suffering, Eren was inclined to agree on that first part. Despite her being the ice queen and all, Mikasa could be very playful, if their private adventures were any indicator. Looking back, one could label them as dumb and childish, but he couldn’t care less. He had fun, Mikasa had fun, and damn what anyone else would think about it. They weren’t invited in the first place.

“Here,”, Kiyomi was just saying, “Look at these.”

She placed two photos in front of him, both of Mikasa. In one, she was wearing her workout gear, sports bra and shorts, with her fists raised. In the second, she was in that cyberpunk getup Eren just saw her in.

“This is the first photo we have of Mikasa,”, Kiyomi tapped the workout picture, “And the other is the last one so far. Can you see the difference?”

To an untrained eye, it wouldn’t be that obvious, but Eren was very familiar with Mikasa’s face. In the first one, she was still doubtful about this whole thing, her expression was tight and reserved, even though the clothes she was modeling were something she was wearing practically every day. In the last one, the raven was much more relaxed, leaning on a bike and looking into the camera with a cocky expression, one eyebrow raised.

“I can see that she is really into it now, that you’ve managed to dig out that diamond.”, he told Kiyomi, “But I still don’t know why you are showing me this.”

“So you can see for yourself that I’m not talking out of my ass. I really do want to capture you in your best light Eren, and I am very good at finding it. Trust me with this, I can make this whole thing work. If someone as reserved as your girlfriend could find working for me fun and fulfilling, why couldn’t you?”

The spark that was in Kiyomi’s eyes when she spoke about Mikasa made Eren wonder just how much the old woman loved her leading girl.

“You really like working with her.”

“And who wouldn’t? She is so inspiring! Martial arts were always dominated by men and for an understandable reason. The male body has much higher muscle mass than us women, they are built that much better for fighting.”, Kiyomi ran her hand down the framed picture of Mikasa, almost lovingly, “Yet there she is. Standing in the ring, head held high and fists raised, knocking anyone who tries her on their ass – man, woman it doesn’t matter to her. A female, yet destroying anyone and anything in her way, stronger and faster than a normal human being.”

Mikasa wasn’t lying when she said that Kiyomi can get excited rather easily. Her eyes were full of emotion when she spoke, voice filled with awe.

“She had to work that much harder to get where she is, to overcome the genetic difference, and she did it so perfectly. She is a goddess, Eren, a warrior like no other, and I hope you know that.”, suddenly, her eyes bore into his, “You are treating her with the respect she deserves, aren’t you?”

The chill that ran down Eren’s spine reminded him of the one he got any time Mikasa used her murderous glare at him. God damn it, were these two women related?

“O-Of course.”, he blurted, “She deserves only the best.”

“That’s correct.”

And just as it appeared, the look was gone and Kiyomi was once again an energetic old lady.

“It is very good to see that you understand just how incredible Mikasa is.”

“I know. Sometimes I wake up and wonder why an angel like her would ever grace me with her presence.”

“Would you say that she has a positive effect on your life?”

“I would say that she is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Good, good. Looks like the boy was exactly as taken with Mikasa as Kiyomi wanted him to be, if there was one thing she despised it was ugly break-ups. Those always generated way too much of unwanted press, because journalists loved jumping at vulnerable young people and profiting from their misery.

“Ah, but don’t sell yourself that short.”

Eren’s brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“You, my dear boy, are also fascinating.“

“Why is that? Last I checked I’m not knocking guys thrice my size down on their asses.”

“No, you don’t, but you have other qualities.”, Kiyomi leaned backwards in her throne-chair, “When I was signing Mikasa up, I had those closest to her checked out, so I know quite a bit about you.”

Eren couldn’t help but wonder at that.

“Checked out? Why?”

“I’m very careful about who I sign up to lead my collections. Any sort of past mistakes that could be dug up could end up hurting my brand. And nobody hurts my brand if I can help it.”

“Understandable.”

Kiyomi rewarded his open mind with a smile.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I know quite a bit about you.”, she pointed at him, the gold ring on her long finger glistening, “You were born into wealth, Eren, with the assets your father left behind you and Carla could have been sipping drinks at the beach while drowning in supermodels.”

“Technically, I have one at home now.”, Eren chimed in, but Kiyomi ignored that jab in favor of her narrative.

“But did either of you do that? No. Your mother started a charity and is working tirelessly for a better world while you chose one of the most stressful professions there is. Why?”

“I like helping people.”

“Because…?”

“The thought of someone being limited by an illness or an injury does not sit well with me. I want to free people from the burden, to help them live to their fullest. If that is not enough, then my father was also an inspiration, I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

“That’s a noble goal.”

“I don’t see it like that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less noble.”

Eren shrugged, but Kiyomi didn’t mind. She already had all the info she needed.

“Eren, would you mind if we turned your photoshoot into a couple one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that it would go better if we let you and Mikasa work together, show some chemistry.”, Kiyomi leaned forward, “From what I’ve heard, I imagine that she is a very big part of your life.”

“She most certainly is.”

“Then would that be a problem?”

“A problem? No, of course not.”, Eren ran a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously, “Honestly, I’m relieved that she will be there with me.”

“Very good, then it's settled.”, standing up, Kiyomi offered her hand “Yelena will get in touch with you about the exact date.”

And after Eren shook it and left the office, she picked up her phone dialing a familiar number.

“Dot? I have the perfect setup for this thing. What? No. Shush and picture this - We are going to create a little apocalypse for them.”

  A few days passed. The last preliminary match was done yesterday, and in all honesty it was fairly easy. Mikasa breezed through it and put her opponent on his back in just a few rounds, taking the first spot in the qualifier and solidifying her position in the Vegas finals. She didn’t get hit at all really, too fast for the poor guy, which meant that right the next morning she was back at the gym, working on herself. The door to the office opened and Levi emerged, crossing the distance to where she was. They nodded at each other in a form of greeting.

“Any tips about yesterday?”

“Not really, you breezed through the match exactly as I expected. The thing I came to talk to you about is that technique I asked you to develop, have you been working on it?”

“I did think about it, but I somehow can’t come up with anything I need.”, she sat up on the bench, eyes meeting Levi’s, “Any ideas?”

“That’s the thing, we reached the point where you have surpassed me when it comes to fighting.”

“What, you want to stop being my trainer?”

Levi barked out a laugh.

“Of course not, I’ll keep drilling you for a long, long time. But when it comes to this, I feel like it is something that you have to develop mostly on your own with only some tips from me.”

“Fine.”, Mikasa shrugged, “So, want to throw those my way?”

“First of all, I think that whatever you do, it has to be a kick, not a punch. For obvious reasons.”

It was easy to see what Levi meant. Kicks are inherently stronger than punches, and with the beasts Mikasa was about to face, she would need to deliver the most damaging hits she could do.

“Next,” Levi went on, “It should be aimed to surprise, to stagger and to crack the armor these guys have. Like Reiner, you’ve watched his matches right?”

“Yea, when he turtles, it’s like he’s not feeling the opponent’s hits at all.”

“That’s his thing, he calls it the “Armor”.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s quite simple. He’s a big guy, and with the muscles Reiner developed, he can shrug off anything that gets thrown at him in the ring. As long as he protects his vitals, which he does in that stance, he’s practically invincible. Too heavy to throw, too stable to trip. And don’t forget that he trains with Annie, so he won’t underestimate you. At all.”

“And the more you hit him, the more frustrated you get and open yourself up to counters.”, Mikasa added.

“Exactly. So you need something that will shatter his armor, get through that defense and allow you to do damage.”

A kick, one strong enough to get through Reiner’s armor. Mikasa felt like she could do it, but one doubt kept nibbling at the back of her mind.

“Won’t a kick open me up?”, she asked, “It’s a lot slower than a punch.”

“Not if you do it fast enough. Your speed is your best weapon, there is no way in hell you can match fighters like Reiner or Fahkumram in strength. You are already fast, but you need to be even faster and convert that into the kick – speed is force, after all.”

“All right, I’ll start working on it then. Oh, and shouldn’t a new technique have a name?”

Levi’s eyes that rolled up and the unamused look on his face gave her the answer even before he spoke.

“I feel like you are playing way too many videogames with Eren.”

But Mikasa wouldn’t be deterred so easily.

“How about Armor Cracker? Or…”, she tried a practice kick, the air whooshing around her leg, “Wind breaker?”

“That sounds like a fart.”

“You are not exactly helping.”, she frowned at her brother, “Come on, you must have some ideas.”

“A-really-fast-kick?”

“Levi, you have the imagination of a politician.”

Mikasa kicked the air again, thinking.

“Galeforce! Or Stridebreaker! Or…”

“Thunder Spear!”

Turning to where the voice came from, Mikasa saw Hange standing there with a huge smile plastered to her face.

“I LOVE creating new names, you have to let me have this one.”, she said, a polar opposite to Levi’s attitude, “It fits too, wouldn’t you say?”

Technically, Mikasa could see her legs as spears. And the power of the kick would have to be explosive to crack Reiner’s amor, and thunder was an explosive force. In short, it was a good name, fitting.

“All right, Thunder Spear it is then.”

Hange’s smile got even wider, but it was Levi who spoke.

“Fine, whatever. Now don’t forget to develop this Thunder Spear of yours, or Reiner will have a field day once you two meet in Vegas.”

The finals were creeping ever closer, and the monsters Mikasa had to fight would be all there, the ones she would have to defeat to reach the top. To do so, she would have to hone this Thunder Spear of hers to the highest possible quality.

  Armin felt nervous when opening his email lately, the feeling caused by the several ongoing dialogues he had with various publishers. His book was finished, and now it was the time to see if anyone would print it. Eyes rowing over the lines of text, his blues widened when he read the title of his newest e-mail. Re-reading it, just to be sure, Armin felt a wave of excitement wash over him.

“You okay?”

The two words almost made him jump before he realized that Jean was there, looking at him over the rim of his notebook. They were spending a lot of time together lately, and while Armin had a suspicion that the entity of Eren and Mikasa asked Jean to keep an eye on him, he honestly didn’t mind. They haven’t talked much in college, since Armin was busy being the glue that kept his two best friends together and Jean was out doing his own thing. He learned a lot in a few days, about the career Jean made in marketing and the business he had set up, designed in a way that it was more-or-less autonomous at this point. As long as he had access to the internet, Jean could manage it from anywhere on the planet. Which meant that the move he had recently, one that was supposed to be a short-term before the whole thing with Hitch happened, didn’t affect him in the slightest.

Instead of answering the question, Armin turned his laptop towards Jean, letting him read the mail for himself.

“Finally! I knew this is going to happen! Who is that again…”, taking the name of the publisher, Jean ran it through the search engine, jumping a few websites to get an overall picture.

“Looks trustworthy, but their marketing is kinda ass. I’ll get int touch with them and see if they would like any help in that area.”

“You would do that?”

Jean smirked.

“Count on me Armin, I’ll make this thing into a bestseller.”

The moment they shared was interrupted when Armin’s eyes moved down to see the clock in the corner of his screen.

“Oh damn, I have to run, I have lunch with Mikasa.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”, Jean laughed, fingers dancing over the keyboard, “And say hello for me.”

One frantic car ride later, Armin was sitting at the restaurant and telling the exciting news to Mikasa.

“I had an e-mail from a publisher. Believe it or not, people actually want to print my book!”

“Why wouldn’t I believe it? I knew you had it in you Armin.”, she clapped him on the shoulder, enthusiastic, “That’s amazing news!”

“Thanks, I still have to wrap my head around it myself, that it’s happening. I wish I could take it as easy as Jean, the moment I told him he was already planning a marketing campaign for the book.”

“You should let him help, he’s a god when it comes to promotion, both Levi’s gym and the Third Wheel benefited from his work. In fact, I think that I have a gift for you too.”

“Really? It’s not even my birthday.”

“The billboard Kiyomi gave me, I want you to have it.”

“I couldn’t….”

Mikasa didn’t let him finish.

“I won’t take no for an answer Ar. I don’t need my face plastered all over it, it’s kind of strange driving past it on my way to the gym.”

“Can I even use it?”

“Why couldn’t you, it’s mine. I’ll talk to Kiyomi and have her set me up with the people who can change it properly.”

“I-… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Then don’t. If your story will have success that’s more than enough for me.”

They talked about various things, catching up and whatnot. One question kept dancing in the back of the raven’s mind, the one that wasn’t satisfied, not even when Jean reported that Armin is doing great. Swallowing the food, Mikasa manned up and went for it.

“Have you thought about Annie?”

Slowly, Armin put down his fork and folded his hands, expression tightening.

“I did. But I still have no idea what to tell her once I see her again.”

The spark in Armin’s eyes, the want in his voice, it made Mikasa realize that she wasn’t completely honest with him about everything that transpired. He was one of her best friends, and he deserved to know the truth, despite how ugly it was. So, taking a deep breath, Mikasa pushed it out.

“There’s something you don’t know Ar… That night... I found Annie after saving you.”

“You did what?”

“ I was so angry, so pissed at her, I just had to see her. I found her in a park, we fought and I…”, Mikasa’s eyes dropped back to her hands, unable to meet Armin’s gaze.

“I almost beat her to death.”

“W-What?”

“I couldn’t stop myself. You almost… You nearly… We almost lost you Ar. I almost lost you. The pain in me was too fresh, too deep, I had to get it out.”, Mikasa’s voice was full of guilt and suffering when she continued, “You don’t even know how much I value you, how much Eren values you. You are incredibly important to us both.”, she clenched her fists under the table, “I know that this isn’t the high school, but I will do anything in my power to protect you, I’ll beat any bullies who dare hurt you.”

Despite all this, Armin could feel that Mikasa had more.

“There is still something you are not telling me.”, he said in a soft voice, making her nod.

“She came to the gym, a few weeks after the incident, said that she wanted to talk to you.”, Mikasa couldn’t meet Armin’s eyes, she stared at her hands instead, “I told her to fuck off. You were so vulnerable back then… I-I couldn’t let her hurt you again.”

“Hey, Mikasa? Look at me please.”

She did, fearful of what she will see in those ocean eyes. Armin had every right to hate her for what she had done, she overstepped her boundaries and in her overprotective manner sent Annie away. Yet what she saw wasn’t blame, and it felt like a giant weight off her shoulders.

“I wasn’t ready to see her back then, so I think that you acted right.”, he put his hand on the table in an offering that Mikasa took, covering his hand with her own.

“Thank you.”, Armin said, meaning every word, “Thank you for protecting me, and more importantly thank you for being honest.”

“I’m sorry..”

“Don’t apologize. What’s done is done, and now we can only move forward.”

Even embarrassed as she was, Mikasa had to smile at that.

“Move forward? Did you get that phrase from Eren?”

“He says that a lot doesn’t he. That and the thing with setting people free from their injuries, sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a….”

“Serial killer.”, Mikasa finished for him, “Eren does emit that feeling when he is like that.”

Thumbing the engagement ring on her finger, Armin had an idea.

“Tell me, if Eren was a serial killer, would you still date him?”

“Most likely, if he was as hot as he is now.”

Armin blinked up, looking at Mikasa’s face that was completely serious as she continued.

“After all, killing is probably not even that hard.”, she clicked her tongue, “I’d imagine it’s like slicing meat, and that is my specialty.”

She kept the straight face for another ten seconds, and each felt like an hour to Armin. Mikasa talking about murders was somehow terrifying, the look she had chilled him to the bone, and knowing that she is the strongest person he knew didn’t help. Just as he was about to start being seriously afraid, the expression broke and Mikasa laughed, hiding her mouth behind a hand.

“You should see your face!”, she squeezed out, “It’s so pale!”

Armin grumbled, pulling his hand back and overall acting hurt for about two seconds before Mikasa snapped a quick picture of him and damn, he really was pale.

“Keep the killing out of our conversation and we can have a nice lunch, what do you say?”

She smiled, picking up the fork again.

“Okay, but only because it’s you, Mr. Big-shot writer.”

He groaned, she laughed again but obeyed and kept the murderous references to the minimum. It was a nice day, yet she had no idea what the night had in store for her.

  Mikasa woke up in cold sweat, her hand automatically reaching over to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. The rush of fear that jumped up in her heart threatened to overwhelm her completely, to make her scream out in panic before Mikasa’s brain started working. Eren was at work, pulling a night shift. He would come back in the morning. There was nothing to be scared about. Breathing, in and out, she pulled her legs to her chest and hugged them, forming a small ball. Here, hidden inside herself, she could shield her thoughts from the outside world and replay the nightmare in her head.

The dream was terrible. She remembered Sasha being dead, she remembered her grave and herself sitting next to it, quietly sobbing into her scarf. She remembered being on a boat, going somewhere, and she remembered flying, talking with Jean about got knows what. There was an underlying feeling to the whole dream, a terrible dread and sadness, washing it all in shades of black.

Blindly, she reached out, taking her phone and staring at it. Who could she call to make herself feel good again? Eren was at work, and while he would most likely take her call he couldn’t just sit in the hospital talking to his crazy girlfriend after she had another nightmare. Knowing how he was, Eren would probably take off and come home to her, and Mikasa didn’t want that. She hated feeling like a burden. Without thinking, her fingers scrolled until she tapped a familiar name, putting the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”, said the sleepy voice on the other end, “Miks? Is something wrong?”

“Sasha.”, she said, intertwining her fingers with her toes, “I just couldn’t sleep and realized we haven’t talked in some time. So, want to grab a lunch tomorrow?”

The girl on the other side laughed, and just the sound of it, knowing that she is safe and very much alive filled Mikasa with warmth.

