#I want to see what other people think and staved off the urge to send it as an anon ask

[relpda]

We frequently talk about who the worst father figures in rote are, but who do you guys think is the best?

[dutybcrne]

From a very young age, Kaeya held such a fondness for handholding. Whether it was his father clinging tightly to him to make sure he didn’t get lost, Adelinde’s gentle, grounding hand closed over his to comfort him whenever his nerves got the better of him, Crepus’s rough-palmed, firm yet comforting grip as he brought him back home, or, as it was most often of all, Diluc’s warm, yet at times uncomfortably tight hold as he dragged him anywhere, everywhere, determined to always keep Kaeya close and eagerly show him all there was to see, Kaeya treasured the gesture greatly.

Of course, being as shy as he was, initiating it himself was always the harder part. So much so, he would tend to hold pinkies, rather than outright take a person’s hand in his own. Eventually, it would become his most common way to go about the gesture of affection.

[ladykissingfish]

so one of you requested this in my inbox, and you used your actual name. you put some personal stuff in your ask that I wasn’t sure you’d want to be made public, so I’m not going to put your name here. but here’s what you asked; I hope this is what you meant 😊

The Akatsuki’s Reaction to A Break-Up

Itachi

Unfortunately, Itachi’s self-esteem is already so low that a break-up for him is something that he prepared himself for more than the relationship itself. He’s the type to vocalize his desire to stay friends with his ex, even if that person doesn’t want the same thing. The first few days after the breakup will be the most difficult for him, but his behavior will be so subtle that the others will barely notice. The most striking and tell-tale sign that he’s going through it will be that this infamous insomniac will actually start sleeping more, even going so far as to take naps during the day. Itachi isn’t the type to seek out the comfort of friends when something like this is bothering him, instead choosing to keep his pain to himself and only briefly talking about it when asked. He’ll eventually pull himself out of his funk and go back to normal, although the scar on his heart prevents him from seeking out another relationship for a long, long time.

Zetsu

Doesn’t take relationships seriously to begin with; if anything, he’s with the other person simply to alleviate boredom/have a good time. When the other person breaks up with him, there aren’t any hard feelings involved on his part, and he bounces back almost as if nothing had happened at all. He’s always been the type to treat his lovers more like friends, and that dynamic will likely continue even after the romantic part has died.

Hidan

Is most likely to be the one to initiate a break-up rather than be broken up with himself. Hidan’s religion doesn’t offer much (if any) room for love and attachment to anything other than Lord Jashin, and being with someone will weigh heavily on Hidan’s mind until he decides to end things. Part of this is actually a sort kindness; he recognizes that to an outsider, his religion can be viewed as disturbing and macabre, and he doesn’t want to drag somebody else into his hectic (and violent) lifestyle. But despite the romantic relationship being over, Hidan isn’t above contacting the other person every now and then for a casual, no strings attached encounter.

Kakuzu

Another one who will be more likely to initiate the break-up then the alternative. There will never be a time in the old guy’s life where money isn’t the bottom line for him, and being with someone else is no exception to that rule. Dates, gifts, time spent with the other that takes away time that could be used to hunt bounties … all of that is costing him. He’ll be as kind as possible to the other person when breaking up with them, but the message is pretty clear. He’ll likely feel mild pangs of regret for several days after the end of the relationship, but in the end he’ll shake it off and carry on with business as usual.

Obito

Oh, God. Obito is someone who feels things very deeply, and being in love with someone is a head rush for him. Obito would never leave someone, no matter how they treated him. Others will recognize this in him and some will take advantage of his sweet and giving nature. When he’s broken up with, he’s absolutely devastated. He won’t leave the house/his room for days, he’ll stop bathing, he’ll barely eat and the things he does eat is mostly junk food or candy … it takes several members of the Akatsuki to rally around him to pull him out of his depression. Konan will be there to comfort and nurture him, Deidara will be there to offer a kind of “suck it up”/tough love approach, and Itachi will offer him empathy (the Uchiha clan is revered for many things, one of the highest among them being their capacity to feel and experience love, so Itachi will be the only one who knows EXACTLY how Obito feels). It’ll take a few weeks, but eventually Obito will go back to the way he always was, much to everyone’s relief.

Kisame

One will always know when Kisame has been broken up with, when he announces he’s going on a trip. He’ll pack a suitcase and take off for an indefinite amount of time. He does this because he needs to clear his head after his heartbreak, and he never wants to burden the others with his pain or his emotions. While he’s gone he won’t really keep in contact with anyone except Itachi, who will call him every day to check up on him. He uses his time alone to sleep, to cry, and, once the initial hurt fades, to wear himself out. Hiking, skiing, mountain climbing, jogging … anything that gets him sweating and his adrenaline pumping is something that he seeks out, in order to distract his mind. He’ll eventually return home renewed and ready to go on, and the others are always happy to see him back.

Nagato

Is a bit like Itachi in that he expects a breakup from the very start, and is so prepared for it that he doesn’t quite feel the impact as strongly as he could. Life is pain, as he likes to tell people, and losing a love is a part of that pain. Doesn’t change his habits any and nobody would even know he’s suffering in any way … except for Konan, who knows him better than anybody. She’ll sit with him and get him to open up about what and how he feels. Konan has always been the only living person in the world that Nagato had cried in front of, and there’s no exception to this rule now. He’ll cry, Konan will hold him, and after awhile the two will spend time watching movies or tv, and slowly easing Nagato into a better headspace.

Konan

Konan is an eraser. When she’s broken up with, or she ends a relationship herself, she wants to forget any sign that the person ever existed. That means throwing out love letters or drawings, that means deleting the person’s contact information from all of her devises. It means getting rid of pictures, it means no more watching shows that she watched with the other person, or going to places they once went to. Her only goal is to stave off hurt by pretending that the other person never existed … although this doesn’t last for very long. After she’s calmed down a bit, she can reach out to the other person and get whatever closure she needs, in order to move on. Konan is also a comfort eater when she’s sad, and will break her diet to indulge in any and every decadent treat imaginable. And she won’t be alone; every single other member of the house will be with her at some point, whether to comfort, or cry, or eat, or trash-talk her now-ex.

Deidara

Deidara is the guy who initially can’t accept a breakup. He assumes the other person is just mad at him for something he’s done, and that their break-up really isn’t an ending at all, but a “short break”. Will send the other person countless messages, flowers, teddy bears, and candy, to try and get back in their good graces. When it finally sinks in that it’s permanent, he’s quite upset about it. He goes over and over in his head all the things that he felt he did wrong, or ways that he just wasn’t good enough. Will call his ex and ask for reasons as to why their relationship didn’t work out, and keep those things in his head, to improve on for his next relationship. Is also the type to make drastic changes to his appearance after a breakup, like dying or cutting his hair, or making changes to his wardrobe. Has to be talked out of his more impetuous urges, like getting a tattoo, by Sasori or Konan.

Sasori

Sasori will be the one broken up with. Not because he treated his partner in anyway bad. In fact, it would be quite the opposite; Sasori would have been uncharacteristically kind, loving and attentive. Always asking his partner how they feel, inquiring about their day, etc. But after awhile, Sasori’s partner will have begun to notice certain … things. Like Sasori constantly touching their face and commenting on his smooth their skin is. Being really pushy when it comes to healthy eating because “it makes your body last longer”. And there will have been quite a few times when Sasori’s partner will wake up in the middle of the night and find Sasori sitting in a chair by the bed, staring intently at them in the dark. The person will eventually decide to leave Sasori, because they start to get the ((sadly correct)) suspicion that Sasori had been making plans to turn them into one of his puppets. Sasori will take the breakup with dignity, but silently lament the fact that more people don’t understand his way of thinking. After all, if you care for someone, why wouldn’t you want that person to last forever?

[pirate-au]

A Pirate's Life for a Prince (Part 6)

Summary: Roman was a dashing Captain, content with his exciting life out at sea, diving head first into adventure both on and off land. He wouldn't give up his life for anything, and yet he found himself...lacking something. He was never sure what.

When he meets Virgil, a seemingly common traveler in an old tavern, that lacking feeling in his chest goes away for the first time in a long while. So surely there's no harm in offering the stranger and his friend a ride, right?

Notes: Thank you again to @cheshirevalentine for helping with editing and the descriptions of sword fighting, They've got a side blog for this au, go check out @actorau

TW: a little blood and injury and really gay pining

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Virgil had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

Roman was frowning at him, watching Virgil with scrutinizing eyes before sheathing his own sword at his side.

“Have you never held a sword before?” he asked, his hands on his hips. “It’s like you’re afraid of it.”

Virgil huffed, lowering the sword that was steadily becoming embarrassingly heavy to his side, cheeks burning red with shame under Roman's judgment. “I don’t know what you think I was doing in that palace, but it wasn’t sword fighting.”

“But I thought you were raised as a prince.”

Virgil had asked before, once or twice when he was much younger, but it had been shut down almost immediately, and the request had never even made it to his Uncle. He would never be the dashing Prince who charged into battle, brandishing a sword like it was nothing. That wasn’t the kind of prince they wanted him to be.

“Whatever.” Virgil would really rather not discuss this right now, especially not here. “Why are we even doing this?”

“Because you have to learn to defend yourself,” Roman said simply, moving around Virgil to check his stance. “I won’t always be here to save the day, you know. Now, lift your sword again. I’ll fix your hold.”

Roman was behind him, making Virgil’s shoulders tense instinctively, but he forced himself to relax and do what he was told.

“Come on,” Roman urged as Virgil lifted the sword. “I promise this will help you feel more secure.”

Virgil rolled his eyes when Roman moved back around, mostly to cover up how uneasy and inadequate he felt. He wasn't exactly excited to show off how weak he was to a pirate Captain who had already seen him cry twice.

“Running away has worked out pretty well so far,” Virgil said, but kept the sword lifted all the same. “I’m not gonna be any good at this.”

“You don't know that," Roman said quietly, moving beside Virgil. He moved to help him hold the sword and hesitated, awkwardly maneuvering his hands as if he wasn't sure how to place them around Virgil's. “Uh… my apologies. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Virgil only hesitated a second, forcibly shoving down the panic rising against his will. It was just Roman, and Roman had made it clear that he wouldn’t hurt him. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Alright then.” Roman moved slowly, clearly trying not to spook Virgil, placing himself behind the prince once again and gently wrapping his warm hands around Virgil’s own. The weight of the sword lifted considerably with his help. “The way I was taught was rather… untraditional. It’s easier to teach like this.”

Virgil nodded, trying to focus on keeping his breathing steady. “So… where did you learn to sword fight?”

“My brother and I learned a long time ago,” Roman said, curt in the way that told Virgil the Captain would prefer to discuss anything else. “Anyways. I’ll teach you to block and parry first.”

Virgil wanted to apologize for prying, but it was already hard enough to form words with the feeling of Roman’s hands encasing his own, his chest rising and falling against Virgil’s back. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to close his eyes and lean back against the steady warmth.

“Uh, ok,” he said instead, forcing himself to focus. “Just… be patient with me I guess. I’m kind of a slow learner, so… sorry in advance.”

“Nonsense,” the Captain chided. “You’ll do fine.”

Virgil nodded, his breathing still a bit uneven as he let Roman move his hands to the Prince’s wrists. He guided his arms, first to slowly swing up to block at his left shoulder, and then down.

"When you block, you want to make sure your assailant isn't pushing you back,” he said. “On a ship, that could be the difference between being cast overboard or staying dry." He dropped a hand to pat Virgil's left hip. "It's best to step forward after that, preferably with your non-dominant leg. It will give you a stable base to attack on, so make sure your weight is centered."

Virgil was doing his absolute best to listen to what Roman was saying, but to be fair he was pretty sure he was going to suck at this whether he could comprehend the instructions or not.

But Roman was still holding his hand, warm and strong, and when the Captain moved to touch his hip Virgil could only respond with a slightly panicked, "Okay."

“To attack,” Roman continued, his voice a gentle murmur in Virgil’s ear. “Take another step with your other leg and swing forward-” He stepped with Virgil, guiding their arms to swing at their invisible assailant. "Your sword is an extension of your arm. You don't want to overextend and throw yourself off balance, that will give your opponent a chance to swing at you. Now, back-” He stepped back, gently pulling Virgil with him. "Block, forward, attack, back."

Virgil couldn’t breathe, something he was unfortunately used to, but for once it didn’t feel like a bad thing.

The panic wasn't all consuming and cold, it was warm and it made him feel lightheaded and distant. Roman was up against him, guiding his movements, and although he knew he probably looked absolutely pathetic holding the sword, in the moment it felt like he could do anything.

Other than Patton, no one had ever been so gentle with him. It had been so long since he’d been touched without the intention to hurt.

“Once more,” Roman instructed. “Block, forward, attack, back. Look at you! You’re doing amazing already.”

Virgil’s face grew hot, chest light at the praise. It took him a moment to find his voice, choked and unsteady. “I… thank you.”

“Now we pick up the pace,” Roman said, slowly starting to increase their speed. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit faster now and then I’ll let you try it on your own.”

After a moment of the back and forth, the two almost dancing in the afternoon sun, Virgil closed his eyes for just a second, basking in the warm glow, the feeling of Roman’s hands over his, content and safe.

“Now,” Roman said softly. “Can you show me?”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open, reality slamming back into him as Roman stepped away and the sword momentarily wobbled in the air, the Prince struggling to keep it upright by himself.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, face burning for an entirely new reason this time. God, he was so stupid. He could vaguely recall the movements, but… he'd just end up looking like an idiot if he tried it by himself. "Sorry, uh… could you let me watch you first? Sorry I'm just… kind of slow sometimes."

“You’re not slow,” Roman assured, sending Virgil a patient smile. “Some people are visual learners, it's only a matter of preference. I'm a kinesthetic learner, so I have to do it, rather than see it."

Virgil shrugged, still not fully convinced he wasn’t just stupid. “I guess.”

Roman unsheathed his own practice sword and lifted it, turning so he was parallel to where Virgil was standing, and began the back and forth.

“Block, forward, attack, back,” he said, repeating the motions twice, faster the second time. "Ideally, a fight isn't so tense and scripted. You have to learn to think on your feet. And always, always play dirty. A fair fight is sure to get you killed." He lowered his sword, facing Virgil with a smile. "Ready?"

Slightly stunned by how patient Roman was, Virgil nodded and took a shaky breath. The Captain’s patience was bound to run out soon if he didn’t hurry up and get this right.

“I’m ready.”

He began to copy Roman’s movements- block, forward, attack, back. He knew it looked clumsy and ridiculous, and not even close to what Roman was expecting. The sword still felt heavy and foreign in his hands, and he turned sheepishly to the Captain when he was finished, fully prepared to apologize for doing so poorly.

But Roman was smiling at him, wide and genuine. He sheathed his own sword again, placing his hands on his hips.

“You learn quickly!” he praised. “This particular style requires a lot of physical conditioning. Your abdomen, back, wrists, and hands all need conditioning if you're to properly hold your sword. Though, I'm sure we have a rapier around here somewhere that may better suit you."

Virgil furrowed his brow. “A rapier?”

“Something smaller,” Roman explained, eyes softening. “It might be a bit easier for you. Logan prefers lighter weapons, as well.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, arms already growing sore from the strain of the sword. “Maybe.”

“We’ll save that for later,” Roman said. “For now, I need you to take the rhythm you just learned, and I need you to forget it. Falling into a rhythm can mean spacing out, and without the utmost concentration, you're dead. Now! Make like you're going to attack me.”

Roman didn’t move, didn't even unsheathe his sword, and Virgil frowned when he just stood there, waiting expectantly.

“Uh… okay?” He cautiously positioned the sword again and pointed it at Roman, the Captain still unarmed. “Like this?”

Roman nodded, looking Virgil over carefully. "Widen your stance. For you… I think it's best to stave on the balls of your feet. I believe I've been teaching you how I was taught, and since our body types are so different..."

He trailed off, smiling dropping into a small frown, eyebrows drawn together as he studied Virgil’s stance.

"Don't focus so hard on grounding yourself,” Roman instructed. He finally took his blade out with a flourish, spinning it once before he widened his stance, holding his sword at the ready. "Attack me.”

“I- what?” Virgil wasn’t sure if he was more worried about hurting Roman, or Roman hurting him. The latter seemed more likely. “I’m not gonna… I can’t just start stabbing at you!”

“You can,” Roman declared, shifting eagerly on the balls of his feet. “That’s how you learn. I won’t bite, I promise. Now, attack me! If you hesitate in battle, your foe won’t hesitate to take your life.”

“I guess,” Virgil relented. “Okay.”

He pushed down the lingering uneasiness, both from the sight of a much larger man holding a sword in front of him, and the off chance that he might actually end up hurting the Captain. Virgil moved forward, still hesitant, moving to attack slowly with no real intent to hit.

Roman was silent and still, holding his sword at the ready. He stepped forward to intercept Virgil's blade, twisting his own to knock the handle out of Virgil's grip. His sword clattered to the ground between them and Roman took a step back.

“You can do better,” the Captain said. “We both saw it. Again.”

Virgil reached down to pick up the weapon off the ground, keeping his eyes on Roman and the weapon in his hand. "What if I… accidentally stab you?"

“I’ve been stabbed before,” Roman said, clearly biting back a rising smile. “And you’re a fragile ex-prince who’s never held a sword before. I’m not worried.”

Virgil scowled, hoping his embarrassed flush wasn't as obvious as it felt. He still hesitated, this time with a bit more force. “Well, if you’ve gotten stabbed clearly you can’t be that good.”

“Right, and clearly you’re so talented.” Roman parried this time, stepping forward to smack the blade back. “Again. Harder, this time. You’re not going to hurt me, Virgil.”

"What if I do?" Virgil shot back, unable to stop a smile as he attacked again, still keeping his movements a bit slow. "What will people say if you get stabbed by someone who’s never even held a sword?"

"That I was viciously attacked by a vengeful Prince and did nothing wrong," Roman huffed, smacking the blade away once more. "Faster. I can keep up."

"You sure?" Virgil asked, more teasing than anything as he finally let himself relax just a bit, moving forward to attack once again.

“Move faster and we’ll see.”

The friendly banter took some of the tension away, Virgil smiling despite himself, feeling lighter by the second.

Virgil's movements were still definitely a bit more frantic than they needed to be, shoulders tensing as he moved his sword up, glancing hopefully up at Roman when he blocked the attack.

“Good!” Roman said, beaming. “Try not to panic, it’ll make you lose focus. Try again.”

Right. Try not to panic. That was easier said than done, especially when it came to Virgil, who could never seem to react any other way.

But the praise made him feel lighter than ever, and he smiled with a tiny nod before stepping back to try again.

“You’re doing good. Keep it up, don’t stop-” Roman parried and returned the next blow. “Pick up the speed. Push me back!”

Virgil managed to keep his movements a little less panicked this time, taking deep breaths like Patton had taught him and moved to attack again, faster this time as instructed.

"You sure you can keep up, Captain?" he teased with confidence he didn't feel in the slightest, smiling with his eyes still on the swords.

To his relief Roman’s smile only grew, the Captain taking another step forward to block again. “Eyes on me. Watch the weapons, but if you can see where I'm looking you can see where I'm attacking."

Virgil managed not to completely freak out when he blocked Roman’s next attack, still a bit more tense than he knew the Captain would have liked.

It was almost impossible to keep his eyes on Roman, cheeks growing hot whenever the Captain met his eyes, forcing himself to avert his gaze.

Virgil really did not need to be distracted by the blush spreading across his cheeks and the butterflies in his stomach as he moved to attack again.

Roman laughed, Virgil’s eyes lighting up when he nearly lowered his sword before he could block Virgil’s attack. “Come on handsome, eyes up here.”

“I’m trying!”

Roman took another step forward, swiping down towards Virgil’s leg. “When you can’t block, move!”

Virgil just barely managed to scramble out of the blade's way, and he was sure if Roman had moved any faster he would have lost a leg.

“Jesus!” His face was burning red now, both from the teasing and his own sloppy moves. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Roman's grin only grew as he took a step back, spinning his sword. "No, I'm trying to prepare you. Distractions happen. Now come on beautiful, one more time."

Oh, this was so not fair. Virgil’s blush depended, but he forced himself not to look away this time when he attacked. “Careful, or I’m actually going to stab you.”

“I’ve got the experience, darling,” Roman bragged, though he barely got his sword up in time to block Virgil’s strike. “You can’t hurt me.”

Virgil laughed, ignoring the way his cheeks burned at the nickname. He was going to die here. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

Virgil had no idea how long they went on like this for, time nothing but a distant blur, overshadowed by the warm excitement bubbling in his chest. His cheeks burned bright when he eventually managed to start meeting Roman’s eyes, the Captain sending him a teasing smile.

He should have noticed Roman had gotten distracted, should have realized he’d started moving just a bit slower than he had been when they first started.

But he didn’t, and Roman’s sword didn’t move up to block Virgil's next attack.

Roman gasped when the blade cut into his bicep, ripping through the cloth and drawing blood immediately, and the Captain quickly smacked the blade away with the end of his own sword.

"Holy shit!" Virgil dropped the sword without thinking, wincing when it clattered to the ground. He moved towards Roman, stopping in his tracks when he saw how much blood there was. "I… shit, Roman I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I- I wasn't paying attention I'm so sorry!"

Roman looked back up at Virgil, raising an eyebrow at the Prince’s panic.

“I stand corrected,” he said, voice more awed than annoyed or angry. “It turns out you can stab me. Well done.”

“Well done?” Virgil echoed. “I hurt you!”

“It’s fine, Virgil. I’m barely bleeding. I wasn’t paying attention, this is just the consequence.” He looked back to his wound, lifting his arm to inspect it. “Would you mind grabbing Logan for me, though? He should be up on the bridge.”

Virgil nodded and scrambled back, carefully stepping over the swords, grateful for the excuse to get away. It at least meant Roman wasn't angry enough to lash out.

Unless that was Logan's job.

Virgil’s head was spinning and his hands were shaking, but he forced himself to keep going, rushing to the bridge.

The relief was almost crushing when he saw Patton, leaned up against the wall as he chatted with Logan, the two of them lost in quiet conversation. Virgil hadn’t been sure he could handle being alone with Logan, especially when it ran the risk of making him angry.

“Virgil?” Patton called, concern rising as soon as he saw the young Prince. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“I…” Virgil hesitated, eyes glued to Logan. “Roman he- he got hurt. With his sword, it… it was my fault and- and he asked for you. I’m… I’m sorry, I—”

Logan was already starting forward with a sigh, freezing when Virgil flinched back at the sudden movement, arms wrapped protectively around himself, eyes flying instinctively to Patton.

“I’m going to go check on Roman,” Logan explained, keeping his voice low. “I’m not angry with you. Whatever happened was clearly an accident.”

Virgil nodded, still a bit frantic and shaky, stepping aside to let Logan through. Patton moved to follow, pausing to place a gentle hand on Virgil’s hunched shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, the words meant just for the two of them. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Virgil shook his head, grateful beyond words Patton had decided to stay. “I’m fine I just… I- I didn’t mean to hurt him we were just—”

“I know, honey.” Pat squeezed his shoulder, sending a reassuring smile. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, V. Come on, let’s go see if they need any help.”

They followed Logan back to the deck where Roman was waiting, letting the first mate make a quick stop for a first-aid kit, and Virgil averted his gaze when Roman straightened up at their arrival.

“My valiant knight in black armor,” the Captain greeted, offering his bloody arm to Logan. “Hello, Logan. How has your day been?”

Logan sighed, carefully taking a hold of the injured arm and lowering himself to a crouch. “What on earth are you and Virgil doing?”

“I was teaching Virgil how to use a sword!” Roman announced, and he was beaming when Virgil risked a glance up. “Isn’t he doing great already? I didn’t think he could hit me at all, but here we are!”

Roman rocked back and forth as he talked, gesturing with his free hand, and Logan tightened his grip. “Stay still, please.”

It was clearly a pointless venture, Virgil hadn’t seen Roman sit still once since he’d come aboard, but the Captain nodded and settled for tapping his hands against the floor. He winced when Logan touched the wound but didn't shy away, letting a hissing breath of pain out.

“He’s doing great,” Roman declared again, leaning back slightly to look at Virgil. “You are, you know. This is good progress.”

Virgil tensed, warily glancing between Roman and Logan despite the fact that neither of them seemed inclined to chew him out or make a move to strike him just yet. “I stabbed you. I literally stabbed you!”

“You did!” Roman said, ecstatic. “That’s the whole point! You did it, you got me! And I’m barely even hurt, don’t worry about it.”

Logan sighed again, reaching with his free hand for the rest of the medical supplies as Roman's blood began to soak through the first rag. Virgil looked away, even as he blushed under Roman's praise.

"But I… you’re not mad?”

“Not at all,” Roman assured. “I told you to attack me, didn't I? Sometimes people get hurt when you spar, this was a learning opportunity!" He paused, glancing down at Logan. “I’m bleeding quite a lot, aren’t I? Should I be worried about that?”

“You will be fine,” Logan said, not looking up. “The cut is shallow. Virgil did not land a fatal blow, though I can imagine the temptation was there.”

