#(like sure there is some water- but there's also mostly dirt and maybe an poisonous flower whoops)

[godzexperiment]

i for one think the fact nix doesn't use water bottles for their intended purpose kind of horrifying

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Food

Witchers were known for being tough. For being able to survive conditions a normal human would not be able to. Witchers were stronger, more resilient, resistant to disease, and able to heal faster than humans.

Their bodies were altered to survive on little food, water, and sleep, and to be able to metabolize the poisons they drank to fight. It was very hard to poison a Witcher. They were made to keep going.

Geralt was no exception. When he was on the Path, he could drive for days without proper sleep (sometimes no sleep), and he would only stop for food when he absolutely had to.

Before he started living with Yennefer and Jaskier, it was just him, alone, so he didn't really worry too much about eating and sleeping regularly. He could eat what he wanted, when he wanted, which, admittently was usually a sandwich or microwave item from a gas station. And only when he had enough money after buying fuel.

But then he met Jaskier, and things changed. He aquired an old van so Jaskier wouldn't have to sleep in the dirt on the side of the road, or crammed in the small truck Geralt had been driving. He had to stop more often so Jaskier could eat, or get a decent amount of sleep.

Geralt was a little annoyed at first. He wasn't used to stopping so often. He was a 'We aren't stopping until we get there' kind of guy, but now he had a fragile human to keep alive, so he grudgingly started making regular stops so Jaskier could get something to eat.

Gas stations became unacceptable food sources after a janky sandwich left Jaskier violently ill. Jaskier convinced Geralt (between bouts of vomiting) that eating (real, safe food) regularly was a good thing. Just because he could survive on little food (or suspicious gas station food), didn't mean it was a healthy thing to do.

"Why shouldn't Witchers eat well, Geralt? Why shouldn't they get a decent amount of sleep and take care of themselves?"

"Hm,"

"Because they're Witchers? That's a sh*t argument, Geralt."

"You keep your swords in excellent shape. You make sure they are clean, sharp, and in good repair. You should do the same for your body."

"Hmm."

Geralt thought about it, and admitted to himself that Jaskier was correct. Some of his contracts would not have been nearly as hard if he had been well rested and had been eating better.

He started making sure that he and Jaskier ate regular meals. If it was a quick stop, he made sure it was food from a deli, or other reputable place with actual sanitary food handling standards.

Although sometimes all they could get was questionable gas station food.

Jaskier *holding up two sandwiches*: "Geralt, would you like explosive diarrhea or projectile vomiting?"

Geralt: " I'll take the projectile vomiting."

And then he met Yennefer, and they decided to move in with Jaskier at his house in Oxenfurt.

At first Geralt stuck to his old habits of eating only when he was really hungry and he absolutely had to eat.

He started keeping a small hoard of food in his room. He couldn't really explain why. It was mostly bags of beef jerky, crisps, and granola bars. There were also a few honey buns sprinkled in.

He got over it after Yennefer caught him trying to replenish his hoard.

"Are you actually hoarding food? Like a f***ing hamster?"

"We have food, Geralt! And don't think I haven't noticed you not eating properly!"

"Well, maybe if you would f***ing eat with us three times a day you wouldn't be hungry."

You're supposed to eat three meals every day, you plank! And eat real food, not this junk!"

"You aren't on the Path, and even when you are, you don't have to worry about money for food, so you don't have to starve yourself."

You can keep your snack hoard, but you're going to join Jaskier and I for every meal, or there will be consequences. Do you hear me, Geralt? Consequences!"

"And give me one of those honey buns, I love those things."

Thus, after a brief adjustment period, Geralt got used to the idea of eating regularly. It was odd, sitting down to three full meals every day. He had been so used to being hungry all the time, that it was strange to...not be.

After a few months of eating well, Geralt noticed that his hair and skin looked better too. And then he noticed something else.

He was stood in front of the mirror in his room, studying his reflection. He turned this way and that, and looked at how his usually very well-defined muscles where kind of...soft looking.

Geralt had been concerned and mentioned it to Yennefer. The witch had rolled her eyes and told him he was being silly.

"You aren't supposed to look like a shrink wrapped string of footballs, Geralt. Normal people have a layer of fat under their skin that is supposed to be there!"

"Hm!"

"A Dad Bod? That's not a Dad Bod! And even if it was, so what? What's wrong with a Dad Bod?"

"Hmmm!"

"Oh, for f**k's sake! You aren't overweight, you muppet! You finally don't look like a starving wolf! Good gods, those don't even count as love handles!"

"Hm..."

"Stop being ridiculous! You aren't supposed to look like you've been vacuum sealed. That's just an unhealthy body standard pushed by idiots and morons."

Geralt wasn't terribly convinced at first, but he eventually realized that Yennefer was right. He decided he liked this new body. He noticed that he had more energy, fighting monsters was easier, he was recovering from toxicity more quickly, and he just overall felt so much better.

He did end up with a Dad Bod after putting on some extra weight over the winter when there was nothing much to do but sit around or go to friends and family for holiday celebrations with lots of food.

Geralt got to experience his first food coma that winter. They had gone to Madeleine's house for the winter solstice. She and Yennefer had made lots of food. Geralt had passed out on Madeleine's couch, with crumbs on his shirt front, gravy on his cheek, and his belt and the button on his pants undone to make room for his overly full belly.

More than a few comemorative photos had been taken while he'd slept.

He was self-concious after gaining the extra weight, but Yennefer and Jaskier never made fun of him, or made any derogatory comments. They never commented at all about his love handles, or the extra padding on his belly, which was kind of starting to loom over his waistband. In fact, they seemed to like this 'squishy' Geralt.

They were constanly huggng him, or snuggling up with him on the couch while they watched the telly. Sometimes they even made him lay on the floor and used him as their personal heated cushion.

There was just something comfortable and nice about a soft, warm Witcher belly! It was better than any old pillow or couch cushion.

Sometimes they even fought over who was going to get first pick of what part of him they were going to cuddle.

"You got to put your head on his pillowy boobs last time, Yen!"

"Yeah, well you got to sleep with your face in his tiddies for months!"

"That doesn't count, Yennefer! I was dealing with a traumatic event! I couldn't even enjoy it! And they weren't even this cushy!"

"Tough sh*t, f**kwit, it still counts!"

"It does not, you a**waffle!"

Geralt ended the argument by grabbing both of them and smashing their faces into his tits. The surprised yelps quickly turned into muffled giggles.

When the weather warmed up, turning back into Spring, Geralt spent a little time off the Path, getting himself back into shape. He set up a little workout area outside in the backyard, and put it to good use every day, unknowingly giving their elderly neighbor lady a nice little show.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Faerie the hatchet

Rule number 6: Do not, under any circumstances, make a deal with them. They will ALWAYS get the upper hand.

It was the longest, and therefore likely the most important. The one that you were supposed to listen to. The one that, if nothing else, you should make sure to follow.

This had been defaced.

Or: Fae!Bruce is lonely, but then a newly orphaned boy stumbles into his clearing asking for a deal. It’s Free Son.

Dick Grayson squinted at the rules on the piece of paper that he clutched in careful hands as he made his way through the forest.

They were simple.

2) Do not tell them your name.

3) Do not eat their food.

4) Do not step into any mushroom rings.

5) Do not insult them.

Now, rule number 1 was “Do not go into the forest unless absolutely necessary”, but Dick was disregarding that. It laid at the top of the paper, scratched out so harshly that the paper had ripped under the force of his quill.

And then there was rule number 6: Do not, under any circumstances, make a deal with them. They will ALWAYS get the upper hand.

It was the longest, and therefore likely the most important. The one that you were supposed to listen to. The one that, if nothing else, you should make sure to follow.

This, too, had been defaced.

Tiny feet scrambled along the path, weaving away from stray patches of poison ivy, careful not to trip over any roots or rocks that happened to be there, hesitant to trample any plants.

His eyes caught on a berry bush and almost instantly his mouth began to water. The berries looked juicer than any he had ever seen around town, and god knows he hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. The gnawing sensation in his stomach that had faded out after day three came back with a vengeance. The nausea he had been suffering from since he had been stuffed in a cupboard and forced to stay quiet as his parents were brutally murdered seemed to fade away into nothing but a mere memory. He was nearly bowled over by just how much he wanted them.

It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? A voice murmured in the back of his head. They can wait just a few minutes more. I have time. And I’m just so hungry.

Something crinkled underfoot and he jumped nearly a foot in the air in surprise, looking down at the paper he had accidentally stepped on. He had dropped it at some point. A dirty shoemark now helped marr the paper, making it even harder to read than it had been before.

He swallowed thickly, looking determinedly away from the berries.

Do not eat their food.

He was getting close.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he made his way further along the beaten path. Partially so he wouldn’t be tempted again, partially so he couldn’t stray, but mostly to look out for the dreaded ring that was rumored to lay at the end of it. Maybe, had he been older, been wiser, he would have wondered why there was a path at all. Whether there had been another person (or perhaps even people) like him that had gone this way so often that they had felt that making a path in the dirt was necessary, or whether the forest itself was leading him there.

But alas. Dick Grayson is eight. A smart eight year old, perhaps, but an eight year old nonetheless. And a grieving one at that.

Hence why he is here. Being both grieving and a child is a terrible mix when otherworldly beings that prey on humanity’s collective stupidity and lack of rationality when it comes to emotions are involved, but again: stupidity and lack of rationality when it comes to emotions.

So, he continues to look at the ground. He can’t risk stepping into the circle, not when his soul – or whatever it was the fae wanted from the humans they stole away – was his only bargaining chip here. But he also can’t miss it, because a deal with the fae is his only shot at bringing his parents back to life.

Of course, he couldn’t have missed it if he tried.

For a musical voice chimed: “Over here, little one.”

He jerked to look, his eyes wide in a mix of terror and pure, unadulterated hope. His gaze fell upon the most beautiful man to ever exist.

Though, maybe, calling him a man was the wrong thing to do, for he was certainly not human. A pair of bat wings hung from his back, his skin was just a smidge too pale, and his teeth were sharp enough to shred through a person without dulling in the slightest.

His shoulders sank. “Oh. I was looking for a fae, not a vampire. I apologize for inconveniencing you,” he said carefully. He made a short, aborted motion, because he had been about to bow and then promptly realized that exposing the back of his neck to a vampire was decidedly not a good idea. After a couple of moments of deliberation, every thought shown plainly on his face as if he were attempting to convey it to an audience that did not exist, he opted for pressing his hand to his heart in apology.

The not-human laughed, a pleasant sound that shouldn’t have reminded him of crickets chirping in the night and yet did for some strange reason, wiping an almost definitely fake tear from his eyes.

“I’m a fae,” he informed Dick, and Dick hesitated to give him the mildly dubious look his brain told him he should. If the man really was a fae, that might be seen as impolite. “After all, would a vampire be in one of these?”

And then he motioned to the ground.

Dick cast his eyes downward and found a ring of mushrooms, flowers, and shiny rocks that he swore hadn’t been there before. After all, he would have noticed the way the moonlight seemed to catch on each little pebble, right?

He swallowed thickly, seeing just how close his foot was to the edge of the ring. If the fae moved fast enough, he might just be able to grab Dick and drag him into the ring, and if he did then he would lose.

He wasn’t quite sure what you were supposed to lose. He just knew that, if you did, you weren’t allowed to come back.

“So, little one, what has led you here? To me?” The fae said, leaning closer. It really was too big, towering over the child even when it kneels and leaving him to shiver in his shadow.

It took everything in him to not back away. The rules flickered in his mind’s eyes. He couldn’t be impolite. If you wouldn’t do it to a guest in your home, then you certainly shouldn’t do it to a fae.

“I don’t think I’m that little,” he said carefully. “I think you might just be tall. Cause of all the – uh – fae-ness.” He tacked on a quick “Sir” for good measure.

The man laughed lightly. This one sounded different from the first, more breathless, like water rolling over rocks in a stream. He wondered, idly, which one was the true laugh.

“I suppose we can agree to disagree on that. But, if you don’t want me to keep calling you ‘little one’, then may I have your name instead?”

He opened his mouth, but then forced it closed again. “You may not. You… you can call me Robin, instead,” he decided, even if it hurt a little to say it. His mom had called him that. But it was the only thing he knew he would respond to immediately.

The man’s smile didn’t waver, but something akin to frustration flickered behind his eyes.

“What should I call you?” Dick said after a few moments’ silence, fighting the urge to wring his hands.

The fae blinked at him. Too-blue eyes scrutinized him for a long moment. And then he tipped his head to the side. His neck curved just a little too far to look natural, and certainly seemed uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to realize. “Most of the humans I meet call me Batman.”

“Seems a little on the nose, don’t you think?” He blurted, only to slap his hands over his mouth.

But the fae just laughed again, and it was the chirpy one. Dick decided this one was the real one. After all, the fae tipped his head back to laugh, so fast that he probably would have fallen over if he were human, but instead he simply hung there in midair, a brilliant smile on his face. He didn’t think that kind of amusement could be faked. Exaggerated, maybe, but not fake.

“Maybe!” He agreed once he was done with his maybe-surprised-maybe-maniacal laughter. “Would you suggest something different?”

Dick blushed. He really couldn’t think of something that wasn’t about the bat wings on his back, actually, now that he thought about it. He hardly knew the guy, he had almost nothing to go off of. He cleared his throat awkwardly to give himself time to think, but all he could come up with in the moment was: “B. I’ll call you B.”

He got a wide grin from the faerie, but there was no malice lurking behind his eyes. “What does the B stand for?”

“I’m afraid that is between me and God,” Dick said solemnly. He didn’t want to admit that he had just cut off the ‘atman’ part of his fake name, even if it was kind of obvious… or was it? Shoot, what if B thought he was actually trying to hide that he was calling him a ‘female dog’? “Wait! It’s nothing bad, though, don’t worry!”

“Oh? It’s not? Then would you like to explain why won’t you tell me?” B said, resting his hands on his hips.

He opened his mouth to explain himself, only to find out that B was teasing him. He snapped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t be tempted to stick his tongue out at the fae. He still crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, though.

This seemed to endlessly amuse B, because he let the silence go without any contest.“Alright. I grant you permission to call me B, then. Now, Robin, you never answered me. What brings you here?”

Dick’s mouth went dry. Probably to make up for the wetness that began to prickle at the corners of his eyes. “I want to make a deal with you.”

The fae’s perfectly-manicured eyebrows shot into his hair. “A deal?” He repeated, cautiously.

And Dick realized he was being given an out.

But he couldn’t. He nodded firmly. “I want my parents back. And I want revenge on the guy that killed them.”

B looked at him for a long moment, considering, before a smile spread across his face. “That’s quite a high ask for such a little bird. What do you offer in return?”

He gnawed his bottom lip nervously. It was interested, that much was clear, but… he didn’t know if that was more of a ‘wow, the gall of this human’ kind of thing or because he was actually considering helping him. It didn’t matter either way, of course, he had already started it, there was no going back, so he steeled his shoulders and forced himself to look the fae in the eyes. “Me.”

The fae hummed consideringly, and the sound buzzed in his ears in a way that made goosebumps rise on his arms.

But it was nothing compared to the way his hair stood on end when the fae smiled down at him and said:

“Two souls for two souls. I can work with that.”

The fae held out a hand to shake. Dick’s eyes caught on the way the tips of his fingers looked like they had been stretched into pointy claws.

Feeling distinctly like he was making a terrible mistake, he reached out a tiny hand.

B smiled a little too wide as their hands clasped.

And then he didn’t let go.

He started backing up, dragging Dick closer to the edge of the circle, step by step.

Dick yelped and dug in his heels, trying to make his stupid shoes gain traction, but the fae was so much stronger than him and the nails were digging into his skin enough to draw blood and it hurt and he could barely think but he knew that everything had gone wrong.

“Waitwaitwait!” He yelped.

Surprisingly, the fae stopped, but he didn’t let go of Dick’s hand. Didn’t allow him to twist his hand from his grip. “Yes?”

“I didn’t mean now!” He said quickly. “I still want to spend time with my parents! What’s the point otherwise?”

The fae snickered quietly and leaned closer. Until their noses were merely an inch apart. “I suppose you should have clarified more before you agreed, then.”

Dick screamed as his feet left the ground.

“But don’t worry, little Robin, I’ll make sure you get your wishes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt2

All Fae-n And Games Masterlist

[soulmate-game]

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

[imagine-nation20]

Just Like This

Summary: Capture the flag isn’t always your least favorite camp activity, but sometimes it is.

Requested by: Anon

Request:Hey if your still doing Percy Jackson fics/headcannons can I request Connor stoll x shy daughter of Hecate reader pls

A/N: I started writing this as headcanons, and then I got really carried away and decided to write this, oops. I’m just glad someone requested Connor. Even if I forgot about this request and stumbled upon it very late. Also, not so sure this turned out as a shy reader, since I am bad at writing shy characters.

~~~

Hecate’s cabin was the exact opposite of what you had expected when you first arrived at the camp. Instead of the dark, dreary color palette you had imagined based on the other camper’s cabins, it was surprisingly bright. White walls, with a mix of pale and dark purples. There were various decorations around, only one bed, and different magic bits and bobbles. One wall was taken up entirely by a bookshelf. Most of the books looked far from normal though, and you had only been brave enough to open the most plain looking ones as of yet.

It felt safe. It felt like home.

Still, you couldn't remain inside all day. Someone would notice, come looking for you, maybe make you do their chores. A knock at the door confirmed this thought, and you stood from your bed, moving over to the door.

It swung open to reveal the youngest Stoll brother, Connor, who looked to be in his usual state of disarray. Dark hair looking unbrushed, his camp shirt wrinkled, jeans rolled up to his calves, and his sneakers properly drenched and getting water all over the front steps of the cabin.

You raised a brow, “Do I want to know?”

Connor looked down to his shoes, “Probably not,” he admitted, looking up at you with a toothy grin.

You leaned against the doorway of the cabin, smiling down at Connor who was much shorter than you from his placement down the steps. “And I guess knocking on my door was more important than changing out of your drenched sneakers for some reason?”

“Annabeth ordered me to remind you not to miss capture the flag again,” He shrugged.

You narrowed your eyes, “Ordered? Aren’t you supposed to be some hotshot counselor? When did you start taking orders?”

Connor leaned on one of the pillars, exaggerating a ‘smooth’ aura. “Since those orders allowed me to visit my favorite demigod.”

“Me?” You asked, faking sweetness.

A meow came from behind you, and Connor’s facade shifted into a smile, “No, Mordred.”

Your cat ran out to him from between your legs, jumping right into his arms. You glared at the cat, crossing your arms. “Traitor.”

“We should be going, if we don’t want Annabeth to cut us into little pieces for being late.”

“Do you think we could take her?”

“Ha, no.”

Capture the flag wasn’t entirely horrid. Especially since Hecate and Hermes cabins were both sided with Athena that time. That means that all Connor and you had to do was lounge around where the flag was, and make sure no stray Ares kids got a little too big for their britches. So far, they had no trouble.

“Oh, oh, I spy with my little eye, something green.”

“Connor, I swear to god, if its a leaf again-”

“This is so boring,” Connor groaned, cutting you off. “Maybe one of these days, the Athena kids should get the boring job. Let Anabeth sit as a rock for an hour with nothing to do.”

The small clearing was quiet. You and Connor shared a look. There was nothing innocent in the mischievous glint of his eyes. You began to shake your head, silently telling your friend a blanket no for whatever he was thinking.

“Connor, do-” An arrow whizzed through the trees, catching you in the shoulder. You shouted out in both surprise and the sudden pain that came from the tip embedding itself into your skin. It had cut through the leather armor like butter.

“(Y/N)!” Connor shouted.

The sound of a heavy scuffle met your ears, your eyes staring up at the canopy of trees above. Footsteps, echoing beneath you through the packed dirt. Your eyes drifted over to your shoulder, seeing the arrow shaft sticking up from your shoulder. With a bit to your lip, and a deep breath, you reached over to feel the back side.

The tip of the arrow was poking out from the leather armor. Knowing that pulling it back would just cause more damage, you reached to the shaft, snapping the wooden stick off. This would give more access to movement, and you wouldn’t have to worry about knocking into it and causing more pain.

Slowly, you stood. The sword on your belt was easily drawn with a ‘shink’, drawing the attention of the Ares boy making his way towards the flag. Connor was busy with another, their sword clashing. The Ares kid smirked at you, charging with a hearty yell.

You ducked the blow, kicking out at his shin. The boy toppled forward, groaning. You hit the back of his head with the pommel of the sword, halting his movements. He would have a terrible headache when he woke up, but at least you hadn’t the stomach to repay him for the arrow wound.

“Hey, you good?” Connor’s hand was on your good shoulder, he eyes peering closely into your own. You must have been staring at the knocked out camper for too long.

“Yeah,” you lied, feeling the pain ripple through your shoulder. “I think I should go see Chiron.”

Connor nodded, reaching down to his belt for the emergency horn there. After a few events of campers in danger with no way to call, Chiron had proposed special war horns for the counselors to call for help.

“I think something is wrong,” You mumbled, looking down at the wound. It was festering a dark purple. “That’s not good.”

The horn blew, and you blacked out.

~~~

When you came too again, you were in the Apollo tent. A few other campers were held up in cots, but it was mostly empty. Outside, cricket could be heard. You must’ve been asleep for a good few hours. Your stomach rumbled at the thought of missing dinner.

Every little movement hurt, even tilting your head to look around the tent. Something cloth rustled on your head, and you went to lift your right hand. However, you found yourself unable, as your hand was pinned to the bed by a much larger, warmer hand.

Connor’s head rested on the cot beside you, his dark, curly hair spilling across the linen sheets. Soft breathes escaped his mouth, which hung open. Soft cheeks dampened by puffiness and dark purple circles beneath the lids of his eyes.

“He’s been there the whole time,” A quiet voice whispered. “Will couldn’t get him to leave.”

You looked over, spotting an injured and annoyed looking Nyssa. She looked like she had been hit by a train, and knowing the Hephaestus cabin, she probably had.

“Did he miss dinner?” You whispered back.

Nyssa gave you a weird look, “Yeah, three of them. Will had to shove a plate into his hands and force feed him.”

Your eyes widened, “Wait, three?”

“Yeah, you’ve been out for two whole days,” Nyssa looked out the flap longingly, “At least you didn’t have to be awake for it though. Harley set off an explosion in the workshop, threw me into a wall. Everyone was still scrambling around you when I got here.”

A shift beside you, and you looked down. Connors dark lashes were fluttering, his eyes slowly peeling open. The bright blue looked dulled, like it had lost its shine. They trailed up your arm, seeing you sat up slightly, eyes peering back.

He let out a shaky breath, “(Y/N),” sitting bolt straight, he gripped your hand. “Are you okay?”

“What happened, Con?”

He looked almost annoyed, though not at you, “That stupid Ares kid accidentally loaded his quiver with poisoned arrows. Don’t worry though, I accidentally laced his food with laxatives, and his bed with roaches.”

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched out over your face, “And here I would have thought you wouldn’t have had time, being here twenty-four-seven and all,” you gave him a look.

“Yeah yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Listen-”

“Oh for gods’ sake, just kiss and get it over with. If I have to sit through one more awkward conversation where you two dance around each other I’ll poison you both,” Nyssa growled out, looking only mildly annoyed in reality.

You shared a look with Connor, both of you holding back smiles, “Should I tell her?”

“What? That we’ve been dating for the last two years?”

You both turned to look at her simultaneously. Nyssa looked almost horrified at the realization. Her mouth hung open, the hello kitty Band-Aid on her cheek scrunched as her face did.

“Oh Zeus’ beard, you two are just like this? May the god’s have mercy…” She muttered under her breath, laying down in bed. She moved her pillow over her head to block you out.

You and Connor shared a laugh, and with both of you stuck inside the tent after curfew, you saw no problem in letting him climb into the cot with you. It was a more comfortable and peaceful sleep for you both.

[barbex]

@midnightprelude this is all your fault, a dorianders fic. This is for @30daysofdorian

Dorian x Anders, in Skyhold.

Tempted Tevinter

“Have you heard?”

Dorian changes the angle of his head slightly to listen to a former chantry sister and a former circle mage talking behind a column in the garden. They have many “formers” here now, and quite a few unusual friendships have sprouted in this strange hotbed of Skyhold. Dorian has found himself in a disturbingly nice friendship with a dalish mage, a qunari mercenary, and a former knight of the templar order, of all things. A chantry sister and a circle mage sticking their heads together in gentle familiarity is not even that unusual.

“What have I heard?”

“They got him, the rebel.”

“Which one? They’re all apostates now if you listen to the Chantry.” There is a beat of intense silence, for which Dorian can vividly imagine the scrutinizing look the mage gives his friend. “I don’t mean that I listen to the Chantry, you know that.”

The mage clears his throat and holds a dramatic pause before he reveals his knowledge. “It’s Anders, the rebel-mage who blew up the Chantry of Kirkwall.”

“Maker! I thought he was dead. How did they find him?”

“He found us, he came to the Inquisition on his own. Walked up to the gate, said who he is and asked to be let in. They didn’t believe him at first, but they called the Commander over and he recognized him.”

“By Andraste’s heart, he didn’t kill him outright?”

“Welling said the Commander went totally still. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he ordered him to be arrested.”

“When the Commander gets quiet like that —”

“— you know that he’s really angry.”

Dorian closes his book and quietly leaves his secluded corner of the garden. News like these are too interesting to keep working on old tevinter tomes. His steps take him back into the main hall, guided by the cacophony of angry voices yelling over each other. He keeps himself to the shadows, casting a light illusion spell over himself to stay hidden and studies the scene before him.

Inquisitor Lavellan sits on the floor in front of her throne, Varric stands on the step leading up to the throne and Cullen paces around them, stomping up and down the stairs. Josephine leans against the backrest of the throne, frowning at the Commander but keeping quiet. The Commander and Varric are not quite yelling, both of them aware how much Lavellan and Josephine hate yelling, but their tempers are too high to speak reasonably.

Cullen points his finger at Varric, even though he obviously speaks for Lavellan’s benefit. “He doesn’t even deny that he’s guilty, he should be put on trial.”

“And then what?” Varric yells back. “Do you know what kind of figure he is for the mages here? He’s a spirit of guidance by now, they worship him.”

“He still should be punished!” Cullen turns to Lavellan, lowering his voice a little when he catches her frown. “People died, not only in the explosion but also in the aftermath's chaos.” He turns back to Varric. “You should know that.”

Varric pinches the bridge of his nose and then looks up as if he wants to ask for help from the Maker himself. “You know, if you’d asked me maybe six or seven weeks ago, I would have agreed with you. But now, after seeing those templars...”

Tingling under his skin tells Dorian that his illusion spell is running out, and he uses the last bit of stealth to slip past the guard through the door that leads to the dungeon. The air is wet and strangely warm down here from the many hot springs that warm the castle through ingenious plumbing. He steps carefully on the wet stairs; he wouldn’t be the first one to slip here and tumble down.

The guard at the prison cells raises his eyebrow but only nods. Dorian is well known by now as belonging to the so-called inner circle and the days of him being questioned at every step as the evil magister from Tevinter are finally gone. Mostly.

He walks toward the cell with a glowing lock in front. Of course they would use a magic lock for a mage. Looking into the cell through the bars, he sees a slim figure in filthy clothes, leaning back on a stool so that his long, greasy hair sticks to the stones of the cell. Dorian wonders if the man is asleep when he suddenly speaks.

“Well, your’re not a templar.” Dark eyes turn to Dorian, studying him. “Tevinter mage, if I can guess.”

“Guessed correctly, I’m impressed. People usually go for evil magister first.”

Anders grins and Dorian is struck with the impression that all that dirt and greasy hair hides a beautiful man.

Anders touches the metal ring around his throat, a magic suppressing collar. “Can I have another guess? I owe this thing to your expertise.”

Dorian laughs out. “Correct again. I wasn’t convinced that the southern way of lacing food and water with magebane was the best way of going about suppressing magic. Magebane is nasty stuff and poisonous in the long run.”

“And we wouldn’t want to do unhealthy things to mages,” Anders growls bitterly. “I’m sure your fellow mages love you for this.”

Dorian shrugs. “I’m from Tevinter, I’m the first one to tell you of the marvelous and terrible things an angry mage can do. Ask me about time magic sometimes.”

Anders gets up from the stool and walks towards the bars. He is taller than Dorian and despite looking like he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, there’s an air of strength and confidence about him that has Dorian take a step back. “Why did you come here? You knew they would arrest you. The Commander seems to know you personally.”

“Curly? Oh, yes.”

Dorian snorts in surprise. “Curly? You call Cullen Curly?”

“Well, Hawke did, and Varric.”

“I must ask Varric why he never told me that.”

“Varric is here too? He just can’t stay out of shit, can he?” Anders wipes the hair from his face, leaving dark streaks on his face. “Cullen, Varric, anybody else here from Kirkwall? Merrill maybe? Dalish elf who knows too much about ancient magic she shouldn’t touch?”

Dorian pulls a handkerchief from his belt and wets it in water that springs from the wall. He hands the cloth to Anders, indicating that he should clean his face. “Never heard of a Merrill, we have Solas for that kind of job.”

Anders cleans his face, revealing a kind face with warm eyes and a cheeky grin in red stubble. “There, pretty enough for you now?”

Dorian lays his head to the side and puts his hand under his chin. “I’m afraid the unwashed hair and coat takes away from the overall effect.”

A smile spreads on Anders’ face and he uses the wet cloth to wipe over his hair, brushing it to the back of his head. The grease keeps it slicked back, and he looks surprisingly serious now, were it not for his smile. The smile makes him look young, daring even, with a livelihood about him that someone in his situation should not even have.

“You are quite beautiful,” Dorian blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Thanks.” Anders turns a bit, draping himself over the bars of his cell as if he’s on display, stretching his arm up and behind him and arching his back.

The whole pose reminds Dorian of body-slaves displaying themselves at one of the many parties he attended. Parties he loved to attend with all their pleasures. Nausea rises in him at the memories. “I would prefer if you didn’t do that,” he presses out between clenched teeth.

Anders looks at him and drops the pose, simply leaning against a bar of the gate. “Can you blame me?”

Dorian steps closer, watching Anders’ brown eyes widen. “Blame you for what?”

“I’ll tell you if you come closer.” Anders looks through the bars, his hands on either side of his face.

Dorian hesitates only a little. He’s one of the best trained mages here and the collar suppresses Anders’ magic, he isn’t a threat. Dorian takes another step closer until he stands right in front of the bars, his nose almost touching Anders’. He studies Anders’ face, the harsh lines carved into it from an equally harsh life, the warm eyes glittering with mischief.

“Closer,” Anders whispers, and when Dorian leans forward, he catches his mouth with his lips, brushing a kiss over it. He suckles on Dorian’s lower lip and then leans back. “Well.” He takes a long breath. “Can you blame me for trying to influence my jailor in my favor?”

Dorian jerks back. “I’m not your jailor.”

Anders laughs out and grabs the collar with both hands. “Certainly looks like it.”

Dorian opens his mouth for a retort when Anders’ hands begin to glow in blue, light traveling up his arms like lightning, and with high pitched noise, the collar snaps in two. Anders throws the pieces through the bars at Dorian’s feet and sits back down on the stool.

“I came here by my own will, I won’t be using magic to fight.” He leans his head back against the wet stone wall and closes his eyes. “I’ve accepted my fate and I’ll accept the judgement.”

“Fasta vass. How did you do that? It should have been impossible.” Dorian steps closer again, regardless of the danger of the unshackled mage in the cell. “Is it that spirit you merged with?”

“Justice is gone.” For the blink of an eye he looks like he is about to cry but he schools his face again. “But he left me with some kind of residue. And I was never...” He trails off, looking into the distance far beyond of his cell’s walls.

Dorian steps right up to the bars. “That’s remarkable. I need to study this, your magic.”

Turning his head, Anders grins at him. “Maybe you should talk to your inquisitor that you need me as a test subject to experiment on.”

“No!” Dorian shouts, his own reaction surprising him, the visceral recoil at this suggestion. “That’s not what I want.” In his imagination, Anders stands by his side as they study the text of an ancient book, flinging spells at each other, laughing, kissing, holding each other. The intense longing in his chest for this idea to become reality has him holding his breath in shock.

Something must have shown on his face because Anders looks at him confused. He shakes his head and leans back again. “Well, pretty jailor, please let me know soon how they’re going to kill me.”

Dorian turns around and storms out of the dungeon. Nobody will kill this man, he'll make sure of that.

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 10:  Reparations

AN:  Yaaaaaayyyyy I got this one done.  For some reason I’ve been in a weird spot where I write more on my phone and my focus is better when I write on my phone, but I’m also super vulnerable to typos because AUTOCORRECT and its just harder for me to spot on the smaller screen with the tiny text, so excuse any typos.

Characters:  Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader, Erwin, Petra, Oluo (Mentioned), Eld (Mentioned)

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Language.  Ikr, we just got super tame after a wiiild ride.

Word Count:  5124

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

“I’ll admit, it would have been nice to know ahead of time that you were going to hijack the interrogation like that to antagonize her.”

Levi ignored the pointed jab at his actions down in the dungeons, gaze instead roaming around and taking stock of the people they past in a surveillance instinct too ingrained into his being by now for him to shut it off even going down the street towards a tea shop.

Considering L/N could hear so far out, even when she wasn’t paying attention, Erwin and Levi had decided to leave headquarters entirely to have this conversation.  Which was why they were now headed for a tea shop instead of Erwin’s office to discuss something so confidential.  Or at least their opinions on the situation, not necessarily the information itself.

"Did you at least get what you wanted out of it?" Erwin asked as they took seats at one of the outside tables.

"I did.  Mostly.  You?"

"I was skeptical when you told me, but after that little display of hers, she's clearly not human.  Not anymore."  Erwin leaned back in his seat and appraised Levi, their conversation pausing momentarily as they placed their order with the waitress that came outside to check on them.  Once she went back inside, Erwin continued.  "If you have more questions, why didn't you ask them before we left?"

"It had nothing to do with why we were there.  Personal curiosity. And it didn't seem like the time to ask."

Especially after he'd goaded her like that, making jabs at painful memories for her until she reacted, throwing harsh accusations at her semi-blindly and seeing if anything stuck.  The last thing she would want to do would be to give clarifying details about her past traumas to satiate his curiosity.

Her tale made her origins make more sense, but there were a few details that still weren't so clear to him.

The way she explained it, she was attacked and turned by a vampire the night before--for reasons unknown, he noticed.  She hadn't said why she was turned, or by who.  She'd actually glossed over that part and moved on--and then went home, not knowing what happened to her, thinking she was sick.  Her friend came to visit her, Y/N lost control, attacked and killed her, then fled.  He was sure there were details to make the tale far more gruesome, but this was what he knew for sure without letting his imagination run wild.

But then she'd shown up dead a few days later as well.  That was the part he was trying to figure out.

“Some deaths, okay, fine, I'll come back from it.”

So, she ran away after the initial panic, and then came back solely to fake her death so they wouldn't keep looking for her.

And by fake her death, she went for a...temporary death, something she would come back from.

But why go so far as to let herself be buried?  It was a closed casket funeral, so she could have snuck out before they sealed the casket and no one would have known.  Why wait?

He hadn't forgotten the fear and trauma in her eyes when she'd mentioned being buried alive was one of her deepest fears.  And now the mental image in his mind of a woman clawing desperately at a coffin, screaming for help while no one could hear her had a face to go with it, the face of someone he knew, no less.

It was humanly impossible to break out of a grave and crawl your way out.  But if you had vampire strength, and every time you suffocated from the lack of oxygen or the dirt crushing down on you and maybe even getting into your lungs...then it was possible. So long as you died a few times on the way up.

Shit...something like that had to do some damage to a person.

Not to mention what came after.  Forty years living in the Underground, roughly.  He'd only been down there a little over half the time she had.  And he hadn't spent it like she had--skulking in the shadows killing people because what she was demanded she kill to survive no matter where she was, and she couldn't go above ground not because it was denied to her, but because if she did she would literally die.  Yeah, he'd killed plenty of people in the Underground as well, but far less, and for a reason that was entirely different even if it could be worded the same.  He killed in fights because the Underground was that dangerous, or he was protecting people he cared about.  She had to actively hunt and kill people to...feed.

If she'd been in the Underground before he was even born...he wondered if they had ever crossed paths, and he just didn't remember.

Hell, with her criteria for who she hunted and killed, he was surprised she hadn't killed Kenny in all that time with him Underground.

Or maybe she had, after Kenny left.  It wasn't like Levi would know.  Though he was fairly certain the man had gone topside, which would mean out of her reach and away from her hunting grounds.

If only there was an alternative to her diet.  She’d laid out why it couldn’t be helped, and he understood that, they were good reasons.  But still, if there was another way...

“You're thinking about something rather hard over there, Levi,” Erwin commented, and Levi realized he’d been staring intently at the table and had even failed to notice that the waitress was in the process of delivering their tea.  Erwin was also watching him, though his hands were still in motion, his analytical gaze fixated on Levi’s still form.  Shaken out of his thoughts, Levi leaned back so he wasn’t leaning forward intently anymore, picking up his teacup to start drinking before it got cold.  Erwin waited until the waitress left to continue talking.  “Is it something I should know about her?  Another hunch, maybe?  The last one was mostly right.”