“Sure, I’ll never say no to free food.”

Hours later, they were sitting at the restaurant Mikasa picked. But while Sasha was content with eating, as she usually was, the raven kept checking up on her friend, the remnants of the nightmare still fresh in her mind. It reached the point where she just had to ask, no matter how dumb it did sound.

“Are you feeling okay? Is everything fine?”

Sasha looked up from her food, eyes narrowing.

“Is this about the dreams again?”

Mikasa pressed her lips into a thin line before nodding, knowing that she was acting unreasonably. Of course, Sasha knew about her night terrors, they were roommates for a long time and friends even longer. Embarrassed by her overprotectiveness, Mikasa looked away and was just about to apologize when Sasha reached out, taking a hold of her hand.

“Listen Miks, everything is great for me. I’m good, my pub is doing well, and sometimes I could swear that I feel something in my legs.”

“You do?”

“Yes, although it’s nothing to celebrate yet, my doctor said that it might be just a way how my brain rewards itself for all the physical therapy I’ve been doing.”

She squeezed Mikasa’s hand.

“But the most important thing is that I am very fine, no matter what your dreams told you.”

“I think I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

“Listen, why don’t I cheer you up even more.”, meeting Mikasa’s confused eyes, Sasha went on, “I’ll call the other girls, have a night out, what do you say?”

Well, why the hell not? It has been some time since she was out, and it was always nice to talk to Krista and Ymir, despite the latter’s double-edged comments. You know what, scratch that – it was always nice to talk to Krista. Period. Her preliminary matches were done too, meaning that the self-imposed alcohol ban was over.

“Sure, let’s do that.”, Mikasa agreed, much to Sasha’s glee.

They got quite a band together, with both Ymir and Krista coming. Even Hitch found a hole in her packed schedule, squeezing this event in. The only one who couldn’t make it was Hange, who apologized and said that she is way too swamped at work to be out drinking right now. With few hours to kill, Sasha and Mikasa hit the town. Between the senseless shopping and raiding all kinds of places, Mikasa found herself laughing a lot, the thoughts of Annie and tournament gone from her head. And when they were taking a break, eating ice cream on a bench, she realized that it was way too long since they had done this. Because knowing that Sasha is alive and well, hearing her laugh, that soothed Mikasa’s soul. When the day was ending and the shadows grew tall, it was time to head to the bar and meet up with the others. Which also meant getting bombarded by Ymir’s “tactics” about how Mikasa should fight.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, blast them with concentrated energy?”

Ymir made the motion with her hands, imitating the sounds too. Mikasa sighed, putting her glass back on the table.

“This is not dragon ball Ymir.”

“Still, I feel like you are making it overly complicated. You want to kick them, just kick them!”

“I need to figure out the best angle, and have  my body put enough strength behind it on its own because I don’t think that my mind can keep up, and….”

“Blah blah. As I said,”, Ymir poked Krista who seemed to be listening to Mikasa’s ranting, “way too complicated. Now Eren, that guy had a lot of interesting things to say.”

Mikasa very quickly connected the dots and realized what Ymir was talking about, her cheeks reddening. Ymir wouldn’t talk about that here, would she?

“What things?”, a new voice asked.

The trio jumped up, none of them noticing that Sasha had sneakily wheeled herself close. She was looking at them now, her eyes wide and innocent, sipping on her drink with a straw.

“What interesting thing are you guys talking about?”, she repeated.

Mikasa stared at Krista, Krista stared at Mikasa, Sasha stared at them all and Ymir was the only one who wasn’t bothered by it at all. She took a casual sip of her drink, a smirk on her face.

“We asked Mikasa if she wanted to have a threesome with us.”

There was stunned silence after. Krista was the one who woke up first, punching her girlfriend in the shoulder, a movement she had done so many times that it was practically mastered at this point.

“Ymir.”, she hissed, “What the hell?!”

Mikasa’s eyes ticked between the three faces in front of her, unsure how to respond to such a statement, and it was Sasha who reacted first. She looked the raven up and down before giving a respectful nod.

“Okay, I can see why you would want that.”

“What?”

“I know right.”, Ymir nodded, wise all of a sudden, “And it’s not like you can’t choose, if you are more into guys, I’m sure that Hitch and Jean would take you.”

“Hitch would do what?”, asked the woman in question, appearing from the bar and carrying her drink.

“Have a threesome with Mikasa.”, Sasha explained.

The therapist met the raven’s bewildered eyes before sliding her gaze over her face and down.

“Sure, I’d go for it.”

“Hitch!”, now it was Mikasa who was hissing, her cheeks red, “You too?”

“Of course, have you ever looked in the mirror?”, the light-haired woman gave her a sly wink, “I’d most definitely go for you.”

“Same here.”, Sasha chimed in.

“Us too.”, Ymir added, while Krista was hiding her face in her hands, wishing to be gone.

Mikasa was suddenly very conscious of all the eyes on her, no idea how to react. Since when did all her friends become so horny for her?

“Listen, I-I a-appreciate the offers, but I’m not looking for anything right now. Eren is enough, more than enough.”

“Hey, no one is pressuring you.”, Sasha said, raising her glass, “But if you ever grow bored of the good doctor, know that there’s plenty of us you can call.”

The night continued in a relaxed manner, now that the unnecessary proposals were off the table. Catching up felt good, knowing that her friends were still there and living their best life. Ymir and Krista were the dynamic duo, Hitch was the one with clever comebacks, and Sasha was the life of the party. For once, Mikasa let go and simply had fun. Because it was fun sending drunken selfies to Eren, Connie and Jean, to let them know how much they are missing. The only thing that bothered her was the way Sasha kept checking her phone as if she was waiting for something. When asked, she just brushed it aside, which prompted Mikasa’s protective instincts to act.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Sasha smiled at her, pocketing the phone she was checking. Again.

“Of course, we are best friends, aren’t we?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, best friend, if you feel so inclined, how about you grab me another drink?”

Mikasa giggled but took her glass anyway, walking towards the bar. And when Sasha leaned back, a smile playing on her lips, her phone decided that it was finally the time to beep. Checking, she could see that there was a text from Niccolo, just two words, but it made her heartbeat rise. Because those two words, that was exactly that Sasha was waiting for.

“It’s time.”

  Every pause must come to an end, and the action will resume. The next morning found Mikasa back at the gym, trying and failing with the new technique. The bag swayed with her kick, leather creaking, but it wasn’t it. The angle was wrong. The power was not enough. It wasn’t finished, far from it. Mikasa groaned in frustration, trying again, but nothing changed. She lacked the spark, the something that would allow her to pump out the power required for the Thunderspear. Her body was capable of producing the kick, she knew she could do it, but it was not happening. Maybe she was feeling lazy, maybe the recent victories gave Mikasa too much of an ego. As it was now, she would never break through Reiner. In her mind’s eye, she saw him standing right there, a smug smile on his lips as he effortlessly shrugged off her attacks. Closing her eyes, Mikasa massaged her temples to stave off the headache that was slowly creeping up. She was frustrated, pissed off, angry at herself.

“Need any help?”

She turned, startled, only to meet the eyes of a tall individual.

“Jean? What are you doing here?”

“Hitch said that you will most likely be training again, and I thought that I could go for a workout as well. It was some time since I flexed my muscles.”, he pointed at the abused bag,  “And I can see that you are struggling with something.”

“I’m trying to create a new kick that will break through strong guards. But I can’t get it to work, I feel like I don’t have the motivation or something…”

“Here.”, Jean climbed up, jumping into the ring, “How about you try it on me instead?”

Well, it was better than kicking the bag for no reason. It was probably even better than if Eren would be here to help, because while Levi insisted that he has a very “kickable” face, Mikasa strongly disagreed. Her emotional attachment could block her from going all out. Of course, Jean was her friend, but there is a difference between the love of your life and a good friend. Jean was taller than Reiner and way skinnier, but at least he was a human and it was easier to imagine the German tank standing there.

“Let’s just do some sparring, get pumped up.”, Mikasa suggested.

They did so, trading punches back and forth, while the raven tried her best to come up with the right move for her Thunderspear. Jean did his best, with the basic Krav Maga he knew, but it was not enough to even get her winded. Understandably so, she was the prodigy here. A prodigy who can’t even kick hard enough. Gritting her teeth, Mikasa stared at Jean, imagining the blond head of Reiner. The muscles, the sure and steady legwork, the cold expression, the short yet incredibly well-balanced body, the hooked nose and startlingly blue eyes and… wait. That was not Reiner she was imagining. That was Annie. The familiar cold filled her, the one she felt only once, back in the rain when she almost killed her. On that terrible night when she almost lost Armin. The rage was back, not burning but freezing, filling her with ice.

But the last nudge that happened didn’t come from her memories of Annie, that came from Jean’s face. Watching it, Mikasa’s mind was flooded with those strange dreams, the flashbacks from another lifetime, her headache back in full force. She could smell the burning bodies, she could hear destruction. Jean was next to her, dressed in a black uniform, his mouth moving and forming words she had trouble understanding. Only two were crystal clear – “Kill” and “Eren”.

Kill Eren? No, she wouldn’t do that, no matter what kind of different life that was. She would never hurt the man she loved, her fiancé. If that wouldn’t be enough, her heart throbbed with pain when the thoughts of Sasha resurfaced, claiming that something terrible happened to her, worse than the shooting accident she was in. As if her former roommate and one of her best friends died, and that left a hole in Mikasa’s heart. The feeling was still strong, despite the lunch they had together and the night out. Whatever these memories were, wherever they came from, those combined with her rivalry with Annie and clicked together, sneaking through her brain and unlocking the hidden capabilities of her body.

Was it stupid? Maybe, but it didn’t matter. Mikasa knew that neither of these terrible tragedies happened. She knew that Sasha was alive and well, she knew that there was nothing in this world that was forcing her to kill Eren. This remnant of her past life, or a random thing that her mind made up, it was enough to push her over the edge. Just like that, Mikasa knew exactly what she had to do. And as the headache subsided, leaving only the bitter taste of the memories behind, her body overcame its limitations. Mikasa would do anything to prevent such a terrible fate befalling her friends, to protect them she was willing to go above and beyond. Roused by the nightmares, loaded by the unfair and terrible hardships her dream-self had to endure, the Thunderspear was ready to fire.

Jean must have noticed the change in her behavior too, because he stopped attacking, pulled back and went on the defensive. It was not enough. Mikasa aimed the Thunderspear in the middle of his torso, kicking right into Jean’s block which immediately cracked under the pressure. He was sent flying back, falling onto the ropes and sliding down like a ragdoll, boneless.

The drawback was immediately obvious. The kick was done with her whole body, all muscles working together to create such a strong blow. Once fired, Mikasa was hit by a wave of slight nausea as she swayed on her feet, almost doubling over. This wasn’t an attack that could be used freely - if she went for it and missed, Mikasa was open to any sort of counterattack. It took her a sweet moment to recompose herself, get her body back under control and realize that this wasn’t Annie she was fighting but her friend.

“Jean, are you okay?”, she quickly crossed the distance and fell to her knees, looking over his form.

“I... I think so?”, he grimaced, trying to sit up and failing at that, “Honestly, I sort of can’t feel half of myself. Holy shit your legs are strong.”

Scared that she hurt him for real, Mikasa did a quick checkup but her hands didn’t find any fractures. Jean sat up again, this time successfully, giving her a small nod to indicate that nothing permanent was inflicted. Relieved, Mikasa helped him stand, stabilizing his swaying with a hand around Jean’s shoulders.

 “I think I finally managed to find the right angle.”, she said, getting a weak grin in answer.

“Glad I could help, but please don’t kick me like that again.”

“I won’t. And thank you, I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.”

  “My dad should be around here somewhere.”, Annie was saying, looking left and right.

“It’s nice to have a ride off the airport.”, Reiner pointed out, “Saves on the taxi.”

The prospect of seeing her father again did leave a sour taste on Annie’s mind. She was not exactly sure that she was ready to forgive the man, despite her talk from earlier. The expression didn’t go unnoticed by Reiner, as he poked her shoulder with a grin.

“What’s wrong Annie? Thinking about that Mikasa girl again?”

“Oh my god, are you Mikasa’s fans as well? I heard you talking about her.”

Annie turned to meet the eyes of a young girl with shoulder-length light hair and an expression that was the definition of excited. There was a bag over the girl's shoulder and wheeled travel luggage behind her, indicating that she too had just arrived on the plane. What caught Annie’s attention was a magazine the girl was holding, because right there on the front page there she was. Her nemesis, if you will, Mikasa Ackerman in all her glory, dressed in her fighting gear and with her fists raised, steel-grey eyes staring right into Annie’s. The girl noticed where the blonde was looking, raising the magazine.

“This is one of the earlier issues, I’ve been re-reading them recently.”, she giggled, nervously, “I just love Mikasa so much, I can’t get enough. I watched every fight, every interview, read every word I could find. She’s just so great, isn’t she?”

As if remembering her manners, she finally introduced herself.

“I’m Louise, by the way.”

Annie wasn’t sure how to react when meeting the adoring fan of someone she was here to beat, but luckily Reiner stepped in, leaning over to the girl.

“The only interest we have in Mikasa is how to beat her.”, he gestured towards their little trio, “We are all fighters, here to take the tourney, so Ackerman is just another step on the road for us.”

Louise’s expression turned from an excited smile into a frown and she clutched the magazine close to her chest.

“There is no way any of you are beating Mikasa. She’s going to win because she is the best, you guys don’t stand a chance.”

Reiner grinned, spreading his hands.

“Guess we will see about that.”

Louise huffed, raising her head high and grabbing the luggage behind her. Turning, she walked away at a brisk pace, not sparing the blasphemers any more of her attention.

“Looks like the Ackerman girl is quite popular.”, Bert said, “More than I expected to be honest.”

“It’s not just fighting, she’s a model too.”, Annie remembered, “Appeals to the masses.”

“A model huh?”, Reiner put a hand on her shoulder, “Well, maybe she’ll have to consider a career change once you rearrange her face, isn’t that right Annie?”

But there wasn’t any burning hatred for Mikasa in Annie’s heart. She used the girl to motivate herself, yet she felt deep respect towards her. The raven was the only person as dedicated as Annie herself, the only one that understood the deep need to prove herself in this sport. Reiner and Bert, they were good friends, but they didn’t understand it, they never could. Yet she had to keep her appearances up, so despite herself, Annie grinned at the joke.

“Right.”

In the edge of her vision, a familiar figure appeared, and Annie shifted so she could see it better. Her father was there, waiting, leaning on a cane. He didn’t see them yet, giving Annie the time to study his anxious expression as his eyes scanned the airport, looking for his daughter. Was she ready to face him again? Did she want to? Then again, did she have a choice here?

“Oh look, it's your dad.”, Bert said, taking the choice away from her completely.

“Let’s go.”, Reiner decided for the group, casually throwing his heavy bag over a shoulder and walking towards the old man.

With Berthold following close behind, Annie gave up on her drama queen routine and forced her body to move too, trailing behind her mates.

[managingmymuse]

flowers and rocks

for writer's month 2021

day six: amnesia

(original fiction | time traveler universe)

The storm raged and howled and spit. Winds dragged trees clear out of the ground. Lightning speared down from the sky. The rain fell sideways and backwards and up, soaking everything within twenty feet of the cave's mouth.

I'd hunkered down against one wall of the cavern. There was no wood to create a fire, and even if there had been, I'm not sure I would have felt comfortable enough with the ventilation to start it anyway. The light that reached us here, beyond the rain's edge, was dim, but my eyes had long since adjusted to the shadows.

I'd been keeping a careful eye on Micah, not because of his head wound, but because I didn't know just when he'd wake up. And, more importantly, what he'd do when he did. It was a bit like sitting in a lion's cage at the zoo. Sure, the lions might just ignore you. They might sit calmly on the ground next to you and stare into the river. But also, they could rip off your face.

Micah had been pretty devoted to face-ripping for as long as I'd known him. I wasn't about to take any chances.

He woke sometime in hour four of our siege. Outside, the storm showed no signs of abating. Hail the size of oranges had come and gone and came back for seconds.

Micah stirred slowly. His eyes blinked open and closed. He wiggled his fingers and shifted his weight, as if he was checking that his legs were still attached. His face scrunched up as he stared at the ceiling, tracing the dim light around the cavern.

Until he found me. "Where am I?"

"Somewhere on the American continent," I said. "The exact location is a little obscure."

He processed that for a moment. His mouth worked, and I realized that he was probably quite thirsty.

Damned if I was going to do anything about it though. "If you've got a case of dry mouth, you can stick your head out into the rain," I said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the lighting will blast it clean off."

The prospect filled me with a sudden, almost maniacal glee. Micah, though, just looked confused. He rolled over onto his hands and knees before sitting backwards onto his heels. "That's not very nice."

I scowled at him. "I'm not your nursemaid," I said. "In fact, if you die, it will probably make my life easier."

Puzzlement crossed his features. He rubbed at his jaw. His eyes roved around, taking in the near-darkness of the cave and then finally coming back to me. "How did we get here?"

My mind flashed back over our chase through the forest. Micah's boots, certainly not approved for this century, pounding the ground. The sharp scent of ozone in the air. His hands snatching at my backpack, dragging me backwards into his arms.