It startled a laugh out of Virgil, and Roman gave an offended gasp. “He would never! He’s a very good friend, much more so than someone I know.”

“Stay still.”

Roman scowled at his first mate, then winced in pain as he continued to tend to the wound. “It really is okay, Virgil. I’ve been stabbed worse by far more terrible foes, I promise.”

“You seem to have a habit of getting stabbed,” Virgil said, voice still a bit shaky. He relaxed a little when Patton put a hand on his shoulder. “And here I thought you were a master.”

“Even masters occasionally get stabbed. This is nothing,” Roman boasted. “Do I need stitches, Lo? That part does hurt, and I’d recommend not watching if you don’t have a thick stomach.”

Virgil did feel a bit sick at the thought, though it was more the idea of the Captain being in pain because of him than the stitches. The blood didn't bother him all that much- he'd had to get Patton to patch him up like this plenty of times in the past.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I can stay if you need someone to hold your hand.”

It had been a joke, nothing more than teasing, and Virgil absolutely was not half hoping Roman would take him up on the offer.

But Roman grinned, something mischievous in his eyes. He lifted his free hand and wiggled his fingers at Virgil. “Well then you’d better come comfort me, Prince Dreary.”

Virgil was going to kill him. His face flushed again, cheeks on fire. He had no idea how Roman kept managing to fluster him like this, but he wasn’t about to give the Captain the satisfaction of seeing it.

He rolled his eyes as he stepped forward, effortlessly slipping his hand into Roman’s and smirking. “Better?”

“Much,” Roman hummed, and Virgil saw Logan roll his eyes. The Captain just smiled, his thumb stroking gentle lines along the back of Virgil’s hand. “Your hands are very small, you know. Soft, though.”

It was quiet musing, gentle and kind, but Virgil's chest squeezed painfully, suddenly very aware of how much smaller he was than the other three men on the deck, shame and anxiety rising to his throat.

“Yeah okay,” he muttered, gaze dropping back down to the floor. “Maybe your hands are just huge, Roman.”

“I’m not complaining,” Roman said, but his smile softened like he had picked up on Virgil’s discomfort. “They’re soft. Cold as hell, but that’s only fitting for Peter Deadpan, I suppose.”

Virgil scoffed, but his face felt warm, and his smile was quickly becoming more relaxed again. “Well, I didn’t grow up playing with swords like you did. Royal life is kinda boring compared to the life of a pirate.”

“I don’t know,” Roman mused, and he shared an odd look with his first mate. “Royal life can be exciting too. It’s just… a different kind of excitement.”

Logan snorted, peeling the blood soaked cloth away from dark skin. “You would know.”

Roman winced, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “That was years ago, Logan. It’s possible it’s gotten more exciting since then.”

“I’m sure.”

Wait, what?

Virgil didn’t get a chance to ask the questions on the tip of his tongue before Roman huffed, tilting his head to inspect what was left of the wound. “Are you almost done, oh gracious healer?”

“You don’t need stitches, Captain,” Logan said, unamused. “But you’re more than welcome to keep holding the Prince’s hand if you’d like.”

Roman just glared, clearly biting back a smile as Logan gathered up bandages from his first aid kit, still keeping a firm hold on Roman’s arm.

Virgil squeezed Roman’s hand without thinking, scrambling for the right words. “You… you were a royal?”

“A long time ago, yes.” Roman’s smile faded, his thumb going back to tracing soothing lines on Virgil’s hand before he could feel guilty for opening his mouth. “Far from here, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t know of me.”

“What kingdom?”

“Lucoria,” Roman said softly. “It’s due East, months away. We’re far from it.”

Virgil nodded, fighting not to lose himself to the flood of memories as he thought back to the history practically forced down his throat since he was a child. He’d heard of Lucoria, could vaguely recall rumors and stories, but history had never really been his strong suit. He’d never really been interested in the past, anyway.

But he could see the tension Roman was failing to hide, and he quickly squeezed the Captain’s hand once more, offering what he hoped was a gentle smile

“I’m glad you got out,” Virgil said, eyes glued to Roman, unable to look away. “It doesn’t seem like you’d enjoy that life.”

Roman returned Virgil's smile easily, tilting his head. "Like I said, it’s a lot more free. It wasn’t… all my choice, but once you're out there's no way you can go back. Leaving was the best thing I could have done."

“Well… thank you,” Virgil said quietly, the rest of the world melting away for just a moment. “For letting me leave too.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, and for the first time since Virgil had met him, Roman was completely still. “Anything for you.”

For what felt like an eternity neither of them moved, everything almost magically quiet. And then Roman hissed in pain, whirling around and yanking on his injured arm, shattering the moment.

“Ow, you—”

“There you are, Captain,” Logan announced, ignoring Roman’s outburst and cutting the rest of the bandage. “Try to be more careful next time.”

Roman winced and pulled his arm away from Logan, scowling. Virgil glanced at Patton, the older man watching them all carefully, expression worried but guarded.

“Yes, yes,” Roman said, the Captain practically pouting. “We’ll be more careful.”

Virgil hesitated to let go of Roman’s hand, eyes now on his freshly bandaged arm. “I’m sorry, again. For hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” Roman assured. “Though, I do think it’s best that we stop for the day. But we can pick this up anytime.”

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed. Today had entailed more physical activity than he’d ever had in his life, his ribs and chest starting to ache now that the adrenaline was starting to fade. “Sounds good, Captain.”

Logan practically had to drag Roman away, guiding the Captain back to the bridge while Patton gently took Virgil by the shoulder and steered them both back to their quarters.

Virgil went willingly, leaning into Patton’s familiar touch, but it took a while for the pleasant warmth to disappear from Virgil’s cheeks.

And if he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot for the rest of the afternoon, Patton was gracious enough not to point it out.

Taglist: @i-really-like-dragons @stitches-system @poettheythem @remy-the-lemon-berry @shrubs-and-bushes @i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake @wordsmithandworm @the-dead-and-the-decaying @hope340 @winterwynd @thomas-sanders-tothe-standers @angstysunshine @sunshineandteddybears @pixelated-pineapple @fire-and-ash67 @blues-clues-oh-wait @shinekittenace @marrymebishop @all-panic-nodisco @ravenclawunicorn1 @someoneiwasnt @listenherebuddypal @aroace-energy @iinyxtello

[yslkook]

gorgeous

#corporate masterlist

summary: it’s the office holiday party, and when you show up wearing this dress, jungkook doesn’t know what to do with himself. (jk pov) word count: 3014 warnings: alcohol, cursing, smut 18+- jk jerks it in a bathroom, he’s very into oc and she doesnt know it, jk is pining  a/n: here is a lil holiday-esque drabble. this story takes place about a month after the team returns to seoul from ch 6. pls enjoy this first attempt at smut for jk. ty to @taestybae​ for her endless support <333

Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect from this office holiday party- apparently there had been a huge budget surplus this year and the regulatory department had decided to go all out. The party planners had booked an evening at one of the ballrooms in one of swankiest hotels in Seoul. Meaning that the party itself was semi-formal, or close to it.

Meaning that Jungkook would rather be at home playing video games and eating pizza than dressed in a suit. He’s tired, it’s been a long few months, and he just wants to go home.

But he plays the part, and he plays the part well. Namjoon introduces him to a few people, higher ups, after he grabs a glass of spiced wine from the open bar.

Maybe he can at least get a little drunk. As a treat. 

His thoughts drift to you for a moment. He wonders what you’re doing. Maybe he’ll text you later, if he’s feeling a little brave. Maybe with some liquid courage.

He’s already looking forward to it. But he doesn’t have to, because you walk in through the doors with Seokjin on your arm. 

Jungkook audibly chokes on his wine when he spots you. Namjoon gives him a strange look but Jungkook ignores it, in favor of staring at you. Jungkook’s throat goes dry the closer both you and Seokjin get to him, Namjoon and Sana.

He can’t be next to you, not when you look like that. Not when you look so much more pretty than anything his own dreams could have conjured up. 

“Hi, Jungkook,” You say, your voice low and sweet at the same time. 

He nearly faints.

“Hi,” Jungkook mumbles, “What are you doing here?”

“Huh? Should I leave?” You tease, pointing at the door with your thumb.

“No, I just- I thought this was a reg thing?” Jungkook asks desperately, digging himself into a deeper hole. You only smile even wider at him. 

“Oh, am I not good enough company for you people then?” You scoff, “Maybe we should leave, Sana.”

“No,” Jungkook nearly whines, “That’s not what I meant-”

Jin is having a blast watching Jungkook tripping over his words as the younger man confirms his own already existing suspicions.

Namjoon tells Jungkook that he had invited you and Sana and you reply saying that you had come along with Jin.

What you don’t say is that Jin probably would have found a way to drag you to this party regardless. His jaw had dropped when he had picked you up from your house and you’re flustered under his gaze, something that has only happened a handful of times since you’ve known Jin-

“What? Is it too much? I thought they said semi-formal,” You panic, “Jin, I don’t have anything else! Should I go change? Fuck it, I’m not coming. Jin! Will you say something!”

“You look good, stupid,” Jin says easily and unabashedly lets his eyes roam, “You’re sexy.”

“Oh.”

Your dark green dress hugs your curves but still leaves enough to the imagination. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your shoulders and the dip of your chest, where he sees more of your tattoo that he’s ever seen before. He swallows nervously and when you walk with Sana to the bar, he sees the slit in your dress and an eyeful of your thigh.

Jungkook chugs his drink. The pink flush of his cheeks can be attributed to alcohol after all. 

You’re perfectly elegant and sexy, unaware that Jungkook is having a minor breakdown while trying to stave off popping a boner at this very public event.

He’s not having much luck.

Jungkook is now on his third glass of spiced wine, in an attempt to stop himself from searching for you. No matter where you are in the room, you seem to pop up in his periphery. Whether you’re speaking to Hae-ri, or you’re shoveling appetizers into your mouth with Seokjin, or you’re speaking with Namjoon’s boss… you always seem to be in his line of vision.

He seems to be one of the youngest people in the regulatory department, a fact that Jungkook’s colleagues seem to always want to bring up. Remarks of how they’re old and of ‘kids these days’ as they look pointedly at him, saying that he’s young and spry are the norm.

It’s annoying and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. He just grins and bears it, going through his third glass of wine much quicker than expected.

These people always say they want change and fresh ideas and somehow refuse to embrace them. It makes Jungkook scoff. He’s happy with his small team of Namjoon, you and Sana. He’s happy that you’re all young at heart and that things aren’t so competitive. He knows he’s blessed in that aspect.

Jungkook is thankful when Seokjin pulls him away to introduce him to his own boss-

“You’re Namjoon’s golden boy,” Seokjin shrugs, “Everyone already knows you.”

He wants to ask, do people know you? But he refrains, not wanting Jin to get the wrong idea. Jungkook shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when he sees you standing next to Namjoon with Jin’s boss and one of her colleagues.

Now he really has to keep himself in check. You make him weak and despite his best attempts to avoid looking at you, his eyes land on you anyway. And how can he not turn his gaze to you?

He’s a goner, and he knew it from the minute he saw you walk into the venue.

Jungkook watches your red lips move as you speak with Seokjin’s boss and he vaguely wonders how your lipstick has remained intact this long. Your laugh is like music in his ears, you even throw your head back in genuine mirth at something that Seokjin’s boss says.

You’re not watching him. So he sips his wine and allows himself to enjoy your presence, all wrapped up in front of him in possibly the prettiest dress on the prettiest woman he’s ever met. 

Your whole body shakes as you laugh unabashedly and fully and Jungkook dares to ogle your chest for longer than he should of a colleague. But you’re you, and he’s just a boy. 

You’re his dream girl and he’s just a boy.

He wonders what your skin might taste like- you always smell so good, the faint scent of something warm and comforting always surrounds you. Your skin is glowing, the ink on your shoulders shining with the light from the chandeliers above.

And then your thigh peeks out and the sight of your leg sends an arrow of arousal straight down his spine. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of color on your upper thigh but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.

His throat is dry again. He needs another drink.

While he wants to look at you in peace as if you were a painting made just for him, he wants your attention too. Before he can slide into the conversation and see your pretty eyes light up for him, you turn to him on your own.

“Hi,” You murmur to him once it’s clear that Seokjin has steered the conversation with his boss away from you, “Feel like I didn’t get to say hello to you properly earlier.”

“O-oh,” Jungkook mumbles, “No worries.”

“Got any plans for the holidays?” You ask softly. Your voice rings loud and clear in his ears, the sweet taste of wine on his tongue has nothing on what he imagines your lips feel like against his.

“J-just goin’ to my parents’. My brother’s coming for a few days, with his girlfriend,” Jungkook says, letting himself relax around you. It’s easy for him to do, when you give him a smile and a laugh that makes his heart lurch.

“Oh! You have a brother,” You reply, “Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Ah, so you’re the baby of the house,” You tease, looking at him over the rim of your glass. Jungkook is momentarily distracted by the glossy taupe of your nails. And then his eyes travel up your fingers, as he catches exactly two small tattoos over your knuckles.

“I’m not the baby,” Jungkook complains and your teasing eyes melt away, instead replaced by a warm ember of something more. Your eyes are dark and hooded as you take him in, and it sets his blood alight.

“I know, Jungkook,” You murmur, your voice low and raspy. The corner of your lips quirk up into a smirk and all Jungkook can do is swallow his nerves down. He feels like he’s vibrating, just from your simple look. He preens in your gaze, wanting any and all of your attention.

Not for the first time, he struggles to keep his eyes above your neckline. Jungkook chugs the rest of his wine hastily and your eyebrows raise in mild curiosity. 

Jungkook is struggling to maintain his composure and if he doesn’t get his shit together, you’ll surely notice the small tent in his pants. Only you, looking so gorgeous in green can pull this kind of reaction from him with just a few words.

Jungkook is a sucker.

The hungry look in your eyes passes and instead you ask him about his brother and his family. He falls into easy conversation with you, telling you about last year’s holiday and how he had baked about fifty cookies too many for his family so he had eaten them all instead. He asks you what you usually do for the holiday, to which you reply that sometimes you and Grandma spend it with Seokjin and his family.

The lines between colleagues and friendship have long been blurred between you and Jungkook. At least, that’s how you feel. Normally, you wouldn’t offer that kind of information up to a colleague. But Jungkook feels like a little more than a colleague to you.

“Uh. Do you want to sit with me and eat?” You ask almost shyly and Jungkook feels his cheeks heating up. He nods immediately and follows you to the buffet line, enjoying the way your ass looks in that dress and eating up any glimpse of your leg he can get.

Happy holidays, indeed. 

“How messy do you think these people get after a few glasses of wine?” You muse, observing the higher ups chatting with each other on the other side of the room.

“Pretty damn messy,” Jungkook replies, “Look at Hae-ri, she’s wasted. And Yunho too-”

“Maybe there will be a day where we can act like that and not worry about whether we’ll be fired or not the next day…”

“It’s all about control,” Jungkook says knowingly, “You just gotta fake it till you make it.”

“Don’t gotta tell me that twice,” You scoff, “I feel like I can never get drunk at these things. Feels like big brother is watching, you know?”

“Can’t relate,” Jungkook says smoothly, “What’s the point of a work party if you won’t take advantage of the open bar?”

You laugh loudly, and Jungkook nearly jumps when your hand floats over his forearm to steady yourself. Jungkook sharply turns his face towards yours, meeting your electric eyes. You cross one leg over the other, the skirt of your dress falling a little bit to the side.

And Jungkook sees even more of your upper thigh tattoo than he had before. Now he knows for certain that your ink wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry,” You mumble.

He doesn’t know what you’re apologizing for, but he misses the heat of your hand when you place it back in your lap.

When you ask him if he wants to get seconds at the buffet with you, he immediately nods. You say nothing as he reflexively puts his hand at the small of your back. He’s a man, but he’s a gentleman, after all. 

The simple touch and heat of your skin through the fabric of your dress is enough of a memory for him to store for later. He allows himself the luxury of it and when you stand a little closer to him, he can’t help himself from letting his thoughts wander.

Jungkook needs to leave. He needs to either find a bathroom or get his ass home, because the longer he’s in your presence, the harder it is for him to conceal himself from you.

Specifically, his boner. His cock seems to jump whenever you’re in his line of sight and it’s messing with his head.

He’s painfully hard by the point in the night when speeches from the higher ups are being made. They’re thanking the department for their hard work for the year and wishing everyone a prosperous new year. Meanwhile Jungkook isn’t paying attention.

He’s tipsy and he’s thinking about how you’d fit in the crevices of his hands. He’s thinking about how your hips might feel in his hands, how the column of your throat would taste, how you’d look with his head buried in between your inked thighs.

He wants to shove his face into your tits and he nearly groans out loud at the thought. He wonders how his cock would look in your hands, how you’d stroke him, how your mouth would feel…

Jungkook sneaks away from the ballroom in search of a private bathroom. He leaves quietly, not wanting to answer questions. Not when he’s this painfully hard, and the mere thought of you in that dress is seemingly enough for him to cum in his pants.

He swiftly walks through the halls with his jacket subtly covering the front of his pants. He’s mortified that it’s come to this, but if he doesn’t make himself cum in the next ten minutes he might explode.

Jungkook finally finds a bathroom and shoves himself inside, immediately standing in front of the mirror and pulling his belt off.

He’s so desperate. He wonders if you’d like that, if you’d like his desperation that stems from you.

Jungkook pulls his cock out of the confines of his boxers and strokes himself slowly at first. Teasingly. He sighs softly at the relief that his right hand gives him.

Fuck. Would you like that? Would you like that he’s this desperate for you? Would you praise him? 

He squeezes his eyes shut, pretending that it’s your hand on his cock and not his own. He can see you in his mind, your lipstick beyond smudged, eyes watery and your dress rumpled. 

He can see your tattoos on display for him, the ones on your shoulder, your chest and your thigh. Maybe you’d even tell him that they all mean.

The thought sends another rush of blood to his cock. He pumps himself faster, groaning softly and biting his bottom lip.

He imagines you telling him to be loud for you, to let you hear him. In that low, sexy voice.

Jungkook moans your name into the empty bathroom. He’s long been leaking precum from his cock, perhaps since the moment he laid eyes on you. He’s so close…

Everything suddenly feels magnified- his touch on his cock, the thought of your tits spilling over the bodice of your dress. The feel of your lips on his.

His mind runs wild when it comes to you.

Jungkook strokes himself even faster, only to stop abruptly. Start, stop. Start, stop. He whines to himself and peels his eyes open to watch himself in the mirror. His eyes are hooded, cheeks reddened and lips pouty and swollen from biting down.

He needs more than his own hand. He needs friction.

Without a second thought, he plasters his hands over the counter and rocks his hips into the edge of the surface. With a loud, broken moan he grinds into the counter. Wondering how your pussy might feel instead of the cold surface. Or your hands. Or your tits.

He slows down to a slow grind, teasing himself with the thought of you. What would you look like when he made you cum? What would you look like when you came on your own fingers?

He speeds up a little more, groaning and whimpering as the need to cum quickly approaches. The knot in his belly has become even tighter, ready to burst. Jungkook feels like his skin is on fire, his hands doing little to alleviate it.

He pulls off of the counter and strokes himself harshly with rough tugs, groaning your name under his breath. Jungkook thinks about you, waking up next to you after a nap together, bringing you ice cream after a long day, kissing you just because he can in his fantasies.

Thick ropes of white coat his hands and spray across the counter recklessly as he moans brokenly for nobody to hear. 

Jungkook’s knees feel weak as he tries to regain his breath. He braces himself on the counter before taking a paper towel to clean himself up. After, he wets a paper towel with soap and cleans up the counter and the mirror.

His cheeks are blazing once the gravity of what he just did hits him. How is he supposed to face you now?

He doesn’t regret it. You’re his dream girl.

It’s no surprise that soon after Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, the closing remarks are just about to finish. That’s great timing because once they do, he’s booking it out of the hotel as fast as he can. 

And that’s exactly what he does. He leaves, only saying goodbye to Namjoon and makes a beeline for the exit. His Uber is already waiting for him.

He doesn’t notice you looking for him to say goodbye.

It’s later, when he’s in the safety of his bedroom and in his pajamas, that his phone lights up-

you: hey, u must have left before I found you. Just wanted to say bye and happy holidays Jk 💓

Jungkook can’t help his heart doing cartwheels or the smile on his face at your text.

He also can’t help his cock from jumping, either. 

[suddencolds]

Pretense | Genshin Impact | 2/2

Part 2 of my Gen/shin Imp/act fic w Childe/Zhongli, ft. a cold, a meeting Childe doesn’t want to cancel, and dinner with Zhongli. (Here’s part 1!) 

—

Zhongli stands. “Childe,” he says earnestly. “I was beginning to worry that something had happened.”

“Trouble at work,” Childe says dismissively.  “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, that’s for sure.” It’s not the full truth, but how can he tell Zhongli that he’s only late because his cold is taking its toll on his usual brutal efficiency? He’s sure that, in conjunction with his lateness, it would only sound like an excuse. “I’m sorry to make you wait.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Zhongli says, unperturbed as ever. “You are worth waiting for.”

Childe grins at him, a little shakily. “Still, it’s cold out. Had I been closer to town, I would’ve sent someone to tell you about the delay. “I didn’t think you would still be here.”

“You are the one who suggested for us to meet here,” Zhongli counters. “It was only natural for me to uphold the agreement until you arrived.” 

Childe wonders if he’s like this with everyone—loyal and almost infuriatingly genuine. Surely Zhongli has run into his fair share of people who don’t keep their promises—Childe wonders, not for the first time, if there’s any limit to his seemingly limitless patience.

“Is everything resolved now?” Zhongli asks.

“Yeah. I just ran into some difficulty with recruits. You know how it is,” Childe says. “Business as usual, yet the newcomers can be… difficult to cater to.” He conveniently leaves out the fact that he’s usually the one pushing himself past his limits to impress them—that’s not something Zhongli needs to know. “I had a couple good spars with them, though!” He makes a show out of stretching, stifling a yawn. “If I’m more tired than usual, that’s probably why.”

Zhongli only nods. “If you are tired, we can postpone our walk, and end our meeting early so that you can be properly rested when—”

“No,” Childe says, maybe too quickly. “No, no, it’s okay. You waited all this time for me, and… I’m excited for tonight.” That’s not a lie. He feels better standing next to Zhongli already—something about being in his presence makes him feel strangely comforted.

There’s also the irrelevant, lesser-known fact that Childe hates being alone when he’s ill. But that’s not something he intends to share, either.

“So…” he sniffles as discretely as possible. “...dinner?”

Zhongli smiles to him. “I am looking forward to it.”

They fall easily into step, shoulder to shoulder. Liyue is busy as always, and one of the merchants—carrying something or other, not looking where they’re going—bumps into him, sending him closer to Zhongli. It’s only a moment of contact, but Zhongli is… warm. Childe pulls away quickly so that Zhongli doesn’t feel him shiver.

As always, Zhongli talks, and Childe finds himself more than content to listen. For once, he’s glad that the market is so loud—it makes it so that when he sniffles or clears his throat, it’s not very noticeable.

Halfway through the walk, though, a familiar, sharp prickle settles back in his nose. Zhongli is still talking, so Childe turns away slightly, his breath wavering.

“... hH!”

“The jade plaques are hand-carved, so they are all unique,” Zhongli is saying, oblivious, as they pass a stall that sells jade pendants. “As jade goes, it is priced for its translucency and the evenness in its coloration, though true jade always has imperfections.”

Childe pinches the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to stave off the growing urge to sneeze. “A double edged… hH! S-sword,” he comments. “I imagine that if they’re too clear, there’s a chance they… Hiih! … might be counterfeits.”

Zhongli nods sagely. “That’s right. Jade plaques like this are especially valuable, given their history, which makes them a popular relic for dishonest merchants to emulate. It is said that they were originally made to honor Rex Lapis, Lord of Geo, back before his form was—” 

Childe jerks away, cupping his hand over his face as a sneeze snaps him forward.

“HiiHH’ISCHHEW!”

The sneeze echoes in his cupped hands, barely muffled, and still… loud. He flushes, embarrassed, as he lowers his hands slowly from his face.

“Bless you,” Zhongli says.

Faintly, Childe realizes that Zhongli is looking at him. Childe refuses to meet his eyes. He’s sure that if he makes eye contact now, Zhongli will be able to see straight through him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Childe says, sniffling again.

Zhongli is quiet for a moment, observing him with his usual scrutiny. Childe wonders if his hesitance is out of disgust. 

“Are you alright?” he says finally.

Childe nods. “I’m fine! Must be that…” he looks around. They’re next to one of the food stands that's heavy on its spices, which he assumes is as good of an excuse as any. “...one of the spices here… hhIH… hIHh’NDGt!” He almost winces, turning away to sniffle with one knuckle pressed to his face. “...doesn’t agree with me, ahaha. Nothing to worry about! Uh, you were talking about the Lord of Geo’s forms?”

“Ah. Yes,” Zhongli says. He launches into the history of jade plaques and Rex Lapis’s many forms, and somewhere along the way, Childe forgets what he’s worried about.