Levi snorted softly at that.  Mostly right his ass.  He’d been thinking murder and treason and assassinations, someone out to get them, someone seeking to harm people in the Scouts.  Ulterior motives and selfishness, malice.

Maybe the murder hadn’t been that far off, considering her body count, if he did the math right in his head.  And maybe she had been hiding a secret.  Perhaps she was dangerous, but so was Levi.  It didn’t mean she was an enemy.

“No,” he said curtly, putting an end to Erwin thinking Levi might be holding out on him regarding his suspicions after how off they’d both been about this situation.  “Like I said, it doesn't have to do with whether or not she's trustworthy and if she should be in the Scouts.  Just personal curiosity.”

“So you believe her?  About her intentions?” Erwin asked casually before taking a sip from his cup, eyes cast down as he spoke but flickering up to gauge Levi’s reaction once he finished speaking.

Levi eyed him because of the look on his face, but answered nonetheless.  “...I do.  She was sincere down there, some would say too honest.  Most people try to hide the fact they’ve killed hundreds--thousands--of people, or that they could kill the people who didn’t trust them without blinking an eye, but she was upfront about it.  She didn’t have to be.  She’s dangerous, that’s a reality no matter how you look at it, but she’s attempting to channel that into helping instead of just causing damage.”  Levi sighed, setting down his cup.  “I assumed a lot about her intentions and where she came from, and it's going to bite me in the ass.”

And he was probably going to have to put some effort into making amends after all this--especially with how he’d antagonized her down there and clearly crossed a boundary.  Several boundaries, actually.  And now that the moment had passed, the guilt was starting to settle in.  He’d accused her about some harsh stuff, some of which she was sensitive about, given her reactions.  She was the one who had to live with what she was, so he doubted someone going after the very things you might cling to in order to retain your humanity was something anyone would take kindly to.  After she saved his life--even if it had also been her that had almost killed him to begin with--after she protected him from herself and other vampires, even if he wasn’t aware, after she’d gone out of her way to learn from and appease the entire squad, after going through years of training to get where she was now, after putting so much at risk when she could have stayed safely in the shadows, after trying so hard to find a place topside, he’d jabbed at pretty much everything.  Her basic motives, her humanity, her intentions, her personality, everything.

He had a lot of damage control to do moving forward if they were going to keep working together.  He sincerely hoped he’d only damaged the well and hadn’t poisoned the water.  A damaged well he could fix, but a poisoned water supply…

Levi’s gaze narrowed at Erwin as he realized the other man still hadn’t said anything, his suspicions solidifying.

“What about you?  Do you think she’s a risk you’re willing to take?” Levi asked, echoing her words from down in the dungeon Levi had immediately known would catch Erwin’s attention.

“I am a man who likes a good gamble,” Erwin said with a bittersweet smile, resting his cheek on his fist as he considered the situation before them.  “As long as she’s not attacking other Scouts, she’s trying to keep her bloodlust under control, she’s not causing problems for or bringing more danger upon the Scouts...I don’t see why we shouldn’t let her stay.  From the sounds of it, having a vampire willingly join our ranks wanting to use all those abilities to help our cause is a once in a lifetime chance.  She’s offering it on a silver platter.  As long as she can keep herself under control, which she’s been able to do so far, I say we take her up on her offer.”

“And if she can’t?  If something happens and she loses control?” Levi asked, eyebrows raised.  She’d said it herself, she was a threat, there was always a chance something could happen, and that shouldn’t be forgotten.  But what would they do if she did slip up with no sign of being able to correct herself before it got out of hand?

“Then she’ll be our responsibility to take care of,” Erwin said evenly, gazing at Levi in a way that made him believe Levi would be the one to take care of her if she stepped out of line.  He had the best chance, yes, but it would still be risky.  “Hopefully we won’t have to kill her if anything goes wrong, she’s valuable, and it would be a huge setback to lose her vampire abilities...but if it ever comes to that…”

“It won’t be a problem,” Levi said flatly.  He meant that in the matter of conflict of interest, not that killing her if it ever came to that wouldn’t be difficult.

Erwin nodded.  “She stays in the Scouts, then.  I’ll have to factor in all this new information about where best to put her.  She probably shouldn’t be anywhere near medical, for her sanity’s sake.  And Levi?”  Levi fixed him with a stare as if to ask what the hell was up with his change of tone, which Erwin ignored.  “Considering the strangling tension between the two of you down in the dungeon, are you going to ease up now that you have the story--for the most part--or do I need to switch her to a different squad?”

Levi scoffed.  “I’m not going to apologize for being angry about the fact that she kills people, Erwin.”

“It's not like she has much of a choice, from the sound of it.  And she’s doing rather well, given her situation.  A lot of thought had to have gone into coming topside and joining the Scouts, how to pull it off.  She was ready with those questions, and considering she wasn’t planning on us figuring out what she was, that means she already went over those questions herself.  She’s going with what she believes to be the best route, and considering she’s more of an expert on the subject than we’ll probably ever be…”

Levi waved him off--he didn’t need this explanation, he already knew this.  She wasn’t going to prey on innocent people, she couldn’t afford to downgrade her diet too much considering she needed to be in peak health and control fighting in the Scouts, and she couldn’t just stop unless she wanted to die a slow and agonizing death.

Starvation over decades, maybe even centuries…

Regular starvation was bad enough, he knew that from personal experience.  He couldn’t imagine going out like that--he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  Especially self-inflicted.

Levi’s gaze wandered to the few people in the street, moving idly from one person to the next, not really paying them any attention beyond basic people watching as he brought himself to his decision.

While he understood her position, that didn’t mean he was entirely comfortable with it.  But was he willing to try and make this work, to keep her on his squad--this time as his decision, not a decision Erwin made in the name of surveillance--and see if things could still work out despite the mess this entire ordeal had turned into that almost ended in his death.

Was it a damaged well, or poisoned water?

Was he going to cut his losses, or try to fix this?

“...Don’t put her on another squad,” he finally told Erwin.  “She’ll still have her skills put to the best use with my Squad.  I’ll figure out how to deal with...everything.”

He was going to try and make this work, despite the current friction between them.

The only question now, was how?

Erwin was the one to tell L/N that she was staying in the Scouts, of course, and by extension he was also the one to tell her she'd remain on Levi's squad, and that it was Levi's job to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed in line.  As for Levi, it was back to business as usual while Erwin handled speaking with L/N.

And two days later, Levi abruptly decided that everyone was going to do a deep clean of HQ, assigning everyone at least one room, with L/N having two considering how fast and how well she cleaned, and himself having three so that he had plenty of time to think while he was cleaning.

Now that his concerns about betrayal and deceit had been assuaged, he could finally allow the softer sides of her he’d glimpsed to settle in his mind, too.  Between the darker side he now had a better picture of and the person he’d been seeing since she joined the Scouts, he could finally form a more complete picture of the new person on his squad and start to decide what he thought of her.

Any lingering concepts in his mind that she wasn’t up to the job went out the window--except for a general concern about her being around too much blood.  She hadn’t been in the middle of a truly hairy expedition with people dying left and right.  She’d been struggling when he was bleeding out in front of her--what would it be like when there were people dying bloody all around her?

Then again, she’d already pointed out that his blood was particularly alluring.

That was still an odd thing to think about--he was probably going to do his best not to think about it.

He wasn’t too worried about her being able to hand the more...psychological stresses of being a Scout.  If she could handle being directly responsible for death, and being around it so much after living in and hunting in the Underground, she might fare better than most in the environment.

If it hadn't been the sharper, harder edge he'd seen to her personality in the dungeon, the knowledge of the things she'd already seen and been through, he'd be worried she had too soft of a temperament and personality for the Scouts.  It had been what he'd seen from her before the whole vampire thing came out.

She was the woman who went out of her way to comfort the horses and make sure they knew they could trust her.  Who sat in the field with the horses and simply soaked in the sun's rays while drawing whatever she could see--namely horses, at least once the man who had been watching her, yet she never said a word.  She was the woman with a tea garden in a hidden corner of the Scout’s headquarters so that she could save more of her salary...and use it to shelter and provide for the parents who didn't know, and would probably never know, they're daughter was still alive.   The woman who snuck treats out to the horses from her own plate, who'd gotten at least half of Levi’s squad drinking their tea with a bit of white sage for health purposes--only Levi aware of just how much it was actually doing for them.  The one who had asked for a different kind of lesson or tutoring from each squad member so they wouldn’t feel like she was some air-headed newbie that thought she was better than everyone because she was put on a fast track to Levi’s squad fresh out of the cadets, so that they could feel like they were still teaching her something, that she was learning from them.  She was the kind of person who made little gestures like covering him with her cloak when she saw him asleep at the table without a second thought, or timing a fresh cup of black tea almost perfectly to help keep him alert when despite his insomnia he would start to feel tired in the middle of the day, who'd risked the loss of a leg to make sure Eld wouldn't get hurt even after Levi killed the Titan, and who had saved his life even though, at the time, doing so was a great risk to her, because he could put a swift end to the life she'd been trying to build above ground.

She was a good person at heart.  Complicated as hell, still dangerous and a risk, and she had her skeletons, her demons and dark secrets, her flaws...but still, a good person at heart.

He’d been watching her closely long enough to pick up on all of that and then some, even if he’d tucked most of it away for later evaluation considering at the time he was worried it might be a front for some insidious ulterior motive.

And he had to do something to try and mend the relationship they had.  They couldn't function as part of a squad with all this tension and friction, let alone as captain and subordinate, definitely not as a team.  There had to be some level of trust if they were going to be working together in the future, and right now, there was pretty much none, mostly because of him.  And he had to be the one to make a first step towards repairing the damage that he had inflicted so that they could start building at least the groundwork of a working trust in one another.  They would need it when they went out in the field, because all that raw ability meant nothing if they couldn’t function with each other.

Levi scrubbed harder at the stone floor, seeing his fingertips turn pale with the rest of his hands red from the hot soapy water and the pressure he was putting on the brush.

"Captain?"

Levi sighed, leaning back and putting the brush back into the water, turning and lowering the cloth over his face to look over at Petra standing in the doorway with a broom in hand.

"Oluo says he's done with his room, he's just waiting for your inspection," she informed him, though the look on her face was enough to tell him he'd be telling Oluo to do it all over again as soon as he saw it.

"I'll do it when I'm finished," Levi answered, raising the cloth over his face and pulling out the brush to start scrubbing again.  "Tell him to make sure he's finished while he waits."

"Yes, Captain," Petra said with a small nod, turning to leave.

"Has L/N finished with her two rooms?" Levi asked before she could leave entirely, focused on a new spot of stone as he spoke instead of looking up at her.

"Yes, sir.  She actually went outside, out front, to do some extra cleaning while she waited for you to be ready to inspect the rooms."

She was also really good at cleaning.  She had to be, right?  She'd lived below ground longer than he had, and her senses were extra sensitive.  One bad smell must be torture for her, the dust probably setting off her sensitive nose with the slightest buildup, her sight probably making it easier to pick out grime, and her speed making her a faster cleaner than anyone here--when she didn't have to slow down because she was being watched by someone who didn't know what she was.  No wonder she was so damn good at cleaning, why he hadn't found any flaws with it to date.

It almost felt like cheating to him, for some reason.

He pressed unnecessarily hard down on the brush again, feeling the bristles bend and strain slightly in the brush, his fingertips turning pale again.

"Tell her when she's finished with whatever she's doing right now to come up here," Levi told Petra, offering no more explanation as he continued scrubbing at the floor.

“Yes, sir.”

Petra left after that, and Levi focused on the room around him--his third room, mind you, and he was almost done.  His hands were red, a little raw, too, but it wasn’t anything serious.  He just kept getting lost in his thoughts while he was cleaning, and instead of calming down like he normally did when he cleaned, he’d tense up at those moments where he got lost in his thoughts.  He was going over his attempt at a peace offering over and over again, well aware that he wasn’t the best...people person, that communication on a social or emotional level was not his strong suit.  But he was hoping the intention behind the gesture would be clear.  She wasn’t an idiot--she was smart.  There was a decent chance she’d be able to see what he was trying to do.

Hopefully.

Levi was just starting to finish up, finishing with a bit of polish on the metal in the room when L/N finally made her appearance, standing in the doorway with similar cleaning additions to her uniform as him, though she had an apron on that was currently tucked up and into her straps to keep any dirt from falling onto the floor while she walked.

She must have been doing some garden and yard work, then.  Pulling weeds or something like that out front.  At least she wasn’t tracking dirt everywhere, from what he could see--and his eyes were scanning her and her surroundings carefully to make sure she wasn’t about to ruin his hard work.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” she asked formerly, keeping her gaze fixed on him instead of letting it wander around the room at anything other than him.

That was a start, at least.  He’d be worried this entire rebuilding the bridge thing wouldn’t work out well if she couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

But the tension was still there, thick and uncomfortable, enough to put even him on edge.  There was a distance in her posture, a different kind of guarded than when he’d been snooping around and watching her every move.  Like she was hyper-aware of what he was going to think of her moving forward.

He was still coming to a decision about that one, honestly.

“You’re going to start training with me,” Levi said with no lead up, causing her eyebrows to raise in surprise, opening her mouth like she was about to ask questions before she quickly closed it again, since he continued to talk as if her reaction didn’t phase him in the slightest or give him any kind of pause.  “You’ve got some things to work on before the next expedition.  Two lessons a day, sparring and ODM gear.  Make sure you make the time for it.”

“Ah, Captain...I’m not sure if I...should…” she said hesitantly, caught between obeying what was close to a command from her Captain and a reluctance to take him up on the lessons because...what, was the tension that bad for her that she didn’t think she could train with him?  Did she not want to be anywhere near him any more than she already was?  Did she think she would make him uncomfortable?  Did she not like the thought of being alone with him?

That was a viable concern, actually.

Or maybe she just thought there wasn’t anything he could teach her.

On the contrary--she’d said herself that she was having trouble with the ODM gear.  She’d said one of her risks was that she reacted too fast for the gear to keep up with her, sometimes.  That was a problem, especially in a situation where one needed to rely on instincts--how could you rely on instincts while also trying to muffle them to lower to the level of the gear, or nearby people?

She needed help finding the middle ground, or at least training herself to instinctually pace herself so she didn’t outpace the gear in an emergency.  Like she’d pointed out herself, that kind of mistake could be the difference between life and death, even for her.

As for the sparring...well, the only people here that came close to matching their skills was each other.  Who else were they going to spar besides each other?  Besides, it would be refreshing to have someone he could actually go all out on that would be a challenge for him.  He was sure the same applied for her, now that she didn’t have to hold back to keep her secret hidden.

If that had been the reason she’d thrown the fight the first time they’d sparred.

Plus, all that raw strength and speed meant nothing if she didn’t know how to use it.  He could still teach her things, show her some techniques she could use in a fight, that kind of thing.

Is offer to teach her was his way of offering an olive branch to her...and he didn’t take too kindly to her starting to turn down the offer.

Levi narrowed his eyes slightly at her as she continued to cast about for a solid excuse to turn him down.  Most people here would kill for one on one lessons from him--a fact he was well aware of.  Yet here she was, proving just how out of the ordinary she was as she seemed to be beyond just the vampire thing, trying to weasel out of it.  “What?  Don’t think you have anything to learn because you’re so naturally gifted?” he asked in a jab much softer than his accusations during their interrogation.

“No, it’s just…” she started to say with a frustrated sigh, looking over her shoulder like she was looking at someone, even though no one was there.  “Eld’s already giving me ODM gear lessons…”

Was that really it?  He doubted it.  Yes, Eld was teaching her a few things, Levi was aware, but it wasn’t the same as what Levi was offering to teach her.  And it wasn’t a reason to turn him down in the first place.  Just another excuse.  Unless she was really worried about what the others would think if she got not only one daily private lesson with Levi, but two.  As much as Levi was usually of the opinion “To hell what other people think,” this one he could see where she was coming from if it was the case.  She’d just gotten the others to warm up to her despite their grumbling and cold shoulders after the extremely green rookie got sped through all the tape and obstacles right into Levi’s Squad while they put in hard work and were hand picked by Levi after some time in the Scouts after displaying their own strengths and skills over a period of time.  It must have looked like favoritism--and Levi giving her double private lessons wasn’t going to help anything.

It didn’t change the fact that she still needed them or could benefit from them.  And that it was a way for them to start making amends...in a roundabout way.

“ODM techniques.  Special maneuvers:  team and solo, correct?” Levi asked, mostly rhetorically, though she still nodded in confirmation.  Levi moved over to the table he was keeping his cleaning supplies on, starting to pack up his things so he could leave to start doing inspections of everyone’s designated rooms.  “I’m not going to be teaching you what Eld is.  You said you were having problems with reacting too fast for the gear, right?”

Levi spoke pointedly, giving her a sidelong glance so he could gauge her reaction and she could see he was serious about this--and that he didn’t have any ulterior motives.  She didn’t protest again.  She still looked a little uncomfortable, possibly because of the bump this could cause with the others once they found out, maybe because it meant the two of them were going to be spending more time with one another and they were going to have to get over this tension between them really quickly if they didn’t want to end up at each other’s throats trying to kill each other, but she didn’t protest anymore.

“Four a.m. in the woods for hand to hand.  Two hours before dinner on the training grounds for the ODM gear.  Don’t be late,” Levi told her, taking his supplies and leaving her behind in the room as his way of dismissing her.

Now to go yell at Oluo for not getting his cleaning job done properly, most likely.

Next Chapter---->

(Strikethroughs Couldn’t Be Tagged)

Levi Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo​ @whalerus​  @thirstyforsometea

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse @subtlepjiminie @hakunamatatayqueen​ @queenofcurse @linxiajei17 @levisbebe @toni-jones

[here4theheartbreak]

An Inconvenient Attachment (myg+jjk+pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Jungkook x Yoongi, Jimin x Jungkook, Jungkook x Yoongi, minor Hoseok x Seokjin Genre: smut, fantasy/supernatural au, fluff, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers Final Rating: Explicit Word Count (Chapter): ~15k

Tags (more added as needed): werewolf Jungkook, vampire Yoongi, human Jimin, kumiho Seokjin, selkie Hoseok, snowed in, handcuffed together, friends with benefits, polyamory, past violence, past murder, past abuse, discussion of murder, semi-graphic descriptions of violence, blood drinking, threesome, sharing a bed, multiple partners, dirty talk, oral sex, coming untouched

Summary: When Yoongi agreed to go on a two week winter getaway to the mountains with his roommates, he expected peace, quiet, and plenty of alone time with his roommate with benefits Jungkook. What he did not expect was to be handcuffed to his worst enemy for the duration of the trip. He figured it couldn't get worse... Until it did.

A/N: This fic was written for the @thebtswritersclub​ Fic Exchange for sujigguk! Sorry it was so late, I hope you enjoy it! | This fic also fulfills the July Prompt for X to Lovers! A/N 2: Banner made by @imyourhobiii - thank you so much!  A/N 3: This also fills  the square Road Trip for @bangtanwritingbingo​ 

As a vampire, one would think the worst thing about living with a human would be the temptation, the bloodlust. But for Yoongi… The worst part of living with Jimin was that he was the most fucking annoying, ridiculous human that Yoongi had ever had the misfortune of meeting in sixty years of life. Draining him would be a welcomed reprieve.

However, the man Yoongi had – rather surprisingly – fallen in love with was also in love with the trifling human and his stupid pretty mouth and his horribly adorable hands, and – no. Yoongi was not wandering down that path again.

Jimin was the son of vampire hunters. Murders of so many of Yoongi’s kind. And though Jimin had sworn that he had renounced their way of thinking and was estranged from them… Born into a family of killers made him just as untrustworthy, in Yoongi’s mind. Certain crimes simply could not be repented for and yes, sometimes the son did need to bear the crimes of the father.

Yoongi tolerated Jimin for Jungkook’s sake, the dopey wolf boy that had wriggled into his undead heart; and for their fourth roommate – Jin – a Kumiho with an odd affection for the human. In fact, Yoongi often felt like he was the only one that didn’t like Jimin. 

And recently, more and more, Yoongi was starting to wonder if Jimin hated him as much as he hated Jimin. Especially lately; it seemed like everything Jimin did was done specifically to annoy Yoongi.

Which is likely why Yoongi ended up in a car, sitting next to his mortal (literally) enemy, on the way to an isolated cabin that Jin’s boyfriend, Hoseok owned. Jin had suggested it a few days after a particularly aggressive fight between Jimin and he, where he not only showed his fangs, but may or may not have thrown an open bag of blood at Jimin. 

The trip hadn’t been so bad so far, Yoongi had to admit. They were driving straight through, and the drive was two days away from the city. Jimin was forced into a seat next to Yoongi, but was keeping to himself, reading and staring out the window or talking to Jungkook. Jungkook was in the front with Jin and was, at that very moment, pestering the hell out of the fox shifter.

Normally Yoongi would jump in and soothe the excitable wolf’s mood, but at the moment… Let them both suffer. This diabolical idea to get him to play nice with Jimin was likely both of theirs, so they could deal. Even immortality could not cure Yoongi’s sense of petty revenge. 

Yoongi reached into the small bag next to his feet, withdrawing a bag of chilled blood. He grimaced. A microwave would have been nice; but they weren’t scheduled to stop for quite some time – and only really to let the more humanlike ones stretch their legs. He pinched open the tip of the bag, tilting it back into his mouth. The sticky, sickly sweet fluid hit his tongue. Cold or not, it was the most refreshing thing he’d had in hours. He was able to go quite a number of days without blood, but dammit if it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

As he drank, he glanced over at Jimin from the corner of his eye. Jimin was reading a book, paying him no attention. How could a human pay someone no attention when they were drinking blood right next to him? Yoongi righted the bag, scowling down at it. Why did he want Jimin to pay attention to him? He hoped to disturb the human, perhaps. That’s what it was. Make Jimin uncomfortable and prove he secretly hated vampires just like his parents. Maybe then Jin and Jungkook wouldn’t love him so much. 

“Jiminie,” Jungkook whined. He turned in his seat, leaning into the back. “Yoongi…”

“What?” Jimin and Yoongi answered at nearly the same time.

“Will you two go for a run with me in the woods next time we stop? I’m itchy.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Why bother asking the human? He can’t keep up with you like I can.” 

Jimin shifted a little. He smiled softly. “He’s right.”

“So? I’ll let you ride on my back,” Jungkook offered.

“That’s not running with you then. Yoongi can go with you.”

Jungkook pouted a little but nodded. He wriggled himself further between the seats, grabbing for Jimin. Before he could get him, Jin’s hand emerged. He grabbed the collar of Jungkook’s shirt and yanked him back. “Stop distracting the driver!” He snapped.

“You bully,” Jungkook complained, smacking at him despite his warning. The two very quickly fell into another playful bicker, leaving Yoongi in peace with his thoughts. Next to him, Yoongi felt Jimin shift, and then again, before hearing him sigh. He looked over. Jimin had curled up onto the seat, bunching a hoodie under his head against the window to rest. He was getting on toward nighttime, Yoongi supposed. Day and night blended for him these days – and Jungkook was naturally nocturnal. It must have been hard to be where Jimin was, he thought as he watched Jimin sleep. A home with three creatures so different from himself. And in love – or at least lust – with one of them. A pang of sympathy shot through Yoongi’s chest. He grimaced at himself. What was he doing. Maybe there was something in the car, poisoning him. Pitying the rotten human? Never. Yoongi scoffed to himself. He nuzzled himself into the other corner of the seat, pulling his legs up under him. He “accidentally” let one slip, kicking Jimin squarely in the thigh. Jimin shot upright, grimacing. From his mostly closed lids, Yoongi could see Jimin look down at his leg where he’d been kicked, then over at Yoongi. Instead of getting angry, much to Yoongi’s surprise (and discomfort), Jimin smiled. He shook his head and laid back down, snuggling against the hoodie. 

Being technically undead, Yoongi didn’t require sleep. He had periods where he needed to rest, usually early in the morning around sunrise, but not necessarily sleep in the human sense of the phrase. But boy, did he like it. Sleeping was great. Six to eight hours of just not existing, having fun dreams, waking up to a new day – Yoongi couldn’t ever imagine willingly not sleeping like some of his vampire friends. However, much like a human who slept away a third of their hours, sleeping made Yoongi absolutely ravenous upon waking. Which wasn’t normally a problem. 

Except when he was in a car. With a living being that was filled with his only food source. And somehow in his sleep had wound up snuggling against said obnoxious human’s stupidly soft neck. 

Yoongi felt his fangs poking his bottom lip before he realized it. He inhaled sharply. Oh, that smelled delicious. His mouth watered in response, and he inhaled again, opening his mouth instinctively. 

His eyes fluttered open and he shifted, hunting for the source of the bittersweet, rich aroma. Instead of a particularly juicy steak or even a cup of blood warmed thoughtfully by Jungkook, Yoongi’s gaze fell on Jimin. The human’s shaggy black hair had fallen over his eyes as he slept, his plush lips wet and parted. His pulse was throbbing firm and steady by Yoongi’s ear. 

He shot up, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car. 

Jin glanced back. “Maggot bite your ass or something?” He teased.

“I’ll bite you,” Yoongi grumbled. He wriggled as far away from Jimin and his stupid sweet smelling blood as he could before digging into his bag and pulling out the other satchel of blood he’d stored in it. It should be all he needed until they reached the cabin, and once there they had packed a solid supply of blood bags for him. Good too – because based on the weather as the car climbed into the mountains, Yoongi wondered if they might not be snowed in for a few days. 

The final rest stop was only a few more miles. Jin pulled in, stepping out to stretch his legs. Jungkook bounded out himself, taking a quick peek to make sure they were alone. He stripped shamelessly out of his clothing, piling it on the seat and seemingly unaware of the brisk chill in the air. 

“Yoongi!” He called, nearly bouncing with excitement and wiggling out of his skin.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Yoongi grumped, crawling out of the car himself. He watched Jungkook shift from a two-legged ball of energy into a massive four legged one, unable to keep from smiling. In wolf form, Jungkook was just as stunning as his human form. Dark black fur streaked with blonde, massive paws and bright hazel eyes that shone in the light. He barked sharply before taking off toward the tree line. Yoongi followed, catching up and keeping up easily as they darted through the trees. 

The two ran for a solid twenty minutes, looping through the woods and back toward the rest stop. As they neared the tree line, Jungkook skidded to a stop, his large paws kicking up dirt and leaves as he did. Yoongi stopped next to him, walking at a slower pace out of the trees. The rest area was still empty, save for their vehicle. Jin was nowhere to be found; probably had taken the time to have his own running session in the woods. 

In the fading light of the sunset, Yoongi could see Jimin. He’d wandered a few yards from the car and was lying on a picnic table. His shaggy hair flopped back from his forehead, toned arms up and bulging just a little as he cradled the back of his head against the cold wood. One knee up, leg of his shorts falling back to reveal his smooth thigh, thick with well-defined muscles. He had to be freezing, lying outside in shorts – but they all had weird temperature mechanics after living with Jungkook so long

Next to Yoongi, Jungkook shifted, and Yoongi scoffed. “All that working out the human does, and he still can’t begin to keep up with you.”

When Jungkook didn’t answer, Yoongi glanced over, a little surprised to see Jungkook scowling. 

“What? I’m not wrong. He’ll never give you all you need – You love running.”

“What makes you think I need a running partner to have a happy relationship? Jimin can’t run as fast as you or me, but he supports me in other ways.”

“A relationship now, huh?” Yoongi sniped. “Since when was he more than your human toy?”

“Yoongi—” Jungkook hesitated then shook his head. He grabbed his clothes from the car and began tugging them on. “You know I’m fucking both of you. It’s never bothered you before.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Fine. You’ve never been so malicious about it before. Why are you so mean to him anyways? Jimin’s never done anything but try to be kind to you.”

“You know why, Jungkook. If his family were wolf hunters, maybe you’d understand.”

“He’s never hurt one of your kind.”

“Sins of the father, just like his family believes.”

“And he disowned his family because he believes all creatures, living or undead, deserve a chance to be happy. Jin would have never let him into our house if he sensed even a whisper of hatred from that man. And I’m not as stupid as you think either. I may not be some wise old vampire but I am half canine. And we can sense intentions pretty well. You’d do better to try and get along with Jimin.” Jungkook yanked his shirt on, patting his hair down. “Never know, maybe you’d learn something you didn’t expect about him.”

“Oh, like what?” Yoongi grunted, leaning against the car.

“Not my place to say,” Jungkook said simply. “But you’ll never find out if you keep being a needless jerk.”

He blinked in surprise at Jungkook’s unexpected snap, watching him pad off toward where Jimin was lying. Yoongi opted instead to get back into the vehicle, sensing that he’d pushed his annoyance a bit too far with the younger this time. 

When Jin returned from his own jaunt in the forest, Jimin and Jungkook returned to the car. Jimin slid into the seat next to Yoongi, offering a soft smile at him. Yoongi remained stone faced. Did he feel a little bad for what he said? Not that he’d ever admit. 

Jungkook wriggled in next to Jimin, forcing him over closer to Yoongi.

“Wh—” “Wanna sit back here for a bit,” Jungkook said simply.

“I can move up front,” Jimin offered.

“No. I wanna sit by you both.”

“Then get between us.” “Jin’s about to start driving. I’ll crawl over later. I can reach you both.” Jungkook reached over and grabbed Yoongi’s hand for emphasis. Yoongi frowned but said nothing more, though he did twine his fingers with Jungkook’s, squeezing firmly once. 

Yoongi let his mind wander as they began to drive once more, staring out the window as the last rays of the day slid down below the horizon. He felt Jungkook’s hand shift away from his, resting on his thigh for a moment before disappearing. There was a slight shuffle, and then Yoongi felt something thin and cold hit his wrist and click. He looked down, brows shooting up when he realized his wrist now had an accessory… A steel handcuff. And said handcuff was attached to someone else… Park Jimin. 

Yoongi looked over at Jungkook, who was grinning in his sheepish, bunny-rabbit way.

“Kook…”

“What did you do?” Jimin asked, lifting his wrist gently. He tugged Yoongi’s wrist up as he did.

“Well, you two avoid each other unless you’re fighting. And you’d do that even while we’re up in the cabin. Which is the literal reason we’re going up there, to try and help you two find a common ground. So, now you have no choice but to play nice or end up not being able to do anything.” Jungkook crossed his arms, looking smug as he spoke.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoongi grumbled. He grabbed the bracelet of the cuffs. “I can’t just snap—” As he spoke, he tugged and twisted at the metal, expecting it to bend open in his grip. 

“I can break—” He tried the chain. 

“No, you can’t,” Jungkook said simply. “I got monster proof cuffs. Amazing what you can find with a little clever digging these days.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispered. He shook his head. “Don’t do this to him.” He offered his wrist as well as he could. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be, Jimin,” Jungkook said, his smile fading. “You’re my best friend. So is Yoongi. And you both know my feelings run much deeper than that for you both.”

“Then let yourself have those feelings, you don’t need to stress him out like this.”

“I can’t. Even though we may share those feelings… I can’t date one or both of you knowing you hate each other. It doesn’t feel right to me, and I’m not going to have a peaceful relationship knowing that.”

“Date?” Yoongi perked up. “You want to date us?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Maybe. I guess it’ll depend on how this goes. How hard you’re willing to try to get along. I won’t lose either one of you. Whether it progresses from our current sort of friends with benefits deal to more…” Jungkook drifted off. “I’ll unlock the cuffs when we’re back in the car on the way home. Not a minute sooner.”

Jimin sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. 

Yoongi bit back a sharp remark about how disappointed he looked – he was disappointed too. Despite the true point of this trip, Yoongi had been looking forward to a little quiet time with Jungkook. Perhaps even, yes, pushing the idea of taking their relationship from friends with benefits to a little more. He knew Jimin felt the same – or at least very similar – he wasn’t blind. He also knew Jungkook was unlikely to choose one over the other. He hadn’t in the three years they’d kept up this quirky triangle.

Yoongi tugged at the cuffs once more, weakly, pulling Jimin’s wrist along with it. 

Jimin looked over at him, his plush lips stuck out in a bit of a pout. “I’ll try not to be too much of a bother,” he mumbled. Rather demurely, given what Yoongi knew of his normal sparky attitude. 

“I’ve got a vampire hunter hanging off my wrist,” Yoongi snarked. “It’s already a bother.”

Jimin’s cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw. He ground his teeth for a moment, eyes darkening. He wanted to say something. Yoongi almost wished he would. Let them start to fight – Jungkook might see this was a stupid idea if he did and take off these god-awful cuffs sooner. 

But Jimin’s jaw released at the same time his shoulders relaxed again. He faced forward, holding his cuffed wrist delicately on his leg, as close to Yoongi as possible without touching him. Probably to give him more freedom of movement; not that the six-inch chain offered much room for that at all without yanking on one another. 

Yoongi huffed, glaring around Jimin at Jungkook, who looked far too smug for what he’d done. He offered a wide, crinkly nosed grin and wriggled down in his seat, snuggling up against Jimin’s shoulder and burying his nose in his neck, his preferred sleeping position with anyone. 

Yoongi slouched as far away from Jimin as he could and glared out the window. The weight of the cuff on his wrist made it impossible to relax, sleep, or even let his mind wander to anything except that. And the stupid human. He hated how calm Jimin was about this whole thing. And his pleading. On Yoongi’s behalf. What the hell was that? 

Don’t do this to him.

Yoongi didn’t need the human defending him. He was able to stand up for himself. Why did Jimin sound so genuinely stressed out? Oh.

Yoongi scoffed. He looked over at Jimin. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna fucking eat you.”

Jimin blinked at him owlishly. “What?”

“You panicking about the cuffs. I’m sure you think I’m gonna lose my mind and become some blood lust crazy monster just because I’m in proximity to a human.”

“No?” Jimin frowned. “You live with me and have never acted like that. Why would I think that?”

“You know why,” Yoongi tried to cross his arms, only succeeding in tugging Jimin’s wrist onto his lap. 

Jimin let himself be tugged, still frowning in confusion at Yoongi. “I really don’t,” he finally said.

“It’s the reason you people kill my kind. You’re scared of us.”

“Maybe,” Jimin said. He shrugged. “I can’t say why humans kill vampires. Or wolves or selkies or any creatures. It’s not for food. Maybe it is fear. Maybe it’s sport.”

“Why don’t you just go ask your dad?” 

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, gentle – as if he were talking to a scared animal. “I understand why you hate me. I would too, if I were in your place. I know you’re not happy with this.”

“Can say that again. Can’t even itch my fucking nose. At least your dominant hand is free, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, what do you actually do that you can’t do with your left?”

Yoongi turned a glare onto Jimin, who grinned. “You weren’t intending to jerk off with me right next to you, were you?” He teased.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Like I could get it up with you breathing down my neck, hunter,” he muttered. 

“I told you I’d try not to be much of a bother, and I will do my best. I know you love Jungkook. We just need to keep it together for the week up here, for him. That’s it. Then we can go back to comfortable avoidance.”

Yoongi looked out the window. Jimin was right – he knew that much, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing Yoongi say it. So, he said nothing. They were climbing in elevation now, the trees thickening around the road as it became progressively bumpier. Patches of snow began to appear along the sides of the road and through the trees, and – entirely unsurprising to Yoongi – flakes began to drift down around the car. 

The flakes were coming down in far larger clumps, piling a few inches thick by the time they pulled into the cabin. Jin sighed heavily, letting go of the steering wheel. He shook his hands out, rubbing at his palms. 

“Those last few miles were hell,” he commented.

“We’re not going to be able to get back down if this keeps up,” Jungkook agreed.

The cabin door burst open as he did, and out rushed Hoseok. Jin climbed out of the car just in time to catch the leaping man, pressing a deep kiss to his mouth. Jungkook leapt out as well, grabbing Hoseok in a tight hug the moment Jin released him. 

Yoongi watched the trio, his heart giving an uncomfortable little clench. All shifters. He and Jimin were the oddballs out in this group. He looked through the window. The trees were thick, and heavy with snow, obscuring the view almost entirely around them. Behind the large cabin with a friendly tendril of smoke rising from the chimney, was a stunning, still lake. Despite the grey coloring of the slowly rising sun, it was breathtaking. The water was crystal clear, nearly mirror like. A crust of ice had formed a few feet from the shore toward the center, and Yoongi assumed it would nearly encompass the lake within a few days if the snowfall kept up. 

“You should probably get out first,” Jimin mumbled, pulling Yoongi out of his admiration of the scenery. He yanked open the door and climbed out, his left arm trailing back as he waited for Jimin to climb out behind him. 

This was going to be dreadful. Everything would need to be done at a snail’s pace, compared to his normal speed, having the human hanging off his wrist.

Hoseok came around the side of the car, stopping short. His eyes drifted down to the cuffs connecting their wrists. Yoongi opened his mouth, about to warn or threaten the seal shifter away from a tease, when Hoseok began to laugh, nearly doubling over in pure joy at the predicament the two had found themselves in. 

Jimin sighed heavily. “Lay off, Hobi,” he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over Hoseok’s cackling. 

Hoseok righted himself, still holding his stomach and wiping tears. He shook his head, small titters of laughter emerging even as he tried to contain them.

“What a situation, eh?”