I'd landed an elbow to his gut, and in his surprise, he'd released me. I'd leapt away like a startled deer. I'd run, blindly, and he'd followed again. When the lightning had begun to flare on the horizon, I'd aimed for this cave; my plan had been to lose him in the tunnels, and wait out my requisite cooling time before the jump. But Micah had caught up with me before I'd managed it. He'd launched himself at me the moment I stepped over the foothold, arms wrapping around me tight.

A jolt of electricity worse than the lightning zinged through me once again. His carbonium blocker, activated and ready to slip onto my wrist. Panic iced through me, but this time I didn't just run. I pushed backwards against Micah's body, sending both of us careening into the wall.

I'd expected it to buy me a few seconds to slip away into the dark. Instead, Micah's hands had released. He'd looked up at me out of wide, disbelieving eyes before he slumped forward onto the ground.

I should have left him. Should have continued with my original plan and hidden away within the maze of tunnels. But minute after minute dragged by, and Micah didn't regain consciousness. He didn't spring to his feet and try to capture me again.

Now, I gave him a wry smile. "You followed me."

His hand grazed the back of his head and he winced. He pulled his fingers away, looking at them, but his wound must have closed hours ago, because there was no blood. "My head... was I hurt?"

"You knocked yourself out," I said. "Idiot."

His shoulders drew up towards his ears, and he scowled at me. "You don't seem to like me very much."

"No, really?" I drawled. "What gave you that idea?"

Instead of lashing out at me, instead of giving me that cocky look that all the Atlantean girls fell for, god knows why, he only shook his head. "I don't... I don't know who you are."

Lightning flashed outside, sending the whole room into a stark, bright relief.

I leaned forward away from the wall. "You're shitting me."

"I wish I was."

"We've known each other for what, three years your time?" I said. "There's no way you forgot."

He rubbed his hand over his head and winced as he hit the sore spot at the back. "Don't believe me if you like," he said. "But unfortunately, it's true."

My heart gave a solid thump in my chest. Thunderous even over the sound of the storm outside.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I... I didn't mean to forget. Are you... are you important to me?"

I squashed the laugh that immediately bubbled up in my chest. "Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"What's your name?"

Thunder boomed, and the absurdity of this situation rolled through me. I clutched my knees, fighting the urge to laugh. Or maybe to sob. "Iris."

"Iris," he repeated. "Like the flower?"

'How is it that you remember the name of an obscure flower, but you don't remember me?"

He lifted his shoulders, a touch helpless.

I let out a long sigh. My head tipped backwards until it rested on the cavern wall. "Is it safe to assume that you remember your own name?"

"Micah," he said. "Like the rock."

I gave a dry chuckle at that. "Rocks and flowers."

Rocks and flowers.

Another volley of hail started up outside. The shadows of it streaked across the cavern wall like falling stars.

Micah was shifting on the floor. The obvious position would be to lean up against the cavern wall opposite mine, but instead, he crawled towards me. I could have stopped him. I could have demanded that he stay away. I could have stuck with the original plan and gone sprinting off into the dark.

But instead, I didn't. I let him crawl within easy reach. I waited while he settled himself against the wall just a few feet away.

"I'm glad you're here with me," he said.

I glanced at him askance. "No you're not."

"I'm glad I'm not alone," he said. His hand fell onto the stone, palm up, almost as if he expected me to take it.

I was playing with fire today, but I wasn't that stupid. Micah hadn't reached for his carbonium blocker, which probably meant that he hadn't remembered he had it. But if we touched, skin to skin, he wouldn't need it. He could keep me here by the strength of his will alone.

"You're a different person today," I said, hugging my knees into my chest. "Don't do something you'll regret."

"I'll regret talking to you?"

"I probably will," I said. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

He stilled at that. His fingers curled closed between us. "Why didn't you?"

I'd thought about it. I'd stared down at his prone form on the floor of the cave. Lightning had flashed all around us, coloring the scene in jagged tones. It wouldn't have been hard to find a lose rock on the ground. To beat him with it until his skull cracked, and his brain matter showed through.

My hands shook, just thinking of it. "I don't know."

Next to me, Micah shifted uneasily. Rainwater, already pooling at the entrance to the cavern, was starting to wash into the cave.

"We'll have to jump soon," I said. "I assume you remember how to jump."

A trace of his old arrogance curled his lip. "Of course I remember how to jump."

"Good," I said. I got to my feet, stretching my arms over my head. I didn't miss the way that Micah's eyes traced the line of my shirt as it rose above my navel, exposing skin. "I'm leaving first," I said. "Don't follow me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Micah said. His brow pinched, and I wondered if he'd forgotten he had that little ability. To follow me nearly everywhere I went.

I stretched one calf, and then the other. Cracked my knuckles once, twice, and then three times. The energy hidden within me, deep within my bones, began to hum.

1865, I thought. The Homestead.

"Iris," Micah said.

The word broke my concentration. I dialed the energy back. "Yes?"

"Thank you," he said. "For not killing me."

I gave him a lazy smile. "As long as you return the favor," I said.

And with that I let the energy overwhelm me. I let it run rampant and take me away.

I jumped.

[keichanz]

Toss a Coin

so today i had the insane, intense urge to write a scene from Netflix’s The Witcher and well *shrug* if you haven’t watched it yet, you probably shouldn’t read this if you don’t want any spoilers, but then again, who the hell am i to tell you what to do hahaha. 

but anyway it’s basically the Inuyasha version of this scene where that one guy is like “HE DIED” Jas is like “eh he’s fine” and then fucking Geralt just crashes through the door because perfect timing. Obvi Inuyasha is Geralt, and Miroku is Jasiker because god it’s just too fucking perfect lmao

anyway, i don’t plan on making this a thing. i just really wanted to write this one part and it wouldn't leave me alone until i did. and I am eternally grateful to @noyourenotreal​ for having the stroke of genus to write an Inuyasha Witcher AU because i would be tempted to do it myself if they hadn’t and I don’t have the time hahah. their fic is called Of Monsters and Men and it’s so good guys check it out!

originally i was going to use the dialogue word for word, but at the advice of a friend and further thinking, i nixed that idea and gave it my own flare so i can stay true to Inuyasha and Miroku’s personalities. I think i did alright.

a random note: basically during the entire time i watched this show i was screaming “INUUKAAAAAAAG” because OMG the inukag is STRONG with geralt and yennefer it is riDICULOUS 

note: a translation of what the man in the first part is saying can be found at the end of this oneshot. he speaks in a Scottish dialect and I realize it can be difficult to understand. 

oh and also tagging my ladies that expressed an interest in reading this ;D @lemonlushff​ @hinezumi​ @tsukinohimeusagi​ 

“It's th' truth, Ah teel ye,” the portly man rasped, his blood and dirt streaked face twisted into a troubled expression and his gray eyes holding a wealth of shocked disbelief, “It main hae swallowed th' bludy village whole! Nary a bain, scrap ay clootie— naethin' was left!”

He looked around while the patrons gasped and murmured in horror, but when he spotted a familiar face gazing back with skepticism, his gaze hardened into a glare. The nay-sayer, a scrawny little weasel named Noliff, narrowed his eyes in return.

“Aye, quite it wi' 'at swatch, ye wee jobby,” he growled, bracing his hands on the table as he leaned forward. “Ah ken whit yoo're thinkin'. We hud wee choice but tae caa heem.”

Abruptly he stood up, his chair scraping against the wooden floor as wild eyes scanned his rapt audience.

“The White Wolf.” With every gaze on him and expressions varying from horror, shock, and excitement, he continued, recalling in vivid detail the fate of the notorious White Wolf. “Ah can still see it—he stuid in th' middle ay 'at frizzen loch lake he kent th' beest was comin’.”

Silence all around as the patrons listened intently with undivided attention, he immersed himself in his storytelling, his eyes going wide and his voice laced with the genuine fear he’d felt just hours prior.

“Th’ ice cracked wide open,” he said, gesturing with his hands as his wild gaze swung around the room again. “An' a selkiemair shot it! Och, yoo’ve ne'er seen a body, but it’d tak' doon a ship wi' its cavernoos gob foo ay devil’s teeth!

More gasping and murmurs of astonishment followed that proclamation, and there was a wild, far-away look in his eyes as he regaled with vigor, “An’ it…swallowed…that Witcher…whole!”

With hands clasped together, the man bowed his head, expression contorted into one of deep, intense sorrow as the villagers speculated amongst themselves, whispering and muttering and exchanging glances.

“Yes, this is wonderful!”

The man faltered, blinked, and slowly turned to glance down at the bard sitting to his left who had, this entire time, been furiously scribbling down his tragic tale of the Wither and the selkie.

Miroku glanced up at the portly man, did a quick double-take, and then paused his written recounting in his parchment book.

“Apologies,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just Inuyasha is never so generous with the details. He always makes it sound so boring.” He shrugged and went back to his documenting while the storyteller, and everyone else, gaped at him.

“Now then. Please, continue, my good man. What happened next?” he asked, glancing back up at the man with a patient, inquisitive look up on his face.

With a frown, the man diverted his gaze back to the table and brought to mind what had happened next. He swallowed once, twice, and the look on his face was deeply troubled as he appeared to struggle saying what came next.

“He died,” he revealed, head bowed and eyes closed. A collective gasp echoed around them.

Miroku stared blankly at him for a moment and then said, “Bah. He’s fine.”

Completely unconcerned, the bard turned back to his scribbling, seeming to ignore the man as he turned his frown on him, looking a mite affronted.

“Listen haur,” he began, his tone urgent as he jabbed a finger at him. “Ah was thaur. Ah saw it wi' mah ain—!”

The door to the tavern crashed open and as one, everybody – save Miroku, who, calm as you please, continued to nonchalantly write in his book – turned around with gasps of exclamation. The storyteller’s mouth dropped open as a few bystanders not so subtly lifted a hand to cover their nose and mouth with varying looks of disgust.

“See?” Miroku drawled, not looking up from his writing.

Standing before the two men, clutching his sword and completely covered in blood, guts, and other questionable matter that dripped from his hair and clothes, Inuyasha regarded them with a look that was difficult to decipher beneath the bloody sludge on his face. The scowl, however, became apparent as he schlepped forward, the patrons backing away the closer he got and giving him a very wide berth.

While Miroku laughed merrily, the storyteller looked completely aghast as he stared at the Witcher.

“Och,” he breathed, looking truly astonished to be staring at the man who he had witnessed be swallowed whole by a savage beast. “Whit is 'at reek?”

Golden eyes slid his way. “Selkiemore guts,” Inuyasha supplied matter-of-factly while behind him a man gagged and the patrons not so discreetly edged away. “Obviously. Fucker swallowed me whole so I gutted it from the inside.” He snorted. “So, you gonna pay me or what?”

Absolutely delighted, Miroku stood with a grin and sang, “Toss a coin to your witcher, O, Valley of Plenty!”

Nodding frantically, the man reached into his shirt and withdrew a bag of coins before tossing it to the man, the Witcher who had miraculously bested the odds against him and survived being eaten by a monster.

Inuyasha caught it, expression deadpan as Miroku continued his ditty and everyone joined in, raising their pints at him as they sang a tribute to The White Wolf. Unimpressed, he snorted and turned away, ignoring everyone as he bypassed them to unceremoniously drop his sword on the bar.

“You’re welcome,” Miroku chirped over his shoulder while the villagers cheered and Inuyasha only spared him a brief glance before snatching up the pint set in front of him and knocking it back. “Now then, my good Witcher friend, I think now would be a good time—”

Inuyasha abruptly turned his head to the side and spit out the vile tasting concoction that was supposedly passed off as beer around here. He scowled and carelessly tossed the empty pint onto the counter.

“…To repay your debt,” Miroku finished lamely, cocking a brow. Inuyasha glared at him. Clearing his throat, Miroku tired a jovial smile and continued, “Ah, you’re wondering what the in blazes I’m talking about, yes?”

Inuyasha ignored him and reached up to scratch at his ears in irritation. Damn, but the guts were starting to dry and his ears were itching like fucking crazy.

“I have made you famous, Witcher,” the bard supplied point blank with raised eyebrows, undeterred by his apparent disinterest. When still he didn’t receive a response, Miroku shrugged and said, “Rightfully a small percentage of your wages should be mine to claim. However, because I find myself fascinated by your charm and strong, silent type demeanor—”

Inuyasha groaned and dropped his elbows on the bar before dropping his head into his hands.

“—instead I would like to swap out any monetary earnings for a small…tiny little favor.” Miroku tipped his head back and gazed innocently up at the ceiling as he sipped his own beverage.

“Fuck off, bard,” Inuyasha growled without preamble, not interested in any of the favors he was asking for.

“Just hear me out, my good man. Er, half-man,” he corrected and aimed a charming smile when amber eyes cut his way. “Just for a single night of service – just a few hours, really – the rewards would indeed be worth your while, a cornucopia of earthly delights, if you will.”

Inuyasha snorted his opinion of that and counted his money.

“The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods,” Miroku tempted. “And the women…” He sighed and the Witcher mused that the dopey smile on his face suited him rather well. “Beautiful, enchanting maidens with their shapely bodies and plump bosoms and perfect bottoms… Ah, truly a sight to behold!

“Not to mention there will be plentiful, sweet drinks to imbibe,” Miroku continued, oblivious to his companion’s departure, until he tossed an impish smile his way and discovered he was talking to air. He spun around and easily spotted the man stomping toward the exit.

“Food, women, and wine, Inuyasha!” Miroku crowed in a last-ditch effort since apparently his waxing poetic did not ensnare the half-demon as he’d hoped it would. He should have known; the Witcher was as tough and gruff as they come, so it made sense poesy would not appeal to him.

Inuyasha stopped and for the first time actually seemed to be considering the bard’s proposition. The women part he didn’t particularly care for, but if there was even a small chance he could get his hands on some half-way decent booze…

He turned, looked over his shoulder, and when Miroku waggled his brows at him with that stupid grin, Inuyasha groaned and muttered, “Fuck.”

Just what the hell was he getting into?

Scotsman’s translation: 

It’s the truth, I tell ya. It must have swallowed the bloody village whole! Nary a bone, a scrap of cloth—nothing was left! Aye, quit it with that look, ya little shit. I know what you’re thinkin’. We had little choice but to call him. I can still see it—he stood in the middle of the frozen lake like he knew the beast was coming. The ice cracked wide open. And a selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth! Listen here. I was there. I saw it with my own—! Oh. What is that stench?

[thegodshavehorns]

Capture the Wind (4/5)

Chapter 4: Zugzwang

You are on the road all night.

You watch the lit signs along the road pass by, the lights of the cars flashing red and white. It’s mid Leo and the night is warm and clear. You wonder where you’re going, but don’t want to ask your dad. You’re kind of angry at him. He’s trying to run away from the Seer, and he thinks you’re in danger. But you prayed a lot when you were still going to church and nothing bad ever happened. Your dad is full of shit, and you sit sullenly in the passenger seat, marinating in your resentment.

Your dad doesn’t talk much, and you fall asleep around 2am slumped over a duffel bag. Your sleep is troubled, but you don’t remember your dreams.

In the morning, you are in Canada.

Your dad pulls into the lot of an economy-size motel in a small town, and buys a room. You are exhausted and unhappy and have no trace of empathy for your dad. So what if he drove all night? He chose to do that. Today is Vantaday; you were supposed to go to karate lessons! You don’t even have a permission slip or anything.

You pick up a set of keycards with the receptionist, and drag your duffel and your dad’s suitcases to the second floor. As your dad fiddles with the key card, you pretend to be interested in the floral patterns on the walls. You are pretty sure the receptionist said the room only had one bed. This is going to suck.

When the door opens, the Seer is inside the room.

She has obviously dressed to impress. Her robe is billowing (did she set up a fan?), and she has sigils of Mind blazoned not just on her chest but down the sides of her leggings and on bracelets that attach to rings on her fingers. The blue-green outfit is accentuated by splashes of red, on the belt, the shoes, and the cuffs of her sleeves. Her wings, which you’ve only seen her spread a few times, practically fill the tiny motel room.

She tilts her head, and the red glasses flash. “Took you a long enough. Was the traffic that bad?”

Your dad is standing utterly still, one arm held to the out as though to shield you from the goddess. But this is stupid, you’ve talked with her plenty of times before. You don’t really like her, but you’re not scared of her, not anymore.

The Seer sighs. “You told yourself that this would work, didn't you? My friend Eridan would be livid. Mr. Egbert, I think you are underestimating how valuable your son is to us.”

Your dad does not respond, and she steps to the side, revealing a small table and some chairs. “Unless you want to talk still half-standing in the hallway, I would recommend coming inside.”

You look up at your dad. Slowly, he nods, and steps forward, but only just enough to let the door close behind him. “John,” he says. “You should stay out-”

“No, he shouldn’t,” interrupts the Seer. “It is important for him to be involved.”

A brief look of pain passes over your dad's face. “Please, Seer, he is only a-”

“God,” interrupts the Seer. “He is only a God.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your dad pales.

The Seer smiles like a shark, and folds her hands on the carved head of her cane. “Oh, good, I have your attention. Now come in before I start to get irritated.”

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

You sit at the table, looking at your dad and the Seer, who are standing. Your dad refuses to sit.

She is explaining your destiny.

“There is a method,” she says, “by which mortals become gods. A trial, of sorts. This trial is only viable for certain individuals, and your son is one of those. Some of my... cohort don’t feel that this method of ascension should be used, but its occurrence is both necessary and inevitable. And, this is the most important part, even though the trial is going to inevitably happen, it is not inevitable that it succeed. Your son may die in the attempt. And so I have, out of the desire to see this trial succeed, taken it upon myself to tutor your son in the necessary skills for ascending to godhood.”