The sun’s going down, and uncharacteristically the cool air is making him shiver. He crosses his arms mid-walk in a mostly-futile effort to conserve warmth, but it doesn’t do much. In between his frequent interjections, his voice is starting to sound worse, too—he supposes he’s overused it in talking to the recruits; it’s lucky that Zhongli is content to do most of the talking.

When they get to Wanmin, Zhongli leads him to one of the tables outside. 

“Wanmin is well-known for its variety,” Zhongli says. “While it offers Li style and Yue style food, you will find that Chef Mao also fulfills even the most specific of customer requests.”

“Specific customer requests, huh,” Childe says. “Does that mean you’ve ordered something off the menu here, xiansheng?”

Zhongli smiles. “I have ordered everything except for the seafood dishes.”

“I forgot about your aversion to seafood,” Childe admits, laughing. “You will have to tell me the story behind it someday. Besides that, what do you suggest?”

“I think I have something in mind,” Zhongli says untellingly, looking contemplative. “First, sit down.”

Childe obliges. Sitting down is a relief—as much as he would never admit it, their short walk has left him exhausted. He resists the urge to slump forward on the seat. Worse, the persistent itch in his nose from earlier is back.

“Stay here. I will order for you,” Zhongli says, laying a hand on his arm, and Childe—

Childe actually shivers, which is embarrassing, to say the least. Luckily, Zhongli doesn’t seem to notice.  “Don’t forget about the mora,” he says, and fishes for a pouch of coins from his pocket. “Here. I’m sure Chef Mao has dealt with his fair share of your forgetfulness.”

Zhongli smiles sheepishly, which is probably more endearing than it has any right to be. “Thank you, Childe. I will be back in a minute.”

As soon as he disappears around the corner to talk to Chef Mao, Childe exhales, lifting a hand to rub his nose. It’s a bad idea. Suddenly the tickle from before is back, and he’s snapping forward with barely any warning, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHIH’NGDt! hH!..HIHh’GKtt! hhH....”

Stifling isn’t very relieving at all. If anything, it seems to make him more congested. He casts a quick, desperate glance towards the restaurant. It’s still loud outside, the marketplace as raucous at night as it is at day. Surely Zhongli won’t notice if he—

“hIIH…. hIIH’ISChH-u!” Well, it’s not like he has much control over it now. “hHh... hiIH’IZCHhew!” He gasps again, ducking lower to muffle the sneeze in the crook of his arm. “hIIh’IISCHEEW!”

They’re forceful in a way that suggests that this is going to be a really awful cold,  but it’s relieving to succumb to the urge at last. He sighs, sniffling hard, and lowers his arm. Zhongli is still ordering, it seems. Childe is suddenly grateful that he’d chosen this moment to step away.

His eyes are watering a little, so he blinks quickly. Finally, Zhongli comes back to sit down across from him.

“That was fast,” Childe says, wincing a little at how congested his voice sounds. “I hope you gave him a tip?”

"Of course," Zhongli says, sliding back the pouch of mora. 

They fall back into conversation easily enough after that. It’s only when Zhongli goes quiet that Childe snaps out of his reverie.

“You have been quiet,” Zhongli remarks. “Is something on your mind?”

Childe blinks at him. “Ah. Sorry,” he says, muffling a cough. “I’m still listening. I can talk more if you want me to.”

“No,” Zhongli says. “There’s no need. I was only wondering if it would be better if I refrained from speaking so much.”

Childe frowns. Zhongli has the wrong idea—Childe likes listening to him—but he can’t help but wonder if he’s worse company than usual. “I like listening to you,” Childe insists. “If… it’s okay. I just… I’ve talked a lot today, so...” He looks away, feeling his face grow hot at the admission. “I think I’m, uh, losing my voice, or something.”

Zhongli frowns at him. “Will you have recruits to train tomorrow?”

He tries to recall his schedule for the week. “Don’t think so. Tomorrow’s errands will… hiH!...’NGDshH! be more straightforward. I—” he coughs again. “I hope.”

“That is a relief,” Zhongli says. “Regardless, you should save your voice. Your assurance that you are still interested is enough.”

I’m always interested, Childe thinks, as Zhongli launches back into another story about Liyuen history. His voice is smooth and low and, in every capacity, as comforting as always. Childe falls into it entirely.

It’s only when the food arrives that he finds himself staring down at a bowl of still-steaming soup.

It’s not something he’s had before. He takes an experimental sip. The warmth is immediately comforting; it's exactly the sort of warmth he's been craving all day. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, and he can barely taste it through his congestion, but what he can discern of the flavor is...

“This is delicious, xiansheng,” he says, letting his eyes fall shut in his indulgence. “What is it?”

“Bamboo shoot soup,” Zhongli answers simply. “It should be a good remedy for your cold.”

Childe nearly drops his spoon.

He blinks, surprised. “What?”

Zhongli stares back at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “Your cold,” he repeats. “You have been showing symptoms of it all evening. It is not unlikely that you have a fever as well, if the way you have been shivering is any indication. Were you not aware that you were ill?”

Childe buries his face in one hand. “I knew! Just... was it so obvious?”

“Did you intend to keep it a secret?”

“Not exactly, but…” he sighs. “I didn’t want to cancel our plans over something so trivial. You had already waited so long for me, so it wouldn’t have been fair if I’d just… used it as an excuse to - hIHh!”

Childe feels his breath wavering. He shuts his eyes in desperation, ducking away from the table. This is really the worst timing. 

“hIihh… hIIH’NDGxt! snf… s-sorry, I... hIIH’ISSHHEEw!”

He flushes as another shiver racks his frame. It’s… embarrassing, to say the least, to sneeze so openly right in front of someone he admires. 

“Bless you,” Zhongli says. When Childe looks up at him, he looks sad, his shoulders hunching as he stares down at his own food.  “Childe, are you only here because you felt obligated to uphold your end of an agreement?” His voice is soft, as always. He doesn’t sound accusatory—only uncertain, but somehow, that makes it worse. “I would not have thought any less of you if you had been honest with me.”

“That’s not it,” Childe says, and fuck, he wants to say anything just to get that hurt expression off of Zhongli’s face. “I came because I wanted to see you.” He blinks past sudden exhaustion.  Suddenly his breath catches wrong and he’s coughing harshly, hurrying to press his forearm to his face as his shoulders shudder with the effort.

“I… realize I might not be great company right now, though,” he admits, wincing. His voice is really shot.

Maybe it would have been better had he been less selfish. Maybe he should have cancelled their meeting the moment he’d started feeling bad. Or maybe he should get rid of his strange over-reliance on the funeral consultant in the first place.

Zhongli reaches for his hand. Childe wants to pull it away, on instinct, but Zhongli’s grasp is firm and strangely, hopelessly grounding.

“You are always good company,” Zhongli says sternly, with as much conviction as he has when he recites history or recalls fact. “If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked. For you, I would have said yes.”

“You indulge me,” Childe accuses him, sniffling. Zhongli smiles, as if he’s taken it as a compliment.

“Perhaps. Will you let me walk you back home after we finish our meal?”

Childe wants to protest. They had a walk planned, after all, but he’s exhausted, and the trip back to the inn he’s staying in suddenly seems much less arduous when he considers he could be walking back with Zhongli.

“Zhongli, you are proving my point,” he says, cracking a smile. “...If you don’t mind, though, I would love that.”

He’s really going to miss Liyue when he leaves.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (3)

August 12th, 2277

Izuku lay on his bed staring at the screen of his phone. He'd already typed in the emergency number, but he hadn't started the call yet. He honestly wasn't sure if this qualified as an emergency or not. Probably not. But it was kind of a big deal. Kind of massive. For him, anyway. He wasn't even sure if his father could respond in the first place. A couple of months ago, he'd said he'd be likely to resume his normal phone calls soon, but maybe his throat hadn't fully healed yet. And what if that polite colleague picked up instead? Izuku certainly couldn't tell him about… all that.

He hadn't told his mother either, or the doctor. He didn't want to cause trouble, neither for himself nor for Kacchan. But he really, really felt the urge to tell someone. He'd been waiting for this moment for so long, and it had gone so inexplicably wrong.

His thumb tapped the green button.

It took less than five seconds for the call to connect.

"Izuku. What is it?"

"Hi... Dad..." Izuku started, but he found himself trailing off. He hadn't heard his father's voice in so long and, while still recognizable, it was very different. Rougher and somewhat distorted, as if he was speaking through… something metallic?

"What's going on?" His father pressed when the silence stretched. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that the man could be misinterpreting his hesitation as the kind of situation that may warrant an emergency call.

"Ah… N-nothing much, actually. I'm not dying or anything. Mom's not dying- no one's dying." He blurted out, hurried explanations rushing out of his mouth bypassing any form of brain check. "This isn't really an emergency. More like… an emergence. Of my quirk."

The silence from the other side of the receiver was deafening. Wow. Inconveniencing his still convalescent father for no serious reason, and topping it off with a pun. Izuku wouldn't be surprised if he decided to hang up on his face.

"...Sorry. I shouldn't have called." He apologized. "D-Does it still hurt to speak? Ah, never mind, we can talk about that next-"

His father's sigh came through as a brief burst of static. "Where are you now?"

"At home. In my room."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"...Why don't you tell me what happened then?" The softer timbre of his father's voice lifted a weight from Izuku's chest. And the tale of the afternoon's events spun almost by itself.

Lately, it didn't happen often that Izuku and Kacchan hung out without the rest of the gang. His friend was a natural-born and enthusiastic leader, and he enjoyed having people around to let him play that role. But that day someone had homework to catch up with, someone else had the flu, a third one was grounded… So it had been just the two of them. They had headed to the usual spot by the small river, to stave off the heat. Which didn't seem to especially bother Kacchan, who had been trying to blast an anthill to smithereens with his quirk. He had casually remarked, as he often did, what a pity it was that Izuku would never develop one.

Izuku didn't know why he hadn't let that comment slide, like every other time. Arguing on that point never helped, it always made things worse. But this time he had answered back. That his quirk would manifest one day, sure as hell. And then he'd joked that they'd have a match to see who could exterminate the most ants in one minute.

Kacchan hadn't liked that. At all. He never did take well to amicable competition.

Do you see this? Huh? Look, take a closer look. Kacchan had said, holding his palm mere centimetres away from Izuku's face, so close that he could feel the heat from the small explosions popping off from his skin. This is what a quirk looks like. Looks like you still can't tell the difference between a quirk and nothing, nerd. 'Cause you have nothing. Nothing's all you'll ever have.

"This friend of yours- sorry, what's his name again?"

Izuku was startled by his father's interruption. "Kaccha- I mean, Katsuki."

"Why was he so aggressive? Did you two have a quarrel before this?"

"Oh, no. He's just… he's just like that."

"...He's just like that?" His father repeated. It was a bit difficult for Izuku to read his tone now that his voice was so muffled and unfamiliar. "This is a common occurrence? Him using his quirk to hurt you?"

"Oh no, no no! He didn't do that! He never does that, he knows it's bad!" Izuku hurried to elaborate. "He just uses it to… show off a little. Sometimes he blows up stuff. Things can get a bit rough when we play, but he never burns people with his quirk. He's very good at controlling it!"

"...And this is your best friend we're talking about." His father didn't sound terribly convinced. Izuku felt the necessity to make things absolutely clear.

"He's a cool guy, dad. Really. He's great. He's smart, and talented, and strong, and brave… He just has a bit of a short temper. His mom's like that too."

There was a long pause. "...I see. Go on."

Well, even if Izuku knew that Kacchan wasn't going to hurt him (not much, not with his quirk, at least), at that moment he was still pretty upset. And Kacchan kept waving his explosive hands uncomfortably close to him, and he kept going on about how Izuku would never get a quirk, and it was… it was just so unfair, that's what it was. It was unfair that Izuku would have to wait for God knows how long for what his father had assured him (multiple times) would eventually happen, while Kacchan always let his anger run away with him. Izuku had felt a heady burst of resentment, and he had grabbed Kacchan's wrists with both hands, trying to shove him away, and that's when it had happened.

He had managed to send Kacchan staggering into a nearby bush. But at the same time, a sharp pain had spread in both Izuku's hands. It wasn't the searing of an explosion, it was more as if his palms had been stabbed by a big needle. He had checked, and found two small, circular marks on them. They were like scars, but very old ones, already closed and healed, definitely not bleeding.

He hadn't had time to process the fact. Kacchan was already back on his feet, shouting and marching towards him, reaching for him with his arms thrown out before him, fingers clawed in the familiar position they assumed when he summoned his quirk…

But nothing had happened. No explosions. Not even a spark or a flicker of flame. Kacchan had stopped in his tracks, flabbergasted. He had tried again, to no avail. And Izuku, on his part, had felt it. That awareness. That visceral perception that something had changed inside him, that there was something new in him. Something he could summon himself. He had flexed his fingers, and done it.

A small explosion. Right there, in his own hand. It hadn't burned at all.

Give it back! Kacchan had screamed at him when they had both emerged from their quiet stupor. Izuku had stepped backwards in fear, tripping down on something. He had raised his hand to defend himself from the impending assault, and shot off another blast, a bigger one. Too big. The recoil had hurled his arm backwards, bent his wrist painfully, sent it crashing against a rock. It had hurt a lot.

Give it back! Kacchan had yelled after he'd stopped laughing, laughing at how hopeless Izuku was even with a stolen quirk, laughing at how the useless nerd had managed to injure himself even before Kacchan could touch him, and probably more severely too than Kacchan would have dared.

GIVE IT BACK! Kacchan had howled while dragging him into the shallow river. He'd pushed him down, pressed his hands into the stream, cunningly exploiting his own weakness. The water washed away the sweat from Izuku's palms before he could even try to ignite it. He was harmless, pathetic, impotent, even with Kacchan's impressive quirk.

He had given it back after he'd promised Kacchan that he would, as soon as he let go of-

"What?"

"Uh? What?" Izuku echoed obtusely.

"You gave it back?"

"...Yes. Of course." Izuku blinked. "What… what else could I do? I promised him-"

"You could have just kept it." His father sounded surprised. Very surprised. "He was using his quirk to threaten you and hurt you. Why would you give it back to him?"

"I…" The notion that he could have just lied and ran away with Kacchan's quirk hadn't even entered Izuku's mind. "I didn't even know how to use it. All I could do with it was hurt myself. I-"

"You could have learned how to use it, over time. You could have obtained the quirk you so deeply desired. You could have deprived a bully of a dangerous weapon. You could have made him understand what it feels like to be on the weaker side of a confrontation."

Izuku heard those words, but they didn't fully register. "...I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"...It's Kacchan's quirk. It's his. I couldn't keep it." Izuku said simply.

Another long pause. "...What happened then?"

"Kacchan just left. He was very angry, he said he'd- that I'd better never use that 'trick' again on him. I came home too, but my wrist was swollen and achy, so mom brought me to the doctor. It's fine though, I don't think it's broken." Izuku recounted, wiggling his bandaged arm subconsciously.

"Did you tell your mother what happened?"

"...No, I… No." Izuku hesitated. "I just told her I slipped on some wet rocks."

Izuku himself couldn't quite put his finger on why he'd wanted to hide the accident from everyone except from his father. Something about how easy it had always been to talk to him, how he was always ready to listen to everything Izuku wanted to say, even things he clearly didn't care about. He may have been present in Izuku's life for only one or two hours a month, but Izuku truly felt that, for those one or two hours, his father's attention was solely focussed on him. Something about the distance too, maybe, which made him more akin to an imaginary friend than to a real parent that could dish out tangible punishment, worry and contempt. Something about this aura of wisdom and confidence and calm that his polished words and deep tone always radiated.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Uh… No one, I think. Just Kacchan and I."

"And when did this all happen, exactly?"

"Earlier this afternoon. At around 2 or 3, I think?"

"I see." His father's voice sounded distant. "Sorry, Izuku. Do you mind if I put you on hold? Don't hang up, it'll only take a minute."

"Oh, of course."

There was a soft click, and the speaker went silent. Izuku remembered with a flash of guilt that his father was probably working at the moment. He hoped he hadn't caught him at a bad time. Maybe that had to do with the fact that his voice was so weird. Maybe he was wearing some sort of disguise or protective gear?

Click. "I'm here."

"Sorry if I bothered you for something like this. You're busy now, aren't you?"

"I have nothing urgent on my plate. Actually, I'm glad you rang. This could have turned into quite the problem if you had waited another two weeks to inform me."

"Uh? Why?"

"Do you understand what happened today, Izuku?" The gentleness of the question somehow alarmed Izuku more than if his father had been scolding him.

"I…" He gulped. "I think I stole Kacchan's Explosion. With my quirk. That was a quirk, right?"

"Yes. That was our quirk."

Izuku's brain screeched to a halt.

Our.

"Your… Isn't your quirk Fire Breathing?"

"That is one of my quirks, yes."

There was silence as the pieces fell into place in the kid's head. There may very well have been an earthquake, and he would have barely noticed it. "You can… take quirks too?"

"Yes."

Izuku had so many questions that it took him several seconds to even decide where to start. "W-Why have you never said so?"

"Because that too is classified. The very existence of our quirk is classified." His father paused, then resumed almost tiredly. "I see I should have warned you about this regardless. Truth to be told, I was expecting your quirk's first appearance to unfold… differently. I guess it doesn't matter now."

Izuku sat up as he kept listening, hanging on his father's every word.

"Our ability allows us to take other people's quirks permanently, and use them as our own. As you have already discovered, we can give them back as well. Another very important perk is the capacity to store many quirks inside us at the same time. A great many." His father stopped again. "Do you know what this means?"

Izuku shook his head negatively, forgetting that his father couldn't see him. His silence conveyed the message anyway.

"This means that our quirk is powerful. Astoundingly powerful. More powerful than Fire Breathing or Hellflame or Explosion or Fiber Master or Foresight. Because it can be all those quirks at once."

Izuku's mind was reeling. It was... unimaginable. He thought of all his favorite heroes, all the top heroes, all the most incredible powers and skills… all concentrated into a single individual. He thought of Endeavor, Jeanist, Yoroi Musha, Gang Orca, Nighteye…

All Might...

"The downside of our quirk is the cost it has on the owners of the quirks we appropriate. They are rendered quirkless, unless we decide to grant their abilities back." His father went on. "You can imagine the implications of this."

He could. He could imagine having the power of taking All Might's quirk - not only becoming a hero like All Might, but practically becoming All Might himself… at the cost of mutilating the original.

The mere notion made him dizzy.

"That's… that's not right…" Izuku stuttered, drawing his knees to his chest. "It can't be used in that way…"

"Most people would agree with that sentiment, yes." There was a sort of… disappointment, of weariness in his father's voice that Izuku had never heard before. It unsettled him deeply. "Most people would claim that it's a quirk that handicaps and feeds on others, that can only be fuelled by theft, prevarication and selfishness. An inherently villainous quirk, if you will."

"That can't be true." Izuku objected, curling up on himself even more. "It… depends on how you use it. All quirks do. I'm not going to use it like that, ever-"

"That wouldn't be enough to discourage those cynical voices, I'm afraid. Power terrifies people who don't have it, Izuku. A type of power as overwhelming as ours, all the more so. They wouldn't need to see you abuse your quirk to condemn you, the mere fact that you could do it, if you ever decided to, would be enough to draw suspicion and distrust on you."

"W-What does it mean?" Izuku's breaths left his mouth in a rush as his eyes started to burn, the telltale signs of an impending burst of tears agitating him even more. "What do I have to do?"

The man took his sweet time to reply, and for a terrible moment Izuku thought that even his father might be at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. "As things stand, I would encourage you to act as if your quirk never manifested, in order to avoid negative attention."

"But Kacchan already knows. He'll tell someone, his parents at least…"

"I doubt it. If he's as clever and proud as you describe him, I think he'll understand the dangers of doing so. He'll realize that you could take his quirk for good at any given moment, and he'll choose not to anger you. Or he may simply refuse to acknowledge your superiority over him, and behave as if nothing happened in the first place. I can imagine many reasons that would lead him to keep your secret without you even asking him to - in fact, I would strongly advise you not to, and shove the whole thing under the rug. It would be for the best of everyone involved."

Silence fell again. Izuku's head buzzed with fear, confusion, doubts. It didn't make any sense, none of it. "I… can't use my quirk? Never? I will never be able to use it?"

"There are certain powers, certain weapons, that instil so much fear in humans that one can only either bury them deeply and pretend they don't exist, or bear them unhesitatingly lest the fearful tear their wielders apart. It is an unavoidable reality of life."

Tears rolled down Izuku's cheeks freely. "Y-You… you said you have more than one quirk. You used yours. Are you… doing it secretly? Is that what the whole 'classified' thing is about?"

"...My circumstances are unique." His father answered, after a slight hesitation. "I certainly do not flaunt my original quirk carelessly, nor do I have it printed in bold letters on my personal documents. The government is aware of my ability, but gaining my immunity from their wrath was no small feat. I honestly cannot imagine someone like you going to such lengths to achieve the same result. Not as you are now, probably not as you will be in the near future."

A few things were starting to make sense now, things that Izuku had always brushed aside as amusing or perplexing eccentricities of his father's. His unrelenting reticence about his job, a job likely tied to or issued by the government, a job that kept him separate from his family and that robbed him of time and leisure, a dangerous job he probably wasn't all that proud of. The kind of dirty, ambiguous job Izuku saw in movies and read about online, the kind of job where law and ethics sometimes parted ways. The kind of shady, hushed-up, unrewarding job that might make anyone envy a shining, pristine, beloved symbol like All Might.

"...I'm sorry." He sobbed, because he was, even if he wasn't sure what for. For being unable to walk the same path as his father, maybe, or for the grief the man's work surely caused him.

"There is no reason to panic." In a moment, his father's tone had recovered his trademark, comforting composure. Its effect on Izuku's nerves was immediate. "Luckily, today's incident was trivial and self-contained. As long as you don't reveal your quirk to anyone else, your life will go on unchanged."

Unchanged. As if Izuku hadn't been waiting his whole life for it to change. As if the quirk he thought he'd welcome as a blessing hadn't turned out to be some sort of nightmarish curse. It was a cruel joke, but it was no one's fault. He'd just have to adapt to it.

His father seemed to read into his wordless discouragement very easily. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm afraid I have to go now, but we'll talk more about it soon. Don't lose your sleep over this, there's no need for concern right now. Can you promise me you'll stay put at least until next month?"

"...Yes, of course."

"Wonderful. Have a good night, Izuku."

Izuku stared at the wall blankly, the call ending with a low beep. For the first time in his life, talking with his father had made everything feel remarkably worse.

October 1st, 2277

"How are things between you and Katsuki lately?"

"Same as usual. We… don't really hang out much any more. Or at all. He just keeps ignoring me all the time." Izuku mumbled, his spirit instantly dampened by the subject.

"That may be for the best. At least you won't have to put up with his inopportune mood swings, no?" His father offered encouragingly.

Admittedly, there was some truth to that. Izuku did feel a little less stressed, a little less constantly on edge every time the two of them happened to cross the same street or bump shoulders in class. It was reassuring to know that Kacchan wouldn't do anything worse than staring daggers at him, and his varying cohort of backers never took the initiative when it came to openly hostile behavior. It was… fine, in a way. And yet, Izuku missed their strange, complicated sort of closeness anyway. Kacchan really had been the first person Izuku had ever considered a friend, and he was sad to see this friendship, as unpleasant and troublesome as it could be at times, degrade into a quietly rancorous acquaintance.

"...I guess." Izuku glossed over. "I would like to talk things through with him though. I know you think I shouldn't, but-"

"If Katsuki hasn't brought up the matter yet, he probably has no intention of ever doing so. There's no point in being pushy with him. No doubt he's had a lot on his mind these past months, after all."

"Yeah, I know." Guilt squeezed Izuku's stomach in a tight grip. It was very self-centered of him to keep obsessing over his quirk, he should just be happy that Kacchan was safe and sound, all things considered. "I'm not even sure I could manage to talk to him alone. His parents always walk him everywhere he goes, and I think the police are still keeping an eye on him."

"It's understandable, and all the more reason for you to stop fretting about all this. Your secret is safe, and so is he. A fortunate conclusion all round."

"Mh." Izuku couldn't fully share his father's optimism, but he supposed the whole situation was at an impasse anyway. His eyes fell on his notebook, closed atop of a pile of school textbooks, and he decided it was time to tackle another tricky discussion. "...I've been having a little trouble with my quirk research lately."

"Oh? Have you stumbled upon an especially puzzling one?" His father took the bait, his interest immediately piqued.

"Yes. Ours."

"...Ah."

"I've been looking for any kind of information related to quirk-stealing abilities. I've found mentions of similar ones, from copycats to erasers to temporary absorption… Nothing quite like ours, though." Izuku hesitated. "I have found some rumours though. Here and there, in forums and old uh… clickbait-y articles."

His father's progressive de-escalation from proper replies to monosyllables to complete silence was a familiar pattern, and not a concerning one per se. At the very least it meant he was willing to give Izuku a chance to make his point, so he continued.

"It's all very vague. There are no details about the ability to give quirks back, or about palm marks. But all the hearsay is centered around this… this mysterious figure who lived around the era of the advent of quirks and who is said to have been able to steal them."