“It’s not funny,” Jimin stepped forward. “This isn’t fun for us. The least you could do is not laugh at us.”

“Oh come on, you won’t mind it all that much,” Hoseok slapped Jimin on the shoulder. “God knows you’ve been fond of living dead boy for ages.”

Yoongi looked over fast enough to see Jimin’s eyes bulge. He swiped at Hoseok with his free left, baring his teeth in the universal sign for ‘shut it’.

Fond of the living dead boy? Well the only undead here was Yoongi… But Jimin wasn’t fond of him. Jimin could barely tolerate him, in the same way he could barely tolerate Jimin…. Right?

“Let’s just unpack the stuff,” Jimin said quickly. He turned to circle around the car, jerking Yoongi’s arm.

Yoongi glared, and Jimin winced. “Sorry. This is… Taking some getting used to.”

“Why don’t we take out the luggage,” Jungkook offered. He and Jin had come around behind Hoseok. “You two go relax.”

“When you pull out the cooler, I need to get a bag. I’m starving,” Yoongi said. He stepped up to Jimin and looked at him numbly. “You need to walk now too.” He tried to sound patronizing, but it came off as far more gentle than he intended.

Jimin obeyed, walking with Yoongi toward the cabin. Yoongi could feel him shiver, and scowled. 

“You shouldn’t have worn shorts,” he scolded with no venom, pulling open the cabin door. “You knew it was snowy.”

“I didn’t figure I’d be outside much without Jungkook,” Jimin said, entering. He headed immediately toward the fireplace, once more yanking Yoongi, who’d stayed behind to shut the door. Yoongi hissed, baring his fangs.

“Would you stop that?!”

“I’m sorry!” Jimin snapped back. “This is an adjustment for us both. Stop yelling at me and learn to work with me, dammit.”

Yoongi smirked. That was the Jimin he knew better. 

“Now,” Jimin continued before Yoongi could speak. “I’m cold. I want to go sit by the fire and warm up. Is that okay?”

“Fine.” Yoongi nodded. He walked with Jimin toward the fire, taking a seat on the ground with him. Jimin wrapped one arm around his knees, resting his chin on them. He let his other arm hang outward awkwardly, trying not to disturb Yoongi’s positioning. 

Yoongi frowned. “You can put your arm down, it’s okay.”  He tugged lightly as he spoke, setting his arm on his leg. Jimin let his arm drop to the ground. He continued to stare at the fire. Yoongi took the opportunity to look openly at the human. He really was quite striking; neatly sculpted brows and soft, plush lips, a gentle, sloping jawline that had just enough definition to trace. Light shadow and contour decorated his nearly flawless skin; Yoongi knew he spent quite a good chunk of time perfecting a casual makeup look despite not needing it. He must have touched up during their last rest stop. A simple earring – some dangling gold chain, sprinkled with tiny gems on each link. And – despite a two-day drive – smooth, perfect hair, shaggy enough to fall over his brows, but currently brushed back from Jimin’s own nervous twitch of carding his fingers through his locks. His throat was smooth – and Yoongi could trace the patterns of his strong veins and along the curve of his neck. How soft the skin looked behind his ear, how strong and dark that one particular vein looked… 

Yoongi’s fangs poked his bottom lip, snapping him out of whatever fantasy he’d fallen into. He drew in a sharp breath and straightened up, drawing Jimin’s attention.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yoongi mumbled, covering his mouth.

“Something wrong? Do you feel sick?” Jimin paused. “Can vampires puke?”

“We can,” Yoongi mumbled. “But I don’t feel sick.”

“Oh.” Jimin gasped then. “Oh!”

“What’s that oh for,” Yoongi mocked, glaring over at him.

“Are you hungry? Your voice is muffled – your fangs. We should see if Jungkook has grabbed your cooler yet.” 

Jimin rose into a crouch. “Come on.”

“You can’t go back out in shorts,” Yoongi argued, letting his hand drop. He saw Jimin’s gaze drop to his mouth, where his canines poked from his top lip. He had always hated his fangs – their size was almost comical in his small mouth. Jimin’s heartrate picked up.

“I’m not going to bite you.”

“I trust you. I’ve just never been so close when you’ve had them out,” Jimin confessed. “They’re… Big.”

“All the better to eat you with, as the big bad wolf would say.” Yoongi hissed, but Jimin only laughed. 

“That’s our Jungkook. You’re a little less intimidating.”

“How is a vampire less intimidating than an overgrown puppy dog?” Yoongi asked, offended. 

“Because you won’t hurt me. Jungkook could hurt me accidentally just jumping on me too hard when he gets excited. He forgets his own strength. You’ve had years to practice control.”

“How do you know I won’t hurt you? I eat your species.”

“You drink human blood. But I know damn well that doesn’t mean you eat or even hurt humans. You drink bagged blood.”

“Oh, do you think they had easily accessible bagged blood when I first turned? So, what, that I woke from my grave and trotted to the local monster shop and ordered a pint of A positive over a sundae? No. I woke up and I ripped out the throat of the nearest human I could find.”

“You were newly turned. You were ravenous. Nobody would blame a hungry bear for attacking.”

“Oh, so I’m nothing more than an animal to you?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m on your side, Yoongi, when will you see that?”

“Do you know how to kill a vampire, Jimin?”

Jimin seemed to freeze at that, his lips parted just a bit. He looked over at Yoongi, who sat still, waiting.

“I—”

“Answer me honestly. Do you know how to kill a vampire?”

Jimin hung his head. “Yes, I do.”

“Not so easy, is it?” Yoongi pressed. “Not like the movies. A stake to the heart, sunlight. We don’t die easy, do we, Jimin?”

Jimin shifted, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. “It’s horrible,” he choked.

“Oh, is it? Have you seen it done?”

“Yes.”

“And did you have any part in it?”

Jimin looked over. “My father brought me hunting on my sixteenth birthday. It was his gift to me. He handed me a knife, and he told me that I was going to become a man.” 

“I bet he did.” Yoongi looked away.

“She only looked about twenty,” Jimin continued, staring at the fire. “Gorgeous, honestly. Her eyes were big and dark, and her hair was long – it looked so soft. I was meant to be the bait. I was so scared, when I went up to her in the cafe. I grew up hearing the tales about how even the smell of a human could make a vampire go crazy. I thought for sure she’d try to rip my throat out.”

“What happened?” Yoongi asked. He looked over at Jimin. He wasn’t sure why he asked. He knew what happened. She died. And Jimin and his father killed her. Maybe a sick pleasure, knowing firsthand how brutal the human attached to his wrist was. Jimin continued to stare at the fire. 

“She bought me a fucking soda. To this day, Cherry Coke makes me nauseous. She bought me a soda and she talked to me while I drank it. She offered to walk me home, because it was getting late. So, I let her. I figured now. Here is where she’ll try to rip my throat out. Dig her claws into me and show me her fangs and hurt me.”

“And did she?”

“No.” Jimin swallowed hard. “She walked me almost all the way home, polite as can be, when my father came up to us. She knew, I think. When she saw him – what he was. She looked so… Scared. She tried to run. Not attack – run.

I stepped between her and my father. I knew it was wrong, right then. But he shoved me down and told me I was a disappointment. That he’d give me one more chance. And then he caught her. She was fast but he… He had a bow. It was dipped in –”

“I know. A paralyzing agent.”

“Yeah. She went down and he caught her and dragged her back to me. She was pleading for her life. Swore she didn’t eat humans. He didn’t listen. He grabbed me and he dragged us both into the woods where he’d set up his work space. Tied her down to a bench… And told me to start cutting.”

Yoongi’s stomach lurched. He wanted to scream, to run, to strike. He looked over at Jimin, ready to snap a cruel comment, but froze. Jimin was still staring at the fire. But as Yoongi watched, he saw wet streaks running down Jimin’s cheek. He was crying. 

“I told him no,” Jimin choked. “I told him I couldn’t. She wasn’t a danger. She was nice.” Jimin sniffled. “He hit me. And he shoved me against a tree. And he told me if I was too big of a pansy to do it, I could watch it.”

Jimin wiped his cheeks with his free hand. He sniffled again and looked over at Yoongi. “The night of my sixteenth birthday I watched him cut her to pieces with a knife. The sound of her flesh and muscles tearing still haunts me. I tried to stop him over and over, and all he did was push me back. Hit me. Tell me to man up. Remind me of how monstrous your kind is. And then he handed me the matches. To burn her body. I threw them into the woods and I ran.” 

Jimin smiled weakly. “The fact that I couldn’t save Siyeon still haunts me.”

“What happened after?” Yoongi asked.

“I got a bus ticket to Seoul. And I found a nice couple that took me in. Let me finish school, gave me a space to hide. They were vampires, Yoongi. Ages sixteen and seventeen, I lived with vampires – and I thought of them as parents. A—” Jimin swallowed hard. “And then my actual parents found me. And I watched… Once more… The brutality of hunting your kind. And once again I couldn’t save them. I was too weak. But I disowned my parents at that very moment. I told them I supported vampires and I would never pick up a weapon against them. And that I wasn’t their son anymore. Oh… They thought I’d been turned, even tried to prove it. For two weeks they waited for my fangs to come out. And when they didn’t… They left me. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

Yoongi remained silent, unsure how to respond. Part of him wanted to pop off with something smart and sassy – but he could feel the waves of emotion coming from Jimin. His story wasn’t a lie to gain sympathy. He believed what he was saying. So Yoongi said nothing.

Jimin looked over. Despite his eyes, red rimmed from the tears that streaked his cheeks, he was still stunning. “I’ve never told anybody the whole truth. Not even Jungkook knows.”

“Why?” Yoongi asked. His mouth had gone strangely dry. 

“Because it’s not something I like to relive. It’s not something I want people to know. How weak I was. How helpless… To save them.”

“Hunters are brutal,” Yoongi said. He shrugged. “If you’d done more to interfere… Parents or not, I don’t know that you’d be here now.”

“Probably not. My father always said I was too weak to be his. So that’s my story, Yoongi. That’s why I’m here, living with Jin and Jungkook and you.”

“Why did you tell me? We aren’t friends. We aren’t even that close.”

“Well, for the next two weeks – maybe three – we’re literally stuck together. I know you hate me. And that’s fine, I get it. But I wanted you to know what really happened.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to respond when the door burst open. Jungkook entered, lugging the cooler that housed Yoongi’s meals for the next few weeks. “That snow is intense,” Jungkook commented, shaking the snow from his shaggy brown hair like cold dandruff. 

“It is,” Jin agreed, lugging in a pile of bags. Hoseok followed after and kicked the door shut, his own arms full of bags. 

“You three are gonna be out here at least three weeks based on this – it’s cold enough in these mountains that we don’t melt fast.”

“Will you have enough food?” Jin worried, looking at Yoongi. He nodded. 

“The supply I gave you to put in there should last comfortably two and a half, and I can go without for about a week without losing my mind, so I’ll just space the bags out. Would you put it in the snow outside though? The ice is probably melted by now so you’ll wanna keep it cold. And I don’t think Hoseok wants gallons of blood in his fridge.”

“Rather not,” Hoseok agreed, padding past them into a bedroom with some of the bags. “So Jin will sleep with me, and I did have two rooms set up for you and Jimin, but seeing as you’re sharing,” he smirked at them from around the door, “Jungkook can take the extra room as needed.” 

“Do you wanna get some?” Jimin asked. Yoongi looked away from the cooler and nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

“Let’s go. Jungkook, hold on a sec,” Jimin called. He and Yoongi rose and headed over. Jungkook turned around, setting the cooler on the ground with a thud. 

Yoongi crouched and opened it, scowling. Inside – rather than his pint bags of blood, floating in a pool of water, he saw nothing but vacuum sealed packages of… Meat. 

“Jungkook…”

Yoongi reached in, pawing through the meat. Jimin crouched with him, reaching in as well.

“Jungkook, you didn’t—” Jimin whispered. Jungkook looked down. His eyes bulged.

“No—Oh no.” He sank down next to the others and began yanking the meat packages out. “No, no… Jin!” Jungkook whipped around. “You grabbed the wrong cooler!”

Jin turned from where he’d been talking with Hoseok, his smile slowly fading. “No – The red one. Yoongi said the blood was in the red one by the window.”

“The living room window, Jin,” Yoongi hissed. 

“My meats – My dried and cured meats – they were in the other red cooler by the kitchen window,” Jungkook said, holding up one of the bags.

Jin’s smile disappeared completely. “Oh no,” he whispered. He looked at Yoongi. “We have to go back down.”

“You can’t,” Hoseok said, grabbing Jin’s arm. “Look at that snowfall. You’d wreck in a heartbeat.”

“He can’t go without food, Hobi,” Jin cried.

“I’ll be okay,” Yoongi said. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he would. The very thought of starving sent a chill down his spine. He knew what happened to vampires who were too deeply starved. 

“I can head down the mountain,” he suggested.

“You’d freeze to death,” Jimin argued.

“I’m already dead.”

“You’d still never make it. Dead and immortal doesn’t make you immune to dying in other ways. And freezing solid and shattering is a pretty shitty way to go.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi said softly. “You know better than anyone…”

“We might not be up here three weeks. Maybe the snow will melt faster, and we can get you back to the city.”

“Can’t you eat an animal?” Hoseok offered. “Surely Jungkook could catch something—”

“I can’t drink animal blood. Old vampire myth to make us seem less scary. It makes us very sick. Monster blood is worse, so don’t get any ideas there either.”

“But you drink human blood,” Jimin said softly.

“From a bag.” Yoongi looked over as he spoke, his voice firm. He hated the way Jimin was looking at him. “I’m not even that hungry right now. Jungkook…” He looked to Jungkook, who looked close to tears himself. “I promise I won’t fight with Jimin. Would you please unhandcuff us?”

“Well that takes the fun out of it,” Jungkook pouted.

“Jungkook… You need to uncuff me from him.”

Jungkook scowled at that, looking between Jimin and Yoongi. “But—”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi strained. “I am a vampire. Who is in an isolated cabin with no food. Potentially for multiple weeks. You need to uncuff me from this human.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened a little as the pieces seemed to fall into place. “Oh God, of course. Right, hold on.” He scrambled to his feet and rushed to where his bags were, beginning to dig around in one. “Yoongi…” Jimin reached over, setting his free hand on Yoongi’s upper arm. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“Jimin—”

“I was going to offer anyways. You know… If you were hungry…”

“Don’t.”

The small smile that had been curving Jimin’s mouth disappeared immediately at Yoongi’s tone. Yoongi looked away, hating the way his heart did a little flip at the idea. Sinking his fangs into Jimin’s smooth neck… Tasting that sweet blood… Hearing Jimin’s breath pick up… Yoongi shook his head slightly to knock the image from his mind. He was supposed to hate the stupid human, not want to feed off him. 

He hadn’t bitten a living human since he was turned. The shame he felt even now, after all these years, when he thought about what he did when he first turned… Once he was in his right mind he swore he’d rather die than feed from a living human. And he’d kept that promise to himself all these years. Easily, really. Even when blood was hard to come by – the simple thought of feeding on a person was enough to turn his stomach. 

So then why did his mind keep drifting to Jimin? The way his veins painted delicate, abstract art on his neck… The sweet, rich scent of his life fluid just… There, right under the surface. The way it made Yoongi’s mouth water, his fangs slipping down, his own pulse – slow and lethargic most of the time – picking up like a horny schoolboy…

“Jungkook,” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook looked up from where he was digging in a second bag. His hair was plastered over his forehead, a look of desperation in his eyes.

“Still looking, it’s a small key. Give me just one more minute, no worries,” he said. Though, any monster in the room could hear his panic… There was a definite need to worry. 

“What if we drove down slow?” Jin offered. “You and me could go, Yoongi. You won’t bite me, and even if you get… very hungry—”

Yoongi nodded. “That could work… But if the car gets stuck, you’ll die a hell of a lot faster than I will. It’d be safer for me to creep down on my own.”

“Except the the gas station on the way up the mountain will be closed and you’ll use far more than usual creeping. You’d be on empty long before you get to civilization,” Hoseok argued. “Not to mention, when you get around people again, then what? You eat the first one you see?”

“Hey!” Jimin’s sharp tone surprised Yoongi. He looked over.

“He’s not going to go feral.”

“Jimin…”

“You won’t. You guys keep talking like you have no food.” Jimin tilted his head a little, exposing his neck. “Hate me or not, I’m still a perfectly viable meal. And you can easily feed from me without hurting me. I know you can control yourself.”

“No.” Yoongi shook his head. “I won’t eat live meals.”

“You’re not eating me. You can just drink a little… Every few days, just enough to take the edge off.”

Yoongi scooted back as far as he could, his arm jerking forward with the cuffs. “Jungkook!” He snapped. 

Jungkook made a small noise and flopped back on his butt. “I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find the key?!” Yoongi cried. He rose, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and lifting him up easily to drag him over. He sank down in front of Jungkook’s bags, beginning to dig through the piles. 

“I’ve looked three times now,” Jungkook said softly, looking near tears. “I can’t find them. I—I must have lost it or left it at home or… Something.”

“Then we pick it!” Yoongi said. He looked to Jin and Hoseok. “Pick it for us.”

“I can’t pick locks,” Hoseok chuckled. “You have far too much faith in me.” “I could try,” Jin said, “but I’m not very good.”

“I don’t care. We have time.” 

“Yoongi,” Jimin tried as Yoongi hauled him up once more, dragging him over to where Jin stood. 

“Why aren’t you more panicked?” Yoongi asked, seeing Jimin looking incredibly calm… And a little sad. 

“Because there isn’t a reason to panic.”

“You’re tied to a thing that fucking eats you.”

“Who I’ve already offered my neck to and he won’t bite. Literally. Yoongi, I’m not scared of you. I’ve said it once and it still stands. I would, however, like you to stop hauling me around like I’m luggage. I can walk. And while I enjoy being manhandled at times, we are both far too clothed for the type I enjoy.” Jimin tugged their cuffed wrists for emphasis. 

A series of titters erupted from the other three in the room, and Yoongi scowled. “You crack jokes as if this isn’t serious.”

“Just lightening the mood.” Jimin shrugged. 

“As if you’d be able to handle me in bed anyways. Or would want to.”

Jimin shrugged. “Says you.” He looked to Jin. “Wanna try to pick it?”

“Sure. Do you have something I can use, Hobi?”

“Lemme look.” Hoseok headed around the counter into the kitchen and began digging through the drawers.

“Go sit down,” Jin said. “It’ll be easier.”

Yoongi moved to walk, but stopped. He motioned for Jimin to lead the way, feeling a little guilty for dragging him around. It wasn’t his fault they were in this situation, after all. And yeah, Yoongi thought as he walked with Jimin and settled onto the couch with him, after learning the truth… Maybe he was beginning to feel some sympathy for the human. Not that they could ever realistically be friends. They couldn’t stand each other. Jimin was scared of him, or hated him… And he disliked the human. It was just how it was… Or how it should be. But maybe, now that Jimin had shared something with Yoongi about his history, they could at least become tolerant of one another.

Yoongi tried to pretend Jimin wasn’t sitting far too close to him. He wasn’t all that hungry. He’d gone about twelve days without food before, and it was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t feral. So, there was no real reason why he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than Jimin’s pulse. His infuriatingly slow pulse. How could someone so soft and breakable be so calm hanging off the arm of a predator? And so eager to offer his throat?

Jin came around with a handful of slender items. He crouched, grabbing the cuffs and beginning to try the different things. Brows furrowed, Yoongi could tell he was trying. But as the minutes passed, the pile of untried items grew smaller, and the pile of useless, bent, or broken items got larger and larger. 

Jin sighed, picking up a steak knife – the last item in his pile. “There’s no way,” he said.

“Just try it,” Yoongi mumbled. He knew Jin was right, no way would a steak knife open the cuffs. Jin did as he said, jabbing at the hole in the cuffs, trying to get it to release. Nearly a minute of fiddling, and he finally sat back, shaking his head no. “I’m sorry guys, I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin said. “You tried.”

Yoongi grabbed his cuff and yanked, grimacing when it tugged the skin of his hand. “Did you have to make it so tight?” He growled at Jungkook. 

“I wanted to make sure you couldn’t pull it off,” Jungkook said. He came around the side of the couch, looking sheepish. “I know I have a spare key for it… It’s just in my room.”

“Well that won’t do any good up here!” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook flinched, his eyes widening a little. 

Yoongi took a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

“No… You were trying to make us get along. It would have been funny, honestly, if things didn’t turn out like this,” Yoongi said. There is a final option… I just would like to not have to try it until things get… Bad.”

“What are you thinking of, Yoongi?” Jin asked, trepidation clear in his tone.

“Hoseok has a wood stove. A fireplace. Which means he has an axe.”

“No.” Both Jimin and Jungkook spoke in unison. “We’re not cutting any body parts off.”

“Well if I go feral and am still attached to Jimin, you’ll be doing a lot more than cutting off something. You’ll have to put me down.”

“You aren’t a dog!” Jimin cried. “If it gets to that point, we can just dislocate my thumb. It’ll hurt like a mother but the cuffs can come off. But you could prevent getting to that point if you’d just drink from me.”

“I will not let you hurt yourself for my sake,” Yoongi argued.

“Why not? You hate me, don’t you? A stupid hunter’s son.” Yoongi should have said yes. His brain told him that he should say yes. Yet the word wouldn’t come out. Instead, he just shook his head, looking down. “I just won’t let you,” he muttered.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Jin said. He rose, setting his hands on their shoulders. “Come on. This is a setback, but we’re still up here, let’s try to have a good time, right?”

Yoongi smiled softly, nodding. “You’re right. Hobi, how long until the lake freezes over completely do you think?”

“A day or two, why?”

“I know Jungkook’s been dying to take a swim in ice water. Mostly because he’s a lunatic. Want to?”

Hoseok grinned brightly. “I’d love to. You know me, never turn down water.”

“What about you?” Jin asked. He looked at Jimin. “He won’t have the same tolerance to cold…”

Yoongi glanced at Jimin, who’s smile - which had grown at the mention of a cold swim, was sinking.

“Yeah, maybe not, but I don’t much like the cold either. I’m sure I’ll be ready to be done when he is. We can still have fun. I won’t let you drown.” 

Jimin looked at him, that sweet smile returning. He nodded. “Deal.”

Yoongi regretted that deal the second they hit the water. Not at any fault of Jimin’s, oh no. But more because Yoongi had forgotten just how much he hated the cold. He was shuddering nearly instantly. Jimin laughed brightly next to him, a high, tinkling sound on the cool wind. Yoongi looked over. Jimin was shivering just as hard as he was.

“This can’t be safe for humans,” Yoongi worried.

“A few minutes is fine. It’s good for the body,” Jimin assured him. “Can we go deeper? I wanna try to get to where Jungkook is.”

Yoongi looked across the lake. About fifteen feet ahead, closer to the center of the unfrozen part of the water, were their three friends. They’d jumped in as humans – but now Yoongi could see a wolf, a fox with many tails, and a seal, all bobbing along the water. 

“We’ll try – but remember they are all furred animals. You may not make it that far.”

“I still wanna try.”

Yoongi nodded. He and Jimin set off carefully, their swimming motions needing to be perfectly aligned due to the cuffs. They made it nearly as far as Jungkook when Jimin whined softly. Yoongi glanced over, concern furrowing his brows. Jimin was shivering less, but his arms were covered in gooseflesh, and his lips were turning a startling shade of purple-blue. 

“We need to go back,” Yoongi said. 

Jimin nodded, not bothering to argue.

“Can you make it?”

“I c—can t-t-t-try,” Jimin chattered. 

“Ah, you soft humans,” Yoongi teased with no real venom. He got them turned around. “Here, go over my head so you’re hooked around my shoulders.” He brought the hand with the cuff across his chest. Jimin moved his arm over Yoongi’s head, dropping it against his back. 

“Good, try to help me paddle a bit with your free hand okay? And kick some.”

Jimin nodded. Yoongi could barely feel heat from his skin despite their closeness; a rather concerning feeling. He swam them back as quick as he could manage, Jimin doing his best to help. When they reached the ice patch, Yoongi moved to dislodge himself from Jimin’s arm. “Okay, get out.”

Jimin nodded. He braced his hands on the ice and hoisted himself out, spinning around and crouching as he helped Yoongi up and out. 

Unfortunately – their wet skin on the ice did nothing in terms of support, and as soon as Yoongi was out of the water, a single step sent them both flying. Yoongi landed on top of Jimin, clearly knocking the breath from his chest. Snow that had puffed up around them in the fall now drifted down, speckling Jimin’s face like glitter. They laid nose to nose for a moment, Jimin’s eyes wide as he looked up at Yoongi. 

“I—”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispered, though he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not because of the ice… But mostly because Jimin felt so good under him. 

“It’s okay,” Jimin breathed. His eyes darted down to Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi froze. Was he about to kiss him? He jerked back, panic bubbling up in his chest. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be okay with that idea. Carefully, he moved off Jimin and rose, helping Jimin to his feet. Jimin clung to him, shivering harder than ever. 

They entered the cabin. “You should strip,” he said.

“S—” Jimin’s eyes bulged. 

“As we melt we’re gonna soak the floor. And it’ll be easier to warm up if you’re in just a pair of dry pants than if you’re in soaking wet clothes.

“Right…” Jimin glanced down. “Shit.”

“What?” 

“The cuffs. How am I gonna get my shirt off with the cuffs?”

Yoongi looked down as well. He swore under his breath, glaring in the general direction of the lake. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Jimin laughed a little. “Didn’t think that one through, did he?”

“Let’s get to the bathroom. We’re dripping.” Yoongi led him through the cabin into the bathroom. He guided Jimin into the tub. “Okay, so we could cut them off, but then we’d be shirtless for the next three weeks and I’d like to go outside at some point, so…”

“Yeah, no.” Jimin tapped his chin in thought. “What about just letting them hang over the cuff chain to dry? If we set a towel under them, squeeze them out as much as we can here, they should dry in front of the fire too, and we can put them back on?”

Yoongi thought for a moment, his eyes darting from Jimin to their cuffs as he tried to determine if it would succeed. Finally, he nodded. “I think that’ll work. Try it?”

Jimin nodded. He pulled his left arm free, apologizing softly when he tugged Yoongi over so his right hand could be used. Over the head, over his right arm, it dangled on the chain, as predicted, dripping into the tub. 

“Perfect!” Jimin said. 

Yoongi nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding about though, as he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from Jimin’s bare chest. Though Jimin was slender, under his clothes he was very clearly hiding a lot. A toned chest and firm muscles, the cold water had tightened his dusky nipples to hard little points. His belly was slim, with the faint outlines of muscles that Yoongi knew were probably far tighter than a quick glance. And his hips – cut almost ridiculously perfect into a v shape, visible over the top of his waistband. Though he was clothed from the bottom down, Yoongi could imagine very clearly where that v pointed.

“Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice drew him out of his staring. He looked up, clearing his throat. “Right. Perfect. I’ll do mine.” Yoongi moved a little quicker, yanking his off and adding it to Jimin’s dangling from the chain. After seeing Jimin, he felt a little self-conscious. Though strong – it was all his inhuman nature; he was far less fit and chiseled than the human. 

“We should wring them out now.” Yoongi grabbed his own shirt and began to ring it out, twisting it this way and that to get as much water out as he could. Jimin did the same, the water splashing between them like a mini waterfall. 

“Great,” Jimin said when they could wring no more water from the shirts. He moved to step out, but Yoongi grabbed his wrist. “Shorts and shoes too – you’ll drip everywhere.”

“Oh—” Jimin hesitated, looking down and then up at Yoongi. “Uh… Naked?” He squeaked. 

“Well, yeah.” Yoongi chuckled. “What, you shy about something?”

Jimin looked away, his cheeks pinking up delightfully. “Well, no, I just…”

Yoongi sighed and grabbed a towel from the nearby rack. He turned away from Jimin as well as he could and hung it over his shoulder. “Here, just change and wrap it around your waist. I won’t look.” 

He heard a shuffle and felt a tug on his wrist. He was distinctly aware of the fact that if he shifted his right hand at all he would likely be brushing against Jimin’s bare skin. His wrist was pulld again, and this time he felt a towel skim past his fingers.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Alright, I’m taking mine off now,” Yoongi said. He pulled his hand back, quickly tugging his shoes, socks, jeans, and boxers off. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his own waist. 

“Okay, come on.” They stepped out of the bathtub and walked into the room where their bags had been dropped, the wet clothes dangling awkwardly between them. Yoongi let Jimin grab clothes first, looking away politely while he pulled on sweats. He pulled on his own sweats and handed Jimin their towels. Out into the living room, he grabbed a blanket from the chair as they settled onto the loveseat nearest to the fire. He slung the blanket over their shoulders.

“The wet—” Jimin began. “I know, here, just wrap them up with the towels.” They worked together with surprising efficiency to wrap the clothes. Jimin relaxed a bit, pressing closer to Yoongi to get further under the blanket as they sat.

Jimin’s body was warming quickly, radiating heat into his own normally barely lukewarm bones. It was… Comfortable, if Yoongi was being honest. Yoongi felt his head drooping, soothed by the sounds of the fire and the warmth. Jimin shifted, snuggling next to him and resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi quirked his brow, peeking around Jimin’s head. Sure enough, the human was sleeping. Yoongi smiled a little. Yeah, Jimin wasn’t so bad, maybe… 

Yoongi was amazed at how much he could simultaneously adore and hate a singular person. If Jungkook hadn’t been a werewolf, Yoongi may have considered feeding on him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t have heard that right.” Yoongi repeated for the second time, staring at Jungkook in the dark bedroom. Jungkook pouted, his bottom lip sticking out and making him look far younger than his twenty-three years would imply. 

“I said I’m bored.”

“And you proceeded to grab my dick.”

“Well, what better way to solve boredom?”

“Jungkook, we’re cuffed.”

“Which makes it less sexy how?”

Yoongi’s face remained stoic. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jungkook. I’m still upset with you.”

“For what?!” Jungkook cried, seemingly offended that Yoongi would dare.

Yoongi blinked at him before lifting the cuffs, inadvertently dragging Jimin’s arm up and making Jungkook’s head hit the pillow where he’d been cuddling between the two of them. He gave it a shake.

“Also for losing the key. And for whatever other harebrained ideas you get while we’re up here.”

Jungkook’s pout returned full force. “Well fine. Your loss.”

“My loss?”

“Jimin will keep me company, right?” Jungkook turned to look at Jimin, his grin broadening. 

“I—I can’t say no,” Jimin mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Yoongi.”

Yoongi gaped at Jimin. 

“So what, you two are just gonna fuck next to me? Could you be any more obscene?”

“Oh it’s not like you’ve not seen it before, you prude.”

“I haven’t! Not with Jimin.”

“Just go to sleep then.” Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Yoongi. He rolled over, facing away from Yoongi. A shift on the bed, and Yoongi heard the soft sounds of kissing. He scowled at them for a moment. He hated the way his stomach was making those nasty little knots, the way he wanted to reach out and card his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, pull him back from Jimin and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Hated the way he wanted to feel Jimin’s mouth too. Sink into his tight heat and find out if his moans were as pretty as his laugh. The days spent cuffed together had done a number on Yoongi. More and more he found himself enjoying Jimin’s company, laughing with him, conversing with him willingly. And more and more he found himself staring at him, wondering more about him, noticing his subtle (and obvious) beauty. 

Yoongi shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of their kissing, the soft breathy sighs from them, and the shift of fabric as they moved together, slowly stripping.  

It worked, for a while. Yoongi managed to remain feigning sleep (how could he actually sleep?) through Jungkook very clearly giving Jimin some amazing oral sex, and through Jungkook prepping Jimin’s soft body for sex. He even managed to feign sleep when Jungkook slid into Jimin, but felt Jimin’s hand grab his own for the briefest second, paired with a sharp, pleasured cry from the human. 

But Yoongi’s strength only went so far. He could feel a stirring in his groin as the bed shifted rhythmically, hearing the slick sounds of their skin slapping together as Jungkook thrust into him, their muffled panting.

He opened his eyes the tiniest bit. They wouldn’t notice, not so caught up in their lovemaking. Jimin was covering his mouth with his free hand, muffling his soft whines as Jungkook thrust into him. 

From his viewpoint, Yoongi could see Jimin’s hips bent up, his cock hard and leaking onto his belly. Jungkook reached up, pinching Jimin’s nipple and tugging. Jimin moaned, shoving his head back into the pillow and grabbing the sheet. “Jungkook—“ he whined, strained.

Jungkook glanced over, catching Yoongi’s gaze. Yoongi tried to shut his eyes, but knew it was too late. He glanced again, seeing Jungkook lean down. He was whispering, but Yoongi heard it clear as day. 

“He’s watching us,” he whispered, “and you’re making him hard.” 

Jimin looked over. Yoongi met his gaze openly, wetting his lips. Jungkook wasn’t wrong, his cock was hard in his sweats, pushing up the blanket a little. Yoongi reached down, palming himself as he watched Jungkook make love to Jimin. He could feel his fangs poking his bottom lip, and knew as soon as he spoke they’d be just as obvious as his erection.

“Want me to take care of that?” Jungkook teased. “Or maybe you wanna see if Jimin feels as good as you think he might, hm?”

Yoongi swallowed hard. “Ride me, Jungkook,” he demanded. 

Jungkook smirked. He pulled out of Jimin, his cock slick with lube. He pushed the blanket down and tugged Yoongi’s sweats around his ankles. He licked his lips, staring at Yoongi’s dick.

“Come suck him with me, Jimin.”

Jimin obeyed, sitting and moving down. He and Jungkook set to work immediately, dragging a surprised shout out of Yoongi. Their mouths were everywhere, tongues sliding over his sensitive cock, sharing kisses. Jungkook leaned back to grab lube and Jimin took advantage. He sank down on Yoongi, swallowing his cock to the root. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, his tip bumping Jimin’s throat. Jimin swallowed, looking up at him. He began to suck and lick, bobbing his head slow.

Yoongi grabbed his head, his lips parted. He began to guide his head, unable to tear his gaze away from Jimin’s mouth, his perfect lips sliding over his cock like silk.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” Jungkook purred. He was fingering himself open, watching the two. “I don’t know how many times I’ve come just from his mouth when I didn’t plan to.”

Yoongi wanted to answer, but all that came out was an incoherent moan. He had had a lot of blowjobs in his time but none like this. He fisted Jimin’s hair, tugging to pull him off. Jimin obeyed, moaning happily. His eyes rolled back when Yoongi pulled, cock jerking between his muscular thighs. 

“Jungkook—” Yoongi strained. He let go of Jimin before he hurt him, grunting when Jimin immediately began to nuzzle and kiss over his thighs and hip.

“Aw, are you that close?” Jungkook teased, pressing kisses along Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi nodded. 

“You sure you don’t wanna see what he feels like? He’s so tight, and warm, and wet inside…”

Yoongi whimpered, looking down at Jimin. He bared his fangs almost instinctively, the sound of Jimin’s blood pumping nearly overwhelming him. Jimin’s breath caught audibly. He crawled up Yoongi’s body, until they were nearly nose to nose. 

“You can,” he whispered. He straddled Yoongi’s hips, settling onto his crotch until Yoongi’s cock bumped his hole. “If you want to… And…” Jimin touched Yoongi’s chin, pulling his bottom lip. “This too…” He bared his neck, leaning closer to Yoongi. 

Panic bubbled up in Yoongi’s chest when he realized he’d moved forward, mouth opening instinctively. He snapped his jaws shut hard enough to hurt, piercing his own bottom lip with his fangs. 

“Jimin—” He gritted. “Get off me.”

Jimin sat back, disappointment clear on his face. He obeyed though, slinking off Yoongi’s hips and laying next to him. 

“Yoongi—” Jungkook began. 

“Don’t.”

“We don’t have to stop,” Jungkook continued anyways. “Let me finish you off. Or you can watch Jimin and I—”

Embarrassed, shameful tears burned the back of Yoongi’s throat. He closed his eyes, trying to stave them off as long as possible. And he was cuffed – he couldn’t even escape this horribly awkward situation. 

“Just go back to what you were doing. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he mumbled. He sat up and yanked his sweats up one handed before rolling to his side, facing away from the two. His cuffed arm twisted back uncomfortably, but he ignored it. He deserved a little discomfort… He nearly bit Jimin – and for what? A fucking orgasm. Nearly broke his vow with a moment of sex. Shame colored his cheeks as he glared at the door. 

“Jungkook—” Jimin’s voice was barely above a breath.

“It’s not you,” Jungkook assured him. He had to know Yoongi could hear them. No way to prevent it – his headphones were in the other room. 

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, baby. He’s just scared. He’s…” Jungkook drifted off. “He isn’t mad at you.”

“Do you still want me to…”

“Are you still in the mood?” 

Jimin chuckled. “I can get into the mood again.”

“No.” Yoongi heard them kiss. “I’m not into it either. I feel bad. I pushed you guys into it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Guilt clenched Yoongi’s heart. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Jimin’s either. It was Yoongi’s. He wished he had the nerve to roll back over, to apologize and tell them they were okay, but he couldn’t. So, he laid still, staring at the door as he listened to them pull on their shorts and cuddle, sharing quiet kisses as their breath evened out and they drifted to sleep. 