“I will not let you put my son into danger.” Your dad is talking back to the Seer. He’s defying her. You know he’s an atheist but this is insane.

“Your son has already accepted his destiny." The Seer materializes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “It was his choice.”

Your dad looks at you, and you try to stare back as defiantly as you can. “My son is a minor. He can’t be held to this.”

“Well, if you’re going to talk legality, Mr. Egbert, I think you might find yourself out of your depth.” The Seer flips her coin. “You will find that there are loopholes regarding divine pacts and agreements in the laws and statutes of every country on this planet, and in those of most other planets within reach.

“In addition,” she continues. “I think you may have missed the part where I said that the occurrence of the trial is inevitable. In a sense, it has already happened. Surely you know that we gods created ourselves? So it is with John. He has already created himself, and so it is certain that he will face this trial. And neither you nor I nor any other force in this universe could prevent it.” The Seer leans on her cane. “With that in mind, know that I am here to help your son. If it’s his safety you are worried about, rest assured that I am here to make him immortal. With my help, your son will live to see stars birth and die, watch civilizations rise and fall. He will be praised and worshipped. His potential will be limitless. Isn’t that what any father would want?”

Your dad is very still. “How confident are you?”

“I know the trial will happen. I cannot guarantee its success, but training John under my wings is a decent way to hedge his bets.”

“Has it happened before?”

The Seer is impassive. “Not on this planet.”

“And when is this trial to occur?”

“When John is ready.” The Seer pauses. “You are already thinking that you can sabotage my efforts and delay the trial. You think that if you delay it long enough, the inevitable will not occur.” She shakes her head. “You would not be doing your son any favors, by interfering with his training.”

Your dad looks like he’s about to speak, but the Seer interrupts again. “You cannot outrun me, outwait me, or outwit me. Please don’t hurt yourself or John by trying.”

Your dad straightens. “I have conditions.”

The Seer smiles. “You are in no position to make demands, Mr. Egbert. All the same, I am willing to let John stay with you, and allow you to remain a family unit. I am willing to provide education and funds for the remainder of the time before the trial, as you and John may need them. But your final condition is misguided.”

“I will not allow you to keep hurting my son!”

The Seer flips her coin. “Mr. Egbert, I am not doing this because I enjoy hurting your son, much as he might think so. I am doing this because it will help him in his coming trials. Changing the methods of my training would be utterly beside the point. Now, if we’re done with that, you will find that SkaiaCorp has purchased a nice home for you in Calgary. You will be provided with furnishings.”

“Wait,” you interject. “We’re not going home?”

“Your home burned down last night,” the Seer says. “It is good you moved when you did. Not all the gods are as good at tracking as I am.”

Your dad slowly sinks into a chair. His expression is taut, lips pulled tight.

“I am glad we reached this understanding,” says the Seer. “Feel free to stay in this motel as long as you wish, but your new home will be waiting for you when you come out. And John,” she turns to you. “I hope you brought your hammer with you. We will be resuming our lessons tomorrow.”

She leaves, folding her wings to fit through the doorway. Your dad opens his bag and takes out his pipe. He lights it, and smokes silently for several long minutes.

Then he reaches over and hugs you, hard enough to compress your ribs. He smells of tobacco and very faintly of cake.

And all you can think about is that your computer was in your house, and all your movies.

This is going to suck.

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

You stay in the motel for much longer than your dad originally paid for. You strife with the Seer in the parking lot, and attempt to play psion chess in your tiny room. Your dad applies ice packs to your bruises, and gives you clandestine but unhelpful hints about the chess until the Seer shoos him away.

When you are not with the Seer, you are bored out of your mind. You didn’t bring any books with you,  or video games, or magazines, or anything. The TV in the room is lame, but you watch it for hours with nothing better to do. Your dad won’t take you into town, won’t let you leave the motel. The Seer must have put the fear of Gods in him.

One day, your dad comes back from shopping. You watch as he takes out a small framed print of a clown and props it up on top of the TV, right next to grandma’s cookie jar of ashes. He smiles at you, his eyes sad, and you look away.

You are slowly going insane.

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

The cane swipes overhead, and you duck and strike at the Seer’s knees. She jumps back and strikes low, before whipping the cane up and bashing your chin. Your teeth clack together and you reel back. You hope your teeth didn’t crack. She doesn’t usually aim for the face.

But you’re still standing, so the strife is still on. She strikes for your belly, and you answer without thinking, directing your blow not at her, but at her cane.

The cane is only light wood, and it splinters.

The Seer holds the broken cane for a moment, then grins wryly. “Not a bad idea, shortening my reach. But now the end is sharp.”

That’s not good. “What? You’re not going to…”

“Are you certain?” Her voice is low. “How can you be sure of what your enemy will or won’t do?” She takes a step forward. “How can you be sure you haven’t bitten off more than can fit down your throat?”

“We’re not enemies! That’s not why you’re even here!”

“Are you certain?”

“I don’t know!” Your teeth hurt and your chin is bleeding a little and you’re losing your temper. “How am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to do? I can’t beat you!”

“That’s a defeatist attitude, John. What’s wrong?” She takes out a coin and flips it. Are you done strifing, for now?

“Are you really asking what is wrong?” You gesture angrily with the hammer. “You should know; you know everything!”

She flips the coin. “John, whether or not you are frustrated, bored, or lonely must have no bearing on your martial ability. An enemy will take advantage of you, when you are weak.” She lifts the broken, sharp-pointed cane. “Defend yourself, John.”

But you’re not looking at her. You’re looking at the coin. She’s still flipping it, even as she steps forward to strife. Is this some kind of handicap on herself, to make up for the sharp cane?

You decide to strike first, and she blocks your hammer, unerring as usual. She strikes, and you move to block, but of course it’s a feint, and then the sharp end of the cane rips your sleeve. She’s playing with you, not even breaking skin.

She flips the coin, you strike, she blocks, one-handed. Even with the handicap, she outclasses you in every way.

The coin lands, face-up, and an odd impulse occurs to you. You strike left, and she blocks.

She flips. The coin lands, face-down, and you strike right. She blocks.

You watch the coin as you strife, giving the Seer a lesser degree of attention. She rips your pant leg, your shirt collar, then scratches a shallow cut on your forearm. You ignore it. Face-up. Left. Face-down. Right. Face-down. Right.

Face-up. Left, and she is a moment slower in blocking.

Face-down. Right, and you-

The sound is a dull thud traveling up your arm. And the Seer drops her cane, cradling her hand where you hit her.

“Shit.” You say. “Shit, gods, Seer, I’m sorry-”

She lifts her head, then bares her teeth in something that can’t possibly be a smile, can it?

“Don’t apologize.” She reaches for the cane with her other arm. “Let’s see if you can do that again.”

Your arms are shaking from exhaustion. This is probably the longest strife you’ve had yet. And now she’s not flipping the coin, how can you-

You continue your strife, she draws more blood, shallow cuts and scrapes, and you’re faltering, hoping she just ends this without poking your eye out. You wonder whether she would consider that a just punishment, for landing a hit on her.

There is a strong breeze going, and the Canadian flag is flapping in the wind. You decide to use it as an ersatz coin. If it’s flapping toward you, left, if it’s flapping away, right.

You strike left, left, left, right, right- and strike the goddess in the breastbone with a dull smack.

She staggers back, coughs, gasps. Then, she laughs.

“Oh! Gosh, oh fuck, are you okay?” You are freaking out. This is not okay.

Her laughter turns into coughing. “Go back inside, John,” she croaks. “Good work today.”

You do not feel good about this. You can’t just leave her sitting in the parking lot with possibly broken ribs! “Will you be-”

“GO 1NS1D3.”

You haven't heard her use the Tinge since you first met. You go inside.

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

It’s only that night, after your dad has put unnecessary bandages on all your scrapes (which really aren’t that bad), while you’re lying awake in bed, that you realize she’s never said ‘good work’ to you before.

Does that mean you're getting closer to becoming a god, like her? You've been trying not to think about that part, about what that might mean, or what the 'trial' might be like. You imagine being forced to fight duels against powerful opponents, or to play chess against some kind of crazy-advanced 5th-dimensional computer. You toss and turn on the hide-a-bed, and as you fall into a troubled sleep, your theoretical opponents become shadowy, cackling, horned figures wielding rolled-up posters as swords, and in your half-dreaming state, behind the blackness of sleep, you see for once the faintest hints of gold...

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

Two days pass, and the Seer does not return. Your dad buys another clown picture, and hangs it over the hide-a-bed. This motel room is starting to make you sick.

You are planning your escape.

By which you mean, you are not planning it. You know her weakness, now. She knows what you think, and what you choose. But she doesn’t know what you don’t think and what you don’t choose.

So you’re not going to think. You are not going to plan, you are not going to prepare, and you are going to leave your route up to chance. You are going to flip two coins, whenever you need to decide where to go. Head-Head, you go right. Tail Tail, you go left. Head-Tail, you keep straight.

You can’t tell your dad. He’d probably try to stop you. But he’s recently bought an EZ Bake oven and keeps trying to make muffins, so you can probably sneak out without him noticing.

You are leaving the room. Your dad should be busy with late-night baking, so you’re fine, you’ll be-

“Son.”

Shit. What is he doing out in the hall?

“Dad?” you ask. “What are you doing out here?”

Your dad smiles, and lifts a plastic bag. “I didn’t get quite enough chocolate at the store. I could have gone back, but I thought, ‘The vending machine has chocolate bars. I'll just get those.’ And that's what I did.”

“Oh.” You shove your hands in your pockets and fiddle with your two coins.

Your dad holds his hand out, proffering a chocolate bar. “I got an extra one for you.”

“That’s okay, Dad. I am not hungry.” You’re really not. Your stomach is fluttering and you don’t feel at all like eating.

Your dad wiggles the bar. “Chocolate is good for your heart, you know.”

You snort. “Pff. Yeah right.”

“It’s scientifically proven. Are you going to argue with science?”

“Dad, I’m fine.” How are you going to get out of this?

“It’s also scientifically proven that kids your age argue with their parents whenever possible.” Your dad is still smiling, but the expression is slightly more melancholic than before. “John, take the chocolate.”

You give your dad your most skeptical look, and he sighs.

“You can talk to me, you know. That’s what I’m here for.”

Oh crap. Not another Talk. This is not what you need right now. Time to parry the conversation. “What is there to talk about?”

Your dad reaches forward to touch the scab on your chin from the recent strife.

“Maybe stuff like that,” he says. “Or maybe the bruises that don’t show on your skin.”

You step back, avoiding his hand and taking your hands out of your pockets to shield yourself. “There is nothing to talk about. You know what’s going on now.”

Your dad nods. “I know this must be hard for you, Son. Kids aren’t meant to deal with things like this. She's trying to control our family and your future, and it's wrong.”

You mumble; “I can handle it,” and your dad affixes you with a Look.

“Dad, what do you expect me to say?” You are getting irritated now,and you groan in exasperation. “Augh, it’s, look, talking to her is no big deal. That is not a problem.”

“And the fighting?” Your dad's voice is quiet.

“That isn't a problem either. It’s nothing.” You are lying, and from the way your dad is looking at you, you’re beginning to wonder if the Seer isn’t the only mind reader around.

“Son.” Your dad leans down, looks you in the eye. “She drew blood on you. That’s not nothing.”

He’s right. You look to the side, away from him, at the cheap floral print wallpaper of the motel. “I… think I might have hurt her.”

Your dad puts down the plastic bag, then reaches into it and takes out another chocolate bar, adding it to the first. “Well done.” Then, he puts a hand on your shoulder, gently, to not aggravate the bruising. “But if this is bothering you, then we should talk about it.”

Argh. You knew you shouldn’t have said anything. You are STUPID stupid.

“I’m not bothered,” you say, chewing on your lower lip.

“You are bothered."

“Dad, I'm not, it's just... I dunno, it is weird and strange and I don't know how I'm supposed to act or feel. At all. I do not know what I am supposed to do. Argh. It's like, I don't know. It's dumb. I just can't figure out what she wants from me.” You lower your voice, not even sure if you should be saying this next part, hoping that she can’t hear you thinking it. "I don’t really like her. And I do not think she wants me to like her. But I didn't like hurting her, either."

Your dad gestures vaguely near his face, and you get the feeling that he’d like to have a pipe there. “Well. At least I don’t have to worry about my son getting a crush on a goddess.”

“Dad, please. I am serious.”

“I’m serious too. You don't understand, being a kid, but that would be a real headache. Who would you ask for a blessing, for one? She made herself, so is she her own mother and father?”

You roll your eyes so far back that your eyeballs hurt. “Okaaaaay, Dad!”

Your dad is grinning like a cat. “At least fall in love with a regular alien, if you decide to go that route. They might have funny numbers of eyes and arms, but at least I would know what to do when the in-laws are over.”

“DAD.”

“SON.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me?”

He abruptly stops smiling. “I want you to be happy. And I will defy any god who stands in the way of that.”

“Well, that sure didn't make a difference with the Seer!” you snap. It comes out a lot harsher than you meant it to, and you can see immediately that your dad is hurt.

“You’re right,” he says, softly. “I’m sorry, John. I failed you.”

That makes you really uncomfortable to hear, and you put your hands back in your pockets. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just saying, it probably doesn’t matter what you do to try and stop her, she’ll do it anyway.”

“Maybe she lied,” says your dad. “It’s been known to happen. Maybe it’s not inevitable, this thing she is training you for.”

“Maybe.” That’s what you’re banking on. You broke her prophecy about your dad, after all. “She doesn’t know everything.”

Your dad arches a brow. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s how I hurt her. I found something she couldn't predict.”

“A blind spot, you could say?” your Dad proffers, and you groan. “And what is this ‘something?’”

You pause. You can’t afford to let your ace slip from your sleeve. “I don’t want to say it out loud. Or even think about it a lot.  It is all I have right now.”

Your dad makes that gesture again, like he’s reaching for his pipe. “I see. So what are you planning to do, if you can’t think about it?”

You clutch the coins tightly in your pockets. You could lie to your dad, but at this point you just… really want someone on your side. You are so lonely.

“I’m going to run.” And, at the shocked look on your dad’s face, you continue hurriedly, wanting to explain, not giving him the chance to scold you for being stupid. “I feel like I have to. She hasn't been back in a few days, so now's my chance. And anyway, like you said, since she doesn't know everything, maybe she's wrong about the trial, too.”

Your dad looks solemn. “John, is that what you were going to do, when you bumped into me?”

You look away, “No. I mean, yes.”

“Weren’t you going to bring anything with you?”

“I… didn’t want to think too much about it.”

You glance back at your dad. His lips are sealed tight, but his eyes look soft, almost sad. Is he going to punish you? Send you back into the motel room?

Then, he whips out his wallet, and hands it to you.

“Dad?

“Use the credit cards only if you absolutely have to. They could use them to track you, so use the paper money for what you need. You have five thousand dollars in cash. Budget it."

You take the wallet, eyes wide. You didn’t know what you expected, but it sure wasn’t this. “Dad???”

Your dad is grabbing you by the shoulders, marching you forward. You don’t push back or resist, absolutely flummoxed. He’s still talking. “Don’t withdraw more than a thousand dollars at one location. Don’t go into any churches. Don’t talk to anyone wearing a sigil.”

You are outside the motel, in the parking lot. Your dad turns you around and hugs you, squeezing your shoulders so hard it would hurt even without the bruises.

He lets go of you, not waiting for you to hug him back. “Now go.”

You don’t have time to say anything, no thank yous or goodbyes. He’s already gone into the motel. You’re holding his wallet in one hand, your coins in the other.

You nod, even though he can’t see it. You breathe. Then you turn, and run.

[lynneshobbydomain]

The Encounter (Day 5: Komahina Week)

((Thank you all for your support, likes and reblogs. Thank you to sunflower_8 for betaing this chapter for me, I cannot ever stress it enough how much you do for me)).

Prompt: Fantasy/Hope/Healing

Rated: T (Hajime has a mouth)

Summary: Komaeda walks into a city thinking he’s just going to pass through for the night. However, the cycle of good and bad luck prevents him from leaving as well as a man with an eye red as blood and a eye green as leaves

You can read it underneath the cut or find me at my A03.

It began with the sound of a coin being flipped up into the air. It twisted and turned, glinting gold in the sunlight before falling down into the man’s fingerless gloved hand, and quickly slapped on the back of the other. A bird sang in the distance and the trees rustled with an invisible force as there was no wind to feel on his skin. The vast open sky that was upon him was cloudless and the sun was beating down on the earth with no mercy to its heat. He looked at the coin and grinned as he looked at the sign posts that were in the middle of his way. The fork of the road split into two different directions. One trailed up to the left, winding into a deep forest, pitched black with only little sunlight for comfort. The other was straightforward through a valley of hills and open fields filled with flowers and little trees to take shelter from the unbearing heat of the sun. The man put the coin back with a soft whistle and started walking towards the hills. If luck told him to go this way, then something should be on the other side.

Silence was a common friend for Komaeda. He was used to the isolation, and he didn’t mind it all that much. The birds singing joyfully to each other was usually drowned out by conversation, loud tavern music among other things. It was nicer to be able to enjoy nature for what it was, than to try to keep a conversation flowing. Not many people wanted to converse with him either, and he couldn’t blame them. His curse was well known throughout the region, and he wondered if he was even going to be welcomed in the next town that he came across.