"I know all about those rumors."

"Do you?" Izuku had never pegged his father for the kind of man who'd spend his time digging for gossip around the internet… but then again, the last months had proved he knew less than he thought about the man. "They say… they say he was a criminal. The most dangerous villain who ever lived, even. It's all a bit exaggerated and unrealistic, I know, since there's no mention of anyone like that in history books-"

"It just goes to show how fantastically threatening our quirk would seem to the average person." He replied casually. "It is literally the stuff of legends of our modern age."

"Do you know if there's any truth to it? Or if they're just stories?"

A pause. "...It is true. It's part of the reason why I've been so insistent on you keeping quiet about your quirk. You'd better avoid being connected to those rumors if you plan on having a peaceful life."

Izuku balked. That was uncharacteristically forward on his father's part. And it was a disconcerting piece of information to boot. And it raised a further, even more disquieting possibility. "Did that villain have the exact same quirk as us? Was he… related to us? A grandparent, a great-grandparent…?"

"The real issue here, Izuku, is that it doesn't matter." His father said sternly. "The issue is that anyone who is aware of those voices - or worse, anyone who knows them to be true - will react in the same way you did. They will suspect or presume you to be a descendant of that criminal, and you'd have no way to prove them wrong."

Izuku wanted to ask if his father was speaking from experience, if his subtle bitterness and extreme caution were the result of the blatant prejudice he had had to deal with personally. He couldn't quite gather the courage to do so, though. "Very few people know about this though, right? It wouldn't be that much of a problem day-to-day…"

"It depends on the kind of people you'd have to deal with in your daily life. It would be enough of an obstacle to prevent you from pursuing your dream career, for example."

"What? You mean becoming a hero?" Izuku frowned. "Why?"

His father sighed deeply. "Picture this, Izuku. The government of a country was once almost overthrown by a dangerous villain with a certain quirk, and it has been trying to suppress any information about that evildoer ever since. The same government also handles the designation and retribution of all heroes in the industry. One day, a young man with the same devastating quirk as the aforementioned criminal appears, and he applies to a hero academy - an institution which, among other things, trains its students to fight, strategize, be reasonably charismatic, refine and master their quirks to their fullest capacity. What do you think the government would do when faced with the possibility, however remote, of accidentally grooming this young man into another nation-wide calamity?"

Izuku felt as if the whole world was crumbling beneath his feet. There was… there was only one rational conclusion, wasn't there? "...They wouldn't take that chance. They wouldn't let him become a hero. They wouldn't want him to use or train his quirk at all, to be on the safe side."

"Exactly-"

"But- but…!" No, it couldn't be the only way this would unfold. Surely they wouldn't be this gravely biased, surely there had to be some way to prove his good faith, surely… "What if I used my quirk differently? In a way that would never harm anyone? I could… I could just borrow quirks instead of stealing them! Borrow them during an emergency and give them back as soon as it's over-"

"I'm afraid our quirk isn't well-suited to that kind of application." His father countered plainly. "While we do acquire an immediate, basic and instinctive understanding of any quirk we take, it is rarely sufficient to deploy it efficiently and safely right off the bat, unless the quirk is particularly simple in its mechanics. You experienced this first-hand when you sprained your wrist with your first sizable explosion. It takes practice to become proficient in each ability we receive, and without enough time to learn beforehands, you'd be more of a liability than an asset on the field."

The cold, ironclad logic of that long speech gutted Izuku more neatly than a knife. The boy squeezed his eyes, focussing on the problem, thinking, thinking, thinking… "There has to be some way though. There has to be…"

Silence stretched as he struggled against frustration, fear, discomfort, disappointment. He only needed to think, to come up with an idea, a single good idea to demonstrate that this amazing quirk of his wasn't necessarily a menace-

"...There could be." His father said, oddly tentative.

Izuku perked up, hope and gratefulness springing in his chest. "How?"

"You could simply pretend to have a different quirk. Take someone else's, just the one, and pretend it was your original quirk. Become a hero using that, and only that."

That wasn't what Izuku wished to hear. Not at all. "That means I'd still need to steal from someone, dad. I-I can't-"

"There are ways to acquire quirks that don't involve outright robbery, you know." The man sounded mildly peeved now. "Just think about it. A friend blessed with a quirk they don't like or get much use out of, donating it to you out of sheer good will. An old relative on their deathbed, willing to pass on their ability before it gets lost along with their life. An acquaintance debilitated by some illness or chronic condition that renders them unable to draw on their power, entrusting it to you rather than letting it stagnate within themselves."

Izuku pondered on those words. Even though they were all quite specific and uncommon situations, they sounded sensible… on paper. As purely theoretical possibilities. On the practical side, however… "I don't think I'd ever want to take a friend's quirk, no matter what. Being quirkless is… I wouldn't wish it on anyone, honestly." He didn't bother adding that he had no such close friends that would ever consider sacrificing their quirks for his little pipe dream. "And I really wouldn't want to pester old and sick people for something like that. I'd feel like I'd be taking advantage of their suffering…"

"Not even that, uh…?" His father sounded thoughtful. It was odd hearing him so unsure of his words, for once not the impeccable source of complete answers and well-spoken certainties. "Duplicity does not come naturally to you, nor does greed. It is unfortunate that you were endowed with a quirk whose maximum potential hinges on both."

"...What do I do then?" Izuku asked, feeling his hope and energy melt like snow under the sun.

"With strict morals such as yours, I'm afraid your hands are tied." The man paused. "Do you trust my judgement, Izuku?"

It was a rhetorical question, obviously. His father had been right about Izuku eventually getting a quirk. He had been right about Kacchan keeping his secret. He had always been right about anything they had ever talked about. There was no doubt that, if there was anyone in the world who could analyze the current predicament, predict its developments, advise for the best course of action, it was his father.

"Of course."

"Then keep holding your cards close to the vest. Maybe things will change one day, and you'll find more options available to you. But for now, you would gain no advantage from exposing yourself to public scrutiny. You would only attract suspicion and enmity. Keep your quirk hidden and play it safe. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion."

March 2nd, 2280

"It… rewrites DNA?"

"Exactly. Every time it is used, both on yourself and on others. Despite their seemingly complex functions, quirk factors tend to be encoded and clustered within a relatively small number of genes. Our quirk allows us to detach them from all chromosomes in the body at once, transfer them and reallocate them - think of bacterial plasmids, albeit with a higher degree of complexity."

Izuku hummed, tapping the head of his pencil against his chin as his father's information seeped into his brain. "If DNA is the means through which quirks are transferred… I guess one does not need a… a whole, living human being as a source." Izuku let his thoughts trickle through his mouth unbidden, aware that his father never minded his rambling observations. "...What about a corpse? A very… fresh one, I guess? One which hasn't started decaying yet, not even a little bit. Could you take its quirk from it?"

"Alas, no. For the same reason why we can't collect quirks from detached limbs or single cells, for example. The donor must be a living organism. It is a stringent requirement. The moment the person dies, their quirk becomes unreachable for us."

"The moment the person dies…" Izuku toyed with the concept in his head. Vague memories of wandering internet searches and dramatic soap operas resurfaced. "Isn't that… difficult to establish though? Like, there's cardiac death, brain death… Total death? What applies here?"

"'Total death', I suppose." Izuku's father answered with a trace of humour. "There is a markedly... spiritual side to our quirk - to many quirks, in fact. The death I'm talking about is the loss of what makes a human being truly alive. Call it however you want - soul, mind, life force, spirit, personality, will. The essence of their being."

A pause, then the man spoke again. "I'm afraid that's as precise an explanation as I can give you. I wish I knew more about it myself. It is a tremendously fascinating subject." Izuku nodded in agreement, absently scribbling a small Quirks tied to souls??? on a corner of the receipt for the ice-cream he had bought on the way back from school.

"Izuku? Are you taking notes?" Izuku flinched as his father's tone suddenly turned severe. Had he heard the pencil scratch on paper? Curse his unreasonably sharp ears- "I told you a hundred times never to write down any information about our-"

"I know, I know! Sorry! It's just a habit!" Izuku rummaged through the drawer to find an eraser and immediately remove the offending line. "I wasn't writing on my notebook, it's just a scrap of paper I had lying around. I'm getting rid of it… right now..."

A long-suffering sigh crackled through the speaker. "...Still. I'm quite surprised that you're already considering ransacking graveyards and morgues in order to obtain quirks. It didn't occur to me to try my hand at desecration until I was much older than you."

"I'm- I'm not considering it!" Izuku sputtered, failing to find the eraser and electing instead to just rip the corner off the receipt and swallow it. "That would be incredibly disrespectful! Also a crime!"

"Right."

"I'm just… brainstorming. Keeping an open mind for unseen possibilities." Izuku sighed, not bothering to hide the familiar sting of annoyance. "You know, it wouldn't hurt if you were a little more forthcoming about how you obtained your yet-unspecified number of quirks. Surely you don't expect me to believe they all come from nursing homes and emergency rooms…"

"Izuku." There it was again, that cautionary edge that tinged his father's voice increasingly often as of late. On the bright side, Izuku was growing sort of accustomed to it, finding it easier to simply power through it.

"...I've been reading up on Tartarus lately." He threw out there, twirling his pencil in his fingers. "Not that there's much to read about it. They keep a close lid on any information regarding their security procedures and systems, which is fair. I do wonder though, what kind of measures they may have in place to restrict such a large number of dangerous quirk users."

His father didn't seem to have any comment on the topic, so Izuku decided to lay it on a bit thicker.

"They used to cut hands to punish thieves in certain countries a long time ago. It doesn't really happen any more, it violates all sorts of human rights. Coincidentally, there are rumors of multiple lawsuits for human rights violations being brought up against Tartarus." Izuku paused emphatically. "I'm sure that if the government knew of a way of 'amputating' quirks from incarcerated villains, it would be a strictly classified matter."

His father let out a quiet laugh. "So your current working hypothesis is that I'm obtaining my quirks from those who make poor use of them or are deemed unworthy. Your mind works in truly admirable ways. I'm starting to worry that one of these days you'll show up right on my doorstep."

"So it's true then?"

"Even if it was, do you think I would be at liberty to say?"

Izuku dropped his head on the desk and exhaled in frustration. Deflections, deflections. Even a frank denial was too much to hope for. There was no winning against his sphinx of a father.

"Have you given some more thought about what to do after middle school?" The infuriating man asked with the most casual of tones, as if they'd just been chatting about the weather. He wasn't even trying to be subtle with his diversions any more.

"Yes, and I haven't changed my mind." Izuku muttered, recognizing a losing battle when he saw one. "I want to try the admission test for the hero course at U.A."

A sigh. "I don't even know how I can be any clearer. Heroes aren't going to accept in their ranks someone with your-"

"I'm not going to use my quirk." Izuku interrupted him, with more pluck than he actually felt. "I… I've been wanting to apply since way before my quirk appeared. I'll apply as I would have applied if it hadn't. As quirkless."

Izuku heard some odd tinkering noises coming from the speaker. "I wish I could put this more kindly, but that is a fool's errand."

"It isn't against any of their regulations. There are no precedents, but-"

"Spare me the innocent talk, you're too smart for that." His father's voice cut through him with unusual vehemence. "They don't need regulations to politely dismiss people they presume worthless. A quirkless applicant would be the very embodiment of that worthlessness. You know it as well as I do."

"So you aren't even going to let me try?" Izuku hated the way his voice almost cracked on those words. He hated that he couldn't truly find it in himself to resent his father for being always, unfailingly right.

"...Whatever gave you that impression?" His father sounded genuinely taken aback.

"The fact that you're shooting me down like a trained sniper?!"

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm merely supporting my argument. I have no intention of stopping you. I don't think I even have the right to, really. I'm not exactly a prime example of involved parenthood."

Izuku's jaw hit the proverbial floor. That was… unexpected. "So… you aren't going to stop me. Even if you think it's stupid."

"One has to fall before he can learn how to walk." The man replied with mock solemnity, then he continued more seriously. "If I forbade you to attempt the test, all you'd gain from it would be a long-standing aversion to me and the lifelong regret of not knowing what you could have become, had you been given the chance. Neither of us would benefit from that. If I let you pursue your silly dreams to their inevitable failure, however, you may actually learn some valuable lessons about the importance of realistic objectives and the pointlessness of moot idealism."

That was... less unexpected. Izuku's shoulders dropped. Well. Questionable pep talk aside, at least he'd obtained an outspoken permission. He'd take what he could get. "Thanks, dad. You always know what to say to brighten my day."

"I try my best." His father chuckled. "If you could indulge my obsession for common sense for another moment… what are your spare plans in case of rejection? What other careers are you considering?"

"I… haven't quite worked out a plan B yet." Izuku bit his lip, blatantly caught out. "I-I still have a whole year to decide though. I'll pick some other possibilities before the end of school."

"There will always be plenty of paths open for you, Izuku. Way more than you know." His father sighed, a hint of sourness tinging his voice. "I only wish you would consider them.”

[queenbirbs]

the mountain between us | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Rating: E

Warnings: language, adult content, N*FW, description of a panic attack

Word count: 8.1k

Summary: In which the return to Edenbrook doesn’t go as planned, or: Ethan and Sloane get the hell out of Dodge Boston. 

Notes: This story continues off my previous fic, waiting for rain , although this can be read as a stand-alone. It is a sort of AU of chapter 12, in which Danny has a separate funeral of his own (I mean, I get why PB wrote it to save time/redundancies, but I don’t see them somehow managing to secure burial plots right next to each other? Anyway, the wonders of fiction aside…). 

------

She makes it to the diagnostic office with two seconds to spare. 

The muffled thump of the door meeting the casing is like a gunshot, echoing in the quiet room. She stumbles past the table and over to the couch, trying to get out of direct line of sight. The leather creaks under her weight as she collapses onto the cushion. That constant undercurrent of dread builds into a wave, washing over her. Her hands start to shake and soon, the rest of her body follows suit. The faux-wood grain of the coffee table before her is the only thing in focus; the rest of the world is warped, as if she’s viewing it through binoculars. Her heart feels as if someone has a fist around it and is trying to pull it free through her throat. 

“Stop… fucking… crying,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her cheeks. But her lacrimal glands pay no mind to her threats, nor does the rest of her when she begs it to stop panicking. 

All this, she bemoans, over plastic wrap -- just a patient’s sandwich that he asked for her help unwrapping. But the moment she touched it and felt it crinkle under her hands, she was back in that tented room, shrouded by the thick plastic draped over the walls, sealed in and suffocated by the opaque sheeting, waiting and waiting and waiting to die.

She doesn’t remember what terrible joke she made about not being a fan of tuna, nor does she remember the trip from the oncology ward to here, several floors down. None of her friends must have seen her, because none of them have followed her in here, at the ready with their hugs and assurances, suffocating in their own loving way.

“You’re the worst… person on earth,” she whispers, clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off another round of tears.

“Sloane?” 

She glances up to see Ethan stepping into the room, his mouth crumpled into that familiar frown of worry -- the one he’s worn ever since she returned. He says her name like it’s a question, as if she has the option to shake her head no and become someone else. It’s a tempting idea. Her reply is at the ready, as natural as breathing now. Not that she’s doing a very good job of doing the latter.

“I’m fine.” 

“I see that.” Though the words should be harsh, his tone is anything but -- weighed down by all the concern in the world, it seems. His gaze roves over her, observing and diagnosing her like the specimen she is, walking through Edenbrook’s halls once more. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, more to himself than to her.

“Correction: my second. First was in the supply closet. Decided I wanted a change of scenery.” 

Although it’s a struggle to get the words out, her audience doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks.

“Please.” The plea is whispered into her clasped hands. She tightens her grip, trying in vain to stop the tremors working through her. 

Ethan crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, giving her the illusion of space by twisting at the waist to look at her. In blocking her view of the hallway, he also blocks them from seeing her. His hand comes to rest on the space between them, a show of support that doesn’t make her feel crowded or trapped. She could kiss him right now, if it weren’t for the whole world-feeling-like-it’s-falling-out-from-underneath-her sensation. Her lungs ache with each choppy, shallow breath she drags in. 

“I’m here. You’re safe with me.” 

Untangling her laced hands, she reaches down and rests her hand atop his. With a gentle motion, his fingers shift to nestle alongside hers, grounding her with the pleasant warmth of his touch. With her eyes closed, she focuses on the smooth breaths he takes, mimicking them as best she can. Seconds turn to minutes, marked only by his murmured phrases of assurance and his pulse, sure and steady under her palm. Gradually, her breath begins to ebb and flow, rolling in and out of her lungs in languid sweeps. 

She opens her eyes. The office fades into focus. The track lighting is still too bright, so she turns to Ethan. The sympathy welling in his eyes almost makes her want to shut hers again. His gaze tracks over her in a fitful dance; he’s mapping out each tear that stains her cheeks and neck.  

“I’m okay,” she tries this time. 

His eyebrows scrunch down as he studies her. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not.” Sloane leans forward and rubs at her cheeks. If she puts her hair down, she could maybe make it to the bathroom and wash away the evidence before a staff member notices. “Have you thought any more about Aurora’s proposal?”

“The one you two dropped on me at the private memorial we had on Tuesday morning? No, I can’t say that I have.” Shaking his head, he pinches at the bridge of his nose and sighs. “God, Sloane, I don’t want to talk about the hospital. I don’t give a damn about it right now. I only care about you.” 

The cushion creaks as she shifts, uncertain how to drive the conversation away from her. She goes with the best tactic: avoidance. 

“Well, thanks, then. But I should go. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ve got to pick up some labs and check up on Mr. Evans and see what Baz wanted from--” 

Ethan puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, once, then again. 

“Stop. Stop worrying about everybody else for a second.”

She snorts out a humorless laugh at that. “I’m serious,” he continues, pressing on her shoulder and urging her to look at him. “I know that you practically begged Naveen to let you come back to work, even after I told you no, but I think you need to give yourself more time. I think you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I was stuck here for three days, and then stuck at home for another four. I’m done waiting around. I can only take so much medical leave. And I can’t just… sit at home cowering in fear.”

“So you thought doing it at work would be better?” he asks candidly.

“Fuck you.” 

Sloane jumps to her feet and rounds the table, leaving him to throw his pity party for her all by himself -- then freezes. Outside the glass walls, the hallway is teeming with people. Nurses and orderlies and patients mill about, pushing gurneys and cleaning carts and wheelchairs. Several nurses at the station spot her and then, like marionettes on shared strings, turn towards each other at once, their chins tipped low as they converse. She feels like a zoo animal, on display for the hospital to ogle at. 

“Go home, Sloane,” comes Ethan’s voice from behind her. His footsteps drag across the rug as he approaches. “For another day or two, at least. Please.”

She turns from the hallway and brings her arms around her chest to hug herself tight. 

“I… it’s no walk in the park there, either. Being there alone is frightening enough, but when everybody’s home, they walk on eggshells around me. Even Jackie, who I can always count on to be a certified bitch, has been coddling me. It’s... I hate being home. It’s like they’re too afraid to say something that might -- I don’t know, offend me? -- so they don’t say anything at all. It’s like living with a ghost, except I’m Bruce Willis in this scenario.” She stops short, figuring she’ll have to explain that one, but he holds up his palm to keep the synopsis at bay. 

“I understand your reference. You know, I have seen a film or two.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

She tries for the usual smile that wants to form when making fun of his limited pop culture knowledge. Her bravado falls away, though, as he comes to stand close to her. His arms cross over his chest, as if attempting to keep his hands to himself in front of their audience. “You know what it was like for me,” she continues, “being in that room, doing nothing--”

He cuts her off, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze.

“That isn’t what I saw. You stood by Rafael’s side. You helped him when you yourself couldn’t walk without falling over. You lost every semblance of control during the worst moment of your life, and you still were able to relay the changes in your symptoms. You saved Rafael’s life--”

“That was all Tobias and the team’s--”

“You know as well as I do that patient care is more than an antidote in a syringe. You think that if we’d stuck him in a room alone, away from you, or inside one of those glass boxes that he would still be alive? Think again, Rookie.” 

The passion and heat in his voice, along with the return of her nickname, sends a tingle up the length of her spine. “I watched you struggle to be by his side. I watched you have all your faculties ripped away. Which is why I’m so worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Ethan--” she starts, but he barrels right over the deflection attempt.

“If you had a patient who was experiencing the same symptoms at work, would you tell them to get over it? Would you tell them to push past their fears and their anxieties, in order to stay on the clock?” 

Her lips purse at his point, knowing that he’s right. But she doesn’t want to let him win this one.

“Doctors do a lot of things they tell their patients not to. We’re the biggest hypocrites of them all.”

“No, I think that honor falls on politicians,” he quips.  

The little laugh feels foreign in her mouth. She can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up in response to the noise. 

“I have an idea.” She raises a brow in interest, spurring him on. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you’d like. We can leave today, spend a long weekend away. We’ll swing by your place, pack you a bag, and go.”

“And you think we can just… leave? Slack off on our duties like that? What about our patients?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a smirk. 

“You’re talking to the person who does the scheduling. And I happen to know your boss wouldn’t mind. My boss has been not-so-subtly sending me couples vacation rentals after seeing our appearance on national television.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sloane considers the offer as he watches her, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. That tingling sensation returns, banking higher and higher within her. 

“Okay,” she agrees, hating how her heart beats a little faster at the brilliant smile on his face. “I like the way you think. Let’s go.”

------

Within two hours, they load up Ethan’s car and make their way out of Boston, Jenner wiggling happily in the backseat. 

The city center gives way to the urban sprawl. That soon becomes overtaken by suburbia and its penchant for shopping outlets and tract housing. Sloane can’t help the sigh of relief that comes when they reach Medford and the city skyline drops away in the rearview. They leave the coastal lowlands of Massachusetts behind, heading north along the interstate and up into New Hampshire. Though she packed a bag with what little information he gave her, she’s curious still when they stop at a food truck for lunch. 

“You realize you could hit the navigation screen on the GPS, right?” Ethan points out. “It’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.” 

“That’s cheating. I thought you taught me to be a better doctor than that.”

“No, I taught you how to be a smarter doctor. Besides, you’re the one knowledgeable about technology.” When she doesn’t immediately outright ask, he settles back in his chair and pets Jenner when she approaches for attention. “All right, then. Diagnose it.”

Sloane’s fork pauses on its way to her mouth. She shoots him an incredulous look, but when he simply cocks an eyebrow, she takes the bait. 

“We’re headed north. At first, I thought Maine, especially with what you suggested I bring, but we’ve gone too far west now. It wouldn’t make any sense to make a big right turn and head east. And we’re not going as far as Canada, because you didn’t tell me to bring my passport -- which I do have, by the way, though I’ve only gotten to use it one time.”

“I know,” he tells her. “There’s several photos of your semester abroad on your Pictagram page.” 

“Those photos are from my senior year of undergrad. That means you scrolled for quite a while, Dr. Ramsey.” It’s impossible to miss the blush burning along his cheeks and up his ears. Sloane tips her head to the side, eyes wide, her words teasing: “Were you that interested in Stockholm?”

“It’s a lovely city.” 

That thick, bottom lip of his ticks up in a grin. The little cafe suddenly feels too warm for her, but she resists the urge to tug at her sweater.

“Right. So, not Canada. I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in what New Hampshire or Vermont have to offer, other than maple syrup and hiking. Ooh, and Ben and Jerry’s.” Twirling her straw wrapper around her finger, she looks him over for another minute before giving up with a shrug. “Nope, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Some dedicated physician you are.” 

His grin widens as the balled-up wrapper hits his chest. 

------

They leave the interstate behind after entering Vermont.

Instead, the state highway takes them through the proper countryside. When the satellite radio fails to connect, Sloane steals the aux cord and plugs in her phone. Ethan’s protests quiet down soon enough when, instead of the pop drivel he expects, Nat King Cole croons out of the speakers. 

The Taconic mountains roll along beside them, as if shielding them from the outside world; Sloane appreciates the gesture. Clusters of horses and cattle float along in their fenced-in pastures, the grass rippling under a light wind blowing off the mountains. Towns seem to sneak up on them as the road curves through the valley. Tiny stores and tiny gas stations and tiny churches, Johnson’s Hardware and Morgan’s Jewelry and Lee’s Drugstore line up along the roadside. Hanging signs advertise berry farms and local maple syrup, their arrows pointing up into the hills. Then the highway curves again, and the towns disappear from the rearview. 

Sloane watches it all from her reclined position against the center console, her hand in Ethan’s as he drives. Jenner’s wet nose bumps against her cheek when the Boxer mix demands affection. Though they swore off it back in Massachusetts, they talk about work, which leads them to medical articles, which leads them to the inaccuracies in medical dramas. Serenading about her need for a Sunday kind of love, Etta James joins them as they cross into New York. 

It doesn’t take too long before the feminine voice of the GPS announces that they’ve arrived. Sloane does a double-take at the welcome sign as they pass it. 

“Wait -- isn’t this where that horror movie was set?” she asks. 

“The film took place in Maine, actually.”

“How are you suddenly an expert on horror movies from the late nineties? And how did I not know that? Did I finally find your film niche?” 

“My friend forced me to attend his Halloween party in high school,” he admits with a sigh. 