They didn’t talk about it the next morning, or the morning after, or the day after that. In fact, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t bring up that night for the remainder of the week, or the following week. Yoongi was relieved, but also… A little stung. He had wondered if maybe they would want to talk about it, bring it up in some way so he could assure them that it was him, not them. Specifically, not Jimin. But, as the days progressed, it seemed like things were no different, and Yoongi let the situation slip to the back of his mind. He had more pressing things to worry about anyways. 

Like, for example, the fact that the snow was showing no signs of melting enough for any sort of safe moving off the mountain. And the fact that it was now day thirteen without blood and he was feeling the effects of hunger. And the fact that Jimin was still stuck to his arm and he smelled so damn delicious that he was fighting the urge to show fang every ten minutes.

And to top it all off, Jin and Jungkook had decided this afternoon was the perfect time to go for a run in the woods. And Hoseok, in his own infinite wisdom, decided to go find a patch of thin ice for a swim in his own animal form. Which left Jimin and Yoongi entirely alone. 

Which wouldn’t have been so bad, really. They often spent time just sitting on the couch together, reading or listening to music, talking or just sitting, watching the fire in comfortable silence. Even after the incident in bed the week prior, this feeling of ease and comfort didn’t fade. If anything, it continued to grow.

“I wish you could’ve gone out with them,” Jimin said softly, gazing into the fire. Yoongi glanced up from his notebook. 

“Hm?”

“Jin and Jungkook. I’m sure you wanted to run with them.”

“Nah, it’s too cold for me,” Yoongi said. “I’d rather chill with the fire.”

Jimin chuckled. You don’t need to be lazy for my sake.”

“Not for your sake,” Yoongi assured him. “I really j—” A sharp pang in his stomach cut Yoongi’s words off. He doubled over, his fangs slipping out as he cried out. 

Jimin reached for him, grabbing his hand that was cuffed together. “Yoongi—”

Yoongi turned, baring his fangs and hissing, nearly catlike. 

Instead of shying away, Jimin’s face drooped. “Oh, it’s getting bad, isn’t it?” He asked. 

Yoongi dropped his head again, drawing in a deep breath. He felt like he was sweating despite an inability to do that for many years. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed.

“No, you’re not. You look sick. And I know you’re in pain. Please, I know you’re scared of hurting me, Yoongi but… Please.”

“It’s more than a fear of hurting you,” Yoongi muttered. He sat upright, closing his eyes for a second as he waited for the pain and nausea to fade. When it did, he drew in another breath and nodded. 

“Then what is it, Yoongi? Please trust me to understand.”

Yoongi hesitated. He sat back on the couch, considering. Jimin had shared his story… Maybe it was time for Yoongi to do the same. If they were to be… Friends. 

“I was turned about sixty years ago. I was twenty-eight. I don’t know… If you know much about how vampires are turned?”

“Not the details, but I know it’s a big process, death and burying and a whole ordeal.”

“It is. And generally, usually… The one who turns the new vampire stays around, it’s like giving birth to a child when all is said and done.” 

Jimin nodded in understanding. Yoongi hesitated, another wave of nausea slipping over him. He remained silent until it passed before continuing. 

“I did not have that grand bringing into the world. I never met the person that turned me.”

Yoongi heard Jimin make a small, sympathetic noise. Though he would have normally made a snarky comment, he had to admit, at that moment… It felt kind of nice.

“So, I crawled out of my grave one night… I was… God, I was so hungry. The last thing I remembered was being grabbed, and a pain in my throat. And then… Just dizziness and then darkness. I was so confused and scared and… So hungry. So thirsty.”

Yoongi shuddered despite the warmth, his stomach knotting painfully again. He curled his knees up, grimacing.

“Yoongi,” Jimin whispered. He shifted their hands, holding Yoongi’s tightly. “I’m here.”

“Oh, I know… You smell so… Fucking good, I can’t even pretend you aren’t,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin giggled a little at that.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Yoongi chuckled. The knots in his stomach released a little, allowing him to continue. “So I stumbled around the graveyard for a bit. I was looking for… Something, I didn’t know what at the time. And this young guy comes up. He was so handsome. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Dressed very poor. But he comes up to the gat of the graveyard and calls to me. I was so happy to see someone. Someone who could tell me what happened, or help me somehow. I ran up to him. I knew I must have looked horrid. I mean I just climbed out of my damn grave, but he barely blinked. He was instantly worried for me. Helped me find the entrance gate and started walking with me and checking on me as we headed toward the village for a doctor.

And then the hunger hit again. And it was so much stronger… God, it was like someone was hitting me in the face with every delicious food I’d ever eaten at once. My entire body and mind seemed to ignite. I couldn’t control myself. I can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking at that moment except feed.”

Yoongi hesitated once more. He swallowed hard, not due to his stomach, but due to the painful memories. Jimin moved closer to him, setting his other hand on Yoongi’s thigh. “I’m here,” he whispered again, his head nearly on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“I—I ripped his throat out, Jimin. God, I can still remember the sounds of him dying. The smells, the feeling of the blood and… The taste. The power. I was drunk on it.” 

Yoongi paused as another wave of pain hit him, shivers running down his spine. “I came to my senses a few hours later. I was in the woods, covered in blood. Everything hit me then. What I was, what I did. I tried to kill myself. But it… It didn’t work. So instead I swore I’d never place my teeth on another living human. I didn’t care if I starved to death. I’d lock myself up in a cave and wait to die if the only other option was biting a person. Risking doing what I did to that boy… I have kept that vow for sixty years, Jimin. That’s why I won’t bite you.”

“I understand,” Jimin said softly. “I do. What you went through was traumatic. But Yoongi… You don’t have the option of locking yourself up in a cave right now.”

Yoongi closed his eyes. “I know.”

“So if you do reach that point… You will kill me.”

Yoongi grimaced. Jimin squeezed his hand tighter. “I would rather have you drink some now… When you can control yourself. When you can take care of me… When we can both feel good maybe… Than die that way. Because I know you’ll hate yourself afterward.”

“I’ll hate myself either way,” Yoongi whispered.

“Fine. But at least I’ll be around to help you let go of that hate this way. And so will Jungkook.” Jimin’s lips brushed over Yoongi’s cheek. “I keep thinking about last week. How good I felt on your lap… How nice it felt to see you relax. I am sorry I offered my neck, and not just my body… But I am offering both again.”

Yoongi looked over quickly. Jimin smiled softly. “Yoongi, please let me help you.”

“Help me?” Yoongi breathed. He could hear Jimin’s heartbeat, and smell his arousal. He chuckled. “You’re propositioning a hungry vampire to have sex with you.”

“I am. I’ve heard it makes the bite feel better. Do you… Want me? That night, I wasn’t sure. I felt like we pushed…”

“No, no, I wanted you that night.” Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s. “I still do. I don’t know what changed, I—I can’t stop thinking about you these days.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Yoongi,” Jimin confessed. “But you hated me for my parents…”

“I was wrong.”

“No. You just didn’t know. Now you do.”

“And I do like you. I… God, I fell for you.”

Jimin pulled back this time, his mouth quirking up into a grin. “You did?”

“I did,” Yoongi muttered. “Don’t let it go to your head.

“I won’t.” The two sat in silence. Yoongi’s shudders were coming more regularly, his body edging closer and closer to starvation, rather than hunger. 

“Yoongi,” Jimin finally whispered. “Please take me to bed.”

Yoongi’s breath puffed out of his lungs. He nodded. Jimin rose and Yoongi let himself be pulled toward the bedroom. They were so used to the cuffs now that they moved as a unit, knowing how to twist and turn to move fluidly. It would be weird to have them off, Yoongi realized. 

Once in the bedroom, Jimin turned, pulling his shirt off. He let it dangle from the chain and smiled shyly. “Do you… Want me to…”

“No,” Yoongi pulled his own shirt off. He stepped forward, going almost chest to chest with Jimin. “The last time we stripped… You made me look away when you took off your jeans… You gonna be shy on me again?”

Jimin laughed. “Not this time.”

“Good.” Yoongi undid Jimin’s jeans, pushing them to the ground for Jimin to step out of. He kicked his own sweats off, and then his boxers, before setting his hands on Jimin’s hips. He caught the band of his boxers. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Yoongi pushed them down, stepping back to look Jimin up and down. He reached out with his free hand, palming Jimin’s cock. It twitched and hardened further in his palm, and he gave it a firm stroke. “I didn’t get a good look at you that night… I’m glad to now.”

“Like what you see?” Jimin asked. Yoongi nodded slowly. He let go of Jimin to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a sweet kiss, despite the fire raging in his veins. Jimin wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding onto his wrist with the cuffed hand. They moved toward the bed in unison, and Jimin let himself fall back onto it. Yoongi went with him, nudging open his smooth thighs. 

Jimin looked up at him, his lips wet and full from the kiss, his cheeks rosy with life. His eyes were dark, hair brushed back from his forehead. 

“How do you—” Jimin swallowed. “Now? Or…” He touched his neck.

“Not quite yet,” Yoongi said. He reached over to where he knew Jungkook had stashed the lube, pulling the bottle out and opening it. 

The two shared soft kisses while Yoongi prepped Jimin, determined not to hurt him any more than necessary. None – if he could have his way. He could smell Jimin’s blood so strongly, his teeth aching like a sweet tooth, mouth watering as they kissed. And Jimin – oh, the creature under him couldn’t be a human – Jimin had to be an imp. Playing with fire, Jimin would scrape his tongue over Yoongi’s fangs, sometimes almost hard enough to draw blood. Each time he did, his cock would jerk against Yoongi’s hip, and Yoongi would have to refrain from giving in and biting Jimin then and there.

He resisted by some miracle, however, and pulled back, lining himself up to Jimin’s body. “Are you ready?” 

Jimin nodded, spreading his legs wider.  Yoongi laid over him, bracing himself on the hand that was cuffed. Jimin twined their fingers together, meeting Yoongi’s gaze as Yoongi pushed into him for the first time. 

Jimin’s lips parted, a sharp gasp breaking the silence of the room. Yoongi bared his fangs, his own vision going a little hazy at the tight heat of Jimin’s body. 

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, muffled. Yoongi forced himself to focus, offering what he hoped was a comforting smile – though he knew the fangs probably made that difficult. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know. It feels good,” Jimin assured him. He reached his free hand down, gripping Yoongi’s ass. “You can move. I want this.”

Yoongi nodded. He began to thrust at an even pace, mindful of not going too hard. Jimin moaned under him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Curious, Yoongi reached out, pinching his left nipple. Jimin shouted, gasping. 

“Please—“

“Oh, you are sensitive,” Yoongi teased. “And responsive.”

He pinched again, this time tugging. Jimin shouted, squeezing Yoongi’s cock almost painfully tight. Yoongi continued to thrust, leaning down to gently suck and bite at each hard nub. As he did, he fisted Jimin’s cock, using his ample precome to jerk him in time to his own movements. 

He was already so close, he wished it could last longer. He wanted to stay like this, hear Jimin’s sounds of pleasure, for eternity. He moved back up, nuzzling Jimin’s neck. 

Jimin’s breath caught, his throat clicking. He let his head fall, baring his neck to Yoongi.

“Yes—“ He whispered. “Please, Yoongi… Do it…”

Yoongi pulled his cock free of Jimin’s hole, chuckling when Jimin whined.

“Don’t stop, please—“ 

Yoongi began to tease him, prodding and bumping his opening with his tip. Not enough to get any real stimulation, but feeling Jimin’s body open for him, so receptive - and the sounds of his voice as he begged for it… If Yoongi didn’t have other plans he may have come then and there.

He lined himself back up and nuzzled Jimin’s neck once more. A moment to steady himself, and then… 

His teeth penetrated Jimin’s soft neck at the same moment he drove himself into Jimin’s body once more. 

Jimin screamed, his free hand rising and scratching down Yoongi’s back. He began to pump his hips quickly, swallowing the sweet, hot blood that filled his mouth as he sucked. He ran his tongue over the puncture wounds, his saliva working to clot and slow the blood already so Jimin wouldn’t bleed too much. 

Jimin’s entire body jerked, nearly dislodging his mouth. His release spilled, hot and sticky, between their stomachs as he moaned against Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Jesus— Yoongi!” Jungkook’s voice startled Yoongi. He felt Jungkook’s hand on the back of his neck, so he released, afraid he’d drunk too much. But Jimin was grinning brightly, looking all too fucked out.

“Hey Jungkook,” he signed, moaning softly when Yoongi thrust in. 

Jungkook looked between the two, letting go of Yoongi’s neck. 

“Oh.”

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you,” Jimin teased. “You should join us now.”

Jungkook looked at Yoongi, smiling softly. “I think I will.” He began to strip, grabbing the lube to ready himself.

Yoongi looked back down at Jimin, leaning down to lick a stray dribble of blood on his neck. He thrust in, and Jimin winced. He pushed Yoongi’s chest.

“Too sensitive after I come,” he whined. “Finish with Jungkook. Oh—“ He laughed into Yoongi’s mouth when Yoongi kissed him hard, gently pulling out. He flopped next to him, still holding his hand.

Jungkook straddled his hips, dick hard. He lifted Yoongi’s cock and settled onto it, both of them gasping. He began to ride him almost immediately, leaning down to kiss them both. 

Jimin sat up, shifting over to begin sucking Jungkook’s cock as he moved, the soft wet noises punctuating the rougher ones.

Yoongi’s eyes went fuzzy as he watched the two, his toes curling against the mattress. 

“I’m close,” he warned Jungkook, who only nodded. His fingers were buried in Jimin’s hair, guiding him along his length. 

Jimin coughed and Jungkook grunted, his body shuddering and beginning to clench and relax - a sure sign of his release… Directly down Jimin’s eager throat if the soft gulping was any indication. 

Yoongi moaned softly. The pressure around his cock and the absolutely stunning image in front of him became too much far too quickly. With a deep grunt, and a firm hand on Jungkook’s hip to hold him still, Yoongi came, spilling inside Jungkook.

The three ended up in a haphazard cuddle pile as they all came down from their climaxes. Though Yoongi was sure he’d taken less than a pint from Jimin, but he still felt calm and full and strangely sated. Maybe it was due to feeding live. But maybe it was due to the two men snuggled up against his body, warming him from the outside in. 

“Any regrets?” Jimin asked sleepily, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“None. You okay?”

“I feel great. How often do you need to feed?”

“Just every few days. I won’t need much, just enough to take the edge off… I don’t want to force you—”

“Shh,” Jimin kissed his mouth to silence him. “I’m offering. You already look better. I want to help. I told you things wouldn’t be like they were sixty years ago.”

Yoongi nodded. “Thank you.” He sighed softly, looking between the two. “I have a question for both of you.”

When they looked up, he smiled. “Jungkook – you mentioned… Changing your relationship with us. And that… I believe… Implied dating.”

Jungkook nodded. 

“Do you still feel that way?”

Another nod. “Of course I do.”

“Then… I think now is a good time for me to formally ask you… Both of you… If you’d like to make this situation an official one.”

Jimin made a small noise that was a cross between an ‘oh’ and a giggle. “Are you asking out the vampire hunter’s son, Yoongi?”

Yoongi smirked. “Guess I like to live on the wild side. It’s only fair after I’ve had my teeth in your neck.” 

Jimin laughed brightly, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi glanced at Jungkook, noticing he’d remained silent.

“Jungkook?” 

Jungkook smiled softly. He met Yoongi’s gaze. “I never expected… When I cuffed you two together, I didn’t expect things to actually work out.”

“Are you okay with how it did?” Yoongi confirmed.

“You really do care for Jimin? This isn’t some effect of drinking his blood or… Or sex or… For peace in the apartment?”

Yoongi chuckled. He nodded. “I mean, it’ll be nice to have peace in the apartment, but no… And we aren’t affected by blood drinking or anything like that, it’s just like sitting down and having a good steak – No offense.”

“None taken,” Jimin answered. 

“So, yeah, I… I’ve really developed a fondness for Jimin over these few weeks. Spending more time with him, learning to work together. I don’t know if it’s love but it’s… Definitely more than tolerance. I do care for him a great deal. Just like you.”

“Were you not wanting this, Jungkook?” Jimin worried. “Like… I know you want me and you want Yoongi, but us… Together.”

“It’s not that.” Jungkook sat up. “I do. This is a dream, all three of us together. I just didn’t expect it. To be honest, I… I keep expecting to wake up.” He looked to Yoongi. “You really don’t hate Jimin?”

“No. I don’t… I don’t think I ever did. I was blaming him for his parents, for hunters who have killed my friends over the years… He was the face of it.” Yoongi paused, brows furrowed as he thought. “But he’s been just as much a victim to vampire hunters as anyone else. Has still been hurt and traumatized by them, in a different way, but… It’s there. I was just too stubborn to hear that until these weeks. And I regret that. Because getting to know the real Jimin these past few weeks has been so fun. I just hope that I can keep learning more about him.”

“And you don’t… Resent him, Jimin? For all that he’s said to you?”

“Not even a little. I wish he’d given me a chance earlier – but I understand fully why he didn’t. And I don’t blame him. I can’t say I would have either, in his shoes. And I’m glad that we’ve gotten over that bump and can move forward with our friendship and… Relationship.”

Jungkook seemed to relax a little, a small smile crossing his face as he looked at the two.

“So, what do you say, Jungkook?” Yoongi pressed. “Is this— Are the three of us… Okay?” 

Jungkook remained silent a moment, looking between the two. He nodded then. “You two make a cute couple.”

“And we three will make an adorable throuple,” Jimin said. Jungkook’s soft smile widened then, crinkling his nose and exposing his front teeth. 

“We will, won’t we?”

Yoongi grabbed for Jungkook with his free hand, pulling him down into a kiss. After, he turned, kissing Jimin gently. “Amazing how comfortable that feels,” he commented.

“Guess we shoulda been doing it this whole time,” Jimin said.

Yoongi nodded, kissing him once more. “I guess so. We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“What a trio we are,” Jungkook said. “A vampire, a human, and a werewolf.”

“Unique and fun, I’d call it.”

“You know,” Jungkook said, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. “I’d like to point out that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t thought to cuff you two together.”

Jimin snorted, but Yoongi chuckled. “You’re not wrong… I’m gonna kinda miss being cuffed to you when we get home, Jimin.” 

Jimin grinned broadly. “It’s okay, I know you like holding my hand is all. I promise to hold it all the time, even if we’re not joined at the wrist.” He shifted, taking Yoongi’s hand and twining their fingers.

“Only if Jungkook holds my other hand,” Yoongi said, holding his free hand out. Jungkook grinned brightly and grabbed it, lacing his fingers between Yoongi’s before letting it rest on his stomach. 

Yoongi closed his eyes, sighing softly. He could hear the steady, firm heartbeats of his boyfriends, and smell their comforting scents. The taste of Jimin’s blood was still present on his tongue, but it didn’t frighten him in the way the thought of it had. It felt safe. He felt safe. Even as a vampire – deadly and near unkillable – there had always been something missing in Yoongi’s world. Something that made him feel exposed, and scared, in a way even he couldn’t pinpoint. 

And now, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel that fear. Instead he felt warmth. And he felt happiness. And he’d spend the rest of his time on earth protecting that happiness, no matter what. 

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 3/?: Focalize

It is a tranquil spring evening by the time Sakura appears within view behind the hospital's glass entryway, a blur of carnation and sage and ivory. It is just a few minutes past seven; it seems she is waving goodbye to what he assumes is the receptionist further into the building, out of sight. Then she’s pushing one of the doors open with her shoulder and coming into focus, pastel colors subdued in dusk.

Sasuke notices she’s carrying a plain tote bag, and that there are also two large books and what looks like something reminiscent of a magazine in her hands, neatly stacked and held to her chest. She is wearing a sweater that is slightly oversized, a desaturated green.

Her face lights up when she sees him standing there, leaning against one of the blue columns situated a few steps away, closer to the road; her expression belays something like a mixture of ardor and avidity, and as she approaches, he also observes her cheeks match her hair.

His heart swells pleasantly in his chest; any shred of loneliness he felt in the past few hours dissolves.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chimes in affectionate greeting as she ambles over to him, all lenity and upturned lips.

“Sakura.” Her eyes flash lighter, more vibrant, as she gets closer; they are reflecting glow from a nearby streetlight that flipped on promptly at seven, an electrified yellow-green.

There is a short moment in time where they just gaze at each other, scant amount of steps between them, an oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal in spring twilight.

“How was your first day back?” She finally asks, smiling up at him.

He thinks it over for a second as he studies her, a gentle breeze of springtide. “...Fine. I saw Kakashi and the dobe.”

Her smile shifts into a knowing one. “I’m going to guess paperwork and Ichiraku’s.”

He pulls the health screening forms out of his pocket in answer, and her dimple makes an appearance.

“You can come by tomorrow just after eight in the morning, if that works for you; I’ll be here.” Different hours than today, then, he presumes.

He feels he should clarify that she’s not coming in early just for his sake. “...Shouldn’t I make an appointment?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Thursdays and Fridays I don’t have appointments or surgeries until a little later in the day. The majority of those mornings are set aside for medical research and correspondence with some of the clinics. As long as it’s before eleven, I can step away from things for a bit.”

Research. Interesting. She hadn't mentioned much about that in her letters; he hadn't realized it was something she did regularly. “What kind of research?”

She blinks in surprise, and he thinks she looks a little sheepish. “...It depends. Right now we’re doing some longitudinal studies on mice; behavioral assessment in accordance with certain stimuli, neurobiological response, brain scans, that sort of thing... I’ve also got some poisons I’m looking at for antidote development, but they’re pretty rare, so it’s not super pressing.”

His eyes flick to the books in her arms, a silent question. Her lips quirk upwards even more, then; he tries not to focus on them for too long, because she’s shifting the texts so he can read the titles. The thin magazine-like one is labeled Progress in Neuro-Psychopharmacology and Biological Psychiatry; it must be a research journal. The top book reads Neuroanatomy Through Clinical Cases, and the other reads Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release.

“...Some light reading,” he comments dryly, his version of a joke, and he revels in her soft exhale of breath, a shy version of a laugh. He has missed it.

“I suppose. I actually need to return these; they’re almost due. I meant to do it yesterday, but...” She’s blushing again. Vivid eyes meet his hesitantly before sweeping away. “...I forgot.”

Heat edges up his neck.

“I… wasn’t sure what you wanted to do this evening,” she continues, pursing her lips a little as her fingers clutch the books closer to her again. “I thought maybe we could swing by the library? I’d like to take a quick look to see if they have some new things in yet; it shouldn’t take very long.”

Sasuke muses that Sakura absolutely is the type to visit the library regularly. He used to go often, when he was younger. He wasn’t checking out books of that caliber, though; he wonders how long she’s had them. He also ponders momentarily if rogue ninja status is enough for the powers that be to revoke your library card from the system. Probably.

He hasn’t been able to read regularly for awhile, being away; books have been unnecessary weight, something extra to carry, and also a distraction from what he was trying to accomplish. Though he would accompany her wherever regardless, he realizes he would like to start reading again. It would be something to occupy his free time, when she is busy.

He nods his assent.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking a little relieved and meeting his eyes again, luminescent jade. "They close at eight today, so we should probably get going."

He nods again, glancing down at the books still in her arms. He considers for a second, then holds his hand out. Sakura blinks in confusion, long lashes skimming her cheekbones.

“...I’ll carry them,” he offers, neck heating up again as she stares. “...If you’d like.”

Her skin blooms with color, darker than earlier. “Oh. Thank you.” She hands them to him carefully, soft fingers brushing his. Her touch is delicate, incredibly distracting; her glowing cheeks, even moreso.

She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and then turns; he falls into step next to her as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

They walk just east of the hospital, which tells him the library is likely still in the same location, despite Konoha’s changing landscape. Some of the buildings they pass along the way are under construction. That seems to be a recurring theme in the village right now; much of what he saw earlier today passing through with Naruto was the same. Sasuke wonders if the library will have expanded, too. He doesn’t think he’s passed by it, yet.

There are a few people milling about, but not nearly as many as earlier. He supposes the majority of residents must be retired for the evening, inside their homes with family. There are a few restaurants they pass that smell fairly appetizing, but Sakura doesn’t say anything, so he concludes he was right in thinking that she has eaten already.

“So, how were things with Kakashi-sensei and Naruto?” Sakura asks conversationally, peering up at him from his right. “Anything other than paperwork?”

Sasuke contemplates before responding. “...Naruto and I went apartment hunting.”

Pink brows furrow a little bit as she grins. “Did you invite him?” She asks, though he suspects by her expression she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head. “Kakashi mentioned it as I was leaving and he invited himself.”

She laughs, then, glancing in the direction of the mountain of faces at their old sensei. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He probably appreciated a morning with Naruto out of his hair. He’s been helping there a lot, when he’s not on missions.” She pauses, then adds, “I imagine apartment hunting with Naruto would be pretty draining, though. He’s gotten a little better at cooling it with the nonstop chatter since Hinata, but not by a ton.” She stops again, thinking, before inquiring, “Did you end up finding a place?”

Sasuke nods. “It’s north of here.”

She smiles again, then purses her lips as if she’s considering whether to say something more or not. Finally she adds, green eyes darting to his and then looking away shyly, “...Not too far away, then.”

His gaze softens. “...Not too far.”

They amble by a few street vendors selling gardening supplies, closing up carts for the evening; they must be doing fairly well, as all that’s left over from the day's plantable wares are saplings here and there, and a few starters, small labels detailing their required care poking up from the dirt containers they’re sitting in. There are several taller displays interspersed between carts, stocked with watering cans, spades, gloves, and the like. Sasuke thinks it is quite trusting of the merchants to leave their goods out overnight, evidently without fear that they will be stolen or damaged; many of them are walking away holding only money boxes. It speaks to the relative security of Konoha, in comparison to most of the places he's been.

“Did you get everything you needed for your apartment today?” Sakura asks him after they meander a few more steps.

He blinks. “...Mostly."

“Was there something in particular you wanted to do, after the library? We could stop by a store, if they’re open, and get what you're missing.”

He shakes his head, then admits, “I… didn’t have anything planned.” He worries, then, that maybe he was supposed to plan something. They’re together now, or at least he hopes they are; he'd kissed her, and he would like to, again, if they're alone. Maybe this should have been more formal. He then thinks he should answer the second part of her inquiry: a box and a drying rack would probably be easy to find at a general store, but the majority of places in Konoha that are open past seven only sell food. “...I think the store I went to closed at seven,” he adds.

Sakura looks as if she’s deliberating again. “What are you missing, still?” He notices she doesn’t seem upset that he didn’t plan anything; maybe it’s okay.

It takes him a moment to respond, carefully. “...A small storage box, and a laundry rack.”

She brightens. “I actually have a spare drying rack that I'm not using, if you want it. The washing machine in my unit broke in February, and when my landlady replaced it, she got a washer/dryer combo.” She thinks, then adds, “...And I think I have an empty shoebox in my closet; would that be big enough?”

Something like serendipity unfolds in Sasuke’s chest and begins to vine between his ribs. He thinks unbidden of the blooming cherry blossom tree he can see from his window, just within reach, if he only goes beyond the glass.

He nods. “...Thank you.”

Multifaceted eyes peer up at him warmly. “No problem.” Her cheeks darken again. “We could… walk for a while, and then swing by there at the end. If you want.” Her fingers are gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. “I wouldn’t mind walking by your building at some point before that, so I… so I know where it is.”

Sasuke nods again, heart skipping a little. He had hoped she would show him where her apartment is tonight, too; he would like to walk her home. He also hopes ‘walk for a while’ means he gets to spend more time with her between the library and going by his building, before they go to hers.

He thinks maybe he should voice that. It comes out as a question. “...We could walk around a bit after the library?”

She’s gazing up at him with red cheeks and smiling with a gentle light in her eyes. “...I’d like that,” she murmurs.

His ears feel warm again.

They turn a corner, and then they are at the library. There is a small expanded portion of the building on the south side now, and it is painted a slightly different mauve-leaning gray than it used to be, but otherwise it appears the same. When they near the entrance, Sakura pulls open the door for him, since his hand is occupied.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, before they head inside, bell on the door jingling.

The librarian working at the front desk nods at Sakura in recognition as they enter, a fairly young woman with chestnut hair. The librarian Sasuke remembers was quite a bit older, elderly now that he’s thinking about it. He briefly wonders if she passed away in his absence. The thought makes him morose; he hopes she just retired. She had always been kind to him.

“Finished with those already, Sakura?” The woman asks, friendly and motioning to the books in Sasuke’s arm as he makes his way to the desk to set them down, Sakura beside him. She must know her well.

“Yes; the journal was interesting, this time. Very relevant to the experiments we're running, and much more substantial than the last edition.” There is something somewhat critical in her voice regarding the referenced last edition, as if something in it wasn’t up to her academic standards. She’s well within reason to be captious; she has become an expert in her field in a rapid amount of time, and if she’s doing research regularly, he’s sure she has the data to back up her assessment. He wonders just what kind of experiments she’s running that have to do with neuro-psychopharmacology; whatever they are, he imagines they must be complex.

The woman is wearing a name tag that reads Ichika, Sasuke can see now that they’re closer. Sakura pulls out what must be her library card from her tote bag; it’s connected to a lanyard with several keys and what he presumes is an ID badge for the hospital.

“Thank you," the librarian says as Sakura hands her card over. As she does so, the woman glances at Sasuke with brown eyes, and then back to Sakura, as if waiting for an introduction. “And this is?”

“This is Sasuke,” she answers, smiling, then adds, “Uchiha.”

“Welcome,” the woman named Ichika greets him, without any malice. Sasuke wonders if she just doesn’t know who he is, or if she’s being friendly because of Sakura’s presence. Maybe it’s because she’s a civilian.

“...Thank you,” he offers sincerely after a moment.

“It was nice of you to carry those books. I know from experience they’re quite heavy. My name’s Ichika.” She gestures to her name tag. “I don’t suppose you like to read as much as Sakura does?” Ichika laughs as she hands Sakura’s card back and starts scanning the books as returned. “I think by now there are more books in the library that she’s read than ones she hasn’t.”

Sasuke glances at Sakura knowingly, and she looks downwards bashfully for a second.

“...I like to, but I don't think I’d understand half of what’s in these,” Sasuke answers honestly, turning his gaze back to the librarian. He sees Sakura flush out of the corner of his eye.

Ichika laughs. Sasuke thinks then that she really must not know of his prior rogue ninja status. “I usually have her write down the titles of the books she’d like us to add, because I don’t know that I can even spell some of the words.” She squints at the last book. “ Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release. I haven’t the faintest idea what a neurotransmitter is, or what it would be releasing.”

Sakura smiles. “Neurotransmitters are the body’s chemical messengers. A release is when the neurotransmitter causes a response in the receiving neuron; they can be disrupted in diseases and biological toxins. Tetanus is a good example; it goes up synaptic terminals of interneurons where it blocks the release of inhibitory neurotransmitters. The result of the block is that motorneurons become overactive, and then cause muscle contractions and spastic paralysis, like lockjaw.”

Ichika blinks blankly. “I don’t know where you keep that information in your head, Sakura, because it certainly wouldn’t fit in mine. Guess I’ll try not to step on any nails in the meantime.” She’s shaking her head, but her tone is amicable. “Well, they’re all checked in, with a few days to spare. I left out the new journals and that other book you asked about in the usual spot, back in the Medicine section.”

Sakura nods, and the librarian’s gaze turns back to him.

"Would you like a library card?”

Sasuke is glad he won’t have to ask. “...I used to have one. I’m not sure if it’s still on file.”

“I can check our records, if you want to browse in the meantime. If it’s not still on file, we can set you up with a new one; you can take books today either way, if you find some you’re interested in.”

Sasuke nods; that was easier than he thought it would be. “...Thank you.” Ichika turns to approach a row of filing cabinets a bit further back behind the main desk area, he assumes to check for his name in their database; he turns to Sakura.

She’s smiling at him as if she wants to ask him a question, but she doesn’t say anything. When she turns to journey further back into the library, he follows. They pass through two interior rooms, organized by genre and alphabet just the same as they had been years ago. The shelves are a little fuller than they used to be; with the population expanding, it makes sense that they now have a wider selection available.

They turn a corner to another interior room, and suddenly he sees a familiar face. His replacement is hunched over in a corner, nose buried in a book that appears from its cover to be about painting. When Sasuke inspects the rest of the room, he sees that the majority of the books in this section have titles related to art.

“Oh, hey, Sai,” Sakura greets casually, heading over to him. Dark eyes glance up at her from his book. Seeing him here must be a regular occurrence, given her lack of surprise.

"Hello, Ugly,” he responds, somehow both cheerful and monotone all at once. Sasuke frowns. He’d been around Sai a few times following the war, before he left for his travels. He never liked his nickname for Sakura.

Sai then looks to him, still standing at the threshold of the room, keeping his distance. He knows him, but not well.

“Welcome back, Traitor," he adds, tone friendly enough. Sasuke supposes that one’s fair. He inclines his head minutely, hand in his pocket.

Sai twists his gaze back to Sakura. "Have you recovered from your birthday extravaganza?"

Sakura blanches and stiffens a little in surprise as Sasuke eyes her with great interest; clearly this was not something she’d expected to be asked about. "Uh… Yeah. It doesn't take long; I eat during and can heal my headache the morning after."

Sai nods. “Yes, Beautiful said you didn’t get nearly as plastered as she wanted you to.” The way he says it is with way too positive of an inflection, as if he’s talking about it being great weather outside instead of crude wording for getting drunk.

Sakura rolls her eyes, then. “She would think that.” She pauses, then looks at Sai carefully. "Ino should be back tonight, right?"

"Yes. I am excited. I'm feeling quite amorous."

Sasuke twitches and his frown sinks deeper, but Sakura rolls her eyes as if she is used to this lack of filter, and gently pushes his book into his face, firmly but carefully so as not to damage it.

"Too much information. Just say you miss her."

Sai smiles as he moves the book away. "It is less information than Beautiful gives."

"That's because she's not normal," Sakura replies, sighing. Sai nods almost mechanically, as if he is cataloging this tidbit on human social interaction away in a filing cabinet for future reference.

There is a pause that is just a bit too long, before Sai offers, “I am researching for an upcoming painting.” Sasuke doesn’t know Sai well enough to understand, but Sakura does; apparently this is his way of telling her that he is busy with his book.

"I won’t keep you, then. Don't let her forget about our plans, though, and tell her I missed our spar this week."

Sai smiles. "She was preparing a new playlist prior to her mission." This also interests Sasuke, but not as much as Ino trying to get her ‘plastered’. He is for some reason having great difficulty imagining Sakura even a little drunk.

Sakura sighs deeply through her nose this time, and says flatly, with no enthusiasm, "Great.” After a beat, she adds, “Well anyways, tell her I say hi. See you. Good luck with your painting.”

Sai nods, and Sakura then turns to go a different direction, Sasuke following close behind. They pass through four more interior rooms before they finally make it to the Medicine section towards the back of the building, where one book and two more medical journals are sectioned neatly away in an empty portion of shelf. The book is just as thick as the one she’d just returned.

“I didn’t know you liked to read, still,” Sakura mentions as she carefully picks up the stack. She’s smiling at him again; that must be what she wanted to say earlier. Maybe she’d expected Sai would be there, that they would pass through the room he was sitting in, and that’s why she’d held off.

Sasuke nods. “...I haven’t read much in a while.”

Jade eyes are soft on his. “Well, if you want to look for a bit, I could look, too.”

He nods again.

XXX

Roughly twenty minutes later, Sasuke leaves the library with Sakura, comparing what they’ve checked out underneath the streetlight just outside; the light has faded enough that it is a bit difficult to read without it.

They still had his information on file after all, though the woman, Ichika, had him fill out a renewal slip and updated his contact information to his new address before giving him a new card. It is a strangely comforting and nostalgic feeling, to know that he was still present in the archives of Konoha in ways he had been unaware of.

He had picked out two books: one about the history of kenjutsu in Fire Country, and another historical text documenting the overthrow of the daimyo in the Land of Silence. He has never been there, given it is beyond the reach of Shinobi authority; he figured it would be interesting to read about. With it being a samurai-led country, it made sense to read at the same time as the book on kenjutsu.

“These sound like you,” Sakura says after scanning the titles of what he’s picked, glancing up at him kindly as she rotates so he can read the information of her own. Cradled in her arms are the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, the other scholarly journal, Human Brain Mapping, the book from the Medicine section titled Translational Research in Traumatic Brain Injury, and what appears to be a fiction book, an addition to the others, titled Spoiled Suitopi.

“You read fiction, too,” he observes as he reads the title of the last one, and she takes this as her cue to shift them back together neatly into one stack, largest to smallest.

She laughs a little. “I try to. It’s a good mental reset after reading medical texts; everything starts to blur together after a while. This was actually a recommendation from Ino; she’s into the dramatic stuff, clearly. Sometimes they’re decent.”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to ask. “...A birthday extravaganza?”

She smiles timidly, expression shifting to something a little embarrassed. “I wouldn’t call it that; she showed up at my apartment last weekend with ingredients for drinks, and then we watched terrible movies in my living room.”

Sasuke is learning all kinds of things about Sakura this evening. “No Sai?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s a me and Ino thing; he doesn’t really pick up on the nuance of them being terrible, and we figure we don’t want to give him poor examples to follow… he’s got enough of those already, dating her.” She grins a little, then. “Also, he can’t really handle his liquor.”