The roads of the hill weren’t very steep, which was a lucky venture as Komaeda had been growing weary of climbing. If anything, the roads were well taken care of and were used frequently enough that potholes were filled with more gravel and were easy to spot so that he could walk around them. With the freedom to be able to take care of such roads meant that the next town wouldn’t be a town but a bustling city. That would be in his favor, as he was in need of new clothes. His tunic was fine, it was mostly dirty and needed a good scrubbing in the river, but his pants were starting to show holes and mending spells just weren’t cutting it anymore.

Then again, Komaeda wouldn’t doubt that his mending spells were subpar to most of those who could do magic. He wouldn’t doubt that his luck would be awful enough to fray the threads so that they wouldn’t hold up well to weather and washes. It didn’t bother him too much, but he would have to decide if maybe he needed to, once again, be walked through the steps of how to even do a mending spell.

The trek took him most of the day. The sun glided through the sky without clouds to interfere with its path. The warm rays beat against Komaeda’s skin well enough that it was starting to turn pink underneath its torture. Komaeda was aware that there was a spell that could help prevent his skin from being exposed to the sun’s abuse, but he wasn’t sure what that spell could be. Knowing his luck and how it would work, he was also aware that if he even knew what that spell was, it could just backfire and allow the sun a chance to make his skin blister. A small burn was a better price to pay than agony, if Komaeda had any say in it.

The sun reached the western horizon with violet purples, bright pinks, and soothing oranges and yellows melted and blended together and the first bright star sparkled in the sky just as Komaeda reached the imposing walls of the city.

With the silhouettes of the night starting to creep across the sky and the earth, the gates would be closing soon. They were already magicking fire into the torches and the gate would soon be closed. Komaeda quickened his step and hurried over towards the gatekeepers to keep them closing the bridge and gating the city. “Hello there!” He called out to them. “Am I too late to seek entrance?”

“If you had arrived five ticks later, you may have been.” The guard told him, a little stiff around the edges. Komaeda couldn’t blame him. A late customer is not what someone wanted to deal with. “You better hope a tavern has a room for you.”

“I do not mind it if I have to sleep outside.” Komaeda grinned as he walked through the gates. “So far my luck has been good. Of course, bad is always sure to follow.”

“Strange lad.” The guard muttered, probably thinking that the man was out of earshot. Komaeda just grinned, and continued through the cobblestoned path.

The city was marvelous. He could only assume what it could look like during the day. Plenty of houses and shops were built around here. He could hear music and rambunctious laughter bounce through the silence of the city. The houses and the buildings all shared a warm yellow glow that intinced a sense of comfort and home as he walked down the paths. There were plenty of taverns that he could enter, but they were all so loud and full of people. He didn’t want to ruin their good cheer with his impending swing of a down-ward spiral of luck.

Instead, Komaeda allowed the city’s infectious jubilation to remind him that everyone was doing their best to spread their hope in a dark period of despair. The cloud of it hadn’t reached the peaceful providence, and Komaeda wasn’t sure if it ever would. If their hope could shine as brightly as the lights in their home, then the cloud shouldn’t begin to be able to touch them. However, Komaeda was also aware that he could be jinxing his luck to follow through with such a claim. The Lady was quite fickle when she wanted to be and when she wanted something terrible to happen…

The memory of his parent’s burnt bodies in a carriage ride was enough of a reminder of how that worked.

He realized quickly however that being lost in thoughts meant that he would be lost in the city as well. He must have walked too far and too quickly to realize the echoes of the taverns were now behind him, and while the buildings still beckoned with a sense of home and warmth, there was an artificial chill to the air that made the hairs on Komaeda’s arms stand up.

This must be where the darker magic users laid. The taste of copper and metal was heavy against Komaeda’s tongue, as well as the taste of blood and bone. No, this wasn’t where he wanted to be found today. So far the streets were empty. Turning around now would be in his best interest. He quickly turned on the ball of his foot and started walking away, hands deep into his pockets.

Unfortunately for him, terrible luck indeed was about to face him. Perhaps not in the way of a cloud of despair, but he felt something sharp stick deep into his back. He turned around swiftly, a spell of ice on his fingers as he tried to aim. His assailant was cunning, ducking low and toppling him over onto the cobblestones. The knife plunged deeper into his back, and Komaeda gasped in pain. The shock of being stabbed made his body react with a surge of adrenaline and he knew that trying to defend himself wasn’t going to end well. He needed to run and get out of this side of the town.

He got up to his feet with a graceless fumble and started to try to run off. His assailant was quick to be upon him, and tossed him back onto the ground. Komaeda’s head rang with pain and a sound of a bell as he crashed back into the stones. He could feel the man frisk him and he laughed. “Oh this is terrible luck.” He could feel the blade being pulled out of his back and was plunged into him again, clearly telling him to shut up. He groaned weakly as the person continued to frisk him, muttering curses before grabbing him by the collar to shove him against the wall.

“Where are you hiding your coins?!”

“Coins? Dear fellow, I am but a traveler. I have little in the way of money.” Komaeda explained.

“Fucking…” Komaeda’s jaw immediately bloomed with pain and he could feel the blood starting to pool into his mouth. The man tossed him aside, muttering angrily about not having any sort of money on him.

Komaeda knew better than to hand over his wallet. Even though the man was magic, he apparently wasn’t skilled at a seeking spell. Perhaps his luck with magic was better than he had thought after all.

“Jesus fuck, are you alright?”

Komaeda looked up a little dizzy from the assault to see a man standing before him. Not just any man. This man had an aura that surrounded him in a way that Komaeda had never

before. His eyes were a mismatched red and green, moonlight wasn’t a kind friend and the shadows even worse. He couldn’t see what he was wearing, let alone what the color of his hair was. “Oh.” He whispered with reverence. “You have such hope.”

“Okay, so you’re not okay.” The man didn’t sound too amused. Komaeda chuckled weakly and the man started to frisk him. “Jesus you were stabbed and...no, no matter. I can stanch the blood now, but I’ll have to drag you to Tsumiki.”

“Who?”

“Oh god, they really went after someone that didn’t know this place.” The man groaned. “Okay, that’s fine. Just...sit still.”

Komaeda braced himself for the cold wash of a healing spell, but instead was surprised to see the man shrug off his outer tunic as fast as humanly possible. He pressed all of his weight against the wound, causing Komeada to whimper underneath the shockwaves of pain. He didn’t realize the man was actively tying his tunic around his body as tight as he could to keep the blood from flowing. He also was being careful to not remove the knife from it’s second entry.

“Ugh I know I’m not supposed to move you but…” The man groaned. “You’re gonna be in a lot of pain so grit your teeth.”

“A stability spell should not be too hard to conjure.” Komaeda wondered if reminding this man of magic would help him get some of his courage together.

The man froze and he looked at Komaeda curiously before shaking his head. “I’d...rather not touch my magic.” He said and Komaeda found it odd. Odd in a way that it was rather funny. Perhaps the blood loss was getting to him, but he giggled at the sentence. “Yeah yeah I heard it all before. Now I don’t feel so bad doing this.”

He picked Komaeda up as though he weighed nothing more than a feather. Komaeda was well aware that his weight was heavier than such and wondered if the man before him was one of the rare ones that could only magic a spell at a time. It would make sense that he would save a healing spell for someone that had more of a pool of magic than he did. He bit back pained noises as he was jostled while they headed away from the darkness of the city.

“What were you doing down at Gilded Way?” The man finally prodded.

“Ah is that what that side of the city is called?” Komaeda asked, trying to put it in his memory so he could at least call it a name. “I was trying to find a place to sleep, but must have lost my way.”

“You decided to see if you could just keep going straight.” The man sounded as though he was rolling his eyes. Komaeda tried to focus his vision, but pain was blurring everything to bright colors and dark shadows. He could still make out the red of his eye and the brown of his other one. “How about we don’t let you go down that way again.”

Komaeda let out a shrill laugh. “What do you think that I would go down there willingly? Sometimes my feet just carry me to places and I go with whatever luck that follows. Will it be bad luck? Or will it be good luck? So far I am grateful that my luck has been kind to me.”

“I wouldn’t really call this good luck here.” The man argued. “You’re stabbed twice, you must have lost a lot of blood if you’re this delirious. You got punched in the face."

“Ah so that is why my jaw hurts when I talk.” The man let out a frustrated noise that Komeda found endearing. The bright aura that surrounded him hadn’t diminished at all, and it made Komaeda grin. What

to be found by him. “For someone that speaks so negatively, I am shocked that you hold so much hope within you.”

“Yeah. You said that the first time.”

“My apologies, I know that I can be quite a handful and a bother. I should have told you earlier, but I did not mind if you just left me there. I know that I-”

“Please don’t make me drop you to prove a point.” The man sounded as though a cat was being strangled in his throat. The way his voice cracked and suddenly went high was a little startling to Komaeda. He hadn’t been thinking that his “hope” would also mean good will and charity.

Komaeda decided that it was in his best interest to not say a word now. Less for thinking that the man would get upset with him, but more of it was getting harder to see and he was starting to feel drained from the fight. He could attempt to use his magic, he supposed, to help out a little, but his luck already took most of that away. The shock of pain and the agony of his head easily forced magic to feel more nauseous and it was hard to call it forth. Knowing that he was later going to have to give a proper apology, he allowed himself to go limp in his savior’s arms.

It’d just be his luck if the man turned out to be more despair than hope.

                                                              X

A soothing scent of lavender and vanilla gently greeted his nose before the smell of cooking meat and a sound of sizzling graced his other senses. He could feel a heavy weight on his body and the feeling of silk against his skin. Komaeda’s eyes fluttered open and he was surprised to see himself in a room. It was clean of clutter. The curtains and windows were open to encourage a breeze to come through the room. The fresh air was a welcomed friend and he felt more energized and rejuvenated the day prior.

He noticed that someone had changed his clothes for him. A white linen shirt and pants were on him and he could feel tight bandages around his chest. Was he in a home of a traditional healer? He knew some magic users had a strict belief that magic should only be used when the situation was dire. If he was in the home of such people, well, that would explain why that man’s aura was so bright with hope!

The door opened and Komaeda felt a flush rise to his cheeks. The man in question was...beautiful. The aura hadn’t diminished in the slightest and if anything made him appear to be angelic. He had messy brown hair with a stubborn cowlick that looked like a hook. He was well built like someone who was a farmer or had to do a lot of physical labor. He dressed sharply with dark brown pants, a loosely fitted white inner tunic, and a deep green vest that was tied together by two belts. There was a sword that hung on his hip and a carrying pouch.

If anything, Komaeda could believe that this man was a traveler once himself. “Good, you’re awake. I thought you died, but Tsumiki told me that it was just from blood loss. She got upset with me that I didn’t carry any potions to help keep you from getting that way. Sorry.”

“No. My luck was that you were just in time to get me out of the situation.” Komaeda grinned.  “If anything I should be apologizing to you. Fainting on you like that had not been my intention.”

“Well...don’t think that’s your fault, but I’ll let you have this one. You’re a weird man, talking about luck like that.”

“Ah I am told that I am a bit strange.” Komaeda replied wistfully as he watched the man stride into the room. “So am I going to get the name of my savior or am I forever doomed to come up with a name for you myself?”

“Hinata. Hinata Hajime.” Hinata said.

His name reminded Komaeda of flowers that could endure a harsh winter and bloom strong and prettily in the summer. “Well, my name is Komaeda Nagito. It is wonderful to meet you.”

“Sorry that it had to be you almost dying.” Hinata said, and Komaeda laughed. “Tsumiki’s busy making breakfast, and she told me to tell you that even though your wounds are healed and she thinks you’re okay, she wants to keep an eye on you. I told her that you got punched in the face, and head injuries are no laughing matter. Even with detection spells and healing waves, an injury to the brain can appear miniscule only to be a serious matter later.”

“Ah I understand. So I am here for awhile.” Komaeda sighed, “Oh, what luck. Well, I suppose that means I get to enjoy the city for a little longer.”

“Enjoy? If anything, you should be planning a way to get out of here. You wouldn’t last long if you decide to stick around.” Hinata frowned.

“For someone with amazing hope, you certainly lack a lot of faith.” Komaeda mused.

Hinata stared at him for a moment. Komaeda wondered if he lost him. It would be a shame, but...not everyone understood. Sometimes Komaeda didn’t want them to try. “Who are you, Komaeda?”

“I am me.” Komaeda replied and he watched as Hinata’s expression twisted into one of frustration. It was almost cute, but Komaeda knew that if he wanted to survive, he was going to have ease up on the teasing. “Forgive me, I could not help that. I suppose you will have to be more specific on what you want to know, Hinata.”

Hinata pursed his lips together. “You talk about luck and hope a lot.”

“I do.” Komaeda agreed easily. “What about them?”

“Why do you hold them in such regard?”

“Ah. One is a curse I am afraid. Always bound to be a cycle of bad and good. What good will come, bad shall follow and what bad shall come, good shall follow. It has always been that way for me. My parents were firm in the belief that my curse was my blessing, but...well...I know a lie when I see one. They knew it was a curse too. My mother tried to steer clear away from me. Only talking to me when I was located in another room. My father could not bear the sight of me. It was a hard life, but...they had met their demise at the hands of a carriage accident during the night. The fires of the horseman’s torches caught them on fire. The horses and the horseman and the other couple inside the other carriage managed to escape. My parents were trapped inside and burned alive. A terrible ending, but on the good luck side, I came across an inheritance and I now am free to travel where I wish.”

Komaeda looked over to see that Hinata had grabbed a chair when he was talking and had pulled it to his bedside. His legs were crossed and he kept his posture open and inviting towards him. Despite the casual appearance, there was a conflict that was playing on Hinata’s face. If Komaeda didn’t know any better, he would say that Hinata was warring with the need to feel pity and the need to stomp that down as fast as he could as there was no need for it anymore.

What won apparently was another question. “What about the aura of hope?”

“Oh! Hope?!” Komaeda beamed brightly and he grinned as Hinata looked as though he was starting to regret asking. “Hope is...a shining future that is just waiting right outside the horizon, Hinata. It can bring so much joy and fruitation to a desperate situation. Hope is going to be the ending of the cloud of despair that lingers over our hearts and minds. Not to mention the physical entity of said cloud!”

“The Cloud of Despair?” Hinata echoed before something clicked. “Oh. You...are a traveler so I guess you wouldn’t really know huh?”

“Know?” Komaeda blinked.

“The Cloud of Despair isn’t going to appear here.” Hinata said and held his hand up before Komaeda could respond. “....Actually now that...I think about it…” He looked at Komaeda carefully. “You...look kind of familiar to me.”

“Really? I cannot imagine why. I have never seen you before.” Komaeda mused thoughtfully. “I would remember such a sparkling hope and you yourself if we had met.”

“Okay, besides my aura, there’s literally nothing special abou-” Hinata broke himself off. “Okay no, you’re right. It’s just not something I’d like to...address.”

“I understand, we all have our secrets. Though I must say, your eyes are very unique.” The jolt of surprise was amusing and Komaeda grinned at the small blush that was appearing on Hinata’s cheeks. Maybe it was a little rude to flirt with his savior, but he couldn’t help it. Hinata made it easy to tease.

Before they could continue the conversation, Tsumiki came in bearing a tray in her hands for a fine breakfast display. Her hope wasn’t as big or as bright as Hinata’s, but there was still a shining glimmar that made Komaeda excited. His luck definitely had turned from bad to good, and he knew to expect the downward swing at some point. She was a beautiful woman with a timid personality, just from the way she was so careful to set the tray down in front of him. Her hair was cut unevenly and she had such kind eyes. “I ho-hope you’re, um, you’re not over exerting yourself. You still nee-need to res-rest.” She told him firmly. “Yo-you could have, uh, have died if Hi-hinata-kun didn’t thi-think to come t-to me.”

“I am very grateful that Hinata even decided to burden himself with the likes of me to begin with, Tsumiki-san.” Komaeda agreed wholeheartedly. “Just as I am very grateful to you for giving me such fine food. I would have been happy with just a piece of bread.”

The horror that was painted on their expressions was a little alarming. Komaeda struggled to figure out what he said that was wrong. Hinata and Tsumiki exchanged a look and he watched as tears started to form at the edges of her eyes. His stomach plummeted a good few inches down his body, basking his veins in a ice cold wash.

“Pl-please don’t s-say that.” Tsumiki pleaded. “Yo-you are-aren’t a bur-burden. I-I kno-know that if yo-you are then I ce-certainly am one too.” Her voice cracked a little. “Yo-you need to eat.” She said firmly before leaving the room.

“Did I...say something wrong?” Komaeda asked, looking over at Hinata.

“I think it’s less that you said something wrong, and more like you believe it.” Hinata said after a moment. Komaeda wasn’t certain what Hinata was trying to say. “You have...an interesting way to look at the world Komaeda.”

Komaeda just grinned. “So I have been told.”

                                                              X

Underneath Tsumiki’s strict gaze and Hinata’s constant company, Komaeda healed incredibly well. There were no scars to showcase the incident, and his headaches were less than none. Of course, where there was good luck, bad luck was certain to follow. One night, with Hinata out of the room, Tsumiki checked him over one final time before clearing her throat. Komaeda gave her all of his attention. “I...don’t….know ho-how to tell you this but…” Tsumiki looked nervous. “It was proba-probably a good th-thing Hinata-kun ca-caught you whe-when he di-did.”

“Oh? I know that my luck can be good and bad, but pray tell why is this such a fortunate experience?” Komaeda questioned.