They pass by the shops and bars and restaurants that line Main Street, all the brick facades and rugged decor blocking the view. Locals and fellow tourists clog the sidewalks, meandering in and out of the storefronts as they enjoy the afternoon sunshine. Eventually, the buildings fall away, and the world is filled with nothing but a cloudless sky and clear water that stretches wide beyond the guardrail. Just over a stretch of land, Lake Placid burns a deep blue in the sunlight.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the sights, but shifts her attention back to the man in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, now I have to know: what was your costume?” 

“A doctor,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

She chuckles at the image of a teenage Ethan in his white coat and his patterned tie, swimming in his tailored shirts and trousers, lecturing his friends on the risks of alcohol poisoning.  

“Oh my god, of course you did. Did you at least dump fake blood on yourself or something?”

“No.” His brow crinkles as he glances over at her, confused. “Why would I have done that?”

“To look scary.”

A smirk appears on his face at the idea. “Right. And what did you dress up as when you were sixteen?”

“I’m pretty sure I went as Daphne. My girlfriend Ruby went as Velma.”

“What, you didn’t douse yourself with fake blood?”

“Honestly, we should have. That would’ve looked badass.”  

Ethan shakes his head at her, but she can see that smirk of his hasn’t disappeared. Turning off the main drag, he takes them down a one-lane road that winds back into the wilderness. After passing the town lodge, the occasional driveway and accompanying mailbox are the only signs of human life among the towering pines.

The house is tucked back off the road, a pretty little cottage painted robin’s egg blue. Two rocking chairs frame either side of the front door. Once Sloane releases her, Jenner darts out and takes full advantage of the lush front lawn, sniffing along the shrubs and tree line. Leaving Jenner to her exploring, Ethan hauls in their bags with Sloane following behind. The rustic decor leans too far towards kitschy for both of them, but she finds the log bed frame and large, dramatic painting of a howling wolf charming. The real draw, though, is the wide back deck, where the sea of trees parts to offer a stunning view of the lake. 

It’s the perfect place, she decides later while sipping from her second glass of scotch, to watch the sunset. From his position, Ethan seems to agree. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they spread out across the porch swing. Bundled up in scarves and blankets to ward off the evening chill, they watch the sky turn from blue to orange to black. The stars, when they fade into view, are thrown into sharp relief against the night. It’s almost dizzying to be able to see so many. 

It reminds her of back home, of lying on Ruby’s hood in her grandparents’ driveway under the pretense of looking for falling stars, but actually making out under the cover of darkness. 

Curled up atop their feet, Jenner sighs in her sleep; Sloane mimics the noise, stretching out against Ethan. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his lips against her temple.  

“Do you remember the Stevensons’ house down in North Quincy?” he asks, continuing before she can respond, because he knows that she doesn’t forget a patient. “This place reminds me of that. But the desire for peace and solitude makes a lot more sense to me, now.”

She shifts in his arms to rest her cheek against his shoulder. 

“It reminds me of where I grew up, in this one-horse town in Virginia.” It’s a detour of the conversation he wants to have, but she can’t help but avoid talking about That for just a little while longer. “I mean, really, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My grandparents lived there for sixty years, though, so that was home. When I was nine, my mom dropped me and my brother off at their house and never came back. So, it became our home, too. They took us in and let us have the run of the land -- which was easy to do, since we were surrounded on all sides by mountains. I was happy there -- happier than I’d been with my mom. But I spent a lot of time daydreaming about living in the big city, going to all the college parties that I saw on television, and travelling the world.” 

His grip tightens around her. “And then you didn’t,” he murmurs. 

“No, I didn’t,” is all she says, knowing he’s replaying her deathbed confession in his head, just as she is. “Though I blame that more on becoming infatuated with this diagnostician who wrote all these amazing books, and who inspired me to go to medical school and one day become one of the country’s greatest doctors.”

“What do you mean?” At her hum of confusion, he clarifies. “You already are, Sloane.” 

Tears spring to her eyes at his declaration, but she hides them by burrowing closer into his warmth. 

“But yeah, despite growing up in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice to be there again. I mean, you can’t get views like this back in Boston.” She waves a hand towards the thick spread of stars above them.  

“Your file didn’t list your grandparents as contacts.”

The invitation to talk about her past lies in the proverbial space between them; she takes it.  

“They passed within a few months of each other when I was seventeen. They left what little they had to me and my brother, and I used that to get to college.” 

She tells him about the farmhouse and how it would become so big and lonely; and the vintage, rose-patterned sofas that would collect dust; and the little kitchen at the back that would never smell of fresh coffee and banana bread again. 

She doesn’t tell him about how it felt like being abandoned all over again. 

Time has healed the wound’s edges, but it flares to life on occasion. Over the years, she’s learned to sit with the grief, to take long moments to study it and inspect it and move through it. It’s how she knows, despite the horrific tragedy at Edenbrook, that she’ll be okay. Maybe not right now, or next week, or next month, but someday. 

From inside, muffled through the French doors, comes Gladys Knight singing about life’s ups and downs. Sloane closes her eyes, focusing on the song and on the steady brush of Ethan’s thumb as he strokes her arm. Across the dark expanse of the woods, a whippoorwill calls out, its warble echoing off the water. 

At some point, she stirs to the sensation of movement, of warm lines of pressure along her back and behind her knees. Ethan is talking to Jenner in that low, gravelly voice of his, as if trying not to wake her. Before she can tease him for it, the blanket of sleep wraps around her once more. 

------

After a lengthy argument on staying in bed versus exploring the town, Ethan takes the loss with a surprising amount of grace. 

Oh, he grumbles a bit as he tugs on his sweater and makes several comments on how proper vacation etiquette does not include rising before nine a.m. But once she gets him downtown to the farmer’s market and gives him the task of finding the ugliest souvenir for her to give to her roommates, he perks right up. 

Under a stretch of white tents, card tables are laden with wares and plants and produce. Buckets of brightly-colored croton and chrysanthemums flare against the white tablecloths. Necklaces, fishing lures, and welded sculptures glint, swing, and jingle, catching the attention of passers-by. Wines and cheeses and honey are bottled and wrapped and canned, their labels touting how local, how fresh, how organic they are. From somewhere along the thoroughfare comes the smell of hot apple cider as it drifts between the stalls. 

Sloane is marveling at a collection of wind chimes that she has no use for whatsoever when she feels a hand settle on her lower back.  

“I found it.” There’s a strange sense of pride in his voice as he lifts a nondescript, brown paper bag up for emphasis. Jenner knocks her body into his legs, as if reminding him of her role in the game. “Alright, well, technically Jenner did.” 

“What is it?”

“As per your request, the most hideous object known to mankind.”

“I don’t think I was that--”

“Fine,” he concedes, “known to this region -- or state, at the very least.” 

Out from the Lake Placid News’s crumpled pages comes a tankard of a coffee mug with Don’t confuse your GOOGLE search with my Medical Degree! printed along the side. Then, stamped underneath as if an afterthought: Adirondack Mountains, NY. Sloane stares at it with a sort of horrified amazement. 

“It’s…” she trails off, unable to form words. 

“I know,” Ethan agrees, turning the mug around to read over it again. Looped around his wrist is another smaller bag.

“What else did you get?” 

“That one’s a surprise.”

Jostling the tote bag on her shoulder, she gestures to the cork sticking out. “I bought us some wine to go with dinner. C’mon, show me what you bought.” It may sound like she’s whining, but she’s not. 

“Are you unaware of how surprises work?” he questions, raising a brow at her insistence. 

“Okay, fine.” She lets the topic slide, grinning and rolling her eyes at his desire for secrecy.

Reaching towards him, he answers in kind by sliding his arm through hers. They spend the rest of the morning strolling through the stalls together. He buys a nice bottle of bourbon for Naveen; she buys a little box of self-care items for Sienna. When Sloane comments to the shop owner on the pretty photo printed around the candle, he mentions that it’s his own photograph of a nearby trail. 

“It’s a short hike, no more than three miles roundtrip,” Terry tells them as he wraps up her gift. “You pass Lake Placid Lodge and keep going about four, four ‘n a half miles, and the trail is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.” 

------

Terry was right. 

It’s impossible to miss the trail, given that four-hundred feet past their cottage, the road dead ends in a gravel semi-circle. Two boulders and a single post mark the trailhead: Kiver Mountain, 1.4 miles. After dropping off their purchases and changing into more terrain-friendly shoes, they set off on foot from the cottage.  

Despite autumn’s grip on the foliage above, the last vestiges of late summer remain on the forest floor. Thick, leafy undergrowth makes the trees appear as if swimming in a downy sea of green. The hike’s elevation gain is slow and steady, which Sloane is grateful for, considering that eighty percent of her exercise comes in the form of running up and down hospital hallways. The other twenty percent is spent with ‘the boys’ in their dungeon gym that hasn’t seen the wet side of a paint roller since the Clinton administration. The views there, however, certainly make up for the lack of decor.  

It’s the same view she’s enjoying now, what with Ethan in front of her. There is something to be said about wearing the proper apparel for such an activity, she’s finding.

“Sloane?” 

Her gaze shoots up just as Ethan twists to look over his shoulder. “Were you listening?”

“No, sorry, I was--” she fumbles for something to say. The altitude must be getting to her, she reasons, because the next words out of her mouth were about to be ‘staring at your ass.’ “--um, I thought I saw a… snake.”

“They’re usually more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“You’ve never experienced me with a snake before.” 

“I’ll make sure to warn them of your presence if I see one, then.”   

“All snakes in the surrounding area just gave a collective sigh of relief.”

Her poor attempt at humor earns her an exasperated sigh, though she does catch the chuckle that follows. Ethan keeps talking, but she doesn’t really hear him. Mostly due to the fact that Jenner and he keep going, while her attention is caught by a small, branching path through the trees.

It’s been a long time since she spent a weekend away from the city. When her friends spent fall break camping or borrowing a friend of a friend’s uncle’s boat to cruise around on the lake, she stayed holed up at her desk, studying and outlining. Her first copy of Diagnostic Principles looks like she closed it around a rainbow, what with all of the colorful sticky notes peeking out from the pages. That same copy moved with her through every dorm at Duke, all the way across the Atlantic for her semester at Karolinska, and then at every off-campus apartment at Johns Hopkins. 

After she left for college, the closest she came to the wilderness were the views on her Pictagram feed, or the nature documentaries Aurora likes to watch. Here, as Sloane pushes past bristly limbs, the scenery stretches out before her, live and in full-color. Drenched in sunlight, the valley stretches wide to whatever direction she’s facing. A trio of birds swoop down from above her, heading towards the staggering shelves of trees that line the distant hills. At the furthest edge, the blue shadows of the mountains melt into a spatter of gray clouds. It’s all very picturesque, so much so that when she hears a noise on the path behind her, she expects to turn and see a frolicking deer. 

“Did you not hear me calling your name? What are you doing?” Ethan demands, his jaw firmly set as he looks her over. Trotting along beside him, Jenner sniffs at the ground, unaware of the impending argument. Sloane hops down from the outcropping she climbed for a better view.

“Sorry, I was--”

“You shouldn’t go off on your own like that.” The heat of frustration burns along his reprimand, surprising her with its intensity for such a small offense. “This isn’t a walk around the block back home. I was-- you can’t disappear on me like that.” 

Sloane tries to let his tone roll off, but she also isn’t going to roll over for him. She sucks in a breath and mentally counts to five. 

“Wow, okay. You’ve never fought me before about something so absurd. What’s this really about?”

In an instant, the fire is gone from his eyes. Ethan wipes a hand across his face and over his jaw; he gives his head a little shake, as if rousing himself from the spell of anger. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the blue of his eyes burning cool now. “I hoped that if we got away from the hospital that…” his words trail away under the birdsongs echoing around them. 

Sloane takes Jenner’s leash and motions for Ethan to keep moving up the trail. She gives him an encouraging look when he glances over, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. The gentle slope becomes steep stone steps that they trudge up, climbing higher and higher, wary of the loose ones that wiggle under their feet. 

“I thought that I would get better at this,” he finally says.

“This?” she prods.

“At coming to terms with what happened. And not just with you, although that’s a large part of it, obviously. But when Naveen was sick, when he was damn near death, I could still work. I could still be Doctor Ramsey. But when you…” he swallows and shakes his head again. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “I was terrified, and I think some parts of me still are. But when I was in that lab with Travis, and I saw him lying on that bed near death, I felt vindicated in some horrible way. I was happy that he was in pain, for what he did to you.” 

“Ethan--”

“He refused to give me any information,” he bowls over her attempt at reassurances, his voice strained. “Then he begged me to ease his suffering. It was his dying request and I walked away. As someone whose friends he had killed and injured, I can compartmentalize that. But as a physician, how can I continue treating patients? How can I work with them when I not only failed, but refused to ease another patient’s suffering?”

They reach the top and step out onto the cliff.

Over the edge, purple-tipped shrubs choke the rock shelves that stagger down the cliff until they reach the forest floor below. The valley dips low before them, cradled by a long line of mountains in the distance. They roll along in a lazy sort of wave, deepening to a hazy blue the farther they stretch. True to its name, the water of Lake Placid is calm and still, reflecting the foliage’s vibrant array of colors, fuschias and reds and oranges peppering the mountains that flank the lake. Pale crags of rock decorate some of their peaks, so bleached from the sun that they almost look like snow.

Keeping a firm grip on Jenner’s leash, she breaks the silence they’ve fallen into. 

“Unfortunately, you suffer from something incurable.” At his answering noise of interest, she wraps an arm around his waist and hugs him close. “You’re human.”

His hand sweeps across her back, holding her tight. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She shoves down her need to use humor as an emotional crutch by mentioning this must be a record number of apologies for him. Instead, she lets her head rest on his shoulder. 

“What for?” 

“For burdening you with my problems, which pale in comparison to what you went through. It’s not fair to--”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, hugging him tighter for a beat. “You can’t work through the trauma if you discount it like that.”

“You sound just like Naveen.”

“Smart minds think alike.” 

Her heart squeezes at his familiar, half-formed huff of laughter. They spend a good length of time at the top, enjoying the peaceful view and watching clouds roll in from the west. Eventually, her stomach growls and he teases her about doing strenuous activity on an empty stomach. Jenner leads the way as they start back down the trail. 

The two boulders and trailhead sign come into sight just as the rain arrives. 

Fat raindrops plod the canopy above, drumming through the leaves and onto them. Ethan lets out an undignified yelp when cold rain lands on him, prompting a full-throated laugh from Sloane. They race down the path, sprinting between the boulders and down the road. Jenner barks with excitement when she tugs free of Sloane’s grip and barrels ahead of them.  

They reach the cottage, Jenner at his heels when Ethan rushes inside for towels. He makes it to the hall closet before realizing that Sloane isn’t following. Retracing his steps, he returns to the little porch and finds her standing out on the front path. Her arms are stretched out beside her as the rain soaks her clothes and hair. He sets the towels down on the rocking chair and approaches her, raising his voice to be heard above the downpour. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s silly,” she answers with a shrug. Contentment and grief coat the words; it’s an effort to push them free of her throat. This close, he can see the rivulets of water running along her trembling lips. “But I was waiting for this. It’s been sunny every day since… and all I wanted was for it to rain.” 

It’s not difficult to recall her angry words as they drove away from Danny’s funeral. 

“It’s not silly.” Reaching for her, he takes her hand and guides her under the porch and out of the storm. “Silly would be how I worry about you constantly now -- that if I leave you alone, or you go off somewhere without me knowing, that it could happen again. I’m terrified, Sloane, of losing you again. Every patient room you step into could lead to another disaster, and it might be another one that I can’t fix.”

He keeps busy while he talks, picking up a towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. With another he dries her hair; his fingers clench and release the wavy strands like he saw her do a lifetime ago in their shared hotel room.  

“It’s why I’ve been keeping tabs on you this week,” he says with no small amount of embarrassment. “Why I’ve been following you around the hospital. It’s how I knew to go to the office yesterday. And I know that’s awful and overbearing of me, and I understand on every sensible level that you’re safe. But there’s that one percent of something that keeps me at it.”

Sloane reaches up for the towel in his hands and tugs it away, letting it drop to the ground. He cups the back of her head and settles her against his chest, right against his heart where she belongs. 

“I’ve spent enough years being a cynic and a pessimist, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Ethan clears his throat, swallows, and steadies on. “But when I held your hand that night, I didn’t think about what the next hour would bring, because I wasn’t sure if that next hour would include you. And to have to stand there and watch you -- you, who’s always brave in the face of death and danger -- accept your fate in those last hours, that scared me more than anything.” 

“I knew it would hurt more if I begged you all to save me.” She feels the shaky rise of his chest, the tension of the muscles as he goes rigid at her words. “But I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Her cheeks are wet with tears -- whether his or hers, she isn’t sure. “I -- my grandma, we didn’t make it to the hospital in time before she passed, and she died alone, and I know that hurt my grandpa more than anything. So I’m glad you were with me.” 

When he speaks, the passion and heartache in his tone unfurls something in her chest. 

“I don’t want to waste what time we have left. I’m tired of playing pretend. I’m tired of holding myself back. I don’t know what to do, other than tell you that I care about you, and that I want to be with you. And I know it’ll be messy, and I don’t have all the answers for how we go about it, but I know that I want you so goddamn much, Sloane, that I don’t care anymore.” 

Gripping his wet shirt, she pulls him down for a kiss. He answers in kind, his lips dragging against hers; his hands come up to frame her face, to keep her close as he drops another kiss, then two, then three against the corner of her mouth. The roar of the rain turns to a muffled drum as they fumble their way through the door and down the hall. 

The bedroom is lit only by the tall windows, reflecting what weak sunlight manages through the cloudy sky. A wall of fog floats between the trees, blocking out the rest of the world. Sloane leans down to the nightstand and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Honeyed shafts of light fill the space, warming the room with their glow. 

Ethan peels their wet clothes away, stripping the both of them bare. His lips cruise every inch of her damp skin; she shivers at the cool, stagnant air of the bedroom, then again at the heat of his mouth as he kisses her shoulder, her breast, her belly. He guides her to the bed and she sinks onto the soft mattress, the sheets smelling of them: his soap and her shampoo, his aftershave and her lotion. It’s a scent she wants to wake up to every morning. 

“I never got to take my time with you,” he laments as he lays her down. Goosebumps follow in his wake as he runs the backs of his knuckles down her throat. He cups one breast and then the other, brushing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipples. Mesmerizing, he thinks, of the sweet noises she makes and the way her hips shift in time to his touch. 

“We’ve got time,” she assures him, her fingers trailing up and down his ribs. She’s unable to hide her grin when he squirms, obviously ticklish around his sixth and seventh rib. Lifting up onto his knees just enough to capture her hands, he presses her to the bed and takes a long moment to admire.

Frizzled from the rain, her strands spread across the pillow and dampen it -- no doubt the one that he’ll end up being forced to sleep on. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and shoulders are more pronounced in the yellow light. There’s the scar along her inner thigh from climbing over chicken wire to feed the hens, the burn mark on her inner arm from fumbling a hot pan of cinnamon rolls. He kisses the sharp cut of her cheekbone and the soft skin of her stomach, reveling in every facet of her. He takes a deep breath, and then another; they feel like his first real ones since approaching the window of that damned room. 

Her hands, along with the rest of her, squirm underneath his hold.   

“Ethan.” 

He doesn’t ask what she’s demanding; he takes one of his hands back and urges her thighs apart, pressing the heel of his palm against her and circling her wet heat. Her response is almost as erotic as the act itself; her knees jerk up, her muscles stuttering as her body rolls into his touch. Her freed hand snakes down her body to circle his wrist, her nail digging into his pulse point as she directs him how she likes. Increasing the pressure, Ethan can feel his cock growing harder as he watches her enjoyment. He’s too enthralled by her; his grip loosens on her other hand. In a flurry of movement, she’s got an arm around his neck and hauls him down to her for a messy kiss. He retaliates by changing gears; he slides two fingers inside her, delighted at the strangled moan that escapes her. 

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the smarmy grin on his face. 

“Yes,” Sloane breathes out. She rolls her hips down when he curls his fingers and strokes her with all the precision in the world. “Yes, it’s good, it’s--” the words are lost to the crest of another wave as it pounds through her. She squeezes his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping him where she needs him, and croaks out his name as she comes. 

He eases the glide of his fingers, but doesn’t stop until he’s got her climbing again.

“God, you’re still so tight.” He nuzzles the arm she has planted against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-tinged skin. Her fingers dig into his flesh in time with his thrusts. “So responsive, all for me.” 

“Please,” she begs, “please, Ethan, I need--”

In a flash, he slides down her body, scoops up her hips, and drags the flat of his tongue across her. Sloane cries out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth. His knees ache as he kneels before her and worships, coaxing hymns from her lips until she’s dragged under once more. Ethan eases her down from her high, running his fingers up and over her hip as her equilibrium returns. He rouses from his own arousal-induced haze at the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair.

“Come here.” 

He goes, without question, into the circle of her awaiting arms. She meets him with a messy kiss, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. His blood pulses hot underneath his skin, knowing she’s tasting herself on his lips. One of her curious hands skims along his stomach and down to wrap around his cock. 

“I want to make you feel good, too,” she murmurs, stroking him with a quick, little twist at the base, her thumb swiping across the swollen head. He barely holds it together, clenching his jaw to keep from thrusting into her hand like some horny teenager. “I… ever since that last time, you’re all I think about.”

“It’s the same for me,” he admits, too many emotions bubbling to the surface that he isn’t comfortable with declaring right now. Pressed against the long line of her body, he feels the vibration of her laughter when it comes, ringing through the room. 

“Well, yeah, that too. I was mostly talking about when I masturbate, though.” 

“Oh.” The word tumbles out before his brain has a chance to catch up and say something suave. It gets another giggle out of her, though -- and he finds that the taste of her laughter is even better than the sound of it. “Christ, Sloane,” he groans when he breaks their kiss, “tell me what you need.”

“You,” she says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he were stupid for expecting another answer.  

Ethan slides an arm across her back, cradling her close, needing to feel her against every inch of him. He pushes into her soaked heat, his breath escaping him in a moan when she digs her nails into his shoulders. Giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch, he nips at the soft skin of her breasts, pleased with the rosy marks that bloom from his attention. One of her hands drifts down to his ass and squeezes. 

“Move,” she begs.

At her command, he does; he wraps his free hand around her hip and uses the leverage to drag his cock in and out of her with short, heavy strokes. Her legs come up to encircle his waist, her body rocking up to meet his. The new angle is sweeter, deeper than before. Sloane gasps at his next thrust. Words fall free from his lips, nothing more than murmurs of praise. She writhes and keens underneath him; he has enough wherewithal to slide a hand down between them, knowing exactly what she needs. The rhythmic clenching of her sends him overboard with her, the both of them are dragged under the warm sea of pleasure. He pulls out and collapses next to her, nestling close when she slings an arm across him. The room spins around them as they wait for their breathing to turn to normal. 

As his heart rate slows, he finally hears it: the rain, beating steadily against the tin roof, a cocoon of white noise that shelters them from the outside. Before he can speak, he hears another familiar sound. Sloane rubs her nose against his shoulder and chuckles. 

“What was it that you said about strenuous activity on an empty stomach?” 

His laughter echoes through the room. After some poking and prodding, he manages to convince her to get out of bed and meet him in the kitchen. Ethan is reprimanding Jenner for dancing around his feet and gathering ingredients when she wanders in, dressed only in his button-down and a pair of wool socks. He manages to not whack his head against the upper cabinets, but only just barely. 

“Hey, you never showed me what you bought.” 

He follows her finger to the little brown bag, still sitting on the bar where he dropped it off earlier.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says. 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she replies in a sing-songy tone.  

“Go ahead. Open it.” 

He watches her sift through the tissue paper and lift the object out. The snow globe catches in the kitchen’s recessed lights. Inside the glass is an overly-contrasted photo of Lake Placid, looking out towards Whiteface Mountain and the surrounding Adirondacks. “I figured you could add this to your collection.”

Sloane looks up in confusion. “My collection?”

“When I visited your apartment, I noticed the one you had from Stockholm on your shelf. Now, the next time you travel, you’ll know what tacky souvenir to buy yourself.” 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” she teases. 

Setting the snow globe down on the table and away from Jenner’s interested nose, she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms around his waist. The kiss she gives him is gentle and sweet, her lips curled into a smile as they press against his; he wishes for a thousand more. “But that’s a good idea. Too bad I didn’t get one in Miami.” 

He switches on the gas stove, glancing back at her with an impish grin. 

“We could always go back.”

“You know,” she hums, “I like the way you think.”

------ 

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

There’s probably a reference to something recognizable in here, but the only one I can think of is a line from an Alan Jackson song (don’t ask, I’m just having fun). 

[tatticstudio55]

Let’s look at these famous “parallels” between Dany and Cersei

(Because I’ve been re-reading AFFC and ADWD simultaneously and couldn’t help noticing these. This list might be expanded btw)

Dealing with a guest who’s pissing them off

CERSEI:

"Aye," her uncle said, "and from what I saw of Joffrey, you are as unfit a mother as you are a ruler."