Sasuke thinks Sakura must be able to hold hers fairly well; she had seemed pretty confident earlier, regarding the morning after. He knows her mentor Tsunade has quite a reputation. He himself has never drank much.

“He’s... interesting.”

Sakura shrugs nonchalantly. "He's better than he used to be, regarding the oversharing. Ino is worse, honestly.”

He considers her words, then decides to drop the subject, because he doesn’t want to think about that. Sakura had said in her letters that Ino and Sai were together; he can only imagine what she knows about them, likely most of it against her will and learned in the manner he's just witnessed.

He shifts his attention upwards; a few stars are starting to peek their way into the night sky. He follows their path north, to the barest hints of lavender sinking below the horizon. It has become even more silent outside, fewer people and slightly cooler temperatures. There is still a breeze. They spent longer in the library than he'd anticipated.

He’s not sure what time she usually goes to sleep; if she works at eight, it’s probably early. He wonders if he should ask.

“Thank you for going with me. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I thought,” she says, before the question comes to him. He shifts his eyes back towards her; he’s about to tell her not to apologize because he clearly spent time browsing, too, but she’s already speaking again. “You said your apartment is on the north side, right?”

He inclines his head in an affirmative.

“We could walk that direction, if you want; there are a few newer things on that side of town I could point out that are kind of interesting. If…” She pauses, as if considering her wording. “If you haven’t seen them already, I mean.” She gestures to his selection from the library, gripped in his hand. “We could drop off your books, too. Not as much to carry back, then, with the box and the laundry rack.”

“...I’d like that.”

She smiles up at him again, tender effervescence. He realizes as they start making their way north that they both have been talking in more hushed voices, as if the blanket of nighttime shifting atop the village has quieted them in addition to their surroundings.

There is something soothing about treading around at nightfall with her. The village is well-lit enough that it’s fairly easy wandering, and lights emanating from windows cast everything softer, more inviting phosphorescence sifting onto the pathway beneath their feet. Earlier today, trekking back and forth between businesses and his apartment, it had felt more unfamiliar, like there was a disconnect and he was just passing through, despite the knowledge that he was transporting things to a permanent living space. It feels decidedly less transient next to Sakura, a hint of sweetness in tart recollections. He watches their shadows for a fleeting moment, cast close together to the right of them, near touching, and occasionally faded by windowpane glow.

There is a casino she points out a few blocks down where Tsunade apparently used to lose money fairly regularly. She explains it was her mentor’s favorite because it was somewhat close to the residence typically taken up by the Hokage; she used to call it lucky, even though she never won. Sasuke finds out through this story that the Hokage residence is still sitting empty; Kakashi has apparently still not moved there, preferring instead to stay where he has been residing for years. Sakura mentions in a softer tone that she thinks it’s because of his apartment’s proximity to the graveyard where his old teammate, the Nohara girl, is buried.

There is a long stretch of silence in which Sasuke considers just how Kakashi has always seemed able to see straight through him. He’s fairly certain the girl had been a medic, too.

“...Naruto’s house isn’t far from the Hokage’s office, either,” Sasuke observes finally, changing the subject. He’s with her right now; he doesn’t want to ruminate too long. He thinks that's improvement.

Jade eyes sparkle up at him. “No, it’s not. I’m pretty sure that was on purpose; I don’t think they intend to move again. I’m sure he’ll give you the tour eventually - he’s pretty proud of their place; Hinata keeps it pretty nice - but it has some extra rooms.”

He tries not to think about the implications of that for too long. Naruto being in charge of a tiny human is not a very reassuring thought, even with his apparent strides in social awareness.

They pass a yakitori place she mentions is good, a few more blocks down. It seems pretty calm for such a restaurant, not as busy as Ichiraku’s usually is, though it’s later now and they’re likely getting ready to close. “I’ve been there with Naruto and Hinata a few times,” she tells him. “At least, when we can convince him to go eat something other than ramen.”

Sasuke hadn’t realized Sakura was that close with Naruto’s wife, though it makes sense instantaneously; she has known her for years. He thinks for a second before questioning, “Is she still as quiet?”

Sakura purses her lips in thought. “She talks more, now, for sure, but she’s still pretty shy around people she doesn’t know well.” She smiles, then. “I think Naruto has been really good for her, actually. Her for him, too; they balance each other out well.”

He supposes that’s true; perhaps Hinata is the reason for Naruto’s continued emotional growth. He ponders momentarily whether he and Sakura will balance each other out well.

She’s looking at him as if he should say something, so he does. “...He had vegetables in his ramen today.”

Sakura laughs. “Yes, she does force vegetables into his food every once in a while, now, so he's more used to them. I think she might have slipped Teuchi some money to start throwing them in his orders, to be honest."

Sasuke snorts, because of course that would be how that came about.

"It’s for the best," Sakura continues, lips quirking upwards still. He tears his eyes away from her mouth after a second. "He was eating pretty much all noodles and junk for so long. Hopefully it’ll start to cancel out with a few more years.”

As they walk farther, he starts to recognize things from earlier today; a bed of alabaster azaleas surrounding a residential building painted green, and a rather large street sign on a corner, right next to an ornate bench. They are getting fairly close to his apartment building. He holds off on saying something for a little longer, though, because he wants to spend more time with her. He hopes that's not too selfish; he has missed her. A lot.

“There’s an interesting place over there,” Sakura notes, pointing out a clearly aged building that he thinks he walked by on his return trip from the market earlier in the afternoon. “They’re only open two or three days a week, but it’s antiques now. I don’t usually buy anything other than books, but it’s fun to look through; they get rare ones in, from time to time. The owner is really nice.”

He nods. That would be a good way to spend an afternoon. He suspects she must have a collection of books at her apartment, then. He wonders how many.

She is mute for a moment, as if in thought, as they pass through another intersection. He wonders if he should be adding more to the conversation, but it doesn’t feel like an awkward silence; just an easy one.

He spies another familiar sign, this one advertising the market hours. “...My building is a few blocks this way,” he mentions quietly, loath as he is for this evening spent with her to come to an end. She looks up at him for a moment, then nods, and he subtly starts leading her in the general direction of his apartment complex.

His building comes into view a short time later. He points it out right before they pass beneath the cherry blossom tree, and Sakura nods in recognition. “Sai used to live somewhere over in this area, before he moved in with Ino. I’m not sure where, exactly. I know he liked how quiet it was, though.”

Sasuke nods as he pulls his key from his pocket, and they cross the street. He had been right about the light pollution; there is little enough of it that one can see the stars rather clearly, more so than one could from the library.

He wonders if he should perhaps invite her in. He thinks of the letters, still sitting on the small end table in the living room.

She saves him from making the decision. “I’ll wait here,” she tells him politely, leaning up against the old brick. He nods.

He goes up the stairway, down to the last door on the right. Once he unlocks his door, he places the two books on the kitchen table inside, and locks the door again behind him. It only takes him a minute before he is coming down the stairs again.

She smiles at him, then blinks when he holds out his hand. She colors, he thinks, when she realizes he’s offering to carry her books for her again; it’s harder to tell with the lack of light.

As she hands them to him carefully, she says, voice soft, “My place is a little south of the library; not by too much.” Her eyes flit to his, then dart away; there is a careful smile on her lips. “Maybe a little over ten minutes from here.”

They wander together in an easy silence, her leading the way more now. There are a few crickets chirping. It was fairly warm out today, so it makes sense that insects are starting to make their return. A gentle breeze continues to waft through from time to time.

He walks close enough to her that he can faintly smell raspberries, each time the wind blows just right. There are even fewer people out and about now, it being closer to nine in the evening; the road is fairly deserted. They go by the library again, lights turned off, and more closed businesses. It soon transitions into older construction that he assumes must be residential.

She was right; it doesn’t take long, around twelve minutes at a leisurely pace, before she points out a building further down the street. “That’s the one.”

As they get closer, he notes that hers is also an older building, built out of cream brick; there is something nice about that realization, that she also apparently chose something older with a bit of history over something brand new. There are few enough street lights that one can see the stars overhead well at night here, too.

“There’s a patio or balcony attached to each unit,” Sakura remarks once they’re closer, pointing at one on the northernmost part of the second story that is brimming with potted plants, much more than any of her neighbors’. “That one’s mine.”

As they round the corner of the building, he assumes to reach the front entrance, she tells him it was one of the reasons she selected this apartment, aside from its proximity to the hospital and her family's residence. "My parents' house has balconies for both bedrooms. It was strange to imagine not having one. This one’s attached to the bedroom, too; it’s nice to sit out there, if the weather’s not too extreme."

It’s a smaller complex, only two stories high. He thinks there must be six units, given its size and the trio of balconies they passed beneath, three small patios in their shadows on the ground level. It is somewhat close to the hospital, as she’d said, but far enough away that it's not necessarily an area that would bustle with activity, even during the day’s busiest hours; it is very still right now, peaceful. They pass through a glass door that is not locked, leading into a common area with six doors, three on the main level, and then three on the second level, with a metal stairway leading upwards. A huge, two-story high bay window sprawls by the main door, overlaid in a diamond pattern, which must allow light to stream in the majority of the day.

Each of the doors to individual units has at least one or two plants framing it, but he knows which one is hers right away. An array of thriving potted plants surround the upper northernmost side door, spilling out to surround the entire right side of the banister that frames the edges of the building. Hers is also the unit furthest on the upper right, like his; another nice realization. A few of her plants are flowering, but for the most part they are varying shades of green, with accents of paler colors. Desaturated and calming, just as he’d guessed she would like, rather than intensities of marigold and cobalt and fuchsia. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting, but as they get closer, he thinks that the few blooms are pistachio and lavender and blush in color, like her hair.

Or her cheeks. Jade eyes are on him again as he finishes walking up the stairway behind her.

He follows her to her door and leans a little against the railing behind him while she grabs her keys from her bag; he doesn’t think she’d mind if he came in for a few minutes, but she didn’t explicitly invite him, and he wants to be polite.

Once she’s unlocked it, she turns back to him to take her books. Her hand brushes his, and it’s incredibly distracting, again. “I’ll be right back.” She smiles at him before disappearing inside her apartment.

She leaves the door slightly ajar behind her, and he tries not to look. He busies himself with observing what appears by her neighbors’ doorways instead. No light emanates from beneath the doors of any of them; he wonders, this being older construction, if more of the tenants here are older, and are perhaps in bed already. The upper units probably aren’t occupied by extremely elderly people, given the stairs, but the ground level units’ decorations appear more classic and refined, less youthful. He notes the pots surrounding the other doors are very matchy, but Sakura’s are less so; hers are various shades of neutral terracotta colors, soft and inviting, some with unique shapes.

She’s back quickly, foldable drying rack and shoebox in tow, closing her door mostly behind her. She also must have set her tote bag aside; it's no longer situated on her shoulder.

He realizes all at once as she meets his eyes, handing him the items she’s gifting him, that he does not want this evening to end.

“Thank you,” he says, voice husky.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs, just as hushed.

Sasuke studies her eyes for a long moment, trying to commit the life in them to memory, though he already has, he thinks.

“...May I see you tomorrow after you work?” He finally asks quietly, trying to keep the hope out of his tone. He knows he’ll see her for his medical clearance in the morning, but he would still like to spend time with her outside of that, if she doesn't have plans already.

She looks crestfallen, smile slipping a little before coming back. “I would love to see you, but I have dinner with my parents every other Thursday, since I get off at four. They stopped by for a visit on my actual birthday, but they wanted to do cake and a gift tomorrow night after our usual supper time.” She pauses, searches his expression for a moment. “Maybe the day after tomorrow, if you’re not busy? I get off around four on Fridays, too.”

He nods, committing this part of her schedule to memory. “...I’ll meet you at the hospital, then.”

Her smile gets wider. “Okay. I can show you around the other newer parts of the village, if you’d like. The southwest side has really expanded.”

He nods his head in agreement, thinking. He would like to ask for more time with her, before he starts taking mission assignments again, but he also doesn’t want to monopolize all of it; she has years worth of life here, roots other than him that need tending. He hopes she’s saying yes because she actually wants to, and not simply for his sake.

He takes a deep breath, forcing down nervous vulnerability at his next question. “...And Saturday?”

She blinks, then blushes darker, smile growing wider still. She casts her glance downwards to her feet out of shyness, shifting a bit. “Saturdays I work seven to three; I’m going to stop by the market after for some gardening supplies with Ino, but other than that, I didn’t have anything set in stone.” But then jade eyes flick back up at him, and they are slightly apologetic.

His heart sinks for a second, rejection stinging a little behind his eyes. She doesn’t want to see me that often. He’s been absent for too long. She's probably tired of him already, though she hasn’t said anything. He has enjoyed tonight, but he's aware he doesn't make the best company.

“Naruto sent a clone by this afternoon that was going on about an original Team Seven reunion dinner, though. He mentioned Saturday night as a possibility,” she reveals, and his world comes back into focus, heart reversing upwards back into his chest cavity.

Sasuke huffs amusedly, then, relieved. “...Of course he did.”

She sighs wistfully, shaking her head. “Ichiraku’s, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything on the menu in triplicate, at this point.”

He eyes her carefully, trying to dry swallow his fear of rejection like a pill. Corrosion, he thinks. “...After dinner?”

Shimmering seafoam again. Happy, transparently pleased, and he’s glad he asked, shoved away the nerves; he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if it’s going to make her eyes look like that. “Of course. We could… hang out here, if you want. Or was there something you had in mind?”

His gaze softens. “Here is fine,” he answers. It is more than fine, actually. He’d go anywhere, if it meant he could soak in her presence longer, but he’s more than a little curious about what her apartment looks like on the inside. His own is pretty sterile, even now mostly put together after the afternoon, devoid of most anything other than necessities. He has an inkling that Sakura is the type to truly make wherever she's living feel like a home, though, given the pleasant spread of life he’s seen spilling out here on her doorstep.

“Okay,” she confirms, dimple reappearing. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There is something in her eyes after a second, gears turning, a question she must want to ask him.

"Would you…" She's talking even more softly, now, hushed as if she's going to scare him away. Her eyes meet his apprehensively as she shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Would you want to maybe... have tea tomorrow morning? I'm… not sure if you have plans or not, but I have a little time, before I work. There's a good place near the hospital, and then after we could get your exam done at eight like we planned."

The vines between his ribs twist pleasurably. She does want to see him, after all. She's not too busy. She's looking at him nervously, as if he would say no, as if he hasn’t spent the last twenty-four hours longing for her company again.

"...I'll look forward to it," he answers quietly, because he will; he likes tea, occasionally. He thinks he will like it better with her.

Her entire countenance brightens somehow, even as she flushes darker. "Oh. Good." She sounds relieved.

"...I can meet you here," he finds himself saying, and her eyes are sparkling at him, now, at what's implied - longer with her, another walk together. "What time?"

She purses her lips now, apparently still nervous. "Would… seven be too early?" Her voice trails off a little, as if in hesitance, as she finishes the question.

He chooses his next words carefully, meaningfully, so there is no uncertainty. "Not at all."

She regards him then like he has done something wholly wonderful, cheeks a rich red in dim light and expression heart-wrenchingly elated.

There is an expectant pause as the oblivion happens again, dimmer now but just as powerful. He really wants to kiss her; he’s been thinking about it the entire evening. He wonders if she has, too, and if maybe she wants him to. There’s no one around, in this little entry area of her small complex, in front of her door and her plants in faded hues.

He decides to go with his gut.

It’s somehow even better, this time, anticipation and lips meeting and a barely audible exhale of breath through the nose on her part, almost like she’s suddenly at ease; he thinks, pleased, that she must have wanted him to. Her hands gently meet his chest, tentatively pressing against him. He would like to do something with his, but it's still occupied, holding what she's supplied him with. He settles for pressing his lips to hers with a little more confidence than yesterday. It’s tender and over much too quickly, much like the evening they have spent together; all soft light settling, lambent and beguiling.

She is crimson when they part for a breath, before shyly directing her gaze away and shifting back down; he realizes that she must have been standing on the tips of her toes to reach him.

Her hands linger on his chest, and then her gaze comes back up to his, almost determinedly.

“I’m… really happy you’re back.” Her face is still flushed, but she doesn’t look away. Her pupils are dilated, bottomless black dwarfing green.

Heat creeps up his neck. His pulse pounds just below her fingertips, as if she’s tugging at his heartstrings with them.

“...I am, too,” he whispers, before he leans down again.

He thinks that he could stay here forever, clutching all that she’s given him, enveloped in a sweet ambrosia of tart berry and newly unfurling plants and soft lips that he’s thought of all day, now against his again.

She gently drops her hands from his chest when they finally part. She’s smiling; she is so pretty.

“Good night, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice is near a whisper. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“...Good night, Sakura,” he murmurs in response.

XXX

The journey from her place to his really is quite quick; he doesn’t see anyone on his way back. Stars are visible almost the entire way, Leo and Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. The moon is a thin sliver amongst them, raised high in the sky.

Once he's inside, he carefully folds out the drying rack she’s given him in the small laundry closet and lays out damp clothes to allow the air to finish the job. He's glad he didn't need to make another trip to the store. A trip with her was better, and she somehow had just what he needed. He thinks perhaps she always has, and his vision has simply been too blurry, obscured by smudged glass, to see it.

Sasuke retrieves the stack of her letters and places them in the box gingerly so as not to further bend them. He stares at the picture for a long time before also stowing it away, sliding the container onto the shelf in the closet for safekeeping.

He doesn’t feel tired yet, and it's not too cold, so he goes to visit the memorial stone, after, as he’d planned. He feels it is the right thing to do, after having been gone so long.

He confronts many things as he sits there, the bevy of crickets and soft swishing of grass the only sounds on this quiet spring evening, a long list of engravings barely legible in the shadows.

Melancholy is one of them, seeping in slowly, as he’d known it would. Grief and acrimony and betrayal, too. A little bit of anger, still. He also experiences sillage, the aroma of his mother’s flower garden and the scent of his aunt and uncle’s baked goods and the smell of an empty house, all blending together in his olfactory senses like it was yesterday, a bitter incense of nostalgia that is hard on the inhale.

This time, though, semisweet berry and antiseptic are also among them, memory fresh in his nostrils, and he experiences a little bit of comfort, too.

Sasuke doesn’t sleep well, after, but when the nightmare comes, gruesome, and he’s awake for the remainder of the night, he has some books to help steady him until seven comes.

[ibijau]

gonna blame this on @robininthelabyrinth who suggested a dark AU where the Jin win, and Jin Zixuan has two pretty concubines as his prize. I ended up doing something a litte different, where instead the Jin side with the Wen at the start of the war, but hopefully it’s still fun :) 

also on AO3

Standing beside Wen Xu, Jin Zixuan tries to figure out where he's met the two young men they've just captured. A task made difficult by the weather (it has been raining for days now, and their new prisoners are caked in mud, especially after being pushed face first into the dirt road by Wen Xu) and the falling darkness (Wen Xu likes to attack at dusk or during the night, when others are tired and less wary). But Jin Zixuan knows them. He's almost sure he knows them. They certainly seem to know him. The tall one turned pale upon first spotting him, though that was his only reaction, and the shorter one won't stop glancing at him with barely restrained hatred. He looks almost familiar too, with his delicate face. They've met, Jin Zixuan knows they've met.

His attention is mostly on the tall man though. After all, even though their clothes are of equally poor quality, the taller young man is the one who showed some skill with martial art, and his speech betrays a higher level of education. He must be a rogue cultivator, and one of the good ones at that, since he managed to give them trouble without a spiritual weapon.

Where on earth has Jin Zixuan met him before?

“So, will you not join the glorious armies of Qishan Wen?” Wen Xu insists after his usually speech. “Hey, Zixuan, why don't you say something to convince them, hm? Earn your keep.”

Jin Zixuan flushes at being addresses this way. Normally, he hates how informal Wen Xu is with him, acting as if they were old friends, all because Jin Zixuan's father is a coward without morals. This time though, he lets it glide. Upon hearing his name, the taller prisoner looks up toward him and in that position, the rain washes off enough of the mud for Jin Zixuan to finally realise who it is in front of them. It knocks the breath out of him. This, definitely, could change the course of the war.

Jin Zixuan crosses his arms on his chest, and pretends to closely inspect the two men kneeling in the mud.

“If they don't join us, can I have that one to play with?” he asks, nodding toward the taller man. “He looks like he'd make a fun pet.”

The young man stares at him with disbelief, while Wen Xu, predictably, bursts out laughing.

“Zixuan, don't you already have a few whores with you? If you keep falling for every pretty face you see, your house if going to end up too full, and they'll start turning on each others.”

Jin Zixuan shrugs dismissively, the way he's seen his father do countless times. “If there's a fight, I'll get rid of both the winner and the loser, and replace them with someone prettier. But I like that one. He's got a face that's made to swallow cocks.”

Wen Xu laughs again. It's lucky that it's him with Jin Zixuan, and not his horrid little brother. Neither brothers are interested in men, but Wen Chao likes to be a pest who'd want his share of the fun before letting Jin Zixuan have what he wants. Wen Xu, by contrast, doesn't really care for the pleasures of the flesh, and has enough political awareness to give Jin Zixuan some face. He knows that if Jin Guangshan hadn't sided with the Wen so immediately after the destruction of the Lotus Piers, the Wen might be facing more opposition than they are at the moment.

“Zixuan, if you want him so much, then have him,” Wen Xu generously offers, gesturing toward the prisoners. “Or do you want both perhaps? Hm? The other one is somewhat pretty as well. If you don't grab him, I'm tempted of putting him in a dress and playing a prank on ChaoChao.”

Jin Zixuan shivers, and glances at the other young man. He knows he's seen him somewhere, but even now he can't figure out where. Is saving him worth the risk of ruining everything else? Is he important enough? If Jin Zixuan does nothing, if Wen Xu does play such a prank, that young man is sure to die. Wen Chao never takes well to being made a fool of, especially by his brother, and he tends to take out his anger on whoever is less susceptible to fight back. He also likes to make others bear witness to his fits of anger, especially Jin Zixuan who just doesn't do well with torture.

He can't save everyone. It'd be too dangerous. The Wens aren't stupid, and they don't trust him, not when Jin Zixuan sided against Wen Chao during the reeducation camp, before he went home to a father who'd taken the easy choice. And it is so important to save the taller man, Jin Zixuan knows, so he should take this small victory while he can and be satisfied with that.

But there's just something about the other one too. Jin Zixuan knows that face.

“You know, he would look pretty in a dress,” Jin Zixuan agrees, his heart beating so fast he feels as if he might be sick. “Too pretty to be wasted on your brother. He's not a cultivator anyway, is he?”

Wen Xu bends down and grabs they young man's wrist, inspecting his pulse for a moment before letting go and shaking his head.

“No, not at all. But aren't you scared to bring pretty faces into your home? Your whores might get tempted to do something stupid.”

“Heimei will keep them in check,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “She's too smart to mess around, and too mean to let others have fun if she can't.”

Heimei will also absolutely kick his ass about taking such a risk, if this turned out to have been a wrong move. At least, after getting over the sheer joy that should accompany the reveal of the taller prisoner. Hopefully, that should be enough to placate a little his moody concubine.

“Zixuan, you need to stop fucking people who could kill you in your sleep,” Wen Xu jokes. “Ah, I'm tired of this... sure, you can have them both, but tomorrow you're helping me interrogate those Lans we captured the other day.”

Clenching his teeth and forcing a smile, Jin Zixuan nods. He hates interrogations. He hates, also, that Wen Xu is convinced he's doing him a favour by making him help. Apparently, Wen Xu wants to help him become less sensitive, since he finds that Jin Zixuan has been too sheltered in his life, just because Jin Zixuan hasn't been watching his father torture people for fun since he was five.

Considering what other things Jin Zixuan has borne witness too, though... neither of them have great fathers, really.

With the matter of what to do with their prisoners settled, their group leaves the road. Jin Zixuan personally blocks the spiritual energy of the taller man who throws him a cold look for it, and they all head back to their headquarters in a nearby small town. Wen Xu chats the entire time, either to complain against the weather or to guess what their enemies' next move might be. It's a relief when they arrive in front of the house Jin Zixuan claimed for himself and they have to separate. Wen Xu's company is like poisoned wine: it's best to avoid it entirely, or only have a very small quantity otherwise.

Once inside, Jin Zixuan orders that a bath be drawn for himself in his personal quarters. Then, after a moment of reflection, he asks for a second one so that his new pets can get clean as well. The housekeeper offers to have them prepared for his pleasure and sent to him once they are more presentable, but Jin Zixuan refuses.

“It'll be fun to make them wash each other,” he says in the tone of voice his father uses sometimes, the one that always makes others uncomfortable. He's getting good at using it too. “But bring some clean clothes, and scented oils. I don't think Heimei will want to share. See if you can find a dress that could fit this one,” he adds, pointing at the smaller man whose face, under the mud, is black with restrained rage. “And make sure we aren't disturbed.”

The housekeeper bows to him and goes to give orders. While Jin Zixuan checks the news with other servants the Wens gave him, his prisoners are taken away to his quarters. Since there's no urgent business requiring his attention, Jin Zixuan is soon free to follow them.

The house he's living in used to belong to a rich merchant who ran away when the war broke so close to his home. Being abandoned, it was seized by the Wens and then offered to Jin Zixuan, while Wen Xu claimed for himself the local magistrate's manor. It was intended as an insult, a reminder of their sect's respective positions, maybe even a jab at Lanling Jin's inglorious origin. Jin Zixuan took it all in stride, because this house is bigger than the magistrate's, and his personal quarter well isolated from the servants' who are all loyal to the Wens.

It is an odd contrast to see those two muddy young men wearing robes of rough linen in the middle of Jin Zixuan's opulent room, where everything is gilded with gold or made of precious wood. Jin Zixuan pretends to ignore them while servants come in with bathtubs that get filled with hot water. He kicks off his shoes and lounges on a sofa to watch the proceeding, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait very long.

The first tub is only just filled up when someone wrapped in delicately embroidered silks storms into the room. Although the person's face is mostly hidden behind a veil, there's no hiding their anger.

“Are you trying to replace me?” Heimei shrieks in such a high voice that everyone present winces. “How many concubines do you need? Aren't I enough?”

“You are everything I could need, my little flower,” Jin Zixuan awkwardly replied. “I just thought it'd be fun to have new toys in the house. We captured those two men and since they're pretty enough, I figured it might be fun to watch them play with each other while my little summer fruit is seated on my lap. Don't you want that?”

“Don't presume to what I want!” Heimei explodes, before quickly glancing at the two men. Too quickly, in fact, to get a real look at their face. “They're dirty!” Heimei gasps. “They're going to ruin the floor! And you're ruining the sofa!”

“Then maybe my pretty little peach should help me out of these wet clothes,” Jin Zixuan suggests, as flirty as he can make himself to be. He's not very good at that, and can see the servants rolling their eyes, but the second tub is nearly full now. “Heimei, MeiMei, my sweet, my tender girl, be good and undress me.”

Heimei, of course, refuses, puts on a show about being unloved and discarded. Jin Zixuan is forced to rise from his seat to take Heimei in his arms, petting her hair, squeezing her waist, even letting his hands on her ass, all while professing that she is his one true love who he will marry as a second wife when the time comes. Heimei complains and whines but redirect his hands toward her chest so he can grope her there, and she's starting to untie his robes when the servants finally leave for good, careful to close the door behind them. There are silencing talismans engraved on the wood which only worked when the doors are fully closed, and nobody wants to hear what sometimes happens in this room.

As soon as they are alone, Jin Zixuan pushes Heimei away from himself, which Heimei understands to mean their usual comedy isn't needed anymore.

“Zixuan, what the fuck?” Heimei hisses in a deeper voice than before. “We agreed to lay low for a little bit!”

“I couldn't let them fall into Wen Xu's hands,” Jin Zixuan retorts, before walking to the two puzzled men, and bowing before the taller one. “Lan gongzi, please forgive me for speaking of you in such a manner before. I hope you understand the circumstances left me no choice.”

Lan Xichen's eyes open wide, as if he really hoped he hadn't been discovered. Truthfully, it was a close thing. Without his ribbon and his elegant white robes, Lan Xichen looks like a completely different person. Still, he's lucky that Wen Xu is somewhat bad with faces, or this could have gone bad.

“What do you mean, Lan gongzi?” Heimei gasps, rushing closer. After taking a longer look at Lan Xichen, Heimei gasps again, sobs, and falls into his arms. “Xichen-gege! You're alive, you're alive!”

More puzzled than before, Lan Xichen kindly allows this outburst of emotion from an apparent stranger. He awkwardly pats Heimei's back before trading a glance first with his companion who shrugs, then with Jin Zixuan who pinches Heimei's arm.

“You still have your veil on, remove it or you'll just creep him out.”

Heimei slaps away his hand, but pulls back enough to remove the tear drenched veil. It is Lan Xichen's turn to gasp in surprise.

“Huaisang? What are you doing here?”

Nie Huaisang nods grimly.

“Zixuan managed to find me before the Wen and helped me hide,” he explains, wiping away his tears. “I've been here with him since then, but we couldn't exactly let anyone know. We're on the wrong side of this war after all.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, before turning his eyes to Jin Zixuan. His expression is a little less cold and disgusted now, though that's not saying much. Jin Zixuan knows how little liked he is by those on the other side of the Sunshot Campaign, and he cannot blame them. Without his father's support, the Qishan Wen might not be doing so well.

Without Lanling Jin's help, the Unclean Realm might not have fallen. Nie Mingjue might still be alive, leading this war the way everyone knows he's been preparing to do for years. Instead, what's left of Qinghe Nie is led by a far less talented cousin, and though the allied sects are doing their best, it's doubtful that they'll last much longer.

“I thought you were...” Lan Xichen starts saying, his voice trembling with emotion as he looks back at Nie Huaisang. He then catches himself, and gets back in control, speaking again with more calm. “Huaisang, you were assumed to have died in Qinghe. I am so glad this rumour was wrong. But I must wonder then... how much more lies have been spread about Jin gongzi?”

“It depends what you've heard,” Nie Huaisang says, coming closer to Lan Xichen and taking his arm the way he likes to do with friends. “We've been so busy trying to convince the Wen that he's really on their side, we haven't really had time to wonder what everyone else thinks of him.”

Lan Xichen nods, perhaps understanding how delicate their position has been these last three months. Or maybe it is just that Jin Zixuan's reputation is too awful to be mentioned by someone of the elegant Lan sect. Lan Xichen's companion ends up being the one to explain it, and it isn't pleasant to hear.

“People say that Jin gongzi is a murderer and a rapist,” the young man says quite bluntly. “They say he has killed many people even outside of battle, that he collects men and women as concubines. It is said that he even captured his former fiancée after she had already lost all her family, and refuses to give her to his mother who wishes to return her to her grandmother. Instead he uses her as a whore, and lets the Wen have their way with her in exchange for favours to him.”

The blood drains from Jin Zixuan's face at that accusation. He had expected something bad, but not to such a degree.

“Jiang Yanli's virtue is untouched!” he exclaims. “She's living here too, and I've convinced Wen Xu that she isn't to be touched because I want to use her as a tool to claim Yunmeng Jiang's territories when this is over. I would have preferred to let her return to her grandmother, but I'm half sure my father would have either claimed her for himself or sent her directly to Wen Ruohan to prove his good faith. You can meet her later, if you like, and see for yourself she's been treated as well as she could be, under the circumstances.”

After losing so much, Jiang Yanli is quite miserable these days, of course. She's the last survivor of her sect, of her family. Meishan Yu is taking part in the war, apparently, but they're not a particularly big clan, and Wen Chao has been targetting them particularly, in case they secretly harbour some Jiang survivors. Wen Xu once drunkenly told Jin Zixuan that although his brother swore to his father that he fulfilled his mission perfectly, he actually never found the corpse of Jiang Wanyin, so the young man could very well be still alive and plotting his revenge.

After hearing this, Jin Zixuan had hesitated to share the news with Jiang Yanli. In the end, he didn't. With the way the war is going, even if Jiang Cheng is still alive right now, he's unlikely to survive much longer, and Jiang Yanli would just end up having to grieve a second time.

“So you are on our side, Jin gongzi?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I would be if I could,” Jin Zixuan says. “I cannot go directly against my father, as I hope you will understand. But I do not like associating with evil people, so I try to act according to my convictions whenever possible. It has become harder lately. The Wen don't want to insult my father by pushing me to the side, for fear he'll change sides, but they've also figured out I am a rather poor general and never lead my troupes to any satisfying victories, so they don't involve me in anything important.”

It's not that he loses his battles. He can't afford that. But Wen Xu is always complaining that he's failing to capture enough prisoners, that so many escape while returning to their headquarters, that he's always picking too many to become his personal playthings. Nie Huaisang and him had just decided that he would try to be a little less obvious in his lack of cooperation, at least for a few weeks, if only because to continue like this would endanger the people he's already rescued. They still haven't figured out how to set these people free, but now, with Lan Xichen there, it becomes more urgent than ever. If he's discovered in Jin Zixuan's custody, it's all over.

“That you're trying at all is to your credit,” Lan Xichen says, more kindly that Jin Zixuan thinks he deserves when he's still had to kill people, where there are so many victims of the Wen he couldn't save. “I am grateful to you for helping me, Jin gongzi. I fear, though, that I must ask you to help me some more. Meng Yao and I really cannot be absent too long. Our side has lost too much already, if I appear to have disappeared again, I fear our allies will lose courage.”

The name Meng Yao startles Jin Zixuan who stares at Lan Xichen's companion with mild horror. He remembers a banquet for one of his birthdays, where his father was told a certain Meng Yao wanted to see him who carried a token. He remembers, also, his mother's anger, and later Jin Zixun laughing as he described that Meng Yao being thrown down some stairs like the bastard he was.

Jin Zixuan remembers all this. Judging by the barely contained heat in his eyes, so does his half-brother.

His father would be furious at him for having taken risks to save what he would consider one of his most shameful bastards, but Jin Zixuan has long stopped caring what his father thinks of him. He doesn't even read his letters anymore, since they're nothing but demands for Jiang Yanli to be sent to Lanling, and threats of punishment if he remains so incompetent as a general.

“It's going to be hard to release you,” Jin Zixuan says. “We'll think about it tomorrow, when Jiang Yanli joins us.” It was her, after all, who told him to disguised Nie Huaisang as a woman and present him as his capricious concubine, stating it would just seem like he's adopting the Wen's habits. “For now, please have a bath, eat something, and rest. You both look like you need it.”

“It has been a rough few days,” Lan Xichen confirms, bowing politely. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help, Jin gongzi.”

Jin Zixuan bows back, uncomfortable with a gratefulness he's really not sure he deserves. He then leaves that part of the room so Lan Xichen and Meng Yao can have a little privacy. Nie Huaisang looks as if he might stay and chat with them as they bathe, shameless as always, but Jin Zixuan drags him away.

Even if they've just been saved, even if they're grateful, he wouldn't be surprised if the two young men didn't fully trust them yet, not with the reputation he apparently has now. It's better to give them a chance to talk alone if they want, to show that he trusts them.

“This is going to be a mess,” Nie Huaisang remarks as they sit by a window to wait for their guests to be presentable. “You won't be able to stay neutral much longer, Zixuan.”

Jin Zixuan nods. If he's honest, it's a relief that he'll be forced to really pick a side after weeks of kissing ass and pretending the Wen siblings don't make him want to puke every time they say something.

He doesn't like the idea of going against his own father, but Jin Zixuan has betrayed his own values too long already.

And if he must die doing what's right... at least, he'll be in good company.

[doritopaw101]

Arc1, book 3: Chapter 2

Silverstream sighed as the water lapped at his paws and belly. He felt the soft paws of Featherkit and Gillkit nudge his belly, their small whimpers made him smile. He moved his body a little making it easier for his kits to latch.

'Graystripe says Featherkit looks just like me. I wish I could see that for myself' Silverstream thought with sorrow. Mudfur did his best to save his eyesight, even trying some herb mixtures that he was taught by WindClan's old medicine cat Hawkheart, but nothing worked. Silverstream didn't care too much; there were worse fates.

"Um… Silverstream?" Silverstream turned his head to the sound. Although he couldn't see that well anymore, he recognized the voice as Dogpaw's, and could also smell Vixentail, Blackclaw, and Bluepaw with them.

"Yes, Dogpaw?"

"I brought you some carp," Dogpaw mewed. "I know it's your favorite."

"I made sure that it's not poisoned this time," Vixentail growled, while Dogpaw let out a little whimper of guilt. Personally, Silverstream didn't blame Dogpaw or Bluepaw for the fish, no matter what others thought. He knew the apprentices already had enough struggles, and he knew it was the Twolegs fault.

"Thanks, Dogpaw," Silverstream mewed, pawing at the ground to find where Dogpaw had put the fish. Feeling its wet, slimy form beneath his paws, he bent down and began to chew on it.

Blackclaw must've been watching him struggle to find the fish, because she murmured, "We don't need any more blind cats," under her breath. Vixentail murmured a quiet agreement, but Silverstream still heard them both. He was used to the blind comments by now. He knew the only reason they didn't say it to his face was because he was Stormstar's kin. At least my father still treats me the same.

Silverstream had always tried not to be too offended by Blackclaw's smart remarks. After all, she had always thought he was above everyone else. Being the son of Shimmerpelt and Piketooth, two very respected fisher and fighter respectively.