“Ther-there is a sickness tha-that is going th-through you right no-now. I th-though that my po-potions were defe-defective and I had to ask a frie-friend to te-test them. Your blood is attacking each other...attacking you.” Tsumiki clasped her hands together worriedly. “There is an a-abnormality in your bo-body that is….going to qui-quit functioning.”

“I see. So that was my bad luck.” Komaeda mused. “How long would you say I have to live?”

“I don’-don’t know.” Tsumiki admitted, tears starting to slip down her cheeks. Komaeda felt his own heart break in sympathy. It had to be so hard for her to give such bad news, but for her to stay firm with it….that was extremely hopeful. Maybe there was no cure, and Komaeda was going to live with a body that would be broken down, but...the hope she was shining through was enough for him to be satisfied. “Ye-years? Tw-two at the mo-most.”

Two years. Komaeda took a breath in and let it out slowly. Two years. Well, there was not time like the present to actually start making a bucket list, he believed. Besides, knowing his luck, he would outlive the two year diagnosis only to die maybe ten years later, or if misfortune was to befall him...he wouldn’t even see the next sunrise. “Do you know what might’ve caused it?”

“Al-all I can th-think of is you we-were in the mid-middle of the des-despair cloud.” Tsumiki fidgeted nervously with her hands, trying to gather her courage to tell him such an awful story. Komaeda couldn’t remember being anywhere near a despair cloud, but...if what she was said was true, then perhaps that was how it happened. “Hin-hinata-kun thinks so any-anyway. He’s cer-certain he sa-saw you there. I did-didn’t tell him yo-you we-were sick. I to-told him th-that you we-were exhi-exhibiting sym-symptoms of a ba-bad head injury. Wh-which is true!”

“Saw me there?” Komaeda echoed. “Did Hinata somehow defeat a despair cloud?”

“Th-that’s no-not my story.” Tsumiki immediately backpedaled and Komaeda didn’t press her for more information. This was truly a twist in the story that Komaeda didn’t see coming. How fascinating to hear that such a strong ray of hope had defeated, no was a part of a despair cloud! How intriguing! He was going to have to see if he could grab Hinata alone and badger him to lay the story to him. After all, Komaeda told him his stories. It was only fair for an even trade. “Pl-please do-don’t force Hina-hinata-kun to te-tell it. He st-still has nigh-nightmares.”

Komaeda blinked at the admission. “It is okay, Tsumiki-san. I will not hurt him. I promise. I will steer clear from the topic for as long as I possibly can. If he brings it up himself, I will not stop him.”

“Th-that is fair.” Tsumiki agreed, her shoulders finally relaxing from their tensed up state. “I sh-should let you get some rest.”

The conversation from that night was still fresh in his memory as Hinata walked with him through the city. Komaeda didn’t have any qualms telling Hinata of his limited time, and decided that if he was going to be a part of the city, it was best to start showing his gratitude. Which meant Tsumiki sending them on quests and chores. Some of it was relatively easy. With Komaeda’s luck and Hinata’s fast conversation, they were able to bargain for what they needed. Sometimes, luck was not on their side and they would have to go forge. Which unfortunately was today’s plan.

“It’s so weird.” Hinata grumbled as they walked, heading away from the bustling streets of different people trying to get to places. Komaeda could hear the haggling prices of the vendors and of the customers going back left to right. The city during the day was definitely more lively and colorful.

Unlike before when he first entered, Komaeda noticed that there were some flags that were hung on buildings that were pitch black with an intricate magic symbole dyed in red. He wasn’t sure if it was the city kids idea or not, but there was a hamster face in the middle of these circles that baffled and amused Komaeda endlessly. He didn’t have the heart to ask too many questions, as the knowledge wasn’t going to do him much good anyway. However, he had to turn his attention back to Hinata after realizing that he spoke. “Hm? What is weird?”

“That the town has run out of lavender. That’s one of the most common ingredients for healing magics and potions. I just can’t wrap my head around the shortage is all. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to get out of the city and actually be away from people, but still. Just weird.” Hinata explained.

“Hinata has not told me much about himself, but you do not like the city much. Were you a country boy?” Komaeda asked curiously.

Hinata made a soft clicking noise. “No, I definitely lived in a city too. I guess when you’re...forced out into the wilderness, you begin to appreciate what nature can give.”

“I would never take you to be a druid in training.” Komaeda commented.

“Shut up. I’m not.”

“Oh? You spoke like a druid just now. These cities are ruining my nature and I do not appreciate it.” Komaeda mocked, causing Hinata to snort in laughter.

“Okay maybe I did sound a little bit like that, but you get it, don’t you? You travel.”

“Ah but I’m not one to go around preaching to people about nature versus society.” Komaeda teased. “I am not that confrontational.”

“No you’d be the type to know exactly what was happening, but let everyone else suffer because why not.” Hinata agreed.

“I am almost insulted.” Komaeda gripped his chest mockingly. How long has it been since he had freely been able to banter with another person? A deep pang in his heart reminded him that Hinata most likely belonged to Tsumiki. Getting his hopes up that he could be offered more was just...asinine. Not to mention the death that was slowly lingering behind his back now, would put a damper on all of their moments.

A bittersweet taste, if Komaeda was so keen to say it.

“Can’t be insulted by the truth though, Ko.”

But moments like these ones, Komaeda was eternally grateful for. “Perhaps it is my turn to ask you a question, if I may ask.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow at him before his attention was stolen. He waved to some of the guards as they headed towards the forked road. It would take them to the sun setting, so conversation would have to be easy. Tensed arguments made for poor travel companions, and Komaeda wanted to enjoy this journey as much as he possibly could. “Are you going to ask?” Hinata pressed.

“It is not my business, but I noticed that there is no ring on Tsumiki’s finger.” Komaeda said after a moment. “You are very close to her, and it just…”

“No. No. No. No. No.” Hinata immediately shot down, he didn’t speed up his pace thankfully nor was he throwing a fit about it. Komaeda was taken a little aback by the velmance that was in his tone. “Number one: Tsumiki-san is like my sister. I’ve known her for years and she’s been my friend since….” He trailed off. “Anyway, loving me would ruin her chances with the bard that sometimes comes by the city.”

“Oh, a summer romance! A fleeting love! No wonder her hope is always shining so brilliantly, I thought it was because of you!” Komaeda laughed, clapping his hands together. “How wonderful to hear that she has found something so grand!”

“......You are a lot more excited than I was.” Hinata admitted dryly.

“What was your reaction to her love if I may be so bold to ask?” Komaeda titled his head.

“That the bard probably has enough women climbing on top of her and that she probably only sees Tsumiki-san as a fling. Believe me, I ate those words almost immediately.” Hinata sighed. “But I thought it was a valid concern.”

“What is wrong with one night stands and loves that only last from the sun’s last rays to the dawn’s bright light?” Komaeda huffed softly. “I do not think you understand how romance works, Hinata.”

“I think I have a good idea how romance works. I just wouldn’t want it to last me a fucking I think I already got enough of those as is.” Hinata groaned. “People...like to think they want to know me and when they do...it’s never what they think.”

“I see. So you are the type with many broken loves. I am sorry to hear that. For your hope to be so bright, I had wondered.” Komaeda mused thoughtfully. “So if it is not a love life that makes you glow, what is your hope?”

“I don’t…” Hinata trailed off for a moment. “Komaeda, a question for you instead.”

“I do not mind.” Komaeda gestured lightly. “Go on and ask.”

“How are you able to see hope’s aura? Have you always been able to see it?” Hinata said slowly.

“Hmm.” Komaeda mused thoughtfully. There was a smell of rain that was lingering on the air, despite that there were no clouds that were rolling across the sky. The sun’s warmth that usually was hot and would redden skin was subdued, shrinking away from the earth as though winter was fast approaching. He wondered if someone was trying to do a weather spell. Usually it was inadvisable, when if it was a child who was just learning how magic worked well...a sudden downpour wouldn’t be too bad. Though a tornado would definitely be the worst outcome. “You know now that you mention it, I do not recall the first time.”

“Really?” Hinata blinked.

“No. I do not think I have always been able to see it. I know there was no hope around my mother or father.” Komaeda mused. “Hmm. I know that seeing it around people is rare. There are few people in this world that could actively claim that they are indeed part of hope. They can have hope, do not misunderstand me, but...to actively embody it? It tells a story. A story of a lot of agony, of great loss. Depression.”

Hinata looked away, and Komaeda noticed that there was a furrow that was pinched between his brows. His lips were grimly set in a thin line, and Komaeda kind of wished that he could take back his words, if only his companion would be more at ease.

“Hinata told me that we met before.” Komaeda said slowly. “And I told you once that you and I could not have. As I would have remembered an aura as bright as yours.”

“Yeah. I remember that conversation.”

“Tell me your memory?” Komaeda asked softly. “Share me your vision of me?”

“Version of you? What? Like you’re some type of dream?” Hinata grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled them both to a stop. He yanked so that Komaeda had no choice but to look at him. His different colored eyes blazing with the same type of defiance. “I knew you weren’t a dream.”

“Hahaha. I am truly sorry for upsetting you like that, Hinata.” Komaeda held his hands out in a kind surrender. He hadn’t meant to rile him up. Maybe this was what Tsumiki meant when she pleaded not to bring it up. “We can drop the-”

“I remember you in the Despair Cloud because you were the one that had that aura first.” Hinata immediately cut through. Komaeda felt his breath hitch and he lowered his hands slowly. “You were so torn between...you were called Servant at the time. I was called Izuru. I was considered to be the Despair Cloud’s only hope.”

“I do not-”

“You had a choice. I let you make it. It was a risk that I had to take but you were the only one that could make it. All of us who were in the Despair Cloud had done some terrible,

things and I told you once... I told you as Izuru that there was a chance for hope to shine. I told you to prove to me hope wasn’t boring.”

“I-”

“You pushed all of us out of the cloud. We all scattered like winds to different cities and countries. Slowly we started to band together again, a healing mess.” Hinata grabbed his hand. Komaeda felt as though the world had just been ripped from underneath him. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer this. “Some of us lost our memories of the time of the cloud. Some of us remember it so well we still can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. Some of us abandoned our magic in hopes that we’ll never be hunted. In hopes that we’ll never be sought out. The bard that I spoke of? She was one of us.”

“A bard? What could a ba-”

“She was one of our best ones. She could make music that forced people’s ears to bleed. She would mock them for not being able to handle her style. Paired with the dancer’s ability to hypnotize people into a trance and make them dance themselves to death, you had a hell of a duo. It was ironic that instead of falling for a dancer, the bard in question fell for a healer that used her magic as a warlock instead. She used to be covered in bandages, but now she’s able to walk around without feeling the taint.” Hinata continued.

Komaeda was entranced by the story that Hinata was weaving. All of it sounded so far out there, so false, that it was hard to keep a straight head around it. At the same time however, Komaeda could feel a scratching at the back of his brain, a seeping memory that begged to come through. A face marked with symbols that obscured his features along with a collar and a chain that went with it. Servant indeed.

He carefully dislodged his hand from Hinata’s cool grip. The wind picked up slightly and he could feel the cool breeze rush across his skin and play against his hair. He looked over at Hinata and saw the storm clouds rolling close towards them. The scent of rain was heavy on the sky and they had nowhere to take shelter.

He wondered if it was truly weather magic, or if something else was on the brink of happening. Meeting Hinata had been the best luck Komaeda could ever be given, but now he was hearing that not only had they met, they had met twice. Once in a form of a despair cloud.

“I wish I could say I remember.”

“I’m glad otherwise.” Hinata shook his head. “It means better memories. We should continue. We’re going to get rained on.”

“There is a way to make it so that the rain bounces off of you, Hinata.” Komaeda reminded.

“Remember how I said some of us abandoned our magic? I’m one of them.”

“You truly are a strange man. You think that magic can taint you?” Komaeda asked curiously.

“I don’t want to be trapped in another despair cloud.”

“Ah so you do not know how despair clouds work!” Komaeda laughed. “Well, it does not matter. Magic or not, your hope is as bright as the sun when it is high in the sky. I have no qualms that one day I will see you use your magic once again.”

Hinata shook his head fondly. “That may be a while.”

Komaeda thought about the time that he no longer had. He thought about Hinata and how they must have met before. He wanted those memories back but at the same time he wanted to be around that ever glowing up that was around him. “So then I suppose I stay until you do.” He decided after a moment.

“It can be a long time.”

Maybe luck would be his final irony. If the day Hinata shows his magic would be the day that he was to perish. It would be a nicer ending than the ones he was thinking of. “I believe I can wait.”

                                                           X

The rain starved off until they reached the way station just at the mouth of the forest. The thunder rolled across the sky, and the first drops fell into a downpour. The dirt path that led through the thicket was flooded. There was no feasible way for the two of them to try to climb out of the way station and continue on their journey; the mud alone would be a heavy hindrance to their legs. Despite the bad luck of rain, Komaeda and Hinata’s good luck was that someone had been wise enough to restock the station. While it was common courtesy to do so for travelers, Komaeda’s experience had led him to believe it was somewhat rare for someone to remind others that would come after.

The chill of the rain made Hinata huddle close to the fire, and instinctively draw himself closer to Komaeda. Not that Komaeda was complaining. He rested his head against Hinata’s, giving into the lullaby of the raindrops and the soft thunder that drummed above them. On impulse, and for whatever reason instinct, Komaeda brought his arm around Hinata’s shoulders and tugged him a little closer, trying to provide more warmth to him and in the fire.

“You said I didn’t know how the despair cloud works.” Hinata murmured after a while, breaking the silence of the waystation. The cackling of the fireplace echoed the statement. Hinata threw another twig half-heartedly into the fire. The flames caught to the end, swallowing the offering as though hungry for more.

Komaeda stared at the flames for a moment. “A despair cloud,” Komaeda said after a moment, rubbing gentle circles on Hajime’s shoulder, “is not about tainting your magic, Hinata.” The long pause was broken by another drum of thunder. “It is about what you fear inside your soul, and having it push out to the surface. Magic has nothing to do with the despair cloud. You can be the most-”

“Ordinary person in the world.” Hinata agreed. “But you can get your magic from the despair cloud.”

“Oh, now that I was not sure of. I never heard of anyone getting their magic from a despair cloud.” Komaeda mused. “So that is the actual reason why you don’t use it. It was a gift given to you from despair. Oh, but look at how much of a hopeful aura you have! I will not pressure you to use your magic if you do not want to, Hinata. But you have to admit, you have something amazing.”

“No I...am aware. Tsumiki wants to heal and so she’ll use her magic to heal. Mioda wants to play her music and Saijoni wants to dance. Who am I to tell them to stop?” Hinata shook his head. “Their powers were all enhanced by the despair cloud. We can only strive to make sure that it doesn’t...ruin us.”

“Hmm.”

“Servant though, you….” Hinata trailed off. “You told me it was luck.” He looked at Komaeda. “Is your luck magic based?”

“I never understood it.” Komaeda tried not to shrug so that he didn’t disturb Hinata too much. “I just know it is a blessing and a curse. How...close were you to Servant?”

“Why do you ask?”

Komaeda wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The orange and red glow of the fireplace casted a familiar facade on Hinata’s face. If he had longer hair, Komaeda was certain he would be able to determine for sure if his memory was false or accurate. For now, the rain continued to try to lure them into a slumber, and the entrance to the waystation was pitched black as a cave. “Because I feel as though you miss him.”

“I’d rather miss you.” Hinata shrugged. “I know that we only spoke when you were in bed and you were probably dying to go outside, and I also know that first meeting...that was a terrible introduction but...I want to miss you.” He paused. “I know why you’re sick. Everyone in the despair cloud didn’t just get gifted with magic or enhanced with magic. Everyone carries some sort of scar from it.”

“I see.” Komaeda murmured. “Then, pray tell, what is your curse?”

“....I’m literally two people, Komaeda, in one body. I’m both Izuru.” He slowly got up from his shoulder, and Komaeda found himself missing the warmth and the comfort. Hinata turned to face him, covering his green eye. The red alone was enough to send shivers down Komaeda’s spine, and remind him that it was cold outside. The rain’s soft mist that gently managed to carry itself into the shelter was enough of a reminder. “I’m also Hinata Hajime.” He covered the red eye and the green reminded him of the rolling hills that lead to home. “Izuru remembers you. I know we never met.”

“So that is why you have the memory that I do not.” Komaeda mused thoughtfully. “I do not think Izuru had much of an opinion of me.”

“He thinks everything’s a bore, yes.” Hinata said, not at all afraid to shame his other side. Komaeda watched as Hinata brought himself close. “But I have an opinion of you. I think you think too lowly of yourself.”

“Hahah. Oh, you are certainly going to hate me then if you decide for some reason I am your chosen one.” Komaeda snorted.

“Not understand you, maybe.” Hinata corrected. “But I don't think you could get me to hate you Komaeda. Not when I’ve massacred a good amount of towns in the name of despair, and had you by my side watching it.”

“And now you wish for me to watch by your side for hope.” Komaeda mused. “Despite that, I myself may not live that long.”

“Or you could.” Hinata shrugged.

“Or I could.” Komaeda agreed after a moment, remembering that he thought of seeing Hinata’s magic, and how it would be ironic if it was the last thing in his sights. It sounded about right. “My luck is a curse, Hinata. It can bring you harm.”

“My magic wouldn’t let me die because of it.” Hinata shook his head. “I know that’s hard to believe, but the truth is the truth. I’m not going to force you though, Komaeda. I know I’m asking a lot of you after just a week or two knowing you. Even if nothing of it comes from it, I like us to remain friends.”