She threw the contents of her wine cup full in his face.

DANY:

"Be that as it may, they do not trust you. The men of New Ghis feel the same. Words are wind, as you yourself have so oft said. No words of yours will secure this peace for Meereen. Your foes require deeds. They would see us wed, and they would see me crowned as king, to rule beside you."

Dany filled his wine cup again, wanting nothing so much as to pour the flagon over his head and drown his complacent smile. "Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices?"

Dealing with war refugees

CERSEI:

A hundred gold cloaks with staves and swords and maces could clear this rabble quick enough. That was what Lord Tywin would have done. He would have ridden over them instead of walking through.

[…]

"High Holiness," she said, "these sparrows are frightening the city. I want them gone."

"Where should they go, Your Grace?"

There are seven hells, any one of them will serve. "Back where they came from, I would imagine."

DANY:

"It shall be done, Magnificence," said Reznak mo Reznak. "What of these Astapori?"

My children. "They are coming here for help. For succor and protection. We cannot turn our backs on them."

Ser Barristan frowned. "Your Grace, I have known the bloody flux to destroy whole armies when left to spread unchecked. The seneschal is right. We cannot have the Astapori in Meereen."

Dany looked at him helplessly. It was good that dragons did not cry. "As you say, then. We will keep them outside the walls until this … this curse has run its course. Set up a camp for them beside the river, west of the city. We will send them what food we can. Perhaps we can separate the healthy from the sick."

Dealing with people who knows too much

CERSEI:

Qyburn arrived before the food. Lady Falyse had put down three more cups by then, and was beginning to nod, though from time to time she would rouse and give another sob. The queen took Qyburn aside and told him of Ser Balman's folly. "I cannot have Falyse spreading tales about the city. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need women for your . . . work?"

"I do, Your Grace. The puppeteers are quite used up."

"Take her and do with her as you will, then. But once she goes down into the black cells . . . need I say more?"

"No, Your Grace. I understand."

"Good." The queen donned her smile once again. "Sweet Falyse, Maester Qyburn's here. He'll help you rest."

DANY:

The Shavepate had urged her to put the man to death. "At least rip out his tongue. This man's lie could destroy us all, Magnificence." Instead Dany chose to pay the blood price. No one could tell her the worth of a daughter, so she set it at one hundred times the worth of a lamb. "I would give Hazzea back to you if I could," she told the father, "but some things are beyond the power of even a queen. Her bones shall be laid to rest in the Temple of the Graces, and a hundred candles shall burn day and night in her memory. Come back to me each year upon her nameday, and your other children shall not want … but this tale must never pass your lips again."

Dealing with criticism and thinly veiled accusations

CERSEI:

"The Red Keep has had no master-at-arms since Aron Santagar was slain," Ser Loras said, with a hint of reproach in his voice. "His Grace is almost nine, and eager to learn. At his age he should be a squire. Someone has to teach him."

Someone will, but it will not be you. "Pray, who did you squire for, ser?" she asked sweetly. "Lord Renly, was it not?"

"I had that honor."

"Yes, I thought as much." Cersei had seen how tight the bonds grew between squires and the knights they served. She did not want Tommen growing close to Loras Tyrell. The Knight of Flowers was no sort of man for any boy to emulate. "I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once."

**

"Night soil can be washed away more easily than blood, Your Grace. If the plaza was befouled, it was befouled by the execution that was done here."

He dares throw Ned Stark in my face? "We all regret that. Joffrey was young, and not as wise as he might have been. Lord Stark should have been beheaded elsewhere, out of respect for Blessed Baelor . . . but the man was a traitor, let us not forget."

[…]

"War is a dreadful thing. These atrocities are the work of the northmen, and of Lord Stannis and his demon-worshipers."

"Some of my sparrows speak of bands of lions who despoiled them . . . and of the Hound, who was your own sworn man. At Saltpans he slew an aged septon and despoiled a girl of twelve, an innocent child promised to the Faith. He wore his armor as he raped her and her tender flesh was torn and crushed by his iron mail. When he was done he gave her to his men, who cut off her nose and nipples."

"His Grace cannot be held responsible for the crimes of every man who ever served House Lannister. Sandor Clegane is a traitor and a brute. Why do you think I dismissed him from our service? He fights for the outlaw Beric Dondarrion now, not for King Tommen."

DANY:

The weaver raised her head. "Every day we told each other that the dragon queen was coming back." The woman had thin lips and dull dead eyes, set in a pinched and narrow face. "Cleon had sent for you, it was said, and you were coming."

He sent for me, thought Dany. That much is true, at least.

[…]

"Others blamed Daenerys," said the weaver, "but more of us still loved you. 'She is on her way,' we said to one another. 'She is coming at the head of a great host, with food for all.' "

I can scarce feed my own folk. If I had marched to Astapor, I would have lost Meereen.

[…]

"Even then some said that you were coming," said the weaver. "They swore they had seen you mounted on a dragon, flying high above the camps of the Yunkai'i. Every day we looked for you."

I could not come, the queen thought. I dare not.

[…]

"It is good that you have come," she told the Astapori. "You will be safe in Meereen."

The cobbler thanked her for that, and the old brickmaker kissed her foot, but the weaver looked at her with eyes as hard as slate. She knows I lie, the queen thought. She knows I cannot keep them safe. Astapor is burning, and Meereen is next.

[…]

"These are not apples, Ben," said Dany. "These are men and women, sick and hungry and afraid." My children. "I should have gone to Astapor."

Dealing with prophecies

CERSEI:

She promised me I should be queen, but said another queen would come . . ." Younger and more beautiful, she said. ". . . another queen, who would take from me all I loved."

"And you wish to forestall this prophecy?"

More than anything, she thought. "Can it be forestalled?"

"Oh, yes. Never doubt that."

"How?"

"I think Your Grace knows how."

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

[…]

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead.

DANY:

When Reznak and Skahaz appeared, she found herself looking at them askance, mindful of the three treasons. Beware the perfumed seneschal. She sniffed suspiciously at Reznak mo Reznak. I could command the Shavepate to arrest him and put him to the question. Would that forestall the prophecy? Or would some other betrayer take his place? Prophecies are treacherous, she reminded herself, and Reznak may be no more than he appears.

Dealing with sneers or matters of disrespect

CERSEI:

"One more thing. A trifling matter." He gave her an apologetic smile and told her of a puppet show that had recently become popular amongst the city's smallfolk; a puppet show wherein the kingdom of the beasts was ruled by a pride of haughty lions. "The puppet lions grow greedy and arrogant as this treasonous tale proceeds, until they begin to devour their own subjects. When the noble stag makes objection, the lions devour him as well, and roar that it is their right as the mightiest of beasts."

"And is that the end of it?" Cersei asked, amused. Looked at in the right light, it could be seen as a salutary lesson.

"No, Your Grace. At the end a dragon hatches from an egg and devours all of the lions."

The ending took the puppet show from simple insolence to treason. "Witless fools. Only cretins would hazard their heads upon a wooden dragon." She considered a moment. "Send some of your whisperers to these shows and make note of who attends. If any of them should be men of note, I would know their names."

"What will be done with them, if I may be so bold?"

"Any men of substance shall be fined. Half their worth should be sufficient to teach them a sharp lesson and refill our coffers, without quite ruining them. Those too poor to pay can lose an eye, for watching treason. For the puppeteers, the axe."

DANY:

"We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom." Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face.

Strong Belwas seized him by the shoulder and slammed him down onto the marble so hard that Dany heard Ghael's teeth crack. The Shavepate would have done worse, but she stopped him.

"Enough," she said, dabbing at her cheek with the end of her tokar. "No one has ever died from spittle. Take him away."

Views on torture

CERSEI:

Even in the black cells, all they got from him were denials, prayers, and pleas for mercy. Before long, blood was streaming down his chin from all his broken teeth, and he wet his dark blue breeches three times over, yet still the man persisted in his lies. "Is it possible we have the wrong singer?" Cersei asked.

"All things are possible, Your Grace. Have no fear. The man will confess before the night is done." Down here in the dungeons, Qyburn wore roughspun wool and a blacksmith's leather apron. To the Blue Bard he said, "I am sorry if the guards were rough with you. Their courtesies are sadly lacking." His voice was kind, solicitous. "All we want from you is the truth."

DANY:

"If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession."

"No," she said. "I do not trust these confessions. You've brought me too many of them, all of them worthless."

 MISCELLANOUS

Dealing with adverse political faction(s)

CERSEI: gleefully send Loras off to Dragonstone to be killed, frame Margaery and Margaery’s cousins for adultery, publicly shame Mace Tyrell at Tywin’s funeral, insult the Tyrells at every turn.

DANY: marries one of their highest members, try to reach peaceful agreements.

Priorities

DANY:

“The Tolosi had replied to her request for an alliance by proclaiming her a whore and demanding that she return Meereen to its Great Masters. Even that was preferable to the answer of Mantarys, which came by way of caravan in a cedar chest. Inside she had found the heads of her three envoys, pickled.”

CERSEI:

Can’t think of a specific passage here, but we know enough of Cersei to guess that if she were in Dany’s place, it would’ve been written more like this:

The Tolosi had replied to her request for an alliance by way of caravan in a cedar chest. Inside she had found the heads of her three envoys, pickled. Even that was preferable to the answer of Mantarys, that proclaimed her a whore and demanded that she return Meereen to its former rulers.

[bitchin-beskar]

of all the stupid, reckless things...

Rating: T (minor violence, mentions of throwing up, some kissing)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Did I stay up to watch Episode 9 of the Mandalorian on the day it released? Yes. Did I proceed to write this fic after watching Episode 9 twice in a row? Also yes. I saw this scene and immediately a fic idea showed itself to me as if in a vision. So, here it is, written less than 24 hours after season 2 premiered!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! I love the feedback!

PLEASE BE WARNED. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 9 OF THE MANDALORIAN. IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN 2x01 DO NOT READ (unless you’re into spoilers and stuff)

“What are you gonna do?”

Din looks over at Vanth. “I don’t know, but wish me luck.” Activating Vanth’s jet pack, he sends him away. He turns to you. “Go! Protect the kid!”

Din shouts his last command at you before taking the detonator and standing right in the path of the krayt dragon. You’re stunned, frozen in place for a moment before you manage to get your limbs moving, sprinting towards the canvas bag that holds the Child.

Your blaster is shaking in your grasp, not from fear of the dragon, but out of worry for Din. He can get... reckless, when it comes to keeping both you and the kid safe, and you’re terrified this is another one of those moments when Din forgets he’s not actually made of beskar.

You hear the people from Mos Pelgo gasp, and you whirl around, just in time to see the dragon lunge forward, jaw opened wide to swallow both the bomb-laden bantha and your Mandalorian whole.

“MANDO!”

Your scream echoes, bouncing off the huge rock formation in front of you. You immediately try to rush forward, desperately diving towards the shifting sand where the krayt dragon and Din disappeared, when strong arms wrap around you to keep you back.

You struggle, clawing at your captor, but it’s no use. The grip is stronger than beskar, and you sink to your knees, your mouth open in a silent scream.

The others, Tuskens and residents of Mos Pelgo alike are staring at you, but you couldn’t care less. Faintly, you can hear the Child whimpering, and it breaks through the fog that clouds your mind. You start to push against Vanth again, but this time trying to get to the baby who’s about to have a full-on meltdown.

He lets you go, and you stagger over on unsteady feet, picking up the small, whimpering child. He immediately latches on to the fabric of your shirt, burying his face as his tiny body begins to shake.

Sinking to your knees, you cradle the Child, tears of your own rolling down your cheeks. There’s silence all around you, and it only makes you want to cry harder.

Beneath your knees, the ground begins to rumble. You want to scream and cry, to yell about how it isn’t fair that the stupid dragon already ate Din, and it didn’t even have the decency to die. A shadow falls over you, and you look up to see Vanth standing in front of you, guarding you, although you’re sure the both of you know there’s little either of you can do if the dragon decides it wants to eat either of you next.

Your vision is blurred from tears as you watch the krayt dragon spring from the sand, howling in... wait, was it in pain? You can see a faint blue glow coming from the mouth of the beast, but before you can even begin to think about what that means, the dragon lets out a scream, electricity illuminating the figure that bursts forth from the dragon’s mouth.

Your jaw drops as you realize it’s Din, his jet pack propelling him up and away from the creature, right before a giant explosion tears apart the middle of the dragon. It’s death cry is haunting, but you only have eyes for the beskar-clad Mandalorian that’s shakily landing in front of you, green fluids covering him from head to toe.

You can hear the people around you beginning to rush forward towards the now-dead krayt dragon, Vanth included, but you only have eyes for Din. The Child coos and reaches for him, and you shakily hold him out for Din to grab.

They have a quiet moment, and you take the time to collect yourself, wiping tears from your cheeks and calming your racing heartbeat. He’s here, in front of you. Din’s safe, he’s not dead in the belly of a krayt, he’s alive, and whole, and here.

Din turns to set the Child back down in his little canvas bag, but before he can turn to you, Vanth is calling for him. Din pauses, his helmet turned toward you, but you shake your head.

“Go. I’m fine. See what our friends need.”

Din hesitates for another moment before nodding sharply, turning and walking towards the group of people surrounding the carcass.

Your breath wooshes out of your lungs, and you collapse inelegantly onto the hot sand. You put your head down, elbows balanced on your knees as you try to stave off the intense feelings of panic that have been struggling to surface since you saw Din get swallowed.

You sit there for a long time, and before you realize it, it’s started to get dark. The others have set up tents and campfires to ward off the cold, and you belatedly realize you’re shivering. You’re in the middle of trying to work up the energy to stand when a shadow falls over you.

Looking up, you see Din, holding his hand out. You take it gratefully, allowing the Mandalorian to practically lift you off your feet with the speed and power he pulls you up with. Your hand lands on his cuirass for balance, and for a moment, the two of you stand there in silence, your face so close to Din’s visor that for a moment, you think you see him blink.

One of the Tuskens calls out to Din, and with a hand on the small of your back, he leads you over to the nearest campfire. There’s a spot for the two of you, and you sit once more on the sand.

Din engages in conversation with the Tusken on his right, but he keeps his hand placed on the ground behind you, his arm resting ever so slightly against your back. You stare at the flames, almost in a trance, your mind still struggling to compartmentalize the absolutely insane range of emotions you’ve experienced in the last few hours.

One of the Tuskens from another campfire walks over with some bowls of food. You’re offered meat, and you’re pretty sure it’s dead krayt dragon. You stare unblinking at the bowl for a moment before the sudden urge to throw up overcomes you.

Shaking your head, you stutter an apology before you’re on your feet, running out of the camp, behind one of the far tents, collapsing to your knees and dry heaving. Earlier, you’d been kicking yourself for not eating, but now, you’re grateful, because there’s nothing in your system to throw up.

When your stomach decides to stop rebelling, you moan quietly and slump over, your entire body trembling slight from the cold and from the force of your heaving.

A warm hand on your back startles you, and you weakly lift your head to see Din crouched next to you, his helmet on the sand next to him, dark brown eyes staring at you in concern.

Neither of you say anything, the silence hanging between the two of you thick and uncomfortable. It’s clear Din doesn’t know what to say, and you’re not exactly sure either. As you study his features, a small part of your mind decides to remind you that you almost lost him earlier, and your next action is less of a decision and more of a reflex.

Reaching out, you place your hands on Din’s cheeks, pulling him to you and kissing him desperately.

He’s startled, and flails a little bit to try and regain his balance, but he quickly gets with the program, kissing you back with just as much desperation. His hand is still resting on your back, the other planted in the sand to keep the both of you upright.

His lips fit perfectly against yours, and if it were any other time, you’d know exactly what would come next.

But it’s not any other time, it’s right now, and Din almost died today, and that panicked thought propels you forward, pushing Din back and quickly straddling his lap, fingers tangling in his hair as you reassure yourself that he’s still alive and with you.

You thank the Maker that Din understands, his arm sliding around your waist to keep you steady, letting you plunder his mouth as you reaffirm the fact that he’s in front of you, between your thighs, not being digested in the gastrointestinal system of a krayt dragon.

Din lets you control the kiss for a little bit, knowing how much you need this before slowly starting to take that control back. His grip on you becomes firmer, more secure, and his kisses become more demanding. Your panicked thoughts have calmed enough that you allow him to lead, letting him reassure himself that you’re still safe, alive, and well.

When the two of you finally part, you don’t go far, pressing your face into the fabric bunched at Din’s neck, letting him stroke your hair, breathing deeply as his scent calms you further.

“Are you alright, cyar’ika?”

Oh Maker, you want to cry.

“Am I alright? Din, you’re the one who was eaten by a dragon! I should be asking you that.”

Din sighs. “I’m fine, I promise.” He shifts, pulling back slightly so that he can get you to look at him. “But sweetheart, you’re scaring me. You’re pale and shaking, you haven’t eaten.” He sighs again. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you alright?”

A watery chuckle escapes your throat, tears filling your eyes for the second or third time in as many hours. “No, I’m not fine Din. I thought you died.” A shudder runs through your body at the word. “The–The panic that I felt? The absolute terror when I saw that stupid dragon swallow you whole, I–”

You stop, forcing yourself to look Din in the eyes. “Of all the stupid, reckless things you’ve done Din Djarin, that one is at the top of the list.” You try to make your voice stern, but it’s shaking a little too much to manage that.

Din’s eyes soften as he stares at you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I put you through that.” His fingers trail over your cheek, wiping away some of the tears. “You have to know, I’d do it again a thousand times to keep you and the Child safe.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you nod before pressing your lips against Din’s again. As you kiss Din again and again, sitting on the sandy ground behind a Tusken tent in the Tatooine twilight, you thank whatever gods or deities might exist that your stupid, reckless Mandalorian is still here with you.

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any future works!

[secretlysheikah]

Tower Trouble part 1:

The Trouble With Teleportation

So, really surprised that people liked my other story, it really makes me happy that I made something people liked so I’ve decided to write another story.

Actually this story was meant to be something else but I realized this one was getting really long so I had to split it. Get ready because the next part might be... intense... also sorry for more Wild centric stories, but I find his character endlessly fascinating.

As always, I do not claim any ownership over the Linked universe! That honor belongs to @jojo56830 . I’m just the happy fool who is very delighted she can contribute to this diverse community.

Summary: after landing in Wild’s Hyrule once again Wild notices something strange and the group is ready to find out what’s up. Too bad they’re miles away but Wild thinks he has an idea on how to fix that.

Start here:

*************************

It had been a few weeks since they had been in Wild’s Hyrule and Wild couldn’t help but sigh and take in the breeze that rushed across the plains. The sky was a lovely shade of orange shot through with brilliant red and tinged with the dark blues of early evening. He took a deep breath, he was home and his spirit flexed and relaxed. The other eight heroes on the other hand seemed suddenly more tense.

Wild couldn’t blame them really, his Hyrule had a tendency towards the unpredictable much like himself. For example they could be happily walking through a field chatting away amongst themselves one moment, only to end up in a life or death battle with Lynel the next. Wild thought it was great balance of calm and excitement but he could see where the others were coming from. Not to mention the last time they had been here they had a bit of a rough time with the blood moon. Wild still felt very guilty when he thought about that.

Either way they were here now, and they had work to do. Although Wild on his part wanted to show them that his Hyrule wasn’t all that bad. Hell, he thought maybe this time he would get the chance to show them. Wild smiled slightly at the idea, hope sparking lightly in his chest at the thought.

“So where are we exactly?” Legend asked grumpily looking around the field with distrust, as if a bokoblin was going to pop out from underneath a rock.

Wild hummed as he looked around, it appeared they had ended up in the field just around Kakariko village. Wild said as much when he turned to face the group.

“A village you say? Any chance we can find some beds to sleep in?” Four asked and Wild could hear the hope in his voice. In fact looking around at the group they all looked tired and worn. Even Wild was feeling a bit worn down now that he was thinking about it.

It had been a long couple weeks filled with black blooded monsters and various injuries to the group. A broken arm here, and slash wound there and everyone had gotten a chance to need healing potions. How long had it been since they all had an uninterrupted night’s rest without the threat of attack or worrying if someone was alright? Wild honestly couldn’t remember.

“And maybe a shop? We’re low on supplies” Sky piped up from the back of the group rubbing his eyes and giving a small yawn. Wild nodded in confirmation resisting the urge to yawn himself and pulled out his slate.

“The village should have everything we need, let me just look up…” Wild stopped suddenly as he looked at his map, a sudden wave of shock splashing over him as he gazed at the slate. Twilight perked up at the sudden tension that stiffened Wild’s posture.

“Something wrong?” Twilight questioned as he trotted forward to look at slate himself. Wild’s brows furrowed as he tapped on the slate but said nothing.

“There’s something wrong with my map.” Wild muttered after a minute of tapping at the screen. Annoyance and poorly masked worry laced his tone. There was a loud groan from Legend.

“Are you telling us we’re fucking lost?” Legend complained throwing his head back in despair. Wild looked towards Legend’s melodrama with a flat look.

“I know where we are, I was just checking the distance, thanks for the vote of confidence. What I’m worried about is the fact that it seems a region of my map is missing.” Wild didn’t mean for his words to come out in such a clipped tone but he couldn’t help it. Something like this has never happened before and it was sending a chorus of alarm bells ringing in his mind.

“What?” Time asked as he and the other Links moved to surround Wild. Their proximity made Wild squirm a little bit but he forced it down the best he could. He was getting a lot better with the others being close, but the issue with the slate was putting him on edge.

Sky seemed to notice this and moved his arms out to the side to stop Warriors and Legend from crowding. Wind had already taken up a position along with Hyrule and Four just in front of the slate. Time and Twilight taking up the spots on either side of Wild.

“Maybe it just didn’t register right” Wind hummed and Hyrule nodded in agreement while Four seemed to be lost in thought, a slight flicker in his eyes as he pondered the map.

“Maybe close the map and bring it back up?” Four suggested and Wild shrugged. Wild never ran into the problem with the map not loading before, but hey it was an idea. Wild made a couple more taps on the slate and the map disappeared. He waited a couple seconds then brought the map back.

“No Luck it seems” Time commented noting the still missing region. Wild’s heart sank. He really hoped the slate wasn’t broken. Had it been damaged during one of the many fights over the past weeks? He didn’t think so but would he have even noticed? Wild’s map was useless outside of his own Hyrule, only displaying static when he opened it. Wild began to rub at the scars on his face in agitation only stopping when Twilight tapped his arm softly.

“It’s okay cub, we can figure this out” Twilight said voice steady and calm. Wild sighed tiredly and put the slate away. He was agitated and tried all at the same time.

“Come on, lets get walking. The village isn’t far and we don’t want to be caught out at night” Wild said his voice was only a low whisper as he pushed through the others standing in front of him. He felt the others fall in step behind him, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes of walking Sky raised his voice to ask a question.

“You said the map was missing a region right? How exactly does one region disappear? Wouldn’t the whole map just disappear too?” Wild shook his head as they walked underneath the first arch that lead to the village.

“No, the whole map is made up of different regions that I unlocked through my travels around Hyrule. There are these tower things that have all the information in them, I’m sure you’ve seen them around. I would climb to the top and then download the region onto my slate.” Wild explained and there was silence again for a few heart beats before an amazed voice cut through the silence.

“You climbed those things? They’re absolutely massive!” Wind shouted hands flying into the air to illustrate his point. Wild couldn’t help but smile a small bit.

“Well, I did have some tricks to get closer to the top of tower that was way faster than climbing” Wild explained cryptically. Before anyone could ask more questions Sky chimed in again.

“Well why don’t we just go to that tower and download the information again?” Sky asked and Wild weighed his options of which he had few.

On one hand he could do nothing and hope that the problem resolved itself, and on the other hand going to the tower to see what was wrong would answer his questions and give him instant gratification without the need for speculation. Wild had to admit to himself the latter option was the most appealing. As Wild pondered Warriors offered a different perspective on the issue.

“What if it’s a trap? Lure us to this tower thing and attack?” Wild had to admit he made a good point.

“But what if this is why Hylia sent us here? It could be part of our mission” Hyrule interjected and Time seemed to agree.

“Hyrule is right, this could be why we were sent here next. Although War has a point.” Time paused thinking over the conundrum briefly before continuing.

“It would seem the best way for us to find out anything is to ask around. See if anything weird has been noticed around that blank part of the map.” Time said and the whole group nodded. Getting information it would seem would only help them in this situation.

“We can ask around, people here are kind and are usually ready to help” Wild said absently rubbing at his face again.

“That’s the plan then, gather supplies and intel” Twilight said decisively placing his hand on Wild’s shoulder and passing him as the group went through the last archway and into Kakariko village.

The Links split up then setting about reserving beds and venturing out to grab various supplies. Wild made his way over to a cooking pot and set to work making some potions to restock their supply. Wild didn’t have a lot of ingredients but he did his best. He considered briefly on going to the great fairy fountain and catching a couple fairies but dismissed the idea. He had one already in his slate, and he figured Legend or Hyrule would have one. Once he was satisfied that each person had at least one bottle of elixir a piece he set to work making dinner for the group.