And as for Vixentail, she liked to follow the black tom's lead a little too much, in Silverstream's opinion.

He was glad Stonefur dumped Blackclaw in favor of Skyeyes. He didn't deserve to be Stonefur's mate.

"How's Featherkit and Gillkit?" Bluepaw asked, the kits in question mewling loudly as they still laid pressing against Silverstream's stomach.

"Loud as ever," Silverstream chuckled. "Hungry too, I think my milk is fine for now though Bluepaw"

"What's it like being blind?" Dogpaw

"Dogpaw!" Vixentail hissed, and the loud thwack of someone's paw hitting the back of the Dogpaw's head followed.

"Ow!"

"It's fine," Silverstream said plainly. "Imagine not being able to see, but your other senses increased tenfold."

"That's cool!" Dogpaw mewed.

"No, it's not," Vixentail muttered.

"What's going on here?" Silverstream almost jumped at the sound of Voleclaw's voice. He hadn't even noticed the tom creep up on them. "Silverstream, are they bothering you?"

"Only Vixentail and Blackclaw."

"We need to take your kits," Blackclaw said. "Featherkit in fact"

Vixentail made a shocked sound but Silverstream couldn't tell if that was genuine or not.

Silverstream could recognize irritation in Voleclaw's voice now. "Why would you ever?"

"We need to make sure it healthy."

"That's Mudfur and Bluepaw's job, not yours, fish-face," Silverstream growled. "This is my kit, and you will not refer to her as it, you will refer to her as her name and that alone, Blackpaw."

Blackclaw hissed.

"Leave," Voleclaw snapped at the pair. "Don't you have patrols to do? I know Willowheart and I gave you somewhere more important to be, Blackclaw."

Blackclaw released another defiant hiss, but he was still obliged by Voleclaw's orders. Silverstream could hear him mutter angrily to himself as he stalked away with Vixentail following after him. Before the two disappeared, Vixentail called, "Come on, Dogpaw!"

"Dogpaw can stay. You two can swim away," Silverstream replied, curling his tail around Featherkit, Gillkit, Dogpaw, and Bluepaw.

/

Silverstream growled in frustration, water splashing everywhere. He missed another fish.

"Silver, I know you love fishing, but maybe-"

"Don't, Minnow. Just don't," he replied shortly. He knew what his sister would say, and that was sending him back to camp. But Silverstream didn't want to go back there again, not after what had happened with Blackclaw and Vixentail. He thought that by coming out here, he could prove herself to them again by relearning how to fish as a blind warrior, but it seemed impossible.

They felt like a dead weight in the clan, but he didn't want to feel this way anymore. Bluepaw encouraged him to help Mudfur gather herbs, but Silverstream wasn't sure if he should offer to be the old medicine cat's apprentice when his heart still yearned to be a warrior.

"You know that I'm not trying to be rude, but…" she trailed off.

Silverstream sighed. "You know I'm not really useful being blind now."

"I love you, Silver. You're my littermate."

"I know, and I love you too, Minnowpool. That's why I know you wouldn't say what you know is the truth."

Minnowpool's pelt brushed comfortingly against Silverstream's side, and he sighed. Would he ever get to be a warrior again, or was he doomed to be useless to the clan from now on?

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Icefire flicked his tail back and forth, watching the clan as they moved around the camp. He had Mistlekit nuzzled in his tail while Snowkit was playing with Waspkit and Hornetkit. He had managed to assign patrols, with some of Leopardstorm's help. The pointed white tom had been helping him adjust and even helped watch the kits with him before he led a patrol to Sunningrocks.

Taking care of kits was still something he enjoyed doing, even with his deputy duties keeping him on his toes. He'd been taking a lot of care for Milk-kit, Snowkit, and Mistlekit. Mostly to give Nettlemist a break and honestly he didn't mind bonding with the kits and wanted to look out for Milk-kit and Snowkit because they don't exactly fit clan norms.

He saw Shrikepaw bring over a sparrow, her fur just as frazzled and spiky as his Fuzzypelt's had been. "Been hunting?"

"Yep, caught this one easily," Shrikepaw purred. "I caught two squirrels, too."

"Can you take it to the elders?"

"Yep," Shrikepaw mewed. "That was okay, right?"

"Of course, sweetie," Icefire replied, licking his kit's forehead. He chuckled when he felt Milk-kit try to latch, he was so telling her this when she was older. He felt Goldenflower lay beside him. "I'll watch them, go stretch your legs," she mewed. "Shrikepaw, you can help, if you want."

"Cool."

Icefire slowly got up and made his way around camp, deciding to pay a visit to the elders. As he approached the fallen oak where the elders made their den, voices drifted up from behind its bare branches.

"Darkstripe's kits will be born soon, and Cherrycloud and Thymeroot have finally named their kits," Speckletail mewed.

"New kits are always a good omen, sister," White-eye purred. "What are they called?"

"Badgerkit and Stork-kit"

"Starclan knows we could do with a good omen," Smallear muttered darkly.

"You're not still fretting about the ritual, are you?" Patchpelt croaked. Icefure could imagine the old black-and-white tom flicking his ears impatiently at Smallear.

"The what?" White-eye mewed loudly.

"The naming ceremony for the new clan deputy," Patchpelt exclaimed loudly. "You know, when Tiger-roar and Nightshade left a quarter moon ago."

Smallear snorted, and Icefire imagined him nodding at Patchpelt. "A young cat can't be trusted to make wise decisions on the clan's behalf."

Icefure could hear Speckletail tear at her moss bedding with her claws, trying to fluff it to her liking. "A young cat with kittypet heritage, at that," she pointed out hoarsely. Icefire's heart stung at her comment, but it hurt even more when he heard Smallear's next comment.

"I'd trust an experienced traitor over Icefire, especially when his ceremony didn't follow the proper ritual. ThunderClan is as good as dead, with Icefire as our deputy."

His tail drooped as he heard the elders murmur their mutual agreement. His spirit feeling hurt beyond repair, Icefire took a few paces backwards and headed for the fresh-kill pile, wanting nothing more than to sulk and release his hurt on a mouse or two.

Maybe the elders are right, Icefire thought sadly. What if I really am a bad deputy?

/

"We should attack Shadowclan," Seedspots growled. "They're getting too pushy lately."

Icefire struggled to contain his frustration as the meeting progressed. He had been in charge for the meeting of the elite warriors as Bluestar was still sulking in her den, but it was difficult to assert his authority as a leader without his leader here. Once again, he reminded himself of the elders' conversation a night before, and he couldn't help but feel a stab of despair yet again. He wished Bluestar was here.

"They haven't done anything to warrant an attack," Raveneye mewed, the strong wafts of lavender and marigold spreading throughout the room as they spoke.

"So? They are just biding their time and getting ready to strike in the night," the tortie replied. She pointed to the map of attack that she had drawn in the dirt a while ago. "We could attack here."

"We will not attack if they haven't done anything," Icefire mewed before releasing a sigh. "Why start a fight for no reason?" There was already a border scuffle this past moon, and it had been during the last patrol that Darkstripe was allowed to lead before Icefire had the nursery cats confine him to camp. He had been a little relieved at Darkstripe's confinement, because it meant less worrying about whether Darkstripe would slip out of camp and betray ThunderClan's secrets to Tiger-roar and Nightshade somehow. He still didn't know where they were and he knows they would try to kill him, mostly Nightshade. Didn't help that he remembered that they had Brokentail and Dewflare with them.

Icefire had been part of the reinforcements to the scuffle, and he ended up ripping into Whitethroat as the black tom nearly killed Cinderfreeze. Icefire felt enraged during that fight. Whitethroat wouldn't meet with him anymore like he used to, and it was making Icefire constantly worry, and it was getting in the way of his duties. With the new pressure of being the clan's deputy, and admittedly his own insecurities, he realized that he didn't need the added stress of Whitethroat on his mind. Whitethroat would keep shutting him out no matter what he tried, so he decided it was time to be rid of Whitethroat for good.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Seedspots countered, "You don't want to show ThunderClan's strength? I know plenty of cats who want to slash some ShadowClan hide."

"What's wrong with peace?" Embereyes asked. "At least for the moment."

"If we don't show strength then the other clans will think-"

"Who cares what the other clans think?" Icefire scoffed. "I don't. They can mind their own business." Rising to his paws, he fanned the map away with a quick flick of his tail. "This meeting is over."

"Seriously?" Seedspots snapped. "Don't you have an ounce of bravery in you?"

Icefire ignored her, and decided that was the end of it.

If only it had been that simple, but then, nothing was simple anymore.

He was on a solo hunt at the Owl Tree when he heard the awful news. He was stalking a dove that was pecking at some seeds that Icefire left for it as bait to lure it from the tree. The bird was fat, looking very well-fed this season. It'd be enough to fill two warriors' bellies.

Licking his lips, he began to creep up on his prey, careful not to disturb the leaves with his tail. As he closed in on his kill, he bunched his muscles, preparing to leap and deal the final blow. However, the bird quickly took to the skies when it was startled by a rustle in the bushes not far from his hunting place. Hissing with frustration, Icebelly turned to curse whatever had scared away his catch, only to be cut off short when Brightpaw shot into the clearing, barreling into Icefire.

He wanted to snap at the apprentice for making him miss his catch, but there was a sense of urgency around the younger cat that kept Icefire silent. Brightpaw, out of breath, took a few moments to gain their breath back before quickly mewing, "Icefire, you have to come quick. Seedspots is taking a patrol to the ShadowClan border to fight!"

Icefire felt like he should feel a ripple of shock course through him, but there was nothing. It was just like Seedspots to do something so arrogant, even against his own deputy's orders. Anger engulfed Icefire, but it was mostly directed at himself. If he had been a better deputy he would have done more to prevent Seedspots from leading such a rash attack. "Show me the way, Brightpaw. We have to stop this!"

Brightpaw, though still out of breath, managed to find enough energy to quickly lead him towards the border where Seedspots' patrol had gone. He knew it had been too late when he heard the hissing and screeching of wrestling cats at the Thunderpath. He watched the chaos unfold around him, while Brightpaw stood rigid with fear beside him.

Seedspots' patrol was even bigger than he had imagined. It seemed like half of the clan was present at the fight. He could make out Dustpelt's brown and ginger tabby fur in the cluster, the tom delivering a deep bite wound on Wetfoot's shoulder. Only a mere fox-length away from him, Robinwing and Thornpaw were both tag-teaming on Hollyflower, who looked absolutely terrified by how outnumbered the ShadowClan patrol was.

Icefire charged into the clearing, trying to find Seedspots in the fray. He noticed that Sandstorm had been a part of the fight too, and she was struggling beneath Sharpfang, who had pinned her roughly into the dirt. Icefire launched himself at Sharpfang, throwing her away from his clanmate with sheathed claws.

Sandstorm sat up quickly, her sandy fur now dotted with brown specks of dirt, and her pelt was riddled with fresh wounds. "I could have handled myself, Icefire!" she snapped.

"That doesn't matter. You shouldn't be here!" Icefire snarled at her. "Nobody from ThunderClan should. Where is Seedspots?"

Sandstorm flicked her tail vaguely towards the direction of the Burnt Sycamore. Icefire's gaze turned towards it, spotting the cat in question. Seedspots seemed to be fighting with the leader of the ShadowClan patrol, Russetfur. The she-cat's russet-coloured fur was stained scarlet as Seedspots tore her apart.

"Seedspots! Stop this at once!" Icefire yowled with fury.

If Seedspots heard him, she didn't listen. She dug her teeth deep into Russetfur's fore-leg, bowling them over and exposing her belly. Too wounded from the battle, Russetfur seemed to be hunching over in submission. She looked more vulnerable and weak than a piece of fresh-kill; an easy kill.

Seedspots must've noticed it too, because her muscles bunched beneath her fur, and she pounced at Russetfur again with her claws extended. Seeing an opportunity to end this, Icefire dove into the quarrel on winged paws, nearly dodging Oakfur as Fogtail tripped him over with his long tail. Leaping into the air, Icefire's claws met Seedspots mid-leap, and he slammed his clanmate hard on the ground.

"What the fuck?" he snarled.

"What?" Seedspots said, her fury stopping in confusion at the word 'fuck'.

"What in the name of Starclan is wrong with you?" he snapped.

"What's wrong with you, kittypet?" Seedspots sneered.

"You piece of-" he began, but he cut off as he was shoved away from Seedspots by a blur of black fur. He was too pissed when he saw Seedspots avoid his orders yet again by rolling onto his paws and pouncing on Blazefang now, who was trying to help the injured Russetfur away from the battlefield.

Not giving a damn anymore about stopping the fight, Icefire wrestled his opponent. He had his attacker locked in his claws, and the both of them were standing on their hind-legs, throwing punches and raking each other's faces with unsheathed claws. He realized it was Whitethroat that he was fighting with, but he didn't care. He shoved forward, hissing, trying to go for Whitethroat's neck.

He recognized that it was Whitethroat that he was fighting with, but blinded by fury, he didn't care. He shoved forward, hissing, aiming for Whitethroat's neck. The black tom tried to trip him up with his tail, but Icefire had been trained by the best warriors in ThunderClan. He wasn't falling for that old trick.

Icefire latched onto Whitethroat's tail with his teeth, biting down hard. Whitethroat hissed with pain, and Icefire expected him to retreat back into his territory, but Whitethroat was stronger than he thought. His strength overpowered Icefire's own, and he quickly threw Icefire on his back, forcing him into a pin. The black tom bared his teeth in a snarl.

"Do it," Icefire growled. "Finish me already or get off and run."

"I could never kill you."

"You can't fool me," Icefire retorted, recalling how Whitethroat told him about the times he shredded fought with Badgerfang, his clanmates, and even his own kits. "I know for a fact that you have no problem spilling blood."

Hurt flashed in his eyes at Icefire's jibe, but it quickly turned to anger again. "You don't know anything about me," Whitethroat snapped.

"You didn't let me!" Icefire retorted. "You never let me in. You always shut me out, just like you do with everyone else. I don't know how your clan or your kin can tolerate you."

Whitethroat slammed a paw on Icefire's lower stomach, and in response, Icefire slashed the black tom's belly with his hind-paws. Icefire was about to kick Whitethroat away from him, but he felt the ground shake beneath him, and dread crept up on him.

"Monster!" Icefire yowled.

Every cat began diving for cover, all except Icefire. He scanned the clearing to make sure that every ThunderClan warrior had made it to cover before him, and he felt frozen with fear as he spotted Swiftpaw lying on the Thunderpath, not moving. The monster was barrelling towards him at a rapid speed.

Icefire wouldn't let the apprentice become roadkill. Thinking quickly, he leaped forwards as Fogtail tried to rush to Swiftpaw's aid at the same time, the car nearing closer with every second. Seeing the monster encroach on the apprentice made Icefire panic, and he made a regretful decision.

He kicked Fogtail away as they, too, rushed to Swiftpaw's aid. He launched himself onto the smelly path and grabbed Swiftpaw by the scruff, tossing him towards his mentor on ThunderClan's side of the path before Icefire quickly dove for cover along with him, but he had leaped for safety too late. The car had hit him, and everything went black.

/

Starclan, why!

Thymeroot was frustrated and worried beyond belief. She didn't think things could get more hectic, but of course she had to be wrong. She admired her work on the unconscious Icefire's leg and tail. It hadn't been in the way too much, she managed to pop in back in and stop the bleeding. He'd keep his tail, the fur just needed to grow back and he'd need help lifting it and walking. He already had a limp, it would be worse now.

"Good job, kid," Yellowfang rasped. "The foolish cat will need it."

"He did save Swiftpaw from being killed," Thymeroot pointed out.

"That he did," Yellowfang replied. She gazed at Icefire like a queen gazes at their own kit. "Trying to be a hero."

"Better than being the villain like Seedspots," Thymeroot growled.

"She's already having the tongue lashing she deserves."

"Was it you, Goldenflower, Raveneye, Frostbite or Bluestar?"

Yellowfang chuckled. "All of the above. Raveneye and Frostbite especially tore her down."

Thymeroot couldn't share her mentor's good-nature at the moment. "What's her punishment?"

"Two day exile, and when she returns, apprentice duties until further notice."

Thymeroot sighed. Seedspots definitely deserved more than what she received. This was no time for the clan to be starting petty battles with other clans. Thanks to her, they would not only have to worry about the cryptic imprint that Tiger-roar and Nightshade's exile left on the clan, and now had to watch out for ShadowClan's retaliation.

Worry wormed within her as she cast a side-long look towards Icefire's unconscious form. The clan seemed more vulnerable than ever before. With Bluestar still sulking in her den, Icefire had been the only leader that most of the clan would obey. This attack would leave him out of commission for a long while, far longer than Seedspots' exile would last, and who knew what she'd try to encourage the clan to do next when she returned?

If they return, Thymeroot thought grimly. Seedspots obviously did not respect Icefire's authority, just like Tiger-roar and Nightshade had. Could Seedspots be another traitor in their midst and inform Tiger-roar and Nightshade of ThunderClan's weaknesses? And who would be the first to retaliate on their clan; the newly-aggravated ShadowClan, their traitorous ex-clanmates, or both of them teamed up together?

[sabineelectricheart]

Verlangen

Summary: Lili has no more strenght to fight Dante. She can only fight for her son.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Explicit depiction of domestic violence. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1600

Notes: I am a nasty, nasty person. I know.

"I don’t want for the entire province to know I am married to some ungrateful little slut!" Dante thundered, backing her into the brick wall of the manor house.

She was scared, and her husband has hurting her, but she tried to manage to keep herself standing, if she fell to the ground, it would only be worse.

Her expensive mink coat snagged on the prickly thorns of a long-dead rose bush and ripped a piece off. She would have to fix it tonight, before dawn.

"I d-didn't do anything," Lili managed to get out.

“Spare me, will you? I have you all figured out, cunt.” He sneered. "I saw him eyeing you up and down, and you laughing at his tasteless jokes."

Lili backed further into the wall as he spoke, the creeping ivy scratching at the back of her neck. She had been here before. She knew nothing she had to say would convince him that a barely-cordial conversation with Gilbert on her way back from the church was anything less than a cardinal sin.

"I'm sorry, Dante.” She cried, pleading. “I didn't mean anything by it. You've got to believe me."

"I don’t have to do anything, dirty whore." He spat. “Or have you forgotten who has the upper hand in this marriage?”

His turquoise eyes were as hard and sharp as flint, forcing her to look away. There was no future in trying to out-stare a monster.

Luca was crouched behind a tree in their front garden, a large apple tree that hung in front of their home long before she and Dante were wed, his little fists clenched, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had asked her to bake him a pie and insisted to go shop for the ingredients himself when his father came across their stroll in Creta.

Run, she pleaded silently, locking eyes with her son. Run to the grotto.

He nodded once and dropped the bag full of food into the grass as he backed away.

"You have nothing to say for yourself? No excuses? No empty promises?" He growled as he pushed himself against her, his deceivingly fresh breath tickling her ear.

She heard barely-there footsteps disappear down the ginnel. Luca was safe.

"No, I have nothing to say to you."

His large, calloused hand was hot against her throat.

"Are you quite sure about that?" He flexed his hand.

Her voice was little more than a gasp. "Yes."

His hand closed vice-like around her neck, crushing force constricting her windpipe. Her lungs burned as they begged for oxygen, hot tears spilled from her eyes, and dark spots danced enticingly across her vision as she fought to remain conscious.

She lost the fight, she always did, and fell limp as the darkness overtook her.

Dante was gone when she came to her senses in the dim starlight of their bedroom. He must have brought her up and then left somewhere, to his office or to some cantina on the edge of town, to drink his rage away.

The dull, throbbing ache of her throat was unsettlingly familiar. It used to make her angry.

When they had first married, she would fight for all she was worth against the smacks, the punches, and the pushes. She had tried to free Orlok many times from the dungeon, and even made the mistake of pulling a knife on him once, one that he immediately used to stab her in the leg.

Now, she was too exhausted to fight for herself. She had only had the energy to fight for Luca.

She pulled herself up from the overly soft bed, dusted the grass on her dress and took a sip of the icy water that was left conveniently on her bedside table. The liquid quenched the fire that burned her throat, but the relief it provided was only temporary.

Lili notes that her coat was gone, and she would likely never see it again. Soon, another one, more luxurious than its predecessor, would find its way to her overfilled wardrobe.

As for now, she limits herself to picking up another coat from the armchair near the window, having the foresight to choose a larger one that she could snuggle Luca if need be, and left through the bedroom door.

The fact that Dante beat her up was common knowledge, and the reason for that was mostly old news for the Family and the servants. Still, when Lili passed through them, they would always look curiously, even if no-one ever said a thing to her. It did not matter, anyways, because they also did not impede her movement, either by her husband’s orders or they legitimately felt sorry for her.

The reinforced wall of their manor house ran the length of the eery street it was located. The little starlight that escaped the clouds was scattered by the broken glass that littered the floor. Old crisp packets rustled in the light breeze, and the acrid stench of piss assaulted her nose and caught in her bruised throat.

How she wished she could escape from this place, wished she could save Luca from its poisonous grasp.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to lush grass. The scent of tree sap and mulch caressed her nose and filled her lungs. Lili carefully picked her way through the darkness, avoiding tree roots and dog shit. A twig snapped beneath her foot, and she heard a gasp. Luca was perched, bird-like, on a fallen tree, his pale face ethereal in the filtered starlight.

"It's just me, honey." Liliana said, calmly, revealing herself to her son.

His shoulders relaxed slightly and he shuffled over, making room for her on the log.

They had found this place when Luca was barely walking. Dante had been especially stressed with the politics in Rome and was spending more and more time drinking and hitting her to relieve tension.

One night, he had come home angrier than he ever used to be, smashing plates, slamming walls, and effing and blinding. The sharp edge of a broken plate had caught Luca's cheek, slicing through his pale skin.

Lili would never forget the drip of scarlet as her little boy's lip wobbled and his tears stung his cut.

The next day, she had made sure they were both out of the house when Dante came home. They had walked for hours, trying to stay out of sight, until they had wandered into the woodland and found the little grotto. It was open to the sky and stars but closed off to the rest of the world. A retreat.

"Mom, are you alright?" The boy asked, softly.

She sat down next to her son, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders.

"I'm fine." Her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, the words clawing at her sore throat.

"Why does he hurt you?" The drawl of the Florentine Italian, reserved for highly educated individuals, people much, much above her poor station, was both cute and heart-breaking on the tongue of her young son.

She sighed. "Because he's an angry man. His father used to beat his mother, and his grandfather beat his grandmother. He doesn't know any different."

"But you're an angel, right?" He looked at her, unsure. "So, can't angels defeat monsters?"

Her reply caught in her throat. Children should not have to think of their fathers as monsters.

"What your father did…” She breathed out. “When I married your father, I sullied myself. I am not pure on the eyes of the Lord, and so I can’t be the angel anymore. Now, I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing!" Luca insisted, facing her properly. "You're everything to me."

Tears clouded her eyes, but she did not let them fall.

"And you are everything to me." Lili whispered back.

"I know." He snuggled more firmly into her side, wrapping a skinny arm around her waist.

The cold easterly wind blew with force through Burlone. With it, a dark cloud shifted overhead, revealing more of the stars.

Luca pointed to the brightest one. The North Star. Polaris. "We could wish him away? Will you say it with me?"

She could not refuse him anything. They chanted together:

Starlight, star bright, the first star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.

Their voices mingled together as they had a hundred times before, his still high and sweet, hers raw with abuse.

"Do you think it'll work this time?" He looked expectantly at his mother.

Stormy clouds rolled across the sky, cloaking them in near-darkness once more.

Lili smiled. "There's always a chance, Luca."

She pulled herself to her feet and held a hand out for him to take. His small hand was cool and fragile in her own.

"Let's go home."

Lili woke in the pre-dawn light of the following morning. Dante's side of the bed was cold, the blankets unwrinkled. Childish hope coiled in her gut.

She padded down the stairs, careful not to wake Luca, and grabbed the empty milk bottle from the kitchen, so the milkman could take it away this morning.

Opening the French door to the salon, she was greeted with the grunting snores of her husband. He was splayed out across the white couch and covered in dirt. Drool hung in a glistening thread from the corner of his mouth, and his rough hand was clasped loosely around a gun.

Liliana carefully left the room and left Dante for his underlings to find.

Ah, well, she thought with some acidic humour. Maybe next time.

*_*_*_*_*

Nach die Alptraum Masterlist

Piofiore Masterlist

[edmund-valks]

Ilandreline - Just One Cookie

(( Part I: The Call ))

(( Part II: A Compound Beginning ))

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the emptiness breathing.

It was fascinating to consider, or would have been if it weren't also slightly terrifying.  There was no reason for this space to sound like the lungs of some unutterable beast, yet it did.  Everything she knew about the Shadowed Path said it was empty, that nothing dwelt here and nothing could.  Perhaps nothing did.  What if the very substance of the Path was alive in some fashion?  The implications were-

Not important right now.  That was her mother's voice, reminding her that there would only be time for later speculation if she lived to do it.  Smart folk did not dally on these roads, even those who knew how to walk them.  They were treacherous, and Ilandreline did not mean their terrain.  She'd lost a distant cousin to them more than a century earlier, and supposedly even the one who'd known enough to open the First Tree to the darkness at its roots hadn't known enough to come back.

But they were fast.  She'd used them to get to Kalimdor in a few days, or to get from Tirisfal to her family's lands in an hour.  Time and distance worked differently here, or perhaps they worked exactly the same and locationality was the odd one.  There were multiple frames of reference to choose from, but they all boiled down to the same result: travel here was vastly more efficient than on Azeroth.  Which is why you need to get moving instead of standing around!

Her feet started moving again, picking their way over what she assumed counted as "the ground".  It was definitely dirt-like, and there were… grassish things… to either side, but it didn't smell quite right.  Not for nature, at least.  Most plants didn't smell so strongly of iron.  No, not iron.  She sniffed again, trying to place it.  Ah, right.  Blood.  Fresh blood, at that, before it dulled to a brown stain on the stones.  She wondered what this place would look like in sunlight.  Would its appearance match the sharp scents?  Could it even exist under such harsh light?

Despite carrying no torch, Ila was grateful for the sun's absence.  Her sensitive eyes could remain free of the goggles for a little longer, taking in all the subtle variations of shadow that were lost in the harshness of day.  She hadn't noticed how much she'd missed living with naked eyes until she'd started visiting with Granny Laine.  The Respite was a lot of things, but even Silverpine gloom didn't compare to the tranquil shade of their forest.  When she’d left the Ghostlands a few years ago, she’d felt like she had no home; now it seemed she’d found two.  Ilandreline smiled at that, letting her mind wander as much as her body.

Time definitely didn’t function normally in the space.  The pocket watch she’d made in her early days with the Fence told her it had been an hour, but her legs said it was much longer than that despite only feeling like fifteen minutes had passed.  She pushed on, digging into her snack bag to put some energy back into her muscles.  An hour later by internal reckoning -- and half that by the watch -- she stumbled out of sheer exhaustion and decided maybe it wasn’t time to get back up just yet.  Had it been two hours or twelve?  How far had she gone?  Why were her first days’ meals gone already and how was she still hungry?

Her eyelids were heavy, far heavier than they should’ve been.  “Fuck it, nap time.”  The words came out slurred.  It was a struggle just to move her pack beneath her head, to use it as a pillow.  Before she drifted off, Ila stuffed one of her grandmother’s cookies into her mouth, figuring there was no better time for some homemade coziness than immediately before passing out to sleep entirely unprotected in the nightmarish wilderness-phase running tangent to her plane of origin.  Aurelaine often joked she’d baked quite a few dishes with a lot of love in her younger days, where love was a euphemism for any number of exciting poisons.  As she swallowed the last of the cookie and drifted into the deeper darkness of sleep, Ilandreline was quite positive she could taste some of that same love now.

***

Waking up felt surprisingly pleasant and not at all terrifying.  Granny Laine was there, looking amused, and a vine had grown over her, but otherwise everything seemed… fine.  Good, even.  Ila stood and stretched, yawning, considering the last time sleep had left her so refreshed.  Never?  That sounded right.

"Couldn't help sneaking a treat before bed, eh?"  Her grandmother's voice was mock-chiding, the only good kind of chiding to receive from her.  "I should've known."

The vine tried to slither back around her leg, so she kicked it.  "You didn't give me cookies to not eat them.  It was lonely and I thought a taste of home would be nice.  Didn't expect it to, I dunno, summon you or whatever."

"Is that what you think they did?"

The young elf shrugged, gathering her gear and preparing to get back on the road.  "You're here, aren't you?  Shall we?"

Her grandmother made an indeterminate noise in her throat but began walking beside her nonetheless.  It was nice, really.  They'd gone for a few strolls back home, but there were always people around to cause trouble.  Not here.  It was just the two of them and an entire ecology built on what sure seemed to be carnivorous plants.

They walked in silence for some time, only pausing for Ilandreline to sip the water she'd brought, trying to get the leftover tastes from the night out of her mouth.  Everything, even the air, had an unusual taste; not of decay as she'd expected.  Instead it was something remembered from childhood, one of those memories that hid if you looked straight at it.  She'd have to sneak up on it by pretending to be interested in something else.

"So is this one of those things where we walk and you point out little things I need to know to survive or grow or whatever?"

She saw the cryptic smile from the corner of her eye.  "Something like that, perhaps.  Do you still need me holding your hand?"

"What?  No!  I just… not all of this comes easy, you know that.  I'm fine with making things up as I go, but that's really dangerous with… this stuff."  Ila gestured broadly, encompassing their entire surroundings.  "I like to have the numbers on my side.  There aren't any numbers here, no science.  It's all, I don't know, epistemological gradients or something."

Aurelaine laughed, a gravelly sound bordering on coughing.  A chortle!  That's what one sounds like.  "You're not wrong, child.  I'm only along to observe.  Maybe I can point something out that helps; maybe I even will.  This is your journey, though, not mine.  I've had my share already, paid the prices."

That made sense.  They continued, once more quiet, moving too fast and too slow at once, causing everything around them to be in perfect detail as it warped under the effects of tunnel vision.  The metallic taste remained in the back of her throat, tickling the corners of recollection.  She refused to focus on it, knowing that to do so would ensure she never remembered the answer.

Everything changed from one blink to the next.  The landscape was even darker now, near blinding to her gifted sight.  Her nostrils flared, the distinct aroma of blood foremost in the air, enough to make one hungry.  Or perhaps that was unrelated; journeys required food.  As she went for her trail mix, something caught her wrist, stopped it entirely.  Frowning, she glanced down to find a rubbery tendril wrapped around her arm.  "Fuck off," she said, getting no reaction.  The next best idea would be to cut it, but the only knife she had at the moment was not one she was willing to risk on a simple tentacle.  She looked over to her grandmother instead.  "Any chance you can do something about this?"

Grey eyebrows arched as eyes flicked from Ilandreline’s face to the appendage and back.  “Of course I can.”  She paused then deliberately added, “I won’t.”

Should’ve expected as much.  “This one of those ‘your journey, your problem’ moments?”  When Aurelaine nodded, she sighed.  Time to figure it out then.  There was a way; she was supposed to find it.  Trial by fire and all that.

“If I go solving your problems,” the predictable lecture began, “you’ll keep expecting me to give you the answers.  We both know that’s not how you learn.  You want to see the whole process, derived from first principles.  That way you can extend the logic as far as it goes, come up with your own hypotheses.  It also ensures you aren’t limited by the pace of your teacher, doesn’t it?”

The fraction of her consciousness paying attention laughed.  “Sure does.  Saves them the trouble of trying to answer all my ‘why’ questions, too, so it’s really a service when you think about it.  Don’t have to ask why if I’ve already done the math.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that you’re infuriating, Lina, you don’t have to remind me.”  Dry humour ran in the family even if it skipped a generation.  “Getting back to the matter at hand, I’d simply remind that little pest about the order of things.  It’s a remnant, a cast-off, a weak afterthought of a failed god’s stray thoughts.  A pale imitation of the majesty to be found in the Great Dark, yearning to be more than it ever could.  I’d simply banish it and move on.”

That was one possibility then, banishment.  And how did banishing work?  Ila tried to dredge up the memories of mostly futile arcane schooling, seeking the bits that had remained.  Summoning circles… banishing circles?  An inversion of process, though the commanding nature remained constant.  How did that work for her, though?  She knew how to draw the runes, but had never been able to power them independently.  Blood would work, of course, had she prepared the circle already.  There had to be another way.

She rolled back through the words, sifting through them more by “feel” than analysis.  Hunches were the backbone of discovery; you felt something would be the answer, so you thought through the possibility.  What else had been hinted at?  Remnant.  Afterthought.  Failed.  Imitation.  Yearning.  Afterthought-Imitation-Yearning.  Was there something there?  She ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, tasting iron and arsenic and something more as her mind kicked into gear.

The order of things.  These paths were bored through the near-realms of Azeroth by the so-called Old Gods, the entrapped dwellers-between-stars her grandmother held in such low esteem.  A trapped god was no god at all, for a proper god could not be limited.  That meant any of their leftovers were inherently inferior to the powers receiving her family’s offerings.  Not that creatures spawned from the lesser entities recognized Glimmerbow authority, but they should have.  There was that connection, like distant cousins where one is heir to a throne and the other is a cast-off from some hedge knight.

Oh, is that it?  Connectivity?  Like to like?  The tendril tightened, squeezing her bones.  It was starting to hurt.  If she waited too much longer, she might have to finish her trip with a shattered wrist.  Time to see if I learned anything.

Ilandreline focused the entirety of her consciousness on the wriggling mass, willing her vision to bore through the layers to see down to where it was no longer a physical appendage.  Deep down, it was a thoughtform, a psychic remnant, a projection, and she needed to see that.  How long it took to finally happen, she didn’t know.  She was drenched in sweat, and shaking from the effort, but she could see it clearly.

Banishment would require antithesis, but… that’s not what this is.  We’re the same, aren’t we, cousins from the same blood?  I can’t banish myself.  So what if…  She turned most of her attention inward, leaving only enough out to keep firm mental grasp on the essence of her assailant.  There was this dead-end creature left behind by one of the Four… and then there was her.  They were different, except where they weren’t.  Similarity was what she needed now.

She burrowed into herself, pushing through the layers of supposed sophistication.  On the lowest level she was not an elf, or even something shaped.  She was an extension of the universe’s primal forces, a conduit of the Eternal Dark.  At that point, she was what the tentacle thought itself to be.  Letting herself dwell entirely in that space, she lost her self and called out to this distant cousin.  See me, her mind cried, know me for what I am!

Their sameness was her focus, to establish communion.  Something resonated -- somehow -- drawing the psychic echo toward her.  She could feel its alienness, the oil-slick of fractal madness in its relict consciousness, just as surely as she knew her own essence was vastly more potent.  What others would call the taint of her heritage was a strength here; she formed a pseudopod of self, vibrating midnight purple, and whipped outward.  The sensation of startlement rippled across her mind, followed immediately by the primal panic of something being drawn to its inexorable demise.

The tendril was swallowed within her, its corrupt form dissolving within her purity of faith.  A priest of the Glimmerbows was an architect of dissolution, a bringer of endings to foster the chaos of the new.  What she hadn’t expected was the way it became a part of her.

Ila had never been at war in her own mind before.  This severed piece of a dead un-god struggled with all its might to avoid being broken down, flailing every which way.  For a moment she worried she might lose and end up a prisoner in her own flesh.  Then reason reasserted itself, and the flexibility of mind her grandmother had praised made clear its value.  She bent without breaking, absorbed the harshest assaults, returned to form without permanent deformation.  And then she swallowed it whole, allowing the thing to be torn apart and joined with her essence.

Shaking so hard she couldn’t have written a single legible letter, the elf opened her eyes.  Her grandmother faded from sight, though her approving gaze lingered.  The overlapping flavours of multiple poisons lingered, dancing over her taste buds and scratching at her throat.  She had no idea where she was, though she knew she had been walking all this time.  The ligature marks of the tentacle remained on her forearm, though, proof that something had happened, that she had conquered the smallest challenge.

Several deep breaths later, the shivering stopped.  Her whole body still tingled, the aftereffects of an adrenaline overdose, but that was manageable.  She took a swig of water to put moisture back into her body, then pulled the “map” from her inside jacket pocket.  It was more algorithmical than cartographical, but she read it as easily as Thalassian.  There was… a place to be, and she was much closer now than when she had started.

Through an act of will, Ilandreline set her legs in motion again.  There would be others, she knew.  This realm was made from the dreams of god-corpses, an afterimage of what they’d tried to make real.  But she had proof they paled before the strength Aurelaine had cultivated in her.  Let the dead gods try their worst.

Stretching out through the mental channels her hallucinations had opened, she tasted the planar gradient and turned toward her destination.  Plum was home and nightmare was the enemy, but blood and bone and leaf and light showed the way.  Not entirely certain the poisons had actually left her system, Ila climbed toward her destination unaware of the horrific grin on her face.

[daybreak-delusion]

Chapter 8

Introduction: Whitney Goodwinson was planning on inheriting one of her deceased grandmother's properties, but not a little house off the coast of North Carolina.  As she struggles to meet new people, fix up her new property, deal with troublemaker JJ Maybank, and perfect her grandmother's infamous lemonade, she might just find that the Outer Banks has more to offer than it seems. 