“Friends first.” Komaeda agreed. “If you can handle my luck and all of the ups and the downs that come with it, then we may talk about standing by each other’s side. Closer than that. Though, in my honesty, Hinata, you make it hard for me to be rational and say no.”

“Impulses suck.” Hinata shrugged and Komaeda laughed softly. “Let’s do something in the city that doesn’t require you to get stabbed and talk more. Maybe Mioda would be there and you can hear her sing.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. First, however, the lavender.”

“....Yeah Tsumiki would slaughter me if I forgot.”

Komaeda’s laugh echoed with the rain.

[blothshedder]

▬ @no-file​

Like a flowing river, they persisted. From one hunt to the next, slatra after slatra in the name of the Allfather. One could misinterpret them as aimless but, no. Their path had already been determined by the gods and they merely walked it unrelenting.

Bounty hunting could have been deemed a downgrade after their participation in the games, the hunts prior to that. And, in a way, the tracker could relent and agree to some degree. Bounty hunter was not always an occupation paved with honor, often times a pitfall marred with the very opposite. But, it was an occupation of CHOICE and so one could still very well CHOOSE to be honorable.

Hound did not hunt that which could not fight back. There was no honor in shedding the bloth of something defenseless. But this being, could very well fight back and they intended to draw quite the fight from this bounty should the gods bless them with such an opportunity. A velafolk located on a slum portion of the planet Coruscant: an environment easy enough to slip to and fro with ease and little detection—from the general populus. Bloodhound was not of the normal people.

Their technology was able to pick up on a unique enough heat signature wandering the lower streets and the tracker all but shot from around the corner to deliver a very sturdy and aggressive kick to the other's chest. Bloodhound did not immediately follow up, very deliberately giving their opponent—they're prey—ample time to gain some sense of what was happening.

Their knife pulled free, it was twisted gracefully in their grasp from a frontward hold to a more defense-ready reverse-grip. "It is your honor to fight me this day, may the gods bless you."

[i-went-to-a-cuddle-party-once]

Dance, Dance

Summary: Jessica makes Teen Malcolm go to a dance. He makes the best of a bad situation.

Warnings: Not many? Bullying and people being jerks. Some cursing. 

A/N: So I wrote this a few weeks ago and then forgot to post it and when I looked at it today to make any edits I ended revamping the whole dang thing because Why Not!

He sat in the leaned back chair while the esthetician rubbed yet another lotion on his face. He huffed and wished he was literally anywhere else in the world.

"Can you at least pretend to be enjoying this Malcolm? You're having a spa day, not being tortured by the Spanish inquisition."

"It's not exactly my form of relaxation mother. If you wanted to pamper someone you should have brought Ainsley," he replied through grit teeth.

"There, all done." The woman awkwardly smiled at both of them before leaving the room.

"Usually I would have," she returned her attention to her son," but I needed to get you ready for the dance."

"The what?"

"The dance. Malcolm we talked about this. I allowed you to buy that sword from the auction and you agreed to go to a social event of my choosing." He cradled his head in his hands. It was a nice katana, 15th century, great condition and it looked gorgeous on his bedroom wall.

"Don't touch your face sweetheart, you'll undo all the hard work she did. We can't have you breaking out before the big day!" She squealed with excitement and Malcolm felt himself die a little on the inside.

…

"I don't even go to that school. Or any school! I won't know anyone." They sat at the dinner table hours later, the arguments end nowhere in sight. Ainsley was practically glowing with the endless amount of fuel for teasing that had come along with all the preparations for the dance.

"That's the point, Malcolm. You don't know anyone. Anywhere. You don't socialize!" She set her fork gently down, staring daggers at her son.

"I talk to Gil all the time! And Jackie! And you and Ainsley. And-"

"Don't you dare say his name and ruin our good day," Malcolm slouched in his chair sulking, "Gil and Jackie don't count and you live with Ainsley and I. Although I still wouldn't count what little interaction you grace us with as socializing." She wiped the nonexistent crumbs from her face with a cloth napkin.

"I haven't even told you the most exciting part yet. I got you a date!" Malcolm's mouth hung open, completely speechless, and Ainsley burst into laughter.

…

He had given up on begging and bargaining and had settled into a state of acceptance. Hair carefully combed new suit on, corsage in hand. He sat stock-still next to his mother in his date's living room. His mother spoke animatedly with the girl's parents and Malcolm tried his hardest to remember what Gil had told him.

Of course, he was happy for him. Both Jackie and Gil squealed with the same sort of joy his mother had when she told him about the dance and date. None of them seemed to understand the embarrassment that stemmed from having your mother procure a date for you.

"Just try to enjoy yourself kid. You don't even have to dance. Although I do recommend it," he heard Jackie giggling in the background and could imagine Gil had taken her in his arms, twirling her around.

"Make your own fun. And please, be safe. Call me if you need me to get out of there." He kept the thoughts in his mind wishing he could call Gil now when his date finally joined them in the living room.

They made a handsome pair. Ashley and Malcolm. He could see his mother planning their wedding already. Her parents and his mother enjoyed themselves arranging the two of them for pictures like they knew each other and hadn't just met two minutes earlier.

She was pretty. Her blonde hair was piled into an intricate updo, dark blue eyes staring him down and a dangerous smile that made his stomach do flips that had nothing to do with attraction. She was deadly. The same type of girl that had bullied him mercilessly until he had begged his mother to allow him to be homeschooled.

He knew other boys his age would die to go on a date with a girl like her but all he saw was someone who could be paid off to go on a date with a complete stranger.

After what felt like a lifetime they finally left the house in a limo. The drive to the dance was excruciating. He hated small talk. Hated false pleasantries. They sat in silence. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair, something he'd promised his mother he wouldn't do.

There was something that he knew inexplicably. Despite his temperament, odd interests, and father he was handsome and if he wanted to be he could be very charming. He swallowed his nerves before beginning his performance.

He looked up at his date, catching her eye with a flutter of his eyelashes before smiling shyly. She took the bait and gave him her full attention.

"I know this night probably isn't what you were hoping for. My mother sprung the whole idea on me three days ago. Though I can't say I'm entirely disappointed," he eyed her carefully knowing he'd done well when a slight blush crawled across her cheeks and a hint of a smile touched her lips.

"I only agreed to this because my mom owed your mom a favor. And I broke up with my boyfriend two weeks ago and didn't have a date and I was not going by myself." He laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard before shifting to sit closer to her.

"I highly doubt you would have a hard time finding a willing date." She giggled and he ignored the feeling that this was a bad idea.

...

The venue was just as loud as he had expected, music blaring from what felt like every direction. Ashley grabbed his hand in her own and pulled him in, quickly finding her friends and introducing him. He laughed when appropriate and smiled his wide alluring smile. He was clever and told jokes and when Ashley pulled him to the dance floor he danced without protest. He despised every moment of it.

He was only half paying attention when it happened. Half his mind was elsewhere, still trying to weigh if keeping his katana was worth all of this mess. It was the sharpness of his date’s voice that brought his attention back to the moment.

"Look, it's crying," She laughed, "I didn't know lower life forms had feelings." He looked to the girl her words were aimed at, tears and mascara already running down her face.

"What, you thought some cheap makeup and a store-bought dress could change the fact that you don't belong here? You're not Cinderella." His date and her friends laughed and he felt his anger rising.

"What the fuck is your problem," he was standing and the words were falling from his mouth before he could think to stop them. "I knew you were a spoiled brat who thinks that money is a replacement for a personality but I guess I was wrong," he clapped "you're a spoiled brat and an asshole who thinks they can get away with saying anything because mommy and daddy never had had the guts to tell you no." Ashley stared at him in shock before ripping her corsage off.

"This date is over," she stomped away, friends in tow eyeing him.

"Thank God, if I had to listen to another minute of your incessant rambling I was going to jump out of a window," he called back to her.

He looked to the other girl, her shoulders hunched and shaking. He guided her to an exit and watched her sit on the sidewalk before taking a seat on the pavement next to her.

"Thanks," her voice cracked. "I guess that's what I get for attempting to have one glamorous night. I know I'm not blonde and rich like her but does she have to be so obnoxious about it?" She looked down at herself with anger. "Not that all rich people are bad," she added taking a quick glance at him before blushing. He laughed his first genuine laugh of the night.

"No, I think we're all pretty terrible. Myself included." She chuckled and accepted the hankie he handed to her.

"Holy shit I didn't know rich people actually carried these. Is it sanitary?" He laughed again.

"I swear it's clean." He watched her wipe her tears and pull a compact from her bag before groaning at her reflection.

He tried not to stare but allowed himself to look at her, convincing himself that he was just trying to make sure she was okay. Her hair was in tight curls and swung loosely around her shoulders. Brown eyes rimmed with red from crying. Crimson lipstick painted on her full lips slightly smudged. She sat more relaxed, anxiety leaving her position.

"My name is Jenae by the way, and you are?" She offered a hand to him. He shook it, trying and failing to ignore the way his skin tingled at her touch.

"Malcolm. I'm Malcolm."

…

They sat on the curb for over an hour talking. He explained to her how he got roped into the whole situation ("that's the stupidest fucking thing I've heard. God, boys are dumb.") and she explained her situation to him. She had been accepted to the school due to an outreach program offered to underprivileged students. She loved the school and extensive science department but loathed the snooty rich kids that filled its halls. She was glad to put it all behind her in a few years.

"Do you wanna get out of here and do something fun? I have a limo?" She raised an eyebrow and he realized how his words could be interpreted." Oh, oh, no. I didn't mean it like that. I meant like Ice cream or something!” she giggled at his stammering and he had another thought, “Although getting into a limo with a guy you just met probably isn’t the best idea either, huh. How about in a cop car?”

…

Gil was there in minutes despite living over a half-hour away. Malcolm would question him later about it but for now, he was just grateful for the man coming without questioning what happened to the limo and why he was now on a date with a completely different girl. He drove them to an ice cream parlor he had regularly taken Malcolm and Ainsley to when they were younger and stayed in the car while Malcolm and Jenae went in.

She teasingly stole his phone and saved her number to it so he could text her later and his heart skipped a beat. Later. She wanted to talk to him and see him on a night other than tonight.

"You'll be a great scientist, I mean you're already thriving amongst a bunch of single-cell organisms." She groaned at his joke before frowning.

"I should probably head home my Abuelita will ground me for life if I get home after midnight." He offered her a hand down from the stool she sat on and nearly tripped over his own feet when he realized that instead of letting go she had wound her fingers between his.

…

The drive to drop her off went faster then he wanted it to last, which was forever. His hand was sweaty and he was sure she noticed but he refused to be the first to let go.

"Do you have any plans next weekend," she asked, "there's this art show I was thinking of checking out."

"Yes!" He cleared his throat and glared at Gil who was chuckling in the front seat. "I mean yeah, that'd be cool. Just text me the details."

The pulled up in front of her apartment building he held the car door open for her. He watched her make her way up the stairs to the door before closing his eyes, leaning against the car and unabashedly grinning to himself.

"Hey, Malcolm?" He opened his eyes to find her standing closer than he expected and before he could reply she leaned toward him and softly kissed his cheek. She turned away from him and ran up the stairs and through the front door. He slid his way into the passenger's seat where he could feel Gil's eyes on him. He covered his blushing face with his hands.

"It looks like you had a good time."

"Shut up Gil," the older man snorted, started the car and drove into the night. "Do you think it's too soon to text her?"

[save-through-mercy]

Despicable Dad || Closed @laughthroughanotherday

One of the worst things about going home for Lancer was facing his father. There was no telling what kind of mood he would be in when he returned. And what was worse, he could flip his attitude on a dime. The game had touched on it a little, but really, it was even worse than his friends and the Player saw. At least during the story, he could see it coming... Tonight started like any other. He came home. Lesser Dad helped him with his homework. Dinner started, and Lancer started to babble about his day. He'd mentioned how Ralsei worried about the Dark World before. Only in passing, really, because the topic was somewhat boring. But today, Ralsei had gotten sick! And he'd fallen asleep in class! He had to go to the nurse's office and Seam had to come and pick him up!

When Lancer mentioned Seam coming to the school, the King shot a dirty look in Rouxls Kaard’s direction. “Is that where you ran off to in the middle of the day?” Rouxls said nothing. As much as his employer’s outbursts tended to frighten him, he’d found that the best tactic was to ignore the King until he absolutely couldn’t any longer. And he wasn’t at that point yet. The King growled and shook his head. “Damn waste of time. That kid really thinks he’s got what it takes to be a ruler? Pah. Pathetic.” 

Lancer's swinging legs slowed a little. "... He was really tired after school. He didn't even wake up when we visited him! But Kris and Seam said he's okay, so he'll probably be back at school soon."

The King grunted. “Well, the sooner he’s back in school, the less we have to worry about him trying to usurp the throne. Since I know that’s what he’s aiming for.”

Lancer's tongue stuck out a little. "... He's not trying to take the throne... He just wants to make everyone happy..."

“Oh, that’s what he wants you to think. And unfortunately, you just happen to be dumb enough to believe him!” Rouxls flinched, almost invisibly. 

Lancer shrank down a little, gaze flickering towards the floor. "... I..."

“Sire, please,” said Rouxls hesitantly. “There is no reason to—“ “Did I say you could talk?!” demanded the king, pounding one fist on the table.

Lancer flinched, biting down on his tongue softly. There was no mistaking it. His father was mad...

When Rouxls fell silent, the King turned his glare on Lancer. “Finish your dinner. Unless you want me to send you to bed without it for the next few days.”

Lancer started to eat again, not daring to meet his father's gaze. But he just couldn't leave things there... He whispered to himself, hoping with all his heart that his father wasn't listening to him anymore. "I'm not dumb... Ralsei's not tricking me... He's just nice... I'm not dumb..."

Unfortunately, when it came to his son, the King seemingly had super-sonic hearing. “WHAT did you say?!”

Lancer stiffened, eyes blowing wide. Oh no... Oh no, oh no, oh no...

The king shoved out his chair behind him. “Get over here, Lancer! Now!”

Shakily, Lancer slipped down from his chair, shuffling hesitantly over to obey his father.

The King reached down, seized Lancer’s chin, and jerked the boy’s head upwards. “Do you think that you know more than me?!”

Lancer did his best not to wince. "N-No, father..."

“What’s that? No?” challenged the King. “Then you didn’t disagree with what I said?”

"I-I..." He... Oh god, what did he say...?!

He raised his eyebrows. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me, would you...?”

"No...!" No, of course not!! ... but... wasn't it possible that he his father was smarter than him... but still wrong?

The King’s eyes flashed. “No what?!”

Lancer was starting to tremble a little. "No, f-father! I'm n-not lying...!"

“I think you are. In fact, you’re lying now...” His voice was low and dangerous.

Lancer shook in his place, not daring to run away, but desperate to be anywhere else. He didn't know what to say. What would fix this...?!

The King had been irritated all day, just looking for an excuse to fight...and now, his son had given him one. That quivering lip, those shaking knees...how was this pathetic creature his own progeny? He drew back his hand, not noticing that Rouxls Kaard immediately stood up.

Lancer recoiled softly, but didn't try to protect himself or run away. That would only make his father angrier... It was best to just... get it over with.

Whack. Normally, that would have eased a great deal of the King’s tension — but this time, he didn’t have a chance to relax. He heard a familiar voice call, “Stop.” Rouxls Kaard was standing up, trembling slightly...more from anger than from fear.

Tears welled in Lancers eyes, out of reflex rather than fear at the moment. But he didn't reach to rub or cover his stinging cheek. He didn't try to run. He'd hardly even stumbled back. His Lesser Dad's voice, however, had him nearly jump out of his skin. This... This had never happened before. This was new. Uncertain... Scary...

The King turned and flared over his shoulder, only to see Rouxls scrambling over towards them. “Will you stop it now! The child has done nothing to — oh...!” He was shoved in the chest, hard enough to send him sprawling across the ground; he slammed into the wall while the king sneered. “Well, well...when did you decide to grow a pair, my sweet little peach?”

Lancer gasped softly, trembles worsening to full-fledged shaking. Rouxls Kaard... He... If he was hurt...!

Rouxls pushed himself up quickly, mostly unhurt, but stunned into silence. Which was just how the King liked it. “Good,” he snorted. “Next time you try to play the noble parent, though, it’ll be worse. Much worse.” He snapped his cape and stormed out of the dining room, leaving Lancer and Rouxls to their own devices.

Lancer didn't know what to do now. Didn't know what to say... He stood frozen in place, terrified tears finally slipping free.

Rouxls slowly got ahold of himself, straightening out his jacket...before turning to Lancer. “Are you...ahem. Are thou all right...?”

"... I..." Lancer's voice was painfully quiet... and he couldn't seem to manage forming a coherent thought at the moment.

Rouxls knelt down to examine him, in particular the mark on his cheek...

Lancer flinched softly at his touch, a hiccupy little noise escaping him.

Rouxls snapped his hand back immediately. “H...have I hurt you...?”

... After a few moments, Lancer managed to shake his head, reaching to cover and wipe his eyes. No crying. No crying. His father would only be angrier if he saw...

Rouxls reached out to catch his hands. “I...I am sorry...I should have stopped him...”

Lancer shook his head quickly. "Y-You would'a got h-h-hurt..."

“But look — you have been hurt instead. How is that better?” ...he shook his head. “Let us put some ice on that bruise, Young Prince...”