His mind kept drifting back to the slate. What was happening and why now? He hated to admit it but the whole situation made his mouth taste like metal and he couldn’t help but agree with Warriors about the possible ambush. Wild didn’t even to attempt to pretend he knew how the towers worked, but as far as he was aware once the towers put the information on his slate that information remained. Wild rubbed his head trying to stave off the beginnings of a headache. The whole situation was turning into a big mess.

It took about an hour for the rest of the group to meet around the cooking pot for dinner. Everyone conveying roughly the same information. No one here had noticed anything out the ordinary besides the increase of monster attacks. This only helped to raise more alarm bells in Wild’s head.

“This whole situation makes no sense, you would think someone would have noticed something” Legend grumbled tucking into the hearty stew Wild had made.

“Well, maybe not. This town is deep in a valley, there’s a good chance that no one has noticed simply thanks to the walls that literally surround this town” Sky said calmly as he patted a cucco that had wandered close to him. The cucco was seemingly intent on stealing some of the vegetables from Sky’s bowl. Sky chuckled and gave the bird some carrot and went back to eating his stew.

Time nodded thoughtfully before speaking.

“Well given we found no new information it seems like we have no choice but to go to this tower and find out what’s wrong.” Time paused seeing that Warriors and Legend were about to chime in.

“We will go to the tower, but we will be going prepared for an ambush” Time finished staring down the two boys with a look that said it was the last they would speak of it.

“The tower is in the Akkala region. its going to be a bit of trek. I could go alone, teleport there and I could…. ” Wild started and slowly stopped talking seeing the look on his companion’s faces. It was Twilight that spoke first.

“There is no way that’s going to happen cub. We go together or not at all” Twilight admonished and Wild sighed heavily.

“How long of a walk are we talking?” Hyrule asked over another mouthful of stew. Wild licked his lips before he answered.

“It’s going to take us a week to get there if we walk” Wild said and he winced at the groans that split the air. They could do it, but it wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t a straight path to the tower, and the roads were barely safer during the day than they were at night.

“What about that teleport thing you were talking about?” Four asked trying find a way to mitigate the misery of the group. Wild thought for a moment.

“Never tried teleporting with another person before, let alone eight others. I suppose it’s possible if everyone has direct contact with me.” Wild said and Four nodded clearly thinking.

“You never tried it before? What if something goes wrong and we all merge together or something?” Legend cried and the group went quiet again thinking about the possible ramifications of teleporting multiple people.

“Well I’ve never teleported with other people but that doesn’t mean I’ve never teleported with other living creatures.” Wild pondered out loud.

“This one time I accidently hit a cucco with a tree branch and I teleported after like the whole coop came out after me. Some of them came with me. They were okay, they only seemed a little disoriented” Wild finished this thought sheepishly not looking at the horror on their faces.

“Why did you hit a cucco with a tree branch?” Sky asked, horrified at the wrong thing. Wild rubbed the back of his head with embarrassment.

“It was an accident! I was being attacked by bees and I” Sky held up a hand in an attempt to stop him. He clearly was not prepared to deal with a crazy ass story right then.

“Hold on to that thought, we’ll get back to that later.” Four said interrupting Wild’s rambling off topic story.

“You think it’s possible to teleport with other people?” Four continued drawing the group’s attention back on topic.

Wild shrugged pulled out his slate and tapped on the screen before leaning over to Legend and grabbing his arm. With a twinkling of blue light strands the pair were gone. Everyone froze at the disappearing act. They looked around frantically meal forgotten until they heard shouting from the cliff side behind them. They whipped around and saw a very angry Legend pointing and shouting at Wild. Their voices were too far away to hear properly but the did notice when Legend suddenly stopped yelling and doubled over apparently sick from the teleportation. There was another twinkling of blue light and the boys were back. A very green looking Legend gasping, with hands on his knees trying not to lose anymore of his dinner. Wild was smiling, mischief dancing around in his blue eyes.

“It works, not sure how many people I can take at once though.” Wild said patting Legend’s back. Legend weakly batted away his hand as he slowly stood up still very green in the face.

“I hate you” Legend gasped out at Wild who only smiled.

“But it worked, and now we won’t have to spend a week walking to the tower” Wild said with a toothy grin. Legend gave a scathing look and Wild gave a half assed attempt to make him feel better.

“I felt sick too the first couple times I teleported, you get used to it” Legend only continued to glare at him and went to go sit back down.

“How did you teleport back here? I thought you could only teleport to certain points on the map?” Twilight asked and Wild’s eyes lit up as he held up a finger signaling them to wait. He looked through slate again and tapped on something. There was a flash of blue and Wild held out what looked like a coin.

“I found this not too long ago! It’s a traveler’s medallion, place it anywhere you want and you make an instant warping point” Wild said proudly as Twilight examined the object in his hand curious at how a such a small coin could hold so much power. There was a chorus of ‘Let me see’ s and ‘hand it here’s so Wild passed the little coin around letting each of them examine the object. Once the coin made it’s way back to Wild and he tucked it back into his slate and Time addressed the group.

“Alright, so we have a plan. We teleport close to the tower and walk in” Everyone nodded in agreement even Legend though his nod was tinged with green around his eyes.

“We should get some rest, it seems we have a big day tomorrow” Time said stretching and making movements like he was about to stand.

“Hold on there old man, there’s something I want to discuss first” Warriors piped up leaning forward eyes, locked onto Wild.

“Tell us about this cucco story first.” The group erupted then, yelling for Wild to continue the story he had unintentionally started earlier. Wild sighed, growing embarrassed as he felt his face turn a deep shade of pink. He rejoined the group with slight reluctance to tell the story.

*************************************************

They woke up early the next morning, knowing it was going to be a long day. After eating a very light breakfast at Wild’s urging and satisfied that everyone had something in their belly Wild went and sat down to look over the map. In the blank region of the map there were still little blue spots marked showing shrines they could still teleport to. The problem was figuring out which one would be close enough to the tower.

Wild scrunched up his face in thought as he tried to remember the exact area where the tower was. He knew the tower was near Tarrey Town and the south Akkala stable but he wasn’t sure which one was closer. He thought about it while the others quietly checked their packs to make sure everything was in order.

Finally after much mental debate Wild picked the shrine they would go to. He believed it was the one next to the stable but they would have to wait to find out if he was right. There was no room for error, he didn’t know how his body was going to react to the near constant teleporting he was about to do. He had teleported in rapid succession before but it was no more than 3 times, and even then he had a little bit of break in between each trip. Wild drummed his fingers against the table top, he really didn’t want to have to make more trips than necessary.

“Figured out our landing spot?” Warriors asked breaking Wild from his thoughts as he put a hot cup of tea and small breakfast cake in front of him.

“I think so, and if we’re lucky we should also be right by a stable” Wild said nodding and took a sip of tea. It was hot and sweet and the cake was still warm and fluffy. He vaguely wondered where they got the cake from because he didn’t make it and he was very sure none of the others knew how to cook an egg let alone breakfast cakes or any cakes for that matter. Wild raised an eyebrow at Warriors gesturing to the tea and cake. Warriors shrugged and gestured to the women at the counter of the inn.

“She said someone named Paya dropped the tea and cakes off for us” Wild nodded a small smile dancing across his lips as he sipped at the hot tea. Noticing his smile Warriors leaned in close.

“Oooo, got a girlfriend huh?” Warriors teased jabbing an elbow into Wild’s side making him flinch.

“She’s Impa’s granddaughter, she’s very nice but very shy” Wild said quietly remembering the first time he met the girl. She had practically turned herself inside out with anxiety and shyness.

“You’re telling me you didn’t even flirt with her?” Warriors asked flabbergasted. Wild rolled his eyes and drank more tea.

“Not everyone has the urge to sleep with every girl they see” Legend snarked as he sat down across from them. There was a cry of mock scorn from Warriors as he placed his hand on his chest as if he were hurt. Legend ignored him and turned his attention to Wild who downed the rest of his tea and finished off the cake.

“Are you sure you want to eat? Just teleporting that one time made me want to hurl” Legend said eyeing Wild’s empty plate.

“It was something light, and anyways I’m used to teleporting” Legend just rolled his eyes.

“But this is going to be different, there’s going to be a lot of back and forth. Aren’t you worried?” Warriors asked curiosity mixing with other emotions Wild couldn’t place. Wild only shrugged again and stood. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, this was their only plan for now.

“Eh, we’ll just have to burn that bridge when we get to it” Wild said forcing a smile as he walked off to meet up the other heroes outside ignoring how Legend and Warriors looked at each other as he left.

Outside Time and Twilight were talking animatedly out front of the inn, about what Wild wasn’t sure. He continue to scan the area and saw Four, Wind and Hyrule off in the distance chatting with the cucco farmer as he threw food out for the birds. Sky was in the cucco pen, apparently helping the farmer by collecting eggs.

Wild paused then taking in the calm scene before him. He almost wanted runaway, forget what they had to do and just be free. To save this odd group that he started to consider his family from whatever the next couple days held. A knot of guilt started to form in his gut, his leg twitched as if he would start running at any moment. Then the strange bubble of calm and anxiety he was feeling burst as a squabbling Legend and Warriors emerged from the inn. The group’s eyes snapped over to them, the small group around that farmer said their respective goodbyes and jogged over to stand next to Time and Twilight. It was time to go.

Wild, Legend and Warriors met with the group and Time looked to Wild and nodded. Wild nodded back and looked around the group before addressing them.

“Now, I’m going to assume that this way of travel is going to be new to you, so I’m going to give you a couple of tips to help you guys not lose your breakfast” Wild said giving a light cough and looked towards Legend who scowled back irritably. He felt the steady weight of eyes on him and Wild resisted the urge to rub at his scars. He hated being the center of attention. Twilight gave him an encouraging nod and Wild took a breath before continuing.

“First, don’t hold your breath. Focus on breathing normally, that will help with the nausea.” Heads nodded in understanding and he continued.

“Next try your best not to tense up, it makes your muscles weak when you land, and close your eyes if you have to. I’ve found it helps with the disorientation.” Wild gave a curt nod and looked around at the wide eyes staring back at him. The weight of their gazes felt heavier now and he felt his hand reaching up towards his face. Noticing this he forced his hand back down to his side and waited for any questions the group could think of.

“Well, this sounds like a fun experience” Warriors said breaking the silent tension that was steady building around the group.

“Trust me, it isn’t” Legend grumbled unhappily.

“You were the one complaining about walking”

“That doesn't mean I wouldn’t have walked” Legend snapped.

“Will you both give it a rest? I’ve got a question.” Four's voice broke in between the growing argument between the two. Wild nodded and gestured for Four to ask his question.

“Should we bend our knees or anything like that?” Four asked eyes flashing an odd purple and Wild blinked at him.

“I honestly don’t know, I’ve never thought about it” Wild answered suddenly feeling off kilter. Did he bend his knees? Now he wasn’t sure. Sensing his discomfort Twilight stepped in.

“Alright, enough talk, let’s get this show on the road.” Twilight said looking around for volunteers.

“Oh! Me first!” Wind hopped and capered about in his excitement. Wild couldn’t help but smile. He loved the enthusiasm of the youngest hero. Wild nodded and gestured him forward as he tapped on the slate and produced his travel medallion. Wind practically leapt forward nearly barreling right into Wild. Shaking his head Wild dropped the coin and there was a flash of a blue circle marking the new travel spot briefly before it disappeared from sight.

“See you later suckers!” Wind called out to the group flourishing a rupee wallet. Wild grabbed the other boy’s arm as there was a shout from Warriors as he realized the little shit just stole his wallet. Wild pressed a button and they were gone.

The youngest hero took the experience well. Once they rematerialized Wind opened his eyes and only staggered a little bit on the stone entryway of the shrine. Wild kept hold of him until the other seemed to get his bearings. Wind shook his head a couple times and then smiled at Wild.

“Let’s do that again!” He cried and Wild had to stifle a laugh. Nothing ever seemed to squash his spirit.

“Maybe later, until then stay over there and wait for the others” Wild pointed to the side of the shrine. Wind nodded happily and hopped off the platform looking around at the new scenery. Satisfied that Wind was okay Wild tapped on his slate again and was off back to the others.

When he returned Warriors practically collided into Wild in his eagerness to go next.

“Just promise me you won’t kill the kid” Twilight said trying his level best not to laugh at Warriors who had apparently been stomping around angrily prior to Wild’s return.

“No promises” Warriors growled as he grabbed onto Wild’s arm. Wild looked at Twilight who just shrugged. Taking that as permission the two were off.

After Warriors and Wild landed at the shrine he stayed for a minute or two to make sure Warriors didn’t murder the youngest hero. Satisfied that he wouldn’t have to help dig a grave, Wild made quick work gathering the others. It was a long process but each one handled the experience rather well.

Four went next and only looked a little green when Wild left him with the other two. Sky and Time both were a little disoriented but all in all they seemed no worse for wear. Wild on the other hand was starting to feel odd with each new trip.

It started as a little tremble in his hands and had slowly progressed to his breathing becoming a little strained. Time noticed this after he had recovered from the disorientation and gave him a worried look.

“Are you okay? You look a little pale. You can take a break if you need to” Time said seeing that Wild seemed to wobble slightly. Wild took a deep breath and shook his head.

“I’m fine, I’m almost done anyways” Wild said with a slightly wonky smile. Time looked unconvinced but Wild was gone before he had a chance to say anything else. He just wanted to get this done already.

To his surprise Legend was next to go, apparently getting impatient and wanting to get the experience over with. Wild felt sweat breaking out on his forehead but ignored it. He was almost done, just a couple more rounds. Dropping off the clearly nauseated Legend in the care of Time, Wild quickly traveled back to collect the next hero.

The tremors in his hand grew exponentially worse and his heart was beginning to race like he had just got done running away from a guardian stalker. Wild closed his eyes when he landed back in the village trying to relax his heart beat. When he opened his eyes he saw a concerned Twilight and Hyrule staring at him. Saying nothing Wild gestured for Hyrule to come forward. Hyrule for his part hesitated, eyeing him up and down clearly thinking. Wild could tell Hyrule was going to say something but before he could Wild took a couple steps forward, hand trembling and grasped Hyrule's sleeve and pressed the button. Swirling blue lights swallowed the pair and Wild had a quick glimpse of Twilight’s disapproving glare before the lights clouded his vision.

Wild staggered a bit on landing, his head spinning and the makings of a headache pounding behind his eyes. He took a few moments to breathe and rub his eyes willing the feeling to pass. Once he felt a little better he looked over to Hyrule to make sure he was doing okay. He looked okay for the most part, slightly green and wobbly. Hyrule’s eyes were wide as he took deep breaths trying to fight through the nausea. Once Hyrule had a composed himself he turned to face Wild.

“Wild, I think you should stop for a little, I think…” though he was cut off when Wild shook his head slightly giving him a lopsided grin.

“I’m fine, just a little tired.” He lied, he felt like Hell but he didn’t want the other boy to worry about him. Wild could do this, he could do his part to make the others lives a bit easier and if that meant he felt horrible for a few minutes then it was a small price to pay.

“No really, I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Hyrule continued as Warriors came up to help Hyrule off the landing of the shrine. Hearing what Hyrule was saying Warriors threw a worried look at Wild. Warriors too looked him up and down and the caption’s eyes hardened.

“Wild, I agree with ‘Rule, you look like Hell, come over here so you can take a breather” Warriors said in a hard tone, clearly a command. Wild only gave him a tired smile in response already fiddling with the slate to set off for the last member of the group.

“No guys, seriously it’s fine. Besides, it’s just one more trip, I can do that” Goddesses he really hoped he could.

Wild almost had to force himself to press the button, his body was screaming at him to stop. But he fought through his discomfort. ‘Just one more, one more trip and everyone will be here and then I can relax’ he thought to himself. The others we’re clearly about to protest, mouths beginning to open to plead their case or command him to sit, but blue lights twisted around him and carried him away back to the village before a word could be spoken.

This time when he landed Wild couldn’t help but nearly stumble and fall to the ground. His head felt light and his legs wobbled with his weight. Luckily Twilight noticed this and ran forward catching him before he fell.

“Woah there cub, Hylia, just sit down for a second” Twilight said slowly sitting Wild on the ground. Wild’s head was a pounding agony, and his whole body shuddered against his will. Wild noticed passively that his muscles felt weak and his breathing was coming out in sharp gasps. He practically slumped over on the grass and Twilight sat next to him quickly to help prop him up.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard” Twilight said handing Wild some water which he took gratefully. The glass felt cool against his hand and he downed the whole bottle in less than minute.

“I’ll be okay, just… just need to sit down for a minute” Wild gasped brushing away Twilight’s worry. Carefully he leaned back on shaky arms and looked at the fluttering paper talismans above them. It sounded like Twilight wanted to argue but he just hummed instead, supporting the other as they sat. After a few minutes of sitting Wild felt the tremors in his limbs lessen and the pounding in his head faded to a dull thrum. Wild shifted and cracked his neck hoping the tension would disappear. It did not.

“Are you okay? Can you travel one last time? If not we can always…” Twilight trailed off when Wild shook his head.

“And what would we do otherwise? Walk there? Besides the others would think something went wrong.” Wild sighed tiredly. He was starting to regret sitting down. The longer they sat there he could feel the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. Wild came to the decision that if they didn’t leave soon he would be too tired to be of any help.

“Anyways, I think I’m good.” Wild sighed as he stretched “Just had to take a break” he was lying but it wasn’t like they had a choice, the others were waiting for them to show up.

“Okay, but only if you’re sure” Twilight said standing and pulling Wild to his feet. Wild wobbled slightly and gave Twilight a small smile.

Twilight gave him a once over and frowned not liking what he saw. Wild for his part was already fiddling with his slate setting up the last trip. Twilight apparently came to a decision then but it was already too late, Wild not willing to hear what the other had to say was already grabbing on to his arm.

“Wait!” Twilight cried “I’ve changed my mind, let’s wait a few…” Twilight started but was cut off by Wild who had already pressed on the screen of the slate. There was a second where they both made eye contact and Wild had the distinct feeling he was going to hear about this later. The deed was done however, and blue light swirled up and warped the pair away.

**********************************************

Wild was fully aware he had made a poor decision when they got to their destination. No sooner had their feet hit the stone of the shrine’s entrance when Wild’s legs gave out from underneath him, slamming him knees first on the ground. His body radiated exhaustion, he was shaking all over and felt weak. His head felt like he taken several clubs to it. He was dimly aware of someone talking to him but he was too busy trying to get his breath back.

Wild felt hands grab onto his shoulders and they leaned him back so he was slumped against the pedestal of the shrine. He felt something drip from his nose and he glanced down to see a trickle of blood coming from his nose. Wild blinked dumbly for a few moments feeling the blood drip off his chin and land on his shirt. He grimaced, blood was a pain in the ass to get out of clothes. There was something being pressed into his hand and mumbling voices urging him to do something. He looked down at his hand and saw he was now holding some jerky and a bottle of some brightly colored liquid.

“Stop staring at it and eat” it was Hyrule’s voice he realized though it sounded miles away. As he sat there the fog that had settled around his brain lifted slightly. Wild blinked again and finally started to process the faces the were staring at him. Hyrule was looking at him expectantly still urging him to eat. Time was also there looking concerned and slightly frustrated. Mechanically Wild brought the food to his mouth and began to chew. There was a sigh of relief from Hyrule who turned to Time with a smile.

“He’ll be okay… he ju-… in a minute or….” Hyrule was clearly explaining something to Time who was nodding, but he was having a hard time hearing exactly what was being said. which was probably bad considering they were practically right next to him.

‘I should be worried about this’ Wild thought to himself but he couldn’t bring himself to really care at that moment. He just sniffled back a little before he continued to eat his pieces of jerky.

To Wild’s surprise Hyrule was right, as he ate he felt some life coming back to him. He started to drink heavily from the bottle not even tasting the sweet tang of juice. He would have downed the bottle in three seconds if he wasn’t forced to slow down by Hyrule who made him lower the bottle.

“Easy…. ‘mall sips f.. ‘ow, you’ll….yourself sick” Hyrule’s voice was cutting in and out but Wild got the gist and nodded carefully trying not to make his head hurt even more.

Distantly he heard what he assumed were other voices and looked over to see Time talking to Twilight, Hyrule appearing to jump in occasionally. Even though they were close Wild still couldn’t really hear what they were saying. Now that the fog that had settled over his brain was finally lifting he was steadily growing more alarmed over the fact that he couldn’t hear. Apparently His facial expression was enough because Hyrule gave him a questioning look when he glanced Wild’s way again.

“I don’t think my ears are working, I can’t really hear anything” Wild explained and hoped he wasn’t yelling. Wild took took another bite of food and Hyrule gave him a knowing nod and leaned closer to answer him.

“That’s probably a side effect of using up most of your energy, it should come back soon.” Wild was confused but too tired to put anymore thought into the issue right then. So he simply shrugged, nodded and went back to eating his food. When he finished off the last of the jerky he could feel that the tremors in his limbs had subsided. His head still ached and he felt weak but it was a marked improvement from a few minutes earlier. He wiped the blood from his nose and finished off that last bit of juice setting the bottle gently down on the ground. He didn’t feel great but he definitely felt better than before.

“How are you feeling cub?” Twilight asked noticing Wild putting down the empty bottle. Wild was happy to note that Hyrule was right, he could hear a lot better now. Wild gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged.

“I’ve felt better but nothing to really complain about either.” Wild said, in truth he felt like he’d just got done being trampled by multiple Lynels and he desperately wanted to go to sleep but he didn’t want the others to worry so he kept that bit of information to himself. Besides that he wanted to know something first.

“Hyrule, you were saying something earlier about what happened, but I couldn’t really hear what you’re talking about” Wild asked Hyrule while fighting back a yawn. Hyrule nodded moving closer to make sure Wild could hear him.

“Basically what seemed to have happened is that your teleporting so frequently in one sitting used up all your energy” Hyrule was about to continue but Wild cut him off.

“But how? I thought it was just the slate doing all the hard work, I don’t even have magic to use I don’t think” Wild asked as he carefully shifted his weight to a more comfortable position. Hyrule was shaking his head when he answered.

“I didn’t say it was magic, I said energy.” Wild didn’t really see the difference. Hyrule must have noticed that he wasn’t getting the concept and sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Think of it like this, That slate of yours does a lot of stuff right?” Hyrule asked and Wild nodded.

“And in order to do that stuff the slate needs energy. So The slate takes small amounts of your energy every time you use it.” Wild gave another nod and gestured for Hyrule to continue.

“Usually the power it pulls from you is minimal, the things you’re doing are fairly simple. However it would seem that the constant teleporting you were doing caused the slate to draw a lot of energy from you each time you teleported. So by the time you were done, the slate had drained you to the point where you collapsed.” Hyrule finished and Wild turned the idea over in his head. He never had to think about the slate like that before. but thinking on it now it did make sense.

“I wonder if the amount of people being teleported at once made this ‘energy draw’ worse” Time pondered and Wild jumped a little, he had forgotten Time was there. Hyrule gave a non-committal shrug.

“Tough to say if it was amount of people teleporting at once or if it was the amount of times he teleported in one sitting. It is possible that both factors contributed to the issue though. We would have to test it, see what happens” Hyrule said and Wild could see Twilight shaking his head.

“No, we’re not trying that. What if it kills him or something?” Twilight argued and Hyrule was going to say something but Wild interrupted.

“While this is probably something I’m going to play around with later, I was wondering if we could start off to camp?” Wild asked, he could feel himself mentally drifting and was fairly certain he would fall asleep right there if they continued to talk.

“Sure cub, are you sure you can walk?” Time asked and Wild answered by hauling himself up using the plinth behind him for leverage. He bit down a groan of pain and forced himself to stand upright. Though when he went to step forward he wobbled dangerously. Luckily he was immediately supported on either side by Twilight and Hyrule. Draping his arms over their shoulders he nodded his thanks and they began to walk down the steep slope.

“Turns out you were right about the stable, we landed right above it. We already have beds reserved so you can go get some sleep.” Hyrule said and Wild nodded thankful he had a bed to sleep in.

“Okay, I’ll get a little rest then I’ll make some dinner for everyone” Wild yawned his head bobbing, he could feel his eye lids trying to droop. He was doing his best not to let them. Twilight only hummed in response and the group continued walking.

Once they walked in the stable it wasn’t long until they were suddenly surrounded by the rest of their party. Each asking with various levels of concern how Wild was doing. Wild heard Twilight and Hyrule saying something but he was just focusing on not falling asleep on his feet. Apparently Time said something to the rest of group because just as suddenly everyone was gone and he was landing face first on a bed. He groaned with relief and rolled to his back. His vision was fuzzy and there were moats of black spots floating around his vision. He felt a hand gently pat his forehead and Twilight’s voice drifted down to his ears.

“Get some rest cub, you earned it” Wild’s eyes were already sliding closed. He couldn’t keep them open even if he wanted to. With a sigh Wild let himself slip into a warm and soft dreamless sleep.

*************************************************

Wild felt himself floating on the cusp of wakefulness. He was still floating in a peaceful nothingness, his mind not latching on to anything except the feeling of weightlessness.