Series Masterlist 

Previous Chapter

The drive back from The Wreck was as smooth as a ride in an old Volkswagen could be. It wasn’t that bad of a sight either. Through the trees, I could catch glimpses of the beach and water. I could make out little surfers trying to catch waves, fishermen trying to haul in their catches, and tourists getting sunburnt on their towels. I decided to stop at the park I saw on my way to The Wreck and eat my lunch. There were large tall trees good for climbing surrounding a playset with a couple of benches and picnic tables. I sat on a bench closer to the playset and dug in. JJ wasn’t kidding this sandwich was exactly what I needed to get over my hunger and my fires? Oh my god, I could kill for another batch. There were a couple of kids playing on the playset that looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen. They were oblivious to their danger however as they played tag around the swing set. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had as much fun as those kids were and wondered if I’d ever be that happy again. On that depressing note, I decided to leave so their mothers wouldn’t peg me as a pedophile. 

Before heading back to the Lemon House I looked up a market to get some groceries. The store didn’t have the biggest variety, but I got what I needed: pasta, fruits, vegetables, beans, almonds, rice, Skinny Pop, and other kinds of snacks. If I planned my meals correctly I should have enough for the rest of the month. I also took note of the hardware store that was next to it and decided I would come back tomorrow for paint and other supplies for touching up the house. When I got back it took a couple of trips, but I finally got all the groceries inside. I walked outside with JJ’s burger to see the golden boy throwing away a bag of weeds. 

“Hey, Golden Boy!” I yelled walking over to him. 

“Ah miss Sunshine how was The Wreck,” he replied, wiping off some sweat on his face with the bottom of his shirt giving me a view of his incredibly toned abs. I assumed he had a good body based on the look of his arms, but hot damn this boy could be a Greek god. What I would do to get his boy to let me put- 

“Hello,” JJ yelled, snapping his fingers at me, “how was The Wreck?” 

“Hm oh yeah, it was fine,” I stupidly replied, praying that he didn’t notice my ogling, “Um I got you a burger, Kie said it was your favorite.” 

“Aww Sunshine you didn’t have to do that,” he said grabbing the bag and scarfing down the burger. 

“No problem, so you get everything done?” I asked him, taking his trash. I ignored the voice in the back of my head praying that he still had more stuff to do. 

“Yeah I just finished up for the day, unless you have any other pressing matters you need me to satisfy,” he teased, giving me his heart-melting smirk. I would have been more smitten if he didn’t have a piece of lettuce in his teeth. 

“In your dreams Golden Boy,” I tried to say confidently, but it came out more like a stutter. 

“Every night Sunshine.” 

“We met yesterday dummy, remember that you still work for me so keep your dreams at bay.” 

“Whatever you say, boss lady, don’t miss me too much tomorrow,” he said as we walked over to the front of the house. 

“Trust me I’ll be able to manage,” I said as we approached a rusty, red dirt bike, “I’ll have your new schedule by Monday, you still good with helping me fix up a couple of things around the house right?” 

“Yeah, yeah sure thing, but you’ll pay me extra right?” he clarified, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes JJ I’m true to my word, but it probably won't be as much as my Grandmother paid you. Is $15 an hour okay?” 

“Eh, I don’t know about that Sunshine. My price per hour is a little bit higher than that.” 

“Don’t play me JJ minimum wage here is like $7 be lucky I’m not giving you $10.” 

“Fine, fine can't blame me for trying,” he said climbing on to the bike, “see ya later Sunshine!” 

And just like that, he was off down the road with a cloud of dust behind him. I couldn't help but notice the sad feeling in my chest as I watched this boy drive away. God, what was wrong with me, I had met him what? Yesterday? This was ridiculous. But it wasn’t until JJ was gone when I realized how lonely I actually was. I’ve had my share of loneliness of course, but I always had someone to be there for me whether it was a teacher or the librarian or even Grandmother sometimes. But now she was gone and here I was longing for the company of a boy that almost went to juvie. Great. 

Pushing my feelings down I turned back to the house and went inside. In the kitchen, the lemons had been placed in a white bowl on the counter by a certain Golden Boy. I was then filled with energy as I remembered what task I had planned to take on today: making Grandmother’s lemonade. How hard could it be right? Apparently really fucking hard. 

First of all, it took me forever to find a knife of all things. Then I had to find a bowl or a jug or something to put the lemon juice in. Then I had to look up a YouTube video on how to juice the freakin lemons and on top of that my first try, I squirted lemon juice in my eye which was absolutely agonizing. After that it went kinda smoothly, I added water and some sugar and was finally finished. Too bad it tasted horrible. It had too much pulp in it and was so sour my eyes started watering. I had to spit out the poison I had made into the sink. Giving up I dumped the rest of the liquid and started to clean up my mess. While washing dishes I looked out the window above the sink outside to see an amazing sunset. The sky was a gorgeous orange color that took up the whole sky. It was breathtaking. Dusk was always my favorite time of the day. Everything and everyone seems to be calmer as the day winds to an end. After I finished cleaning up my failure I decided to turn in for the night, but not before making a plan for the house. 

I had planned on using the money that I had inherited from Grandmother to pay for the refurbishing of the house and to pay JJ. Now, Grandmother had mostly taken care of everything in the house, but the outside was another story. Firstly the whole house inside and out needed a good dusting. The house also needed a new coat of paint along with the garage. Speaking of the garage it needed to be cleaned out and I was even debating tearing it down and just building a new one, but I vetoed that idea. The garden in the front of the house along with the flower boxes needed to be replanted which would be easy. The back porch was nice, but I wanted to see what I could do with it. Maybe paint the porch and get some new furniture. It definitely needed some sort of fan or cooling system, but we’ll get there when we get there. I also hadn’t seen the greenhouse up close, but I could tell it needed a good wash. It would take a while, but hopefully, JJ would be a good help. Maybe he could help me in other ways too. Stop. But why? Because I barely know this guy and it’s not like I’m an expert in flirting or making boys fall for me and why am I even considering this? He’s working for me if I hooked up with him that would only complicate everything. There were also my suspicions about Kie and JJ and the last thing I wanted to become was a homewrecker. Emotions and relationships are not my cup of tea and I’m just here for the summer. Well, the summers not over yet! This is going to be a long month.

a/n: Poor Whitney so lonely, but that’ll change soon! thank you so much for reading I cannot express how excited I get when people like my chapters, it really mean a lot to me! Only one chapter today, but the next one will take a turn! Stay tuned!  

[johndaltcn]

WANTED IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK: TAYLOR DANVERS or A DAY IN THE LIFE OF MISSING HER.

Drowning. John could think of worse ways to die. A car accident where you hurl out of the windshield like a ragdoll, some form of cancer, being beaten to death, a gas leak, poison. The list was seemingly endless. John could have conjured new ideas with each breath, with each turn of his head, which each greeting. He’d be sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a beer belly who needed a new motor for his boat and, suddenly, dying of old age alone in your bedroom. Though, there was still drowning in the ocean. Perhaps he would have eventually given up the good fight when he was out there for too long. He’d wade into the eerie quiet of the sea. On days where the list feels useless, he imagines Taylor doing just that. A product of her surroundings, growing gills and a tail like they do in the movies. She’d be blue but shiny like a wet marble. Her arms would be spread and she’d be smiling up at the blue, blue sky and quietly go the way the world wanted. The way she wanted.

Waves. An interruption to a dream about a man stranded on an island. John stirs under his duvet, light from his window peeking through the heavy fabric of his curtains. The man eats a coconut with one hand and draws shapes in the sand with another. First, he draws a circle and then turns it into a smiley face. Next came a hard penis and then an ocean wave. A lonely, makeshift masterpiece.

As the sun comes up, the room becomes brighter, earning the sun to rise in his dreamscape. It looms just along the horizon, casting a glimmer of white and pale blue across the darkened sea. The edges look transparent paired with the white foam that laps against the sand. His toes dig hastily into the warmth there before the cool of the ocean comes running up his hairy ankles.

This was a nice dream. For now. A miracle. The man wanders around with a smile. He is alone but he is satisfied. No burdens have followed him to his little island. He may starve one day and become a mummy in the sand. Rich people in need of normalcy will arrive one day and find his skeleton perched against a palm tree. Inside his hands will hold a now withered, torn note that says I loved it here.

Dying alone stranded on an island. A piece of John’s brain leaves a reminder to write that down on his list of ways to die.

The man wakes once again after another island sleep, stretching his limbs with a hearty groan. The sun comes up just the same. Glimmering, warm. Today, there was a grey cloud somewhere in the East. Light eyes look to it with confusion. How dare the weather interrupt his state of mind. His shoulders frump like a disturbed toddler, padding across the sand and into the wild jungle where the leaves hung low and sweat became his best friend.

He walks and walks. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he was looking for an answer or someone to scold. The weather was sickeningly humid, the kind that makes every inch of you damp and slick. John could smell his own skin in his sleep. His own sweat too.

The man follows a path down a long line of dirt and sand. He reaches the other end of the island which is much more bleak. The clouds hang low and are a muggy shade of black and grey. The ocean is almost green like moss. It doesn’t lick the shore like the other end. No, it clings to it. It’s thickened over time, probably from oil and other grimes that he couldn’t name in this moment. To his right, he hears a strange sound. A wet but also dry sound that makes the hairs on his arms prick and rise. He looks, there’s a fish. It’s dying, moving around, and gasping for air. His throat tightens. Is it food or a test? He looks to the sky for an answer, perhaps from God, but it only darkens. He was very hungry and a nice, dying fish over a fire sounded like a blessing. But, by some impulse, he scoops the slimy thing up in his shaky hands and goes running through the thick jungle once more. He scrapes his arms and legs on branches as he runs and runs. The beat of his own heart becomes loud like a speaker on high. His breathing is jagged and he begins to squeak with each breath.

Once his slice of heaven comes into view once more, he dashes to the water. His perfect water with all the blues and whites. When he’s close enough, he places the squirming fish into the water. It flops around uselessly. John thinks he might have been dreaming about the stupidest fish in history. It flies right out of the water and onto the sand again.

Did this damn thing wish to die?

With that, he scoops it up again and basically tosses it into the water. “I’m trying to save you!” He yells though his words come out muffled. It sounded like his throat had been piled to the brim with cotton balls.

Then he turns, only to find that the shore had been covered in dead fish. Most of them squirmed and jumped along the sand, bouncing off one another helplessly. The sound was atrocious, like someone chewing loudly in his ear or rubbing their thighs against a wet sheet of marble.

It grows louder, the sound of dead fish and now gawking seagulls falling from the sky. They were hungry for fish but are too ambitious in their endeavor to feed. They crash land to the island and accompany the still dying fish. They’re dying now too. The sound becomes louder and louder and louder. The waves sound like nails brushing together. Rusty ones that have been since forgotten inside someone’s garage.

The man covers his ears and screams. He screams his cotton ball scream and wishes to go home to the mainland. There’s a rotted human hand poking out of the sand just at his feet before John wakes up, gasping for air.

Like in the movies, he hoists himself out of his bed upon waking up. His sweaty back presses carefully into the headboard once he comes to. He was alive, awake, and dry. Well, almost. A hand reaches up brush strands of hair that stick to his forehead. John swallows hard, breathing heavily for a few moments. Mostly to collect himself. It was often that he had nightmares like this. Though they were all different in certain ways, they did all have one thing in common. Water. Sea. John has come to accept that this was the price he had to pay for knowing and missing Taylor Danvers. It might have been the price of loving her too.

The covers are thrown from his body then, draping down and across his bed. The bottoms of his feet move to touch the cold hardwood of his bedroom which grounds him. You’re alive, John. Light that pokes from behind his curtains moves across the floor, creating a line from the window and to under his bed where most of Taylor’s things were stored. He could have easily stuffed them in a box within the back of his closet but something about that made John uneasy. Embarrassed, even. To him, it seemed like such a cliché and John was already coasting the line of borderline cliché these days. The nightmares were enough.

Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, John heads to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He checks the digital clock above his stove. The bright green numbers read 8:12AM. 

At least it was early. At least he hasn’t become like his father, waking up late in the afternoon and still drunk from the evening before. The smell of coffee begins to envelop his home as he opens the creaky cabinet above his head in search of a mug. He plucks one with a decorative J on the front, a lackluster birthday gift his mother had sent him one year. She was a month early but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. Sometimes anything was better than nothing from Jennifer Dalton.

While he continues to wait for the pot to brew, he pictures Taylor dancing around the kitchen in her underwear. She did that almost every day, making a mess in the kitchen as she attempted to make both pancakes and scrambled eggs at the same time. How she made a mess of something so simple, John would never know, but he had always found that endearing. Her dark, smooth hair was always thrown up in a bun at the top of her small head. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown like a cartoon lamb. She would kiss his cheek and say he looked “positively handsome” each morning and then slide him a steaming cup with his beverage of choice.

The memory makes him purse his lips into a tight line as he picks up the pot and pours the coffee into his mug. Though he can never quite combat his thoughts. A specific memory comes to mind as he moves to sit at the marble island in his kitchen.

....

Rain tapped along the large windows inside his living room. His home is Dallas was large but comfortable, something out of an interior design magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office. Taylor had been reading a book, cuddled underneath an old blanket of John’s. Taylor made a habit of staying the night after a while and John didn’t mind. He enjoyed her company. He had slid beside her, removing the book from her lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table. A wide, beaming smile graced her expression in no time. She ran her fingers through his dark beard. John had started to ask about her family. He thought maybe they could spend a Christmas or a Thanksgiving with them sometime. At the mention of family, Taylor’s expression fell. He knew that look, it was always the look she sported when something or someone made her uncomfortable. 

“My family is disgusting,” She said through gritted teeth, scanning John’s expression as if he should have known that much. He only shook his head, feeling guilty. “Oh,” Is what he started with, a little lost for words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Taylor then went on about how her sister was a backstabbing bitch and that her mother was a liar and her father just the same. Apparently they had disowned her, cast her out like some unwanted puppy. The idea not only confused John but also baffled him. She was so intelligent, so willing, so creative. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make something like this happen. To make her family dislike her with such vigor. 

“Well, what happened?” John asked then, head canting to the side. He had to know. By then, John had told her everything. About her mother and her bloated lips, injected hips, and much younger boyfriends. His father and his proclivity for drinking himself into a haze. And, then, his sister, a Jennifer Dalton wannabe with manicured fingernails and a voice that sounded so feminine and so grainy that it made you want to rip your ears right from your head. 

That’s when Taylor’s own brows knit together, a look of anger flashing across her face like a stroke of lightning. Had he said something wrong? Was he not meant to ask? John can vividly remember the feeling of panic that had washed over him in an instant. He could still feel it now like he was reliving the moment. 

She had grabbed his arm. Tight. Her much smaller fingers left a reddened imprint on his skin there. “Do not ask me about my family. Ever. I’m here with you now, John,” She cooed, releasing his arm then to stroke the sides of his face, “Nothing else matters but me and you. I want to forget them.”

At the time, that seemed fair enough. John had done so much to forget his own family, as well, especially once he moved away and his parents got divorced. Who was he to judge her or her reaction? He’d learn more about her past eventually. Someday. Perhaps this was how love worked. You had to fight for it and you had to deal with the pretty and all the ugly too. He remembers reading that somewhere. But he also might have heard it come from Jennifer’s mouth.

....

Back to the present, back to reality. Looking back, he should have known. Even then. The truth of the situation was that Taylor’s family had endlessly tried to have her arrested. For many things, actually. Theft, stalking, assault, battery, and more. She had once broken a Coke bottle and threatened to stab her sister and her boyfriend with it before running off to wherever it is she went. She always did that, apparently. Ran away, even as a child. After her death, John had taken a detour to Long Island, where she was from. It was a brief visit though her family was willing to tell John just what he needed to know. 

Taylor was troubled, unsettling, and not the greatest person in the world. Not by a long shot. She stole and mostly survived, never really living. Apparently, they had a grandmother like this too who died of something that John can’t remember. All he remembers is something about alcohol being involved.

Meeting Taylor’s family, for some reason, made it easier to make up scenarios or reasons why. To this day, he does regret seeking out the truth. He wished he would have let it remain a mystery, an unknown woman coming into his life who made him fall in love but then died in the process. That sounded much better than discovering that Taylor Danvers was an unstable woman who had no true moral compass. 

But, she was exactly that. As time went on, John began to see her as a lonely woman rather than a bad one. He started to look for excuses that, soon enough, formed into a ball of guilt. Perhaps she was depressed, maybe her family wasn’t telling the truth, maybe she needed a friend, maybe she lied about stalking, maybe something happened to her when she was young, maybe this, maybe that, maybe anything.

An alarm sounding through John’s home rips him from his thoughts. He sets his mug down and races back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know when he wandered into his living room. This usually happened when John’s thoughts went too deep, when he spiraled. A pan of scrambled eggs were burning on the stove. John didn’t even remember putting them up. With a shaky hand, he shuts off the stove and tosses the pan into the sink, running it under cold water. He grabs a dishtowel and fans the place and then his smoke alarm until it stops beeping.

Burning to death in a housefire. He mentally writes that down, adding it to his long list of excuses.

[tuxiedjabberwock]

The Centurion and the Black Angel - Kid Icarus one-shot

When Pit gives his life on the battlefield to save Dark Pit's, he decides to look into a new Mirror of Truth in order to bring him back. ...He really should have thought things through better.

Category: Games » Kid Icarus Author: Sqydd Language: English, Rating: Rated: T Genre: Angst/Tragedy Published: 11-04-20, Updated: 11-04-20 Chapters: 1, Words: 11,074 

Fanfiction.net

AO3

Quotev

"Pittoo?"

A dream. A bad, horrible, dreadful, unthinkable dream, that's what it was. After all, it was too improbable to be the real deal, wasn't it? To see that insufferable mouth sealed shut, a deep crimson staining his lips; those blue eyes which always sparkled with energy and life gazing blankly to the sky.

"Pittoo? What's the situation? Where is Pit?"

I'm wondering that too, he thought, slipping a hand under dampened hair and lifting his head from where it fell into the shallows. Pit's laurel crown was buried in the pond's muck; Dark Pit pulled it free with his other hand and replaced it where it belonged.

"I'm coming down there to check on you. Don't move, especially if you're badly injured; you can bleed out."

Blood… That was a funny thing. Humans bled profusely when struck by divine weaponry. That blood was almost scalding until it began to cool against the lukewarm swamp water, and it congealed at Dark Pit's ankles where they rested at the shoreline. The shadow of his Silver Bow fell over them from where it stood impaled in a soldier's chest with the setting sun's rays falling over them in gentle reds and purples. His hands began shaking and his vision blurred with tears.

"Pit…you…damn…idiot," he whispered, bowing his head against the original's. His whole body was shaking and he couldn't stop it. Maybe it was compensating for his original, who could no longer tremble in fear. "Fucking…idiot…why did you…why did you even…don't you know…?"

A soft musical tone began behind him before something fell into the mud. Palutena gave a surprised cry, then she said tentatively, "Dark Pit? Are you alright?"

That was it. Those words severed the last bits of self-control Dark Pit held. The Goddess of Light asked if he was alright, and he was. I'm alright, he thought as tears poured down his cheeks and dripped onto Pit's face, cutting through the caked-on grime. His shoulders bowed and he gritted his teeth against the wails erupting from his throat.

I'm alright because your stupid angel gave his life for a copy.

There were a lot of tears shed in the heavens for the next week. Palutena did most of the crying, albeit out of sight, but Dark Pit could hear her moans in the middle of the night. Viridi saved hers until the golden tablet was placed over Pit's mouth, and Dark Pit turned to see her staring with wide and wet eyes. Phosphora retreated once his body was buried among the grass and fields, her cheeks already glistening, and Phos and Lux brayed in mourning.

Dark Pit had no tears left, but he made sure the Palutena Bow was clenched in Pit's hands before he went under. In case Hades tried to screw with him in the afterlife…or so his justification went. Mostly it made his heart ache to see the blades even after the human blood was meticulously scrubbed away.

"What happened?" Palutena's voice was soft and motherly as it always was, no trace of accusation there, but Dark Pit felt like sinking into the deepest hole anyway. He averted his eyes and stared at his fingers wrapped around the grip of his Silver Bow.

"It was a human army versus Hades' army running 10:1. The humans had the advantage, but the dark energy produced by the monsters made them wilder, more unpredictable." He spoke in a detached voice that kept him grounded; he stated the facts as telling a story, not reliving the worst day of his short life. "Not only did we have to fight back the monsters, we had to save them from themselves. Pit did, and he tried his damn hardest like always. Didn't let a single human die."

Not a human died. Not one human died under Pit's watch.

"And then?" Viridi, standing off to the side, looked on with an unreadable expression as Dark Pit's fingers tightened. He fought the urge to retreat into himself.

"One of the humans snuck up on me." Stupid him for not sensing the man's presence. Stupid him for being so slow to react. Stupid him for— "Pit covered me. A—…And it was the last thing he did."

She should have shouted at him. He wanted her to rebuke him for the worst mistake of his short life. Instead, she sighed and gave a little chuckle. "Heh. That's our stupid angel, alright."

He wasn't proud of it, but he took the holy weapon forged by the Goddess of Light and speared the human through the heart. He shoved the blades in with so much force that several ribs were also broken on impact, and the momentum carried the grown man deep into the dirt. He wasn't proud of it because he knew Pit would hate his weapon being sullied like that, even if it was in his name. Especially because it was in the name of revenge.

Pit suffered a painless death; before he hit the ground, he was gone, the sword's handle still protruding from his back like some sick joke. Dark Pit removed it with the utmost care and set him down in a more comfortable position, as if such a thing mattered in death, before taking up the Silver Bow. He couldn't recall much of what transpired after—it remained a stubborn blur in his mind to date—but his memories afterwards began with him standing amidst a sea of carnage. The Underworld Army, of course, left no trace, but human corpses decorated the ground around him.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Subsequently, he spent a lot of time in Skyworld, ignoring Viridi's calls to lounge around in Pit's old hangout spots. He had a private hot spring not far from his quarters, shaded by white marble pillars holding up an arched roof and surrounded by lush green grass and wildflowers. Dark Pit enjoyed sitting at the shore, nude ankles submerged in the warm golden water.

"Viridi was asking about you." The grass crunched behind him before Palutena sat primly beside him, legs folded and dress fanning out around her. Dark Pit kept his gaze on the small waves.

"Viridi has hordes of acolytes to do her dirty work. I'm allowed to take a break. Let them scare off whatever human stepped on a sapling this time."

"That's not what she was asking about." Palutena's delicate hand landed atop his on the grass; he quickly pulled it away and she didn't react. "She and the rest of us are concerned. No one was closer in mind and spirit as you to Pit."

"Well don't be concerned. I'm fine." He spat the word like bitter poison, not at all helping his case, but he hated it. Hated being treated like paper, hated knowing Pit died for a stupid copy, hated knowing the only person who related to him in the world was gone and he was alone, would live alone for an angel's long long life and die alone…

"I didn't say you weren't," she said smoothly, "but that doesn't make me any less concerned for you. I care about you, Pittoo. And by the way, you've been brooding in this spot for five hours—that's not what fine people do."

"So what if I have been brooding? Aren't I allowed to grieve in my own way? You've been moaning up a storm like a ghost." He could hear her affronted gasp. "You may have been Pit's goddess, but I am not Pit. You don't need to give me your concern, nor do I need it. The only thing I need is for you to let me be, Palutena."

"…As you wish, then. But you know where to find me." She stood up, dusted herself off, and with a smile in Dark Pit's direction, she took her leave.

"The same goes for you, Viridi."

Puh-lease, Viridi said, voice echoing out from his fibula. The tough guy act may work on Palutena, but not on me. You're hurting.

"Aren't we all? Leave me alone."

Fine then. Don't do anything stupid. And she left with a poignant huff.

"Don't do anything stupid, huh…" He chuckled mirthlessly. His stupid acts only happened around Pit, though another person would call them selfless. Things like helping him fight the Chaos Kin to revive Palutena, and journeying to Hell to save Pit's life, destroying the gates to the Underworld and helping to weaken Hades. Yeah, when it came to Pit, he didn't think too rationally, and only now when it was too late to say so, he realized it was more than just an obligation to the "original." He cared deeply for Pit…and now he was gone forever.

"Dammit!" he roared, kicking the water at his feet. His reflection distorted before resettling, revealing the tear tracks running from his scarlet eyes. He hissed and threw an arm over his face, falling back onto the grass. "Stupid, stupid, why did he take that hit, why did he have to die…?"

He took longer than he wanted to calm down, and when he finally sat up again he felt drained, physically and emotionally. He knelt and lowered his face to the water, splashing the warmth across his splotchy cheeks to clean them up. He sighed when the soppy feeling left and glared down into his puffy-eyed reflection.

"Just a stupid reflection, is all I am…why did he have to—"

Dark Pit stopped cold and stared harder, digging his fingers into the soft dirt. "I'm a reflection," he breathed, eyes wide. An imperfect one, but a reflection nonetheless. If he could look into the Mirror of Truth again, another opposite would be created—a Pit would be created. It would fix everything!

But the Mirror was shattered when he was "born." He clearly remembered shattering it. But…but…Pandora had been revived in the Rewind Spring as Amazon Pandora. If she was still hanging around, perhaps she created another Mirror. It was a hell of a long shot, but honestly, what else did he have to lose?

The issue was locating her now. He would have to ask around on the surface, preferably not where they were last time. If only he had a contact…suddenly, Dark Pit recalled a story Pit told him of a human associate. Perhaps he did have a contact?

Vigor renewed, Dark Pit yanked on his sandals and raced to the edge of Skyworld, throwing himself into the cold clouds below. "Viridi, grant me the Power of Flight!" he shouted.

Someone's pushy about it, she grumbled, but her earthen energy filled him all the same. Where's the fire, angel boy?

He ignored her and folded his wings back in a dive, cutting through the air like a spear and towards the mountainous ground. Here's hoping he wasn't getting his spirit worked up for nothing.

In an out of the way town that reeked of danger and blood, Dark Pit walked into a bar. The decidedly unfriendly looking patrons turned to sneer at him, but his responding glare turned them right back around. He had eyes only for the broad leather-clad back sitting at the bar counter.

"Magnus?"

Said back turned, revealing a scruffy middle-aged human holding a cup of ale. He looked Dark Pit up and down and remarked, "Unless you've turned emo since I last saw you, which I somehow doubt, you must not be Pit?"

"Dark Pit," he said. "Pit has…Pit died in battle."

Magnus' previously lax expression turned blank, then he raised his ale. "Here's to him, then." He slammed back the alcohol and dropped the cup on the counter. "Terrible thing. That kid had a lot of fire."

"He did. Which is why I want to bring him back. Have you heard anything about Pandora?" Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"The goddess Pandora, I'm assuming? Yeah, I've heard a few things here and there." Dark Pit took a seat next to Magnus and waved down the bartender, holding up two fingers. The bartender set two glasses of ale down for each of them. Magnus looked on curiously as Dark Pit downed it in one gulp. "You two aren't the same, that's for sure," he remarked.

"Well, spill what you know."

"Normally I'd charge for my information, but call it a freebie for an old friend." Magnus took a few swallows before speaking again. "Heard she was seen on the outskirts of that huge forest where the town was, way up north."

Reset Bomb Forest. Viridi didn't keep tabs of the area anymore, so it was reasonable to assume Pandora was hiding out there. Dark Pit slapped down a few coins and slid off the stool.

"Thanks. I'll be heading out."

"One more thing." Magnus finished his ale and levelled a sober look at the dark angel. "Whatever you got in mind, don't let it be the death of ya. I barely knew angel-face and I could tell ya, he wouldn't like that."

"Trust me," Dark Pit muttered, turning away and sidling to the door, "I know."

Outside he took to the sky in one big leap. He had already used his Power of Flight, but this time the winds were in his favor; he glided across the small dilapidated buildings until they turned to naked rock, then lush pink foliage. He flapped his wings to gain some altitude as purple crystals jutted from the earth like spears, but very soon he was forced to land. The thick forestry cut the wind and he could glide no farther.

The forest was so thick only the barest lines of sun made it through; it was all he could do to see his own two feet as he fought not to trip and fall on a bed of random barbs…again.

"The things I do for this angel," he grumbled, picking a thorn out of his cheek. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, because then doubts would surface. What if the Mirror didn't work? What if there was no Mirror? What if he looked into it and nothing came, because…what if he didn't have a soul? He waved the thoughts away and moved a little faster, stumbling over a gnarled branch.

"Hey Pittoo, guess what?"

"Buzz off," Pittoo grumbled, not opening his eyes. "And don't call me that."

"It's my birthday!" Pit continued undaunted.

"Great. So what?"

Dark Pit was grabbed around the shoulders and pulled up from his lounging position. He growled and opened his eyes, watching Pit prance excitedly around on the green grass, wings stretched high and flapping madly. "Think about it," he said with a wide grin, coming to a stop a few feet away.

"The only thing I'm thinking about is kicking your ass and continuing my nap."

"Come on, don't you get tired of being a grouch all the time? Well anyway, this'll cheer you up." Pit suddenly thrust a messily wrapped brown package in Dark Pit's face. He took it with no small measure of confusion.

"Um. Thanks? What?"

"It's my birthday," Pit repeated, "and since you're me, it's your birthday to. So…happy birthday!"

Pittoo was absolutely floored and watched Pit gesture excitedly at the present. Haltingly, he pulled apart the thin paper to reveal a small cardboard box. He pulled the lid off and saw a small doll that sort of looked like him if he squinted. "Did you…make this?"

"Yeah. Um, I'm not too good at knitting, but Lady Palutena said it's the thought that counts." He laughed awkwardly and rubbed his neck. "And, uh, it's filled with your and my feathers? I'm thinking about it now and it seems a little creepy…"

"No, it's…uh…" He ducked his head a little to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "Um. Thanks, Pit."

Dark Pit gritted his teeth. That doll was still in his little alcove in Viridi's world. When he revived Pit—because he definitely would—he would come up with something equally as nice to give him.

He heard the faint sound of mumbling and picked up the pace as much as he could, flapping his wings to get the slightest bit above ground. He felt like a damn chicken without the Power of Flight.

He felt a thick branch sloping upwards and scaled up, avoiding the little thorns until it begins to level out. He peered through a break in the violet leaves and saw one of the old human structures, a large two storied building with crumbling walls interwoven by thick branches and curling ivy. Sunlight shone through the canopy above and coalesced on something at the tip of the structure.

"Why is Hades ignoring me now? Stupid bloathead," Pandora was saying as her back floated into view. Dark Pit leaned forward with a grimace. "I thought we had a nice thing going…and the Hearts he paid me were delightful." She rose higher to the ceiling of the building and glanced his way; he ducked his head. "Well, at least I managed to create this beautiful Mirror."

Mirror!

He leapt through the leaves and into the clearing. Pandora spun around and her face twisted in anger. "You stupid angel, you aren't shattering my Mirror a second time!"

He scanned the area until he spotted the Mirror on top of the building. The frame was made of twisted branches and the glass was reflecting the sunlight from the open canopy. He just needed to look into it and—

He dodged to the side as one of Pandora's heart missiles struck the ground where he was standing. He whipped out the Silver Bow and fired a volley of arrows; she twirled and vanished, avoiding the attack before reappearing above his head and dropping a large purple bomb. He fired an arrow and the explosion released a cloud of pink smoke, obscuring his vision.

"The last I heard, the cuter angel kicked the bucket. Is that true?"

Dark Pit growled and spun, not before taking a kick to the shoulder and falling in the dirt. He rolled out of the way of another projectile and to his feet, jumping above the smokescreen and onto a beam jutting from the building. Just one look, just one look and everything will be fine—

"No, don't look in the Mirror!" Pandora launched another heart right at the glass, then her eyes widened in shock. He was still too far, he had to stop it somehow; he couldn't let her shatter the mirror!

"No—!" Dark Pit launched himself in the air and intercepted the projectile, which slammed him in the gut like one of Pit's clubs. The air left his lungs in a pained gasp and his wings seized up, leaving only his momentum carrying him backwards into the Mirror of Truth. He felt the coldness of the glass for a mere moment before it shattered against his back, peppering his skin with tiny shards. He fell through the emptied frame and to the hard-packed dirt below.

"No…no!" He shot into a sitting position, eyes wide as he beheld the frame full of broken shards. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and his fists balled against his aching stomach. "D—Dammit…!"

Plunk.

"What? No!" Pandora's disbelieving shriek caught his attention. He looked past her floating form to the source of her ire…a small white-clothed form balled on the ground. Could it be…no…no, it had to be.

Pain forgotten, Dark Pit lurched to his feet and leapt forward, past the enraged goddess and to the prone form in the dirt. Pit was exactly as he had been, down to the untamed bedhead, though he was completely unconscious. A relieved, borderline dopey smile crossed Dark Pit's face, and tears did run down his cheeks, happy ones. He lifted Pit's face to press their foreheads together.

You're back…

Pandora's continued screams reminded Dark Pit there was an urgent matter to attend to. Glancing around, he quickly spotted his Silver Bow poking out from the mud nearby. He threw himself into a roll and snatched it up, notching an arrow and taking aim at Pandora. She looked down at him with an expression of pure fury.

"Do you know how hard I worked to revive that Mirror? You're dead!" She sent a flurry of purple hearts towards him and he released his arrow into the center of the storm before taking to the air. Pandora disappeared with a twirl and Dark Pit didn't have time to react before a slim hand latched around his neck. Her momentum carried him backwards into a pile of brambles; the thorns tore into his back and he gritted his teeth against the scream of pain that wanted to rise.

"You're the one who will die, Pandora." He broke the bow into swords and cut her hand at the wrist. She pulled away with a scream, her handless wrist streaming golden ichor, her wristless hand dripping onto Dark Pit's clothes like acid. He tore the hand away and righted himself, landing on his toes on a branch and launching himself up again. Pandora pulled her unharmed arm back for an attack and he tossed the sword like a knife. Another shield appeared, and her expression turned panicked when he broke the shield with his body, jabbing the remaining sword into her gut.

They fell back to earth and her face was frozen in shock even in her death. He leapt backwards before her body melted into ichor, scoffing quietly before turning to Pit. He hadn't moved and Dark Pit couldn't hide his concern. Collecting the Silver Bow, he returned to Pit's body and cradled him to his chest. "Palutena?" he called.

"Dark Pit, what's going on?"

"Take me to Skyworld, please."

She hesitated and he heard her swallow. A…Alright. Light surrounded him and lifted his wings; Pit's fluttered weakly but otherwise he didn't respond. Dark Pit's brow furrowed and his anxiety grew.

"What's wrong with him?"

Palutena and Viridi were waiting for him in the main hall. Palutena's eyes widened and she dropped her staff; Viridi's jaw dropped quite unattractively. Dark Pit stumbled his way to Palutena, whose arms raised automatically to catch Pit when he was all but dropped. "Help him," Dark Pit whispered before he hit the ground.

Dark Pit woke in a room unfamiliar to him. The bed was large and soft, made of down feathers and silk sheets rather than Viridi's rocks covered in leaves. He blinked groggily and looked around; a window looked out to the cover of clouds and there was a steel basin at the side of the bed. He peered over the lip and realized it was full of hot spring water.

Dragging his legs over the side of the bed, he forced them rigid and stood up, falling over and grabbing the nightstand before he faceplanted on the marble. His boy felt numb and heavy altogether and he kind of just wanted to lie down and die, but he had to make sure Pit was okay. He glanced around and saw his Silver Bow leaning against the wall; he took it and braced his boy against it with two hands, keeping his shaky body upright. His burnt robes were gone, leaving him only in his shorts and rings of slightly spotted bandages around his stomach and back. He gritted his teeth and pulled the door open.

He stumbled around blindly for a bit before catching wisps of Palutena and Viridi's voices. He followed the sounds down a branching hall and found them arguing softly in front of a door. Viridi was facing him and spotted him first; her hazel eyes narrowed slightly and she smirked.

"Well, let's let Pittoo clear up the details," she said. Palutena turned and Dark Pit was alarmed to see her eyes so bloodshot. It was like she was grieving a second time. His heart fell. No, don't let him have died a second time because of me…no, no way…

"Dark Pit?" she said softly. Dark Pit made his ambling way over until Palutena's hands laid on his shoulders, keeping him upright. "Please, can you tell us what happened?"

"First, I want to see Pit," he gasped. The goddesses exchanged a look and Viridi's smile soured.

"Why not?" she shrugged, passing Palutena to open the door. He caught a glance of Pit among a blue-sheeted bed and piles of stuffed animals—must be the idiot's bedroom—and he was no more awake than before. The door shut again and Viridi folded her arms across her chest. "Okay, explanation time."

"The Mirror of Truth," he said softly. Palutena gasped while Viridi gritted her teeth.

"Dark Pit," Palutena said urgently, "tell me you didn't create Pit using a Mirror." He hesitated before nodding and all the color left her face. "This is…oh, no, this can't be…"

"Why?"

"Because you're damaged goods," Viridi said bluntly. Had he possessed the energy, he would have lashed out, but so far it was taking everything he had to remain upright. "When you were created, it was with Pit, who has a complete soul; the Mirror was shattered halfway through and your soul wasn't completely formed. It's incomplete. Now you took that and made another half-copy."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with me?" he growled. Palutena huffed and turned his head back to her.