He sniffled, not daring to object or argue.

Rouxls carefully picked the boy up, settling him on his hip...

Lancer clung to him softly, burying his face against his shoulder.

Rouxls started a little; he hadn’t expected that. He never expected it when Lancer did things like that... He got an ice pack from one of the Rudinns in the kitchen, then headed back to Lancer’s room.

Lancer didn't let go the entire time, his sniffles gradually becoming more and more frequent.

Rouxls was no good at this...he never knew what he should do in these kinds of situations... He ended up sitting down on the bed with Lancer in his lap, lightly pressing the boy’s cheek with the cold pack.

Lancer winced at the chill and the pain, but he didn't try to pull away. He was used to this kind of thing...

Still, Rouxls’ touch was relatively gentle. He wasn’t trying to inflict more pain, only to bring the swelling down...

Of course, Lancer knew as much... So he remained still for his Lesser Dad, still curled up against his side.

After a while, Rouxls drew the ice pack away. “It does not seemeth too bad...”

Lancer shook his head softly. It really wasn't all that bad. He'd only been hit once this time...

“Well. I shall not...alloweth him to get awayst with such things in the future...” His arm tightened slightly around Lancer.

Lancer blinked up at him, eyes owlish. "But... he'll hurt you..." Rouxls Kaard didn't have to put himself in danger. He was the king's employee, sure, but that didn't mean he would get beaten on a regular basis. Lancer, however... He was a child. He was weak. And he was his father's son. Always an available target... And everyone knew that if you got between the king and his object of fury, you were simply asking for trouble. So why...?

Rouxls shook his head. “No. Someone needs to show him that you are not there for him to use as a punching bag. And if no one else will stand up for you, then…well…I am the only one who can…"

But... then he'd just have two people to beat up... Lancer grew quiet though, not wanting to risk angering his Lesser Dad too with insistences and repeated questions.

So Rouxls said nothing more, simply keeping a tight, almost protective grip on Lancer...

Lancer kept hold of him the entire time, eventually nodding off in his arms.

And, once he realized that Lancer was asleep, he reached around to lay him down in bed...

There were a couple problems, though... One, Lancer's bike was in the way. And two, the boy's fingers caught softly in the fabric of his suit.

Rouxls sighed. Why did he always have to put the bike there...? He did his best to shove the bike onto the floor with his foot, all without bothering Lancer.

The wheels clattered and the horn honked softly, but thankfully Lancer was undisturbed...

So Rouxls was able to properly lay him down...

"... nn..." His eyes fluttered a little as his bruised cheek pressed against the pillow.

Rouxls quickly turned him so that the injured side of his head was facing upwards...

... Gradually, he settled, arms stretched to embrace something that was no longer there.

…Rouxls pulled back, stepping as quietly as possible — and narrowly avoiding stepping on the bike...

A good thing, really. Lancer treated that bike like his best friend. And the noise probably wouldn't have done either of them any favors anyway.

Maybe that was why he was always sleeping with it… Stifling a sigh, Rouxls wrapped his arms around himself and retreated towards his bedchambers, uncharacteristically silent.

Hopefully nothing more would come of this horrible evening... But knowing their luck, they were unlikely to get off so easy.

Knowing that, Rouxls found himself keeping a sharp ear out, rather than sleeping. If the King went on another rampage…well, he didn’t want to be oblivious, at the very least.

So the night passed by... and Lancer at least slept on, curled up in bed where he belonged.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 43

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 10. Go to previous. To to next. TWs: Trypo, mental break, unreality, tampered foodstuffs. Nearer, my God, to thee...

______________________________

‘Choly sat back at his desk in his townhouse, thinking over his errand. Thirty minutes before, over a morning drink that somewhat resembled a Blood Mary in spirit, ‘Choly and Olivia had discussed what she believed he’d need. She had offered up a few clips of .38 bullets, and a box of sharpened pencils which now soaked downstairs in coolant. The Mister Gutsies had tried to fit him with combat armor, but his infirm joints couldn’t even bear the helmet. When he’d refused grenades ‘to shuck the damn hermit crabs, if God forbid, you encounter any,’ Olivia had insisted upon tweaking one of Angel’s lasers to exhibit incendiary properties. She’d sworn fire was a crucial weapon for anyone traveling along the river.

She’d also voiced surprise that ‘Choly hadn’t sought to hash out compensation for the task. Whether he believed it or not, he coolly told her that sometimes, peace of mind is worth more than money.

He chewed at a fountain pen, with the map screen of his Pip-Boy pulled up. The night before, Angel had laid out his belongings in every room of the townhouse, including the office, which now included his typewriter, and also the deathclaw hand and bloodbug proboscis. The Handy had expressed revulsion over what it perceived as ‘dead weight’ and requested never again to carry pieces of corpses. He couldn’t entirely argue with the sentiment.

It was already eight. Provided they met no trouble along the way, the suggested route--to Voire, the Northeast Lowell location which Olivia had marked on his Pip-Boy map--wouldn’t take more than two hours each direction. He could be back on base before dark, if all the cards fell in his favor.

Olivia recommended traveling as light as possible, but something about the sentiment unsettled him in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. Was he reluctant to leave his belongings on base? No, it was the paranoia the Rust Devils would attack while he’s gone, and overwhelm Deenwood’s robotic defenses. He set his pen down to gripe at himself. In the event that happened, he should be more worried about Olivia and the base’s equity than his belongings. He’d lost almost everything in the pharmacy fire the week before. Leaving behind his belongings would posit a measure of his stability, an act of faith. There would be something to return to. Still, he insisted upon Angel keeping the history textbook and Merrick Index safe inside itself.

He committed to first aid and ammunition, a clipboard with pencil and paper, holotapes, cash and valuables in the event he had to barter, three MREs with utensils, and some water. ...And some liquor, in the event any of these folks weren’t the type to negotiate sober. He planned to take lunch once he arrived at the Sampas Pavilion, with the optimism to ply Sticks’s favor with the offer of a hot meal.

With his plan mostly cemented, he slipped on his visor and slung his syringer rifle to his back, the Nagant and his cane at his thigh, and the two headed out. No Rust Devils awaited their exit. He kept his .38 at the ready as they zipped down the two-lane street traveling West. Very few abandoned cars dotted the roads. Once they passed a schoolhouse, they turned North onto the residential thoroughfare. A mixture of Federal and Victorian architecture, with modest yard sizes, stretched both sides of the idyllic tree-swept road for some ways.

Demarcating Chelmsford from Lowell proper, they crossed the Route 3 overpass, of which a chunk the full width of one lane had fallen through. Commercial building strips sprang up intermixed with housing. The street dead ended, and they cut left along a street with an apartment complex to one side. Feral ghouls spilled out after them. Angel flew backwards to use its minigun attachment for the first time, and it successfully cut down easily half of them with one wave of bullets while still maintaining speed. The two knocked out enough of the ferals to outrun them by the time they passed the Hester’s Consumer Robotics. A bank lay at the corner of the next dead end, and they turned right to travel North again into another run of apartments and rowhouses.

“Ohh, that was almost too easy,” Angel sighed, still laughing. ‘Choly nearly didn’t hear it, his ears ringing from the rapid gunfire. He’d have to invest in ear protection, if he’d be relying on Angel using these new accessories with him atop it.

A Red Rocket came up on the right, and Lowell’s Super Duper Mart to the left. The memory of Lexington’s SDM jolted him.

“We can’t stop for groceries today,” he choked out. “Not even on the way back.”

“So be it. But don’t complain if dinner’s not to your liking.”

They passed a drugstore on the left before Rourke Bridge began, and ‘Choly absently deliberated if Walden Drugs had owned it. Crossing the bridge, Angel slowed between the two shoulderless high-barrier lanes to maneuver around the handful of vehicles that had rusted out with centuries of exposure directly above the Merrimack. ‘Choly glanced up and down river to either side of them, in awe that the river retained its idyllic beauty despite the scorched trees and demolished buildings which dotted its shores. The bridge dead ended opposite Claypit Brook Bowling Alley. They turned right onto the four-lane Pawtucket Boulevard.

By the time they passed a boathouse, they noticed they were being followed--or rather, chased. ‘Choly’s head whipped around to look behind when Angel fired its lasers at their pursuants, to find five very angry knuckle-walking finned creatures of unknown morphology.

“Angel--”

“I know, Sir--”

‘Choly shot at them, and they shot back--or rather, shot from their backs. One would stop to take aim, spread its arms out for support, and the tumescent growths mounded up from gaping pores in their back would fire off almost like mortar shells, to launch their larvae at the intruders. A larva connected and skittered up ‘Choly’s coat tails to try to chew up his neck, and he couldn’t get the too-many-legged crustaceanoid thing off him before it had gnawed the skin open. Behind them one of the adult creatures shrieked in fury at being lasered in the face.

The sound of glass shattering, and all the Merrilurks shrieking, distracted 'Choly from the pain, and the blood on his hand from the larva bite. He looked ahead of them to find a figure in faded gold longshoreman’s garb, chucking Molotov cocktails. Once the pursuants and pursued closed within range, the longshoreman took up his Flamer by both handles and unloaded a blast of gas-splatter and fire that struck both the chemist and the fish chasing him.

Disoriented and screaming, he fell off Angel. He rolled about the sand to put himself out once confident he was on the ground. He lay there panting for some time before the longshoreman approached and stood over him. The open lattice metal structure of the pavilion loomed behind ‘Choly’s head mere yards away. The longshoreman shoved the nozzle of the Flamer in ‘Choly’s face.

“The fuck is a Rust Devil doing wearing a... US army... uniform...?” The certainty washed from his coarse voice, and he dropped the weapon to the dirt to remove his ushanka and welding goggles. ‘Choly squinted up at the figure silhouetted by the sun directly above them. All ‘Choly could make out was a faint insinuation of a chin-beard. Absolute hurt and confusion came next. “...Mindy?”

Out of reflex, ‘Choly swept the longshoreman ghoul’s legs with a kick and tried to crawl away, but didn’t manage to knock him down. The longshoreman sidestepped around to cut him off, and crouched to grab him by a fistful of shirt to glare at him with a snarl. All the chemist could do was shake his head as his trembling denial sublimated into broken jealousy.

“No... No, you’re Sticks. The river ghoul,” he insisted, labored laughter cracking out of him. Tears streamed down his face as the sunlight seared the edges of his vision. “Jacob Hawthorne is dead. You-- You can’t--”

“This is a new low, even for her.” Sticks choked down sobbing. “How the hell did she-- Did she even know we have history?”

Angel finally unstuck, its tendrils curled tight.

“...Mister Hawthorne? Is it really you...?”

The ghoul clenched his teeth and let go of 'Choly, and stood to collect his flamethrower. He walked across the street opposite the pavilion, toward what once had been an ice cream parlor. He waved them on in invitation.

“You’re going to come inside, and you’re going to tell me what the HELL this is all about.”

“No.” ‘Choly sniveled as he righted himself with his cane and followed, fringes of the Red Rocket in his peripheral as he conflated the two experiences. “No, you can’t be him. I... I saw him beheaded not a week ago!”

Angel remained outside to keep watch, knowing to give them space.

“I have no idea who or what you thought was me in that scenario, but I’m right here. I’m me--”

“--No!” ‘Choly couldn’t hold in his hysterics, and flew to collapse against Sticks’s chest. “No! It’s not fair! It’s not right! Why is everyone I know a ghoul now, except me!”

Sticks made him sit in a booth, then began pacing. After a moment he paused and threw out both hands.

“Carey, how are you standing clear as day in front of me? Where the fuck have you been all this time? Barring whatever happened to you, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day since you vanished down the vault.”

“I... I haven’t.” He sniffed, and tossed his glasses on the cracked linoleum table. “The vault... put me on ice. Cryogenics. The equipment finally failed a few months back. I don’t think I thawed properly...” Uncertainty made his despair-soaked features wander wild. “Jacob... if you’re still alive, why wasn’t there any sign you’d been in Sanctuary?”

“God...” Sticks had to start pacing again. “I took two things. But I couldn’t stay there. Not after what happened. I couldn’t even get my car off its side once the dust settled. You know security turned away the Vault-Tec salesman that signed your residency? He wouldn’t let me loot the neighbors’ houses, the nerd. Not even for first aid or food. We both turned ghoul while traveling together for a few years. But I had to go alone for a ways, just to get away from him. God, he’s annoying.” He flapped the thought process away, and sat beside ‘Choly. “I’ve been a lot of places since then. Here’s the closest to home I’ve found yet. Yeah, I go by Sticks now. I feel like Jacob Hawthorne died in the process of becoming a ghoul. I... hope the man I used to be died.”

“I... I don’t know what to say... None of this feels right... or real... I’m dreaming, right?”

When ‘Choly started at his nervous habit of stroking his chin scar, something inside Sticks cracked, and he ran a finger over the same place on himself.

“Mindy... know that I’m not the man who did that to you, not anymore. I’m not asking you to forgive me. Just. After that night, I realized just how volatile I can be under pressure. That I had a lot of baggage to unpack. That was lifetimes ago. I’ve had a lot of time to wander and sort myself out. I’m alive. I’m a ghoul now, but I’m alive.”

‘Choly could still smell the memory of recoolant and corroded metal around him. His stomach churned.

“No... no, he... The feral called me Mindy. No one else has ever called me that.”

“You think you could make sense of sounds a feral makes? There’s nothing left in the brain pan. Even if they could string together words, they don’t have meaning.” His volume trailed off again, only to pick up. “God, they froze you because I waved you on. Look at you. It’s my fault you’re this bad off.”

His bluntness lurched ‘Choly forward to press his lips to Sticks’ to shut him up. The ghoul stuttered in exasperation when ‘Choly wouldn’t pull away, and grabbed the chemist by the shoulders to force him to stop. Sticks bit his lower lip, overwhelmed.

“I’ve spent months blaming myself for what I thought had become of you,” ‘Choly insisted with beseeching affect. “Do you know what I keep trying to tell myself when I think about it? That I couldn’t have possibly known what kind of effect the bombs would have on you.” With a faint pained smile, his hands wandered to caress Sticks’s face. When Sticks grabbed him by the wrists, he relented. “That I would have... changed places gladly...”

“But then you might have bec-- oh.” He recoiled in a sneer, and stood to pace again. “Oh, that makes a fat lotta sense. Your brain’s soup, Mindy. I can’t think of a single ghoul I’ve met that’s happy to be one. It’s miserable, and everyone treats us like we’re infectious.”

“Olivia didn’t seem to mind,” he commented sheepishly.

“Oh, the General minds all right. One of the most self-conscious ghouls I’ve ever known. Doesn’t wanna get with a ghoul, ‘cause then it feels like she’s settling. Doesn’t wanna get with a human, ‘cause then it feels like they pity her. But it doesn’t work like that.”

“You... tried to get with Olivia Francis?” ‘Choly couldn’t shove down the reflex to laugh. “Jacob, she might be general now, but she’s always... been a sergeant. All shirts and trousers.”

The ghoul wilted in place after a moment, feeling very small.

“At one point, I thought I could be an exception.”

‘Choly shook his head pityingly.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“Neither have you.” A confused smile crossed the ghoul’s face, which melted into concern and impatience. “So you did come from the base, then? She sent you? She needs something from the Furriers again. That’s the only reason anyone ever bothers me up here.”

“She says the Rust Devils are getting more brazen. That they’ve taken Back Central. She was hoping the Furriers would help. Do you think they will?”

Sticks frowned.

“Not for free, they won’t.”

“...Will you help?”

The ghoul softened.

“Only ‘cause it’s you, Mindy.”

The silence lingered a bit too long, and ‘Choly unstuck to hobble over to the front door to get Angel’s attention.

“It’s almost lunch time. I brought food from the base. Enough for two--”

Sticks grabbed him before he could poke his head outside.

“I don’t want Francis’s damn drugged food.”

‘Choly’s face slacked and he stared dumbly up at the ghoul.

“...Her what now?”

“You really are dull as a spoon sometimes. Don’t accept drinks from her. And don’t accept her food, not even stuff she’s dolled up to look prepackaged. She acts a misanthrope, but she’s a needy little thing.” Sticks grinned sarcastically at him. “Everything just felt so right, didn’t it? Like you were finally home.”

The cocktail. ‘Choly’s face burned. No wonder she’d only offered him muddled or opaque drinks. And the Meals Ready to Eat... He looked to his Pip-Boy’s health screen to find he’d been given potent doses of a mood enhancer. A dry swallow couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat.

“Come on, don’t let the mistake get to you. She duped me first time I met her, too. She didn’t poison you. It’ll work its way out of your system in a few hours tops. Let me cook us both lunch. We’ll need the fuel to get across Howe Bridge and Cox Bridge. Even just cutting through the National Historic Park’s no walk in the park, tch.”

“She... told me to stay Pawtucketville side, and cut across the C.I.T. Lowell campus...” He had to sit again, lost as ever.

“The General either considers you that goddamn expendable, or knew that by sending you to me, I’d set you straight out of sheer self-preservation.” Sticks growled, loathing the position he was in. “The C.I.T. ruins are a hermit crab nest.” He threw his hands in the air and walked off to slap open the double-action swinging door, shouting uncertain expletives in the kitchen.

‘Choly wandered behind the bar counter, to poke his head through the service window with a nervous, tired smile.

“And what secret ingredient do you slip into food you serve people?”

The blond ghoul glanced up at him from the icebox and grinned to himself, shaking his head with a demented resignation.

“Depends on who’s staying for dinner.”

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