"It's just unnatural," she insisted. "In the first place, the Mirror is not meant for beings with souls; that's why it only worked on the Underworld Army. Pit's energy allowed you to be created. We just…we don't know what this can mean, especially since Pit is still unconscious. If he wakes, he could be what you were meant to: completely evil."

"Of course, if he wakes up," Viridi added casually. "The vegetable-hater could end up being a vegetable himself."

"Viridi!" he snapped, then groaned at the ache it left in his stomach. Palutena hushed him, running a hand through his hair. He hated how pleasing the gesture felt.

"Let's get you back to bed first. You're still too weak to be up and about."

He didn't have the energy to fight as Palutena took one of his arms and led him back to the room he woke up in. She laid him down and took a cloth from the basin, wringing it out before setting it on his forehead.

"You're a bit feverish," she said as way of explanation. Viridi sighed and sat in an ornate chair.

"There are many things that can go wrong, Pittoo. Don't you think we knew that Pandora had the Mirror? Why do you think we didn't try it ourselves?"

"Who's to say it will be 'Pit' in the end?" Palutena said softly. "Maybe he won't have any memories, maybe his personality will change… It was all just one big risk. It still is until he wakes and we can know for sure."

"So what if he doesn't remember? So what if he's a little different? He'll still be Pit," Dark Pit said. Palutena sighed.

"It's not only about that… We've moved on, we have accepted his death. It was a very terrible thing and we wish it didn't happen, but it did. He died protecting you, and we know he would be happy with that fact. You're the only one who isn't."

"Don't make me out to be in the wrong here," he muttered. "If you had a chance to bring Pit back, you would have too."

"Did you hear what she just said?" Viridi said derisively, then groaned. "It doesn't matter. It's already been ten days; Pit has no injuries but he won't wake. It's not looking good for him."

Dark Pit fought down his rising despair and scowled. "Just wait."

"And for how long exactly? We're immortal, but things can still be pointless."

"What Viridi is trying to say in her own tactless way," Palutena said, "Dark Pit…"

"I know what she's trying to say," he interjected. "I don't care. Let me be responsible for him then, however…he may come out of this." If at all. "I'm the one who made this decision, I will be accountable."

Palutena chewed her lower lip, then set her hands between her legs. The fabric couldn't quite hide their trembles. "Let's see how things look in another fortnight, then. It will take about that long for your injuries to fully heal."

"I can take care of myself," he said. Viridi rolled her eyes.

"And then he goes and throws himself through another magic mirror…"

"Viridi!" Palutena chided. Viridi threw her hands up placatingly with a shrug.

"Just saying."

Palutena appeared at least once a day to look over him and make sure he was healing properly. Once he was well enough to get around, he spent his evenings in Pit's hot spring, relishing the soothing heat against his torn back. The delicate bones of his wings had thankfully survived the fall, but some of his primary feathers were ripped out. They were already partly grown back.

When he returned to his unofficial room on the fourteenth day, he found new black robes neatly folded on the sheets that smelled like cow manure. He was already tired of Pit's white clothes, but he couldn't say the fertilizer smell was better. He slipped on the familiar colors and sighed, turning to his Silver Bow.

"Now or never…"

He slung the weapon across his back and relished the security it brought. He would need all his nerve for this.

Dark Pit had memorized the short journey to Pit's room in his convalescent time and made not one errant step on the way. He pushed the door open a crack and peered at the bed; he hadn't moved an inch same as before. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"It's now or never, idiot," he said, walking up to the bed. Floor to ceiling windows lined the adjacent wall, facing the gardens where centurions practiced their moves. The courtyard was empty now, leaving only the sense of what was once there.

Dark Pit sat in the chair at Pit's bedside; still, the angel did not stir. "I knew what I was risking when I went for the Mirror, but I did it anyway. So you can't just not wake up—you can't just not be Pit. I…I haven't moved on and I know it. I feel empty without you around, and it's ridiculous; since when have I needed your inane jokes to fill some void? But the fact is, Pit, I just…I j-ju…please, wake up already."

No movement on the bed. Dark Pit lowered his face to his hands, gripping it so tightly he felt sure his fingers would leave bruises. Good; he wanted his face to be different, wanted to look and see something other than the useless copy that not only killed Pit once, but twice…! Gods would he hate himself for this; he would curse his own name until the day the breath left his body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry, so so sorry…"

When he raised his head, Pit was sitting up in bed. Dark Pit nearly fell from the chair in shock.

Pit's eyes were fuzzy with sleep as they roamed the room. Dark Pit held his breath, waiting for something, anything. They finally landed on the black angel and no kind of recognition showed. He wondered if Pit really had lost his memories, or worse, as Viridi predicted.

"Pit?" Dark Pit hedged, leaning forward slightly. Pit blinked slowly, scanning his face for what felt like an hour. His white wings flapped with unease before curling around his skinny torso. "Do you…understand what I'm saying? Not that you really did before, moron," he muttered under his breath, more to soothe himself with some familiarity than actually throwing a jab out there. Then, to his utter shock:

"Not a moron!"

His head snapped back to Pit so quickly he nearly got whiplash. Pit's brows were drawn into a frown and his eyes were alight, polished by indignant anger. Dark Pit lunged onto the bed with one knee, grabbing Pit's cheeks and staring him down.

"Pit, is that you? For real?"

Pit fell silent again, eyes scanning Dark Pit once more, and he wondered if he imagined things. He didn't respond as the seconds ticked on and Dark Pit made to move away, but Pit's hands snapped up and gripped his wrists tightly. A tiny smile crossed his face.

"Hey, Pittoo, are you crying?"

His excitement overweighed his resentment at being caught teary-eyed—which he absolutely wasn't, by the way. His arms went around Pit and Palutena's angel let out a little surprised squeak. "You're okay," Pittoo said into his wing. Pit gasped, then relaxed into the hold.

"I'm okay," he repeated.

Palutena cried a lot. So much that Dark Pit felt awkward being there, but Pit didn't want him to leave. She held him close and sobbed and he nuzzled into the side of her neck without a word.

Viridi wasn't nearly so emotional. She looked Pit up and down with a derisive snort, nodded, and left. Dark Pit did catch an unnatural glisten to her eyes though.

Pit spent a lot of time asleep, but when he was awake he was very cognizant, albeit sluggish when it came to expressing his thoughts. Palutena wanted Dark Pit to monitor him since he hung around so often, but so far Dark Pit thought things worked out. There were no apparent drastic consequences apart from the lethargy—which he assumed to be temporary—and Pit was becoming more expressive by the day.

"Pittoo," he said, drawing him from his thoughts. He was hugging a star-shaped pillow to his chest and staring through the window at the clouds beyond. "D'ya think Lady Palutena would be okay with letting me fly?"

"Dunno, it's only been a few weeks—she's just barely managed to stop bawling her eyes out when you took a dump on your own."

"Yeah, but…I miss the air." Pit opened his mouth as if he had more to say, then shut it again. He didn't need to explain, Dark Pit understood. And, well, who was he to deny the one who rose from the grave anyway?

"Alright then. Let's go." Pit's head snapped back to his double, eyes comically wide and feathers askew.

"Right now?"

"I thought you meant right now. Cold feet?" Dark Pit smirked as he slid an arm around Pit's bony back, gripping him firmly on his ribcage. With his help, Pit slid to his feet and remained standing, although his wings fluttered reflexively to maintain his balance. Together, they ambled their slow way over to the gates of Skyworld, which parted in their presence and left them to face the great beyond.

"Palutena?" Pit said softly.

I don't think this is a good idea, Pit, Palutena responded, her voice ringing through Dark Pit's head as well as Pit's. You're still recovering, and I don't want anything to happen to you.

"Palutena, please. For a week all I've done is lie around and have people worry over me. At first, I was happy to have Pittoo at my beck and call," he sent a small smile in Pittoo's direction despite his scowl, "but I…I want to fly. I can't explain it."

"Remember it's my job to keep an eye on him," Dark Pit said. She was silent and he moved Pit forward. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he said. Dark Pit wrapped an arm around Pit's waist and they fell forward into the endless sky.

"Viridi, grant me the Power of Flight!"

Ya know, it'd be nice if you did me some favors once in a while, she said mockingly, but gave him the power all the same. His wings spread overhead, bathing Pit's face in the greens and golds as he looked at the clouds below in wonder.

"It'll get cold," Pittoo warned before they dove into the cloud cover. Pit's hair was plastered to his forehead from the damp and he shivered a bit but the grin never left his face.

"I missed this." The clouds passed and they were soaring over a human town. Pit frowned at the sight as a dark cloud passed over his face. "Dark Pit…you never told me how I came back."

Dark Pit sighed. Pit eventually recalled his death, though he never described it—not that the dark angel wanted to hear it—but no one really told him how he'd revived. Palutena mentioned Dark Pit was the cause but that was about it. "Well, before I begin, remember that you've done far stupider things."

"That's a good sign," he said with a little smile.

"It… I used—"

An arrow suddenly flew inches past Dark Pit's nose. They looked down to see a small portion of the Underworld Army at the outskirts of the town; the humans were fighting valiantly, but Twinbellows was heading the attack and they were losing ground.

"Let's get down there," Pit said immediately. Pittoo's face went cold.

"We…can't. As your goddess said, you're still healing." Pit was already shaking his head before Dark Pit finished speaking.

"Pit," Palutena interjected, anxiety clear in her tone.

"Lady Palutena, please," Pit said when Pittoo made no moves to lower them, "the Power of Flight."

"We can't lose you again. It's far too risky. You shouldn't have come out at all—"

"Palutena!" he shouted, startling even Dark Pit. "The Underworld Army is there!"

"…Dark Pit?"

"I won't…" Pit gave him a scathing look and Pittoo matched it. "I won't allow it."

"Fine then!" In an alarming show of strength, Pit ripped Dark Pit's hand from his side and began to plummet. Dark Pit folded his wings back and dove after, but Pit had already begun to glide. Dark Pit was shocked to see Pit had grabbed the Silver Bow from his back.

"Dark Pit!" Palutena cried.

"I know!"

Their midair chase continued until they were low enough that Dark Pit could see the humans' bloody and bruised faces. Truth be told, after what had happened, he cared much less for what became of them; something Viridi appreciated as her ecological escapades could be callous at best towards them. But if anything was an indication of Pit still being Pit, this was it: throwing himself headlong into the fray with a half-functioning body and non-functioning brain. Gods, he hated that kid sometimes.

Pit's first three shots were wobbly and terribly off-mark; he missed the Monoeye by a longshot, and that thing was the definition of a target. He didn't react initially and alighted directly behind them, stumbling a bit on weak legs. Dark Pit followed right after and seized him by the forearm, causing Pit to cry out in pain.

"I'm going to kill you," he ground out between his teeth, "if these damn demons don't do it first."

Pit yanked his arm free and scowled, hiding the fact he was struggling to get another arrow ready. "I appreciate your concern, Dark Pit, but—"

"—but you're going back to Skyworld yesterday." Pit narrowed his eyes; Pittoo narrowed his eyes as well.

"Make. Me."

"Is that a challenge?"

Pit's scowl deepened, then a wicked smile crossed his face, something that sent a chill down Pittoo's spine. "No," he said, and leveled an arrow at Dark Pit's heart. "It's a threat."

…

…Shit.

Is this guy serious?

Robotically, Dark Pit raised his open palms and took a step back. "Pit. Pit, you're not serious."

"No, I'm not." His face dropped into a grin and he leapt into the air, gliding above the fight with arrows flying like clockwork. He was still off mark but visibly improving by the moment. Dark Pit was rooted to his spot, eyes on the white angel.

"Hey, Palutena…"

"Pittoo?"

He didn't respond, the words stuck in his throat as enemy after enemy dropped steadily. Pit had taken up a rhythm: glide, shoot, land, and over and over again. His face was focused, a look he wore many times before, but Dark Pit couldn't help remembering the expression when he threatened to shoot.

Pit's efforts were small in the grand scheme of things, but the little aid he provided allowed the humans to gain a fighting advantage. Soon enough, it was down to them and Twinbellows. It growled, huge ropes of acidic drool falling to the earth and sizzling on contact. Pit's back was straight as he faced the flaming mutt, but Dark Pit could see the tired slump to his shoulders. Pit looked up to the sky for a moment, then the familiar light of extraction surrounded him. Without missing a beat, he ripped the fibula from his shoulder and tossed it into the dirt, cutting all contact with Skyworld. Dark Pit felt like ripping his hair out.

"Pittoo, please, at least give him this." The blue light shone down on him, bearing with it the Palutena Bow. "And watch his back."

"Tch. I already know." He took the bow and whistled sharply; a flaming head turned in his direction. "Hey, you overgrown mutt, how about you chew on one of these?" Twinbellows opened its mouth for a roar and Dark Pit fired an arrow right inside. Its jaws clamped shut and it stumbled backwards with a loud whine. The humans scattered to avoid being trampled but Pit was much slower; Pittoo lurched forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the way before he was squashed.

"Thanks," Pit said, holding out the Silver Bow. Dark Pit snatched it with a glare.

"We," he said lowly, tossing the Palutena Bow over, "are going to have a talk later. But for now—"

"Duck!" he cried and pushed the dark angel's head down, narrowly avoiding a flaming claw swipe. Dark Pit grabbed Pit's hand from his head and made sure he was making eye contact.

"For now, don't die. Again."

"Will do." Pit gestured to the human warriors backing away from Twinbellows' advances. The dog was leaving flaming trails wherever its paws landed; soon the blaze would reach their city. "We have to get them to safety first. Back to their city."

"Okay, but—" Dark Pit paused and his eyes narrowed at the entry gates. The wall was made of thick stone slabs, but the top seemed hollow… "That's an aqueduct." Pit followed his gaze and grinned.

"Wash out Twinbellows?"

"Get them in the town first."

"I'll distract Twinbellows," Pit said, and before Pittoo could protest he was running back into the fray, firing at its massive paws. This time, Dark Pit did yank a chunk of hair out. He tried to calm down as he faced the townspeople.

"Retreat! Retreat!" he called, then felt a blaze of heat prickling at his feathers. He turned and began spinning his bow at top speed, dissipating the massive fireball that had been sent their way. The townspeople needn't be told twice; they turned tail and ran back to their gates. Pittoo brought up the rear, redirecting any stray bolts of fire.

Pit was holding his own as well as he could. He alighted on rock outcroppings to give himself a bit of a height edge as he fired volleys of arrows, but they didn't shine as brightly as they ought to. Pit's next landed resulted in botched footing, and his wings flapped uselessly as he tumbled onto his stomach. Twinbellows roared and his rightmost head snapped out and gobbled him in one bite.

"Pit!" Dark Pit shouted. Twinbellows whinnied in pain and shook its heads; he realized Pit was using his bow to keep its jaws propped open. Pit was clinging for his life but he was slipping towards its throat. Dark Pit glanced over his shoulder; the last man was just making his way through the gates. He notched another arrow and let it fly. The arrow sliced a massive chunk through the gate, letting the heavy flow of water gush across the dirt. He raced ahead and soared into the air, landing on Twinbellows' nose. In the seconds before it was swept away, he grabbed the Palutena Bow and yanked it—along with the idiot clinging—and flew forward. Twinbellows was knocked off its feet and into the flow, its fire dousing in a massive puff of steam. Dark Pit landed several feet on a low cliff.

"Are you okay?" he asked Pit, who was kneeling on the ground. He dragged himself up with a weak chuckle.

"My clothes aren't," he said, indicating his heavily charred robes. They looked out when Twinbellows moaned and found it trying and failing to rise to its paws. Pit suddenly let out a little noise. "This. This is." Pit's eyes roamed the battlefield constantly like he was caught in some sort of dream. "I'm unsatisfied."

"You're what?" Dark Pit wanted to give Pit a break, he really did, but the kid was grinding his nerves and he was two seconds away from plucking him. "I've already put my feathers on the line taking you out here against your goddess' wishes, and you have the nerve to be unsatisfied? Sorry, did you want me to throw you into Twinbellows' maw instead?"

"No, that's not…it…" Pit trailed off and didn't continue. Dark Pit stepped closer, frustration melting into concern, and Pit suddenly pitched forward; Dark Pit glided the remaining distance to prevent him from face planting on the ground.

"Pit? Pit!" Pit remained unresponsive for several seconds, and just when Dark Pit was really beginning to freak out, Pit's eyes fluttered open.

"…Why are you holding me?"

Dark Pit dropped Pit, who hit the ground with a little oof. "She was right, you aren't well enough to be doing this," he said flatly, touching his fibula. "Palutena, take us back."

The extraction light surrounded them and lifted their wings to the heavens. Pit rolled over in midair and Dark Pit stared at his skinny back, the wings struggling to keep him aloft. "You really think this was a bad idea?" Pit said without looking at him. Dark Pit sighed.

"Yes, I do."

"I saw the fight, I had to come help."

"Pit—" He paused and looked harder at Pit's wings. A few of his underfeathers were black. Before, he would've thought it an insignificant side effect, but after the way Pit had acted… He hated it, but he had to speak with Palutena and Viridi. "Yeah, I understand, birdbrain."

Pit gave Pittoo a cross look and folded his arms. Then he smiled. "I forgot to say it earlier, but thanks for bringing me back."

Yeah, just hope it's not gonna bite me in the ass.

Palutena and Viridi were both waiting for their return. Palutena looked Pit over worriedly before sending him off to the hot springs. Dark Pit waited until he left hearing distance before facing the two goddesses.

"I'm guessing from your face that things didn't go all peachy," Viridi said. "Palutena doesn't want me to say I told you so…but I don't care. So. I told you so."

"Next time you want a bomb dropped on some playground, you do it yourself," Dark Pit said. Viridi huffed and turned her head.

"Dark Pit, please, what happened out there?" Palutena asked. He shook his head.

"I don't know… He was just, just weird most of it. If I had to describe it…I'd say he was more like me than anything." A little more caustic, certainly more forceful, and…Pit would never threaten another person's life. No way. But neither would Dark Pit—at least, he wouldn't do it unprovoked. He certainly wouldn't have threatened Pit in such a way. But if he had to say that Pit was even worse than him…no, he couldn't. He shook it off and pulled his wings tight against his shoulder blades. "He's more blockheaded than before, but he still went and stuck his neck out to fight the Underworld Army. He's fine, just a little different than expected."

I'm damaged goods, they said. What happens when half a soul is split in two?

"I'm going to go find him, make sure he's alright." Dark Pit dismissed himself and turned away, ignoring their whispered conversation behind his back. Things would be okay…they had to be.

Pit was at his hot spring stripped down to his short, drifting lazily on his back in the golden water. His eyes were lidded as they focused on Dark Pit. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, looking at the bundle in his hands.

"I couldn't find any of your robes, so here's one of mine." He set it on the grass and sat down. Pit hummed appreciatively.

"Don't you wanna soak?"

"Nope."

"Well suit yourself." Pit rolled over and ducked his head beneath the surface. Dark Pit stared at his wet wings and the stark black feathers stared back. Maybe it was the lack of adrenaline in his veins, but he could count more now than there were before. His mouth skewed and he looked at his feet. He had spent far too many hours sitting in this same spot mourning Pit; it was foolish to do the same when Pit was there in front of him, alive and whole.

"Actually…count me in." He shrugged off his robes and arm bracers. He kicked off his sandals and stepped into the water, pumping his wings to propel himself closer to Pit. "I didn't tell you how you came back, did I?"

Pit raised an eyebrow. "No, you didn't get to." Dark Pit told him about Pandora and the Mirror of Truth. At the end of it Pit let out a long breath and shrugged. "You're right, that was pretty dumb. But it worked out didn't it? I'm here, Lady Palutena's happy, Viridi is as happy as she'll get…I think it worked out."

"Yeah." They floated in silence for a few minutes, just feeling the healing water, until Dark Pit moved to the shore. "I'm feeling like a game of Smash."

"Sure." Pit stepped onto the grass and went to one of the supporting columns where a store of towels was sheltered inside. He dried his hair and flapped his wings a bit to get them fluffed up; several feathers came free and the black ones were more obvious than ever.

"Pit, did you notice you have some black feathers?" Dark Pit decided to address the elephant in Skyworld. Pit blinked and pulled the tip of his wing around with his fingers, examining the underside.

"…Yeah, I guess you're right." And that was that. He picked up the robes Dark Pit brought and slipped them over his head. "Hey, how do I look?"

Dark Pit frowned and grabbed a towel of his own. "Don't know, don't care."

"Hey, don't be like that." He looked up to see Pit had already moved ahead of him. "Come on, last one gets the beat-up Joy-Con." He turned and raced forward, flapping his wings for a little speed, and Dark Pit's frown deepened. There definitely were more black feathers than before. But what did it mean?

"That Palutena's Guidance stuff was really on the nose," Pit remarked as the GAME screen appeared. "Whoever wrote the script really knows his stuff."

"Says you. I only had three lines." Pit laughed while Pittoo kept his eyes on the results. His Bowser lost to Pit's Little Mac. The odd thing was Pit never played Little Mac before. Now, he'd never played Pit in Smash beforehand, but for all the challenges Pit gave him, he only ever swore by Yoshi and Olimar—Palutena, too, said Pit was atrocious with those two yet he never tried another character. So how was he suddenly an expert in an entirely different class of a character? And it wasn't a fluke either; he'd been losing for the last four hours. The sky had long since turned dark from when they began.

"Also, definitely my best voice acting," he continued. "You sounded a little gruff."

"Shove it." Part of his surliness arose from the fact that in giving Pit his last clean robes, he had nothing to wear but the centurion tunic. He retaliated by plucking one of Pit's black feathers. Pit yelped in surprise.

"Hey, you shove it!" He shoved Pittoo off his bed and he hit the ground in a heap. He grabbed one of Pit's pillows and threw it at his face. He stood up and went to the television.

"Anyway, I'm going to—"

He froze, and the Palutena Bow embedded itself into the screen blade first, shattering it into hundreds of tiny glass bits. A little piece cut his cheek and he touched the wound in surprise, turning to Pit. The angel in question was frozen as well, eyes wide and wings on end, then he sat back and curled them in tight.

"I just," he paused, "Don't do that again."

The pillow or the feather? he thought, but just as with Palutena, he couldn't vocalize. He nodded and left without another word, and as he trekked back to his unofficial room, he was forced to face facts: something was wrong with Pit. Now, how was he going to explain it to the goddesses?

He was lying in bed mulling it over when Palutena's frantic voice suddenly filled his head: "Pittoo, Pit just ran off!"

"He what?" he said, flummoxed at first.

"He took his bow and just left through his window. I didn't give him the Power of Flight and neither did Viridi. He also took off his fibula." He ground his teeth—was Pit trying to run away? "I'm begging you, please go after him."

"On it." Dark Pit got up, laced his sandals, strapped on his bow and was already heading to the exit doors. He could hear Palutena's faint cries in the back of his mind and grimaced. This whole thing was turning into one massive shitshow. He should have thought it through better. For now, he had to rectify the problem he created.

He leapt through the doors and with the Power of Flight he was cutting through the starry night sky. He had always had a faint sense of Pit's location, and though Pit never said as much he assumed it was mutual—this time, he sensed Pit farther to the east than he had ever been. He followed his instincts and shot across the sky.

"Soo," Viridi said, "what's the plan, Inkling?"

"The plan is to get Pit back."

"And theennn?" She sounded far too amused for the situation and he snapped at her. "Well, bringing him back is short-term, isn't it? Whatever's going on with him will still be there when you get back."

"I don't know. Shut up. I'll figure it out."

"I hope you do." And she left with that.

The pull between the angels grew stronger and Dark Pit's Power of Flight was down to less than a minute. Luckily it didn't seem to matter much, for the land ahead was wrought with massive brambles shining a sickly greenish grey in the moonlight. Another Reset Bomb Forest, it seemed, but even older than the last one; there wasn't even the tiniest hint of human interaction.

As he lowered himself to the earth he spotted strange shadows scattered across the dirt. The moon brightened and he realized they were the fresh bodies of Underworld enemies peppered with arrows; they had already begun to dissolve into Hearts, but it meant Pit hadn't gotten there too long ago. He hit the ground as his wings returned to normal size and tripped over something surprisingly corporeal. He rose to his rear with a groan and looked over what he fell—and his heart stopped cold.

T…That's a human.

Granted, a human speared through with a Monoeye like a kabob, but a human nonetheless. He slowly rose to his feet and looked around the battlefield more closely. There were some more humans, less than a dozen who appeared to have been caught in the crossfire. He swallowed and stepped carefully around their bodies to the cluster of forestry. There was a small entry point close to the ground; he lowered himself to his belly and crawled through.

The same as before, barely any light could shine through, just enough for him to see his fingers right in front of his face. His bow caught on a low hanging branch and he suddenly wondered why he brought it. He didn't expect to fight Pit…did he? Sure, if it came down to it, he would bonk some sense into that empty head, but a real fight—no, he couldn't. He couldn't. Everything had just become so terrible so quickly and he couldn't handle it.

He continued crawling until more light was shining through the small tunnel. He could make out a clearing at the end and picked up the pace until he could see into the forest. There was a large mossy rock at the center where Pit was perched, his wings folded in tightly and his head down. The bow was dangling loosely from his fingers as Dark Pit came into view.

"Pit, what happened?" He jumped a little in surprise, eyes wide in the moonlight. Suddenly Dark Pit realized they weren't quite blue; there were some flecks of red in there that made them more lapis colored. "What are you doing? What happened out there?"

"What, the Underworld Army? I destroyed them. That's what I do."

"But there were humans too."

"They were in the way," he shrugged. "I didn't want to, but they were." Pittoo's eyes narrowed.

"Pit wouldn't do that."

"So what, you're saying I'm not me?" He laughed aloud until he realized Pittoo wasn't following along. Pit stood up with the bow clenched tightly in both hands. "I am Pit," he said, glaring down at the other. "Servant to the Goddess of Light."

"Then why did you run away from her?" he challenged. Pit started to avert his eyes, then he raised his chin.

"I had to fight. It was…I just had to."

"Like you had to throw that blade at my hand, or had to threaten my life if I dragged you back to Skyworld. Do you see yourself, what you're doing? It's pretty messed up from my point of view."

"Who are you to tell me wrong from right?" he continued.

"Don't know, really. All I can say for sure is things aren't the way they're supposed to be. Here I am, dressed like a centurion, and there you are…the black angel."

A shadow passed over Pit's face as his wings stretched overhead. They were thickly mottled with black, so much that the white feathers were more like accents. "Leave," he said, raising the Palutena Bow, "or else."

"And there you go again with the threats. Don't worry, I'm not here to threaten you." Dark Pit split his bow into blades. "I'm bringing you back one way or another, and that's a promise."

Pit unleashed a volley of highspeed arrows that would've sent any human soldiers running for their lives. Pittoo deflected them smoothly with his two blades before lunging forward, tackling Pit from his rock and to the grass below. Pit gained the upper hand and Dark Pit struggled with his blades to keep the Palutena Bow from plunging into his ribcage; he brought up a foot and dug it into Pit's gut, sending him flying backwards with a heavy whump. Pit rolled to his feet instantly and launched an arrow with a massive energy trail. Dark Pit launched an arrow of his own and their collision led to a huge burst of wind which flattened all the surrounding trees. Leaves filled the air and rained down on them.

"What's the point of this?" Dark Pit said. "We are copies, even matches to one another."

Pit didn't respond, instead launching a blade of the Palutena Bow like a javelin once again. Dark Pit's left wing was pinned to the rock and he bit down a cry of pain. He yanked the sword free when Pit rushed him and slammed it against his intended swipe, cracking both blades. He twirled the Silver Bow in his free hand and cut a clean line of Pit's fringe before he managed to leap backwards. The lack of hair bared his raging expression to the moonlight.

Dark Pit loosed several tracking arrows that Pit easily avoided, circling the clearing before scaling the rock behind him. Dark Pit stumbled backwards when Pit pounced on him, his blades cutting into the dirt, then he threw himself up and forward in a wild flurry of disorganized slashes. Dark Pit struggled to parry with his own swords; this sloppy style was nothing he was used to, and he was being forced backwards. His heel caught on a rock and he tripped backwards, narrowly avoiding a slice that would've taken his head. Then, as his back hit the grass, he watched Pit's swords coming for his heart. He didn't think, didn't look who he was facing; he turned his blade out and struck.

Pit's blade slid heavy into the space between two ribs, just barely missing his lung but causing a few fractures. He missed Dark Pit's heart from the impact of the Silver Bow plunging into his gut. His eyes bugged.

"Pit—" Blood gushed from the point of impact, staining his hand and face before Pit fell forward onto the grass adjacent. Dark Pit struggled to sit up past the burning agony in his chest and rolled Pit onto his back. His face was screwed in pain and he was pressing both hands into the wound. When his eyes focused on Dark Pit he exploded into a wild series of expletives that would've made Viridi blush. It lasted for all of fifteen seconds before he ran out of breath and passed out cold.

"Pittoo?"

"Pittoo? What's the situation? Where is Pit?"

Déjà vu, Dark Pit thought with a sick laugh. "Palutena, take us back."

"Us?" she repeated, then fell silent as they were extracted.

They landed on the floor of Palutena's Temple with a whump. Centurions immediately rushed in, picking up Pit's still speared body and rushing him outside, presumably to the hot spring. Palutena knelt at Pittoo's side and helped him sit up. Her face was ashen and he gave her a small smile. "He's back. E-Excuse me if he isn't wh-whole." She helped him up and he pushed her away, pressing a hand to his damaged ribs. "I-I'm sorry. Th-This is all my f-fault."

"Pittoo—" She exhaled hard and wrapped her arms around herself. "I have to check on Pit. I just…we'll talk about this more when he's stable."

She turned away and hurried in the directions of the centurions. Dark Pit brought his knees up to his chest and bowed his face into them. His wings shielded him from the world when hot tears poured down his cheeks. "D-Dammit…dammit…"

Palutena was…occupied, so it was up to Viridi to get Dark Pit's side of the story, so she said. Dark Pit was content to just stay under the sheets and avoid the world.

"No one's blaming you for anything, ya know," she said with a sigh. "We just want the full story."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to talk. So beat it."

Viridi gave a much more dramatic sigh and Dark Pit's ankle was suddenly trapped in some thorny vise grip. He was yanked upside-down via a thick piece of ivy that had grown through the window and onto the ceiling. Viridi tapped his nose with her staff, eyes narrowed. "We dropped it before when you claimed Pit was fine. Now your sword's getting deeply acquainted with his insides. Something's missing here and you're the one that needs to clear it up."

His ribs felt like rolling hot coals in his chest and he was having some difficulty catching his breath. He might have cried if he felt like he had any tears left. "He tried to kill me."

"What? I couldn't hear you."

"He tried to kill me!" he shouted, looking Viridi right in the eyes. "He tried to kill me three times—this time, if I hadn't stabbed him, he would've done it. I saw in his eyes, he would've done it."

Viridi's eyes widened and for once the goddess was completely speechless. The vine unraveled and Dark Pit hit the bed in a heap; he groaned at the spike of pain from the impact. She sat heavily in a nice chair and brushed her hair from her eyes. "So," she said at length, "what shall we do?"

"I don't…rrgh…know."

"Actually, I was giving the illusion of choice. I know what I'm doing." She mimed slicing her throat and Pittoo growled.

"No, you're not."

"And if I don't then what, he'll come in for lucky try number four? Well, whatever; I know Palutena will want him to talk when he's well enough, and I'm sure as hell gonna be there to see it. Have fun writing your will." She stood and twirled her staff before disappearing in a flurry of leaves and a gust of wind.

Silence. A world of silence.

Days, weeks, perhaps even months later, Dark Pit woke in the dead of the night to see a winged figure crouched on the windowsill. Luminescent violet eyes turned to meet his.

"Hey," Pit said softly. Dark Pit nodded but couldn't find his words. Those black and white wings fluttered uneasily before wrapping around his bandaged torso. "I'm…sorry for trying to stab you."

"Are you really?" he snapped without thinking and hated himself for doing so. Pit frowned in the moonlight, eyes lowered.

"I don't know, but it seems the right thing to do. Apologizing."

Dark Pit sat up from the tangle of sheets. "Apologies mean nothing unless you understand what you did wrong."

"I do. At least, Lady Palutena told me. Something's…I'm not right, am I? I'm not the Pit you guys knew. I can see it in your eyes…you're disappointed." Dark Pit shrugged a shoulder, fighting to keep his face blank. Pit sighed. "I want to ask something." His eyes returned to Pittoo's, searching, wanting something. "What's wrong with me?"

"Who knows?" It was painful to admit, but there it was. Pit's wings tightened around himself. "But, Pit, running off isn't an answer."

"'Else what? I stay and endure this…these looks you guys give me?" he spat. "I'm not who you want me to be. No one ever went around forcing you to be Pit, right?"

"Well no one went around trying to impale me." His fists, previously knotted in the sheets, balled against his sides, and he threw the blanket aside to stand on his feet, wings taut against his back. "Pit—and that's who you are, you are still Pit—I don't care if you're a walking talking eggplant. What those goddesses were saying before…they said you might not have a soul at all. But they said the same thing about me, and look! I would risk my own life to save yours, because you went and did so for me. Your light is what sustains my shadow."

"So what do you expect me to do? Change to fit your mold?"

"Pit, I want to ask you something. Why did you try to kill me?" He struggled to maintain eye contact and so did Pit, but Pit was the first to look away, turning until he could sit with his back to the window. With his face in the shadows Dark Pit couldn't be sure, but it seemed his eyes were glistening.

"I'm sorry."

"Pit. Answer."

"I ju—I don't know! I was upset…every time, you'd upset me, and I j—I just wanted to cause some damage. Burn off steam."

"Even if the thing you're damaging is me?"

He turned his head away. "Made no difference to me. I guess that makes me depraved."

"It wasn't right," Pittoo agreed.

"Therein lies the problem. I don't know right from wrong, not anymore. Is this what it's like, lacking a soul? Feeling empty and lost all the time? Is this what you felt like, Dark Pit?" He looked at Pittoo again and this time he was certainly crying. Dark Pit smiled bitterly; at least he had some emotional capacity.

"More or less."

"…Can it really be fixed?" His voice was as soft as a breeze. Pittoo sighed and moved to sit next to Pit.

"You won't be the same. None of us will be, I guess. But it can be fixed, and you will be fine. And if not…well, I'll always be here. You'll have to try a lot harder to kill me, birdbrain."

"Promise?" He didn't know if Pit meant promising to fix him or promising not to die; either way, he had no plans on reneging on either. He set a hand on Pit's forearm, squeezing hard.

"Promise."

Pit stared at Dark Pit's hand for a long moment, lost in his thoughts. Then the corner of his lip twitched. "Should we hug now?"

"I'd rather not."

"But," he said sagely, eyes shining, "it would be the Pit thing to do."

He rolled his eyes so hard he thought they would pop out. "If it makes you feel better—"

He couldn't speak when Pit trapped him in a tight bear hug, his multicolored wings wrapped around Pittoo's head. He wanted to complain, but…his scent. Pit always sort of smelled like freedom, if he had to put it into words; a combination of sweet wild grass, tangy hot spring water, lemony laundry soap, and the clearness of the open sky. Though they said this Pit didn't have a soul, the smell was still there, and it was so poignant it made Pittoo's eyes cloud with tears. He sniffed as subtly as he could, but being next to Pit's ear, the boy noticed.

"Hey, Pittoo, are you crying?" he asked.

"I'm—shut up. Hug me."

"I am already," he said smartly, but complied anyway.

Pit was training on the grass, effortlessly sliding through various combat maneuvers with the Palutena Bow. It would have been nothing out of the ordinary if his wings weren't mottled black and his eyes shone violet in the sunlight. Palutena gripped her elbows and hummed with disconcert.

"Are you sure about this, Dark Pit?" she said softly, though he wouldn't be able to hear them from the gates of the palace.

"Not particularly," he said, seated on the windowsill and polishing the Silver Bow. "But I don't plan on offing another Pit."

"That may be so, but…"

"I believe things'll work out. I may not be an all-seeing goddess or whatever, but I'm walking proof." He slid to the tiled floor and strapped the bow across his back, joining Palutena in the doorway. Their shadows fell across the grass, not equal in size nor status. "Pit's the one who made me more human. The least I can do is return the favor."

She still seemed doubtful but held her grievances and tongue. Viridi, however, had so such qualms. Should he become a threat, he'll know the power of nature, she said with no traces of her usual dispassion or sarcasm—it was nothing short of a promise. So make sure I don't have to, Dark Pit.

"Put a seed in it," he replied, stepping onto the grass. "Gods and goddesses, you get hung up on the wrong things. That kid is no less an annoying pest than he was before, 'cept he's almost good enough to beat me in a swordfight. But he'll come to find," he grinned darkly, drawing the bow and holding the blade out, "a centurion is no match for a real black angel."

He ran out onto the green calling, "Yo, Pit, right here and now!" Pit, a bit out of breath from his training, nodded, and with a mutual grin, the two angels descended into a match of blows. Evenly matched, a show with no end in sight, a dance of two halves struggling to reform. But they would reform, that, Pittoo was confident in, for there was no shadow that could be without a source of light.