Dimly he noticed that there was a subtle pressure on the bed right behind his back. Then the sound of heavy breathing right in his ear before it turned into a low dark chuckle. Then suddenly Wild was wide awake, sitting up quickly. For a few moments he didn’t know where he was or how he got there and he twisted around searching for who had laughed in his ear.

The noise was familiar, a light almost breathy laugh but he couldn’t place where he heard it before. The room he was in was dimly lit, other beds lined the walls and then he remembered where he was. The stable, the one in south Akkala that he teleported all his companions to.

His arms and chest had an odd buzz in them from the sudden rush of adrenaline after getting startled. He took a shaky breath and got out of bed. He felt worlds better but still a bit tired and the faint traces of a headache still lined the edges of his skull.

Then with a start he remembered that he had to make dinner. He took a shaky breath and trotted outside to the cooking pot. As he emerged from the tent he heard laughing voices and the clinking of forks against plates. Looking over he saw his friends eating happily around the pot, Wind looked in his direction and noticed him standing there awkwardly and called him over, holding his plate in the air while gesturing with his other hand for him to come sit.

“Hey there sleeping beauty, how are you feeling?” Warriors asked and Wild could feel himself blush.

“You didn’t wake me, I would have made dinner” Wild said ignoring the other’s comment.

“That’s quite alright, we were able to mange just fine, here have some” Time said filling a plate with what looked like rice and beef with a brown sauce. Wild looked at it distrustfully.

“Who made it?” Wild asked not reaching for the plate.

“Well it wasn’t Hyrule so you’re safe from being poisoned” Legend quipped and there was a quite snort of outrage from Hyrule. Everyone laughed, and Wild managed a small breathy laugh after a few moments.

“Is everything okay?” Twilight asked watching as Wild twisted the hem of his cloak in between his fingers.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I uh, I’m just still waking up. Hey did any of you check on me a couple minutes ago?” Wild asked before he could talk himself out of it. The group looked at each other confused.

“No, everyone has been hanging out here waiting for dinner to be done” Four answered, the group slowly looked to each other, quietly confirming the answer. Wild nodded his heart was still fluttering like a bird caught in a cage, his hands trembled slightly.

“Are you going to have some dinner, Wild?” Time asked breaking him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, I just need to splash some water on my face, I still feel kind of not all here.” Wild answered and Time nodded, placing the plate next to the fire to keep the food warm.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Twilight asked and Wild shook his head quickly.

“No, you eat, I’ll be back in a second” Wild said in a rush, quickly turning and making his way around the back of the stable where barrels of rain water stood. The orange sunset sky was quickly darkening, shadows stretching long in the failing light of day. Wild hovered over the barrels looking in at the darkened waters before reaching his hands in to splash some water on his burning cheeks. He wondered distantly if he was getting sick he hoped not. Or maybe he was just starting to lose his mind a small voice whispered in the back of mind.

“I just need a good nights sleep, that’s all I need and I’ll be right as rain in the morning.” He muttered to himself quietly, now using the water to wash away the remnants of blood from his face.

“You’ll definitely need it young one” a voice quietly said behind him. Wild whirled around heart pounding in panic but saw no one.

Eyes wide he rested himself against the barrel and struggled to get his breathing back to its normal calm. He was imagining things, he just needed to relax that was all. His eyes still scanned the darkened trees around him, searching for anyone hiding. Judging that there was no one there he pushed off the barrels and made his way swiftly back to the safety of the group.

Wild was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice that his shadow seemed to stay behind melting into the darkness. It watched Wild scurry away and let out a laugh that was quickly swallowed by the nighttime breeze that came rolling off the cliffs above.

Yes, it thought to itself maliciously tomorrow would be a very fun day indeed.

[jawritter]

You and Me...

Chapter 6

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** VERY BIG TRIGGER WARNING!! This chapter contains descriptions of injuries and heavy implications of Male Rape! Please know I don’t take this sort of thing lightly, and I was gentle as possible in the descriptions and implications as I could be, but still getting the story across as well!! Hints of mental disturbance, language probably, kidnapping, Angst, overall this one is pretty heavy.

Word Count: 2790

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared x Reader, OFC Justin X Reader, OFC Steve x Reader

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

It had been three days since Jensen had been to the studio. 

Steve had tried calling him but got no answer. Steve was starting to get worried, therefore he was making sure everyone in the office was on edge because that was just Steve. 

"Maybe he changed his mind," you mumble, looking through the recordings that had already been done, and checking to make sure all the copyrights for the songs he wanted to do were sent off, and ready just in case he did decide to show back up.

"He can't change his mind! He's under contract to finish this album here in this studio," Steve gritted out, going through Jensen's paperwork looking for another contact to try. 

"Damn Steve, you put that shit on lock didn't you?" Justin said, spinning his chair in circles like an overgrown kid, not really concerned as to whether or not Jensen showed back up. He didn’t seem to like Jensen all that much anyway.

Steve turned to give him his best bitchface. "This album could put our studio on the map,"  he said coldly. “We need this guy to finish this album.”

Then something dawns on you, something you had totally forgotten about. You had Misha's number. 

You were going to send him a donation to his charity, and while he was here he gave it to you so that he could text you the address to send the money in to. 

"I have Misha's number, try him, maybe he knows a way to contact him," you glancing over your shoulder, and Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you for waiting until now to let that little piece of information out. 

Pulling out your phone and text him the phone number, and as soon as his phone buzzed with the number he was calling it, walking into the office, and leaving you and Justin to sit in silence on the other side of the door, listening to see if you could hear something. All the two of you seemed to make out was a muffled conversation that honestly sounded like it was very one-sided, with Misha doing the majority of the talking.

After about 15 minutes Steve walked back into the main recording room pale, and a little nauseated, flopping down in the chair next to you. 

"What I'm about to tell you guys doesn't leave this room," Steve said, looking between Justin and yourself. Your heart jumped speed. You didn't like the way he said that. 

"Three days ago Jensen was forcibly taken from Jared's bar when he was helping a bartender close up. They just found him today. He's at St. David's South Austin Medical Center," Steve looked down at the ground, and then back up at you two like he was unsure whether or not to tell you both the rest of the story. 

"Is he okay?" you asked. 

You weren’t exactly sure why your heart fell to your feet. Your hand ideally ran across the hand he touched just a few days ago taking his coffee from you.

"Was it some crazy super fan?" Justin asked, looking at Steve like he was bullshitting the two of you. 

Steve turned a little greener. 

"No, it wasn't a fan apparently,” Steve took a deep breath in order to settle himself.  

“Jensen and Jennifer hooked up a little over a week ago. Apparently, things didn’t go exactly the way she’d hoped, so when she got home she told her brother that Jensen had raped her. He and a few of his buddies took Jensen, and for three days kept him locked in a hotel... Returning the favor," Steve stopped talking, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tight. Taking a deep breath to stave off the urge to throw up, or scream because he felt like doing both.

You fought to keep your breakfast down. The room seemed to be spinning. Your heart broke for him. Why you didn't know. What the hell? Why do you care so much? He was nothing but a complete and total ass to you! He hated you! Still, you couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling deep down inside of you no matter how hard you tried to.

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

Later that night you paced around your apartment with Steve's words ringing in your head. You couldn't imagine what Jensen had gone through over the past three days. It made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. 

Grabbing your purse you decide, probably against your better judgment, to head to the hospital. You had to see him. You didn't understand why, you had to see that he was okay. 

So now you found yourself walking through the halls of the hospital looking for a nurse to ask which room they were keeping Jensen in. Holding your studio ID tight in your hand, hoping it was enough for them to let you into his room. This late at night you would think there would be more nurses roaming the halls, but things were still and quiet, not much movement at all.

You were just about to give up. You had just about walked the whole hospital, and no one seemed to know where he was. Making your way back to the second-floor elevators you pressed the button impatiently, wondering if maybe they moved him to a different hospital, or if he just asked people to not come to visit him right now, so they were keeping his location a secret or something. 

It was stupid to come here in the first place. Jensen hated your guts. He wouldn't want to see you, so why the hell were you even here? That’s what your brain was screaming at you, and you had just about resided to the fact that it was right, and you were being an idiot by coming here.

Annoyed that the elevator was taking so long to open you were about to turn to take the stairs when you heard the familiar ding of the doors opening. Looking up you come face to... well... mid-chest... with Jared. 

"Y/N!" Jared said, wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug. He looked exhausted. The amount of puffiness and redness around his eyes told you he had been crying. "What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see you standing there. 

"Misha told us what happened. I came to see Jensen, but I can't find his room. No one seems to know where he is, or at least they don't want to tell me," you tell him, embarrassed that you even came you stared down at your feet.

Jared draped a long arm around your shoulders turning you around and headed toward the end of the hallway with you, stopping in front of room 241 he turned to face you. 

"Y/N, I want to tell you what you're going to see in there. It's not pretty." 

You took a deep breath. Why the hell were you all in your feels right now?

"What did they do to him, Jared?" you asked, almost afraid of the answer. Jared swallowed hard, looking like he was about to start crying again. 

"They jumped him in my bar while he was waiting on the new guy I hired to close up. They tied him up, knocked him out, and dragged him out of the bar. The rest we are guessing. He hasn't said a word since the ambulance driver picked him up on the side of the road where they dumped him when they were done with him. According to the doctors, it looks like he was tied down to something, then was repeatedly violated. That’s all we know, and he’s not telling." 

You held the vomit back that threatened in the back of your throat. Both you and Jared shivered involuntarily.

"When I first saw him he was covered in blood, and what looked like vomit. They had to sedate him to clean it all off of him and do the examination. Every time someone touches him he freaks out. They couldn't even get him as clean as they wanted because he was fighting so hard. From what I understand they cut the twist ties off of his wrist in the ambulance. They said he was just dumped completely naked, and still tied. Some dick truck driver saw him, and called the ambulance, but didn’t have the decency to stop and help him. Just kept on driving.”

Jared watched as you tried to compose yourself, the flood of emotions that were hitting you as he told you how he was found was more than you thought it would be for you. 

"You sure you wanna go in there?" he asked you when you finally could breathe properly.”I get it if you don’t.”  

"Yeah. I need to see him." 

Jared never questioned, he just shook his head and opened the door. 

At first, you didn't even see him lying in the bed. It just looked like a heap of covers in the middle of the bed. Moving around the bed you finally found the top of his head. 

He was laying on his side with his back to the door, the covers pulled all the way up almost over his head. 

"Jay...  Y/N's here to see you," Jared said, walking around the bed first. 

The heap of cover never moved. Jared looked at you apologetically. 

You slowly made your way around the bed, afraid of what you were going to see. He looked so fragile lying there in that bed with monitor, wires and different IV's coming out from under the cover. There wasn't a lot of bruise on his face. Especially around his mouth. It was bruised all the way around his lips to almost his left ear. His lips were swollen and cracked.  You shuddered at the thought of what might have caused that. 

The rest of him was well covered, but for a scratched up hand sticking out from under the cover by his face. 

It was his eyes that got to you the most. 

He never made eye contact with you or Jared. He just stared at the wall between the two of you blankly. No light there at all. No movement. A very evident “the light's are on, but no one is home” look. 

You couldn't stop the cascade tears that were falling down your face. They had broken something deep inside him, and you didn’t have to be a doctor to see it. 

"Physically the injuries aren't permanent. It's the mental damage the doctors are worried about," Jared said, sitting on the small sofa next to his friend's bed, watching him closely. 

Jensen just continued to look at the wall as if the two of you weren’t even in the room, and no one was talking about him less than three feet away from his bed. 

There was a picture of him and his kids by the bed, no doubt brought there by Jared. He was smiling in the photo. He looked so happy. So contradictory to the broken man laying there in front of you. The longer you stood there you felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces. 

Everything in you wanted to pick him up and just hold him until he was okay again, even though you knew that him being “okay” again wouldn’t ever be that easy.

"Did he really do what they say he did to Jennifer?" you turned and asked Jared, feeling like you were going to be sick again looking at the dirt and dried blood under his fingernails. 

You tried to keep your mind from wondering whether the blood was his, or his attackers. You weren’t very successful.

"I don't know, and I'm not trying to justify anything he may have done, but do you think he would have deserved this? I was there when he asked her to dinner with him. She was definitely more than willing to show up at his house wearing next to nothing." 

He was right of course. No one deserved what Jensen had been through. 

You sat down in the chair next to his bed. Jensen was still staring at the wall like he didn't even know the two of you were in there. Reflexively you reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him in some way, but he jerked it under the cover before you even got close, never making a sound. 

Even though he didn’t make a sound, he slowly looked up at you. Jared moved closer, not sure what he was going to do, but hoping that seeing you would pull him out of whatever mental cage he had enclosed himself in. 

He did nothing. He stared at you for maybe a whole minute. A single tear slipping down his face then looked back at the wall. The blank look never once leaving his eyes. 

Nurses came in checking the monitors while you and Jared sat next to Jensen talking, trying to avoid the subject of Jensen's injuries in front of him. Neither of you wanted to upset him. Jensen never moved, still just staring at the wall. 

Finally, looking up at the clock you saw that it was close to 1 in the morning. Rubbing your face in frustration because even though you knew it was late you didn't want to leave him. He had dozed on and off while the two of you sat there talking, but he seemed to be awake right then. The amount of drugs they were giving him to manage his pain level probably didn't help his current state either. Still, you couldn't imagine the physical pain he was in. You didn't even want to think about what was going on in his head. Still, it was late, and you needed to let Jared get some rest. 

"It's getting late, I need to let you rest. I'll come by tomorrow after work if that's okay," you tell Jared, reaching down to grabbing your purse. When you leaned down to grab your purse you had put your hand on the bed to brace yourself.  It was something you did without thinking. Just a natural movement.

So lightly you almost didn't notice it you feel a calloused hand lay softly on top of yours. Looking up you see Jensen had reached over and grabbed your hand. Both yourself and Jared held your breath. For the first time, Jensen slowly made full eye contact with you, and not like he was looking through you with the same blank look on his face. 

It was eerie and unnatural. Even though he was physically there, and probably knew vaguely where he was, he seemed to mentally be millions of miles away.

You went to take your hand away just to see what he would do, testing the waters kind of. When you did he tightened his grip on your hand, holding it in place. 

"Jay," Jared said, trying to get his friend to look at him. 

Jensen never spoke, but he did look at him with tears falling from his deep green eyes. It almost looked like he was on the edge of panic, but wasn’t quite mentally there enough to fall over that edge. 

"Are you in pain?" Jared asked. 

Jensen did nothing. 

"Do you not want Y/N to leave?" he asked Jensen again. 

Jensen did nothing, just stared back and forth between Jared and yourself. 

Closing his eyes he slipped back into his drug-induced sleep with a death grip still on your hand.

For just a moment you considered staying, you did stay for another hour, Jensen never moved again, just slept. Honestly, it's what his body needed. To rest. So you gently slipped your hand out of his, gave Jared a hug, and your number, telling him to call you if he needed anything, and made your way to the door, letting both men get some rest. 

When you finally got back to your car you sat there completely broken-hearted for the man lying in that hospital bed.

You hadn't realized it till right now. Seeing him so broken had brought it right in the front of your attention. 

You didn't hate him like you thought. 

You felt something else entirely. 

This changes things.

For you anyway. Jensen had a long road ahead of him. Last you knew he hated you. Starting your car you wiped away the tears that were still falling from your own eyes. Praying to whoever was listening that you didn't get your heartbroken and that he could recover from this.

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

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[inanotheruniversemusings]

atlas: two

fill for Supercorptober2020 prompt: family

read on ao3

Kara’s still reeling from the blast, swaying on her feet as she desperately tries to catch the air that has been knocked out of her lungs when another horrible booming sound follows.

Her vision is suddenly filled with red, the same red that Rao had once shone over Krypton in his light, only to be taken away from her before she even had the chance to love it wholly.

The same red that’s darker than her cape and the symbol on her chest, her family’s crest, and it somehow feels like defeat; feels like she’s thirteen once more and on the verge of losing every single thing she knows and loves all over again.

Around her there is carnage, a fallen army of lexosuits she’s managed to best. But what for, Kara fails to see, when this carnage is all that she has left.

If only she had flown around faster, moved a second quicker—if only she hadn’t hesitated when Lex fell from the sky and into her hands, and she hadn’t felt an ache for the brother that Lena had once loved with her whole heart, she might still have everything.

Now Kara is left with nothing. Not even Lex. He slips away from Kara’s grasp the moment the first explosion shakes the earth beneath their feet, like the coward that Kara knows he is.

It's then that Kara’s heart sinks at the sight before her, the Girl of Steel falling down on her knees as she watches her worst nightmare come to life. The slabs of concrete that formerly housed part of the DEO headquarters rattle as she hits the ground, dust and rubble misting the still crackling fire like drizzling rain.

There’s a scream that tries to claw its way out of her throat, and the familiar heat humming at the back of her eyes. Kara has to fight the urge to let it out, to set the entire world ablaze and watch it burn until there’s nowhere left for Lex Luthor to hide.

But Kara knows that that’s not who she is, the emblem on her suit a constant reminder that presses a hefty weight on her chest, and leaves the weight of the world on her shoulders.

(Like Atlas, Kara remembers Lena telling her once; hears Lena saying he’s a god who just made his choice and picked a side, now forced to carry the heavens ever since.

How Kara wishes she can hear Lena’s voice again before her entire world turns dark.)

…

When she comes to, it’s to a cloudless sky littered with stars. She would’ve been terrified, remembering waking up to a similar view while she was suspended in time and space, if not for the soft, hushed voices that sounded like two of the most important people in her life.

There’s still the scent of burning concrete in the air, the metallic tang of melted steel filling the spaces in between. But what makes Kara jolt is a warm, familiar touch, and slicked back red hair that Kara’s never been more glad to lay her eyes on.

“A-Alex?”

“Oh my God, Kara!” Alex cries, a sob escaping her throat as she pulls her sister in a tight embrace.

Kara swears she feels the rumble of it in her own chest. “I thought—I thought—”

“We’re okay,” her sister mumbles in halting stutters. “We’re okay. We made it out.”

She feels Alex’s hand run all over her back; gentle, soothing touches that seep beyond her suit. There’s another warmth that joins it not long after, with Kelly’s soft smile serving as another ray of light in what Kara had thought was going to be a dark, lonely lifetime.

“Kelly,” Kara breathes out, relief coloring the lilt in her tone. “Golly, I’m so glad to see you.”

“I know. Alex tells me the same all the time,” Kelly replies; keeps her smile up and intact to stave off the dread that she can see lingering at the corners of Kara’s answering smile.

It’s both to hers and Alex’s relief that it works, when Kara giggles just as she’s pulling back from Alex’s hold. Though there’s still a hitch in her breath at the sight that greets her that Kelly doesn’t miss, a lump the size of Kara’s very own fist lodging itself on Kara’s throat.

(It tastes like guilt, the bitter pill that Kara, for all the strength she has, can’t find the fortitude to swallow.)

“What happened?” Kara then asks—finally feels brave enough to want to know. Her eyes sweep around the once heavily-guarded place, half of it left standing and the other half reduced to a mix of ash and rubble.

Agents that used to congregate for their respective missions are now scattered around, most helping to clear Lex’s fallen army out, some resting on makeshift beds that Kara’s only now noticing that she’s also been laying on.

While at the top of the wreckage, J’onn stands, gesturing with his hands to direct the heavy lifting equipment Agent Vasquez is operating. Right next to him is Nia, hoisting the lighter slabs with her chain. 

Kara briefly wonders how long she’s been out as she stares at the massive piece of machinery, its twin, too, working nearby.

“You passed out,” she hears Alex speak. “We thought there was kryptonite, or that you’d solar flared but, your vitals are fine.” 

“We figured it was from exhaustion,” Kelly adds. Alex sends her a grateful smile.

“I thought—I thought—I thought you were,” Kara tries to say. But the strength inside of her balks at the mere idea, her chest heaving as it caves in under the weight.

Because Lex said that there was no time. Lex made sure to let her know with a triumphant grin and a menacing laugh that Kara didn’t have the time.

So much for being a Kryptonian god, Kara Zor-El.

Kara turns still as those moments rush back in, the crazed look in Lex’s eyes a memory Kara doesn’t think she’ll ever forget. 

“Yeah,” Alex confesses in the wake of her sister’s silence. “For a second there, we thought so too.”

“But it’s okay,” Kelly assures. “We’re okay. And we’re here for you, Kara.”

She knows that Kelly means well; means it in ways that Kara isn’t in anyway ready to unpack. Not here. Not now. Not when—

Kara jolts again, her head snapping up in a blur. She almost hurtles towards Alex in her haste to look around, scanning every inch of space that her superpower can reach. But she doesn’t find Lena, can’t see her anywhere, and she feels the pang of dread pierce her chest, dark tendrils wrapping around her heart. “Where’s—did Lena—where’s Lena?!”

Alex reaches a hand out, her fingers curling around Kara’s shoulder to push her sister back down. It’s a futile attempt, she knows, but there’s an unrestrained look in Kara’s eyes that Alex aches to quell. “Hey, hey, Kara.”

“Alex—”

“She’s fine,” Alex mollifies. “She was on a warpath for a bit there, but she’s okay.” 

“W-what? Did she go after—”

“No. No! She’s not—” Alex wants to say, wants to assure her. But she can’t lie to her sister too. Not now. Not ever. “She almost did. But we stopped her from taking one of the spare suits and unleashing hell on her brother. She saved us, you know. Her and Brainy.”

Kara’s heart swells then, pride and comfort and love slowly prying dread’s hold on her with their light. It becomes evident on her face when a soft smile spreads across her lips as she says, “Of course she did. She’s always saved all of us.”

Still, there is a tumultuous need to know where Lena actually is, so she asks Alex again. “But where is she? I can’t see her, Alex.”

“She’s back at her lab,” her sister explains then. “Brainy’s keeping her busy.”

“With what?”

“Your new armor.”

Kara’s head whips around to follow the direction of the new voice; mumbles native curses inside her head for being so occupied with Lena’s whereabouts that she’s forgotten how she looks for her, how she makes sure she’s safe.

But it’s there, and it’s strong, and Kara swears she’s never heard something so beautiful, even including her own.

Lena’s heartbeat.

“Lena can tell you all about it,” Alex says. She pulls Kara for a parting hug and leaves her with a tender kiss on her forehead; entrusts her—and her heart—into Lena’s hands, knowing Lena will do everything to keep it and Kara safe. “I need to help J’onn round up all the agents. Make sure everyone’s safe and all accounted for.”

Kara croaks out a tired okay, her exhausted smile earning her a soft pat on her cheek.

Then, it’s just Lena and her. And for all the fretting she’s done and she’s caused not even a while ago, Kara suddenly finds herself running out of words to say.

Ultimately, it’s Lena who speaks for both of them, Lena who ends up asking the very same thing Kara has been wanting to. “Are you okay?” She sits down on the ground ceremoniously, with a kind of regal grace that Kara’s always admired about her. “God, Kara, I was so worried. When I saw you lying unconscious, I almost—”

Lena trails off, looking away and busying herself with unlocking the steel briefcase she’s brought with her from her lab. Though Kara doesn’t really need her to continue. She can fill in the ensuing silence with what Alex has told her earlier.

“I’m not,” Kara whispers. Lena almost doesn’t catch it, but she does, and it makes her stop. Her hands turn still, frozen above a silver band with a face that almost matches the watch Kara has given her. 

It’s smaller, from what Kara can see, and though there’s a part of her that wants to ask what it is—that part of her that’s forever interested in anything and everything Lena makes—Kara doesn’t feel like she’s ready to drop this conversation yet. “Rao, Lena, I thought you guys didn’t make it. I thought you didn’t make it.”

 (And now that she’s begun, Kara can’t seem to stop.)

“And it felt like losing Krypton all over again. But it was worse. So much worse.”

Because while Krypton may have had her childhood, it’s Kara’s past, something she’s been working hard on making peace with. But Kara can’t stand to lose—is terrified to lose her present, and a future she’s slowly and steadily building with the woman sitting in front of her.

So it’s worse. Kara’s heart constricts just merely thinking about it.

Lena’s breath hitches at the pain that finds its way through the cracks in Kara’s voice; finds the same pain making its way through hers, too. “Kara.”

“Sorry,” Kara says, swallows to curb the urge to cry. “I know it isn’t exactly ideal to talk about it right now. But it just—you just—”

You came so close, goes unsaid. Kara doesn’t think she has the strength left to voice it out.

“Kara,” Lena repeats, softer this time. More tender, more kind. She takes Kara’s hand, tugging at her arm to pull her close. “Come here.”

Kara relents easily, stooping down so that her head can rest on Lena’s chest, her ear pressed right where her heart is beating steadily beneath.

“I’d never do that to you,” she hears Lena say; hears the echo of it amidst the cadenced staccato that is Kara’s current melody.

“You can’t make promises like that,” Kara replies. She shifts on Lena’s hold, tipping her head up slightly so she can meet Lena’s gaze.

Lena just smiles, presses tender kisses on the crown of Kara’s head; then she says, “I know. But I also never make promises I can’t keep.”

And means it.

[froggy-fics]

Long Past Dawn Ch.1

[Aaaah, okay so this is the first chapter of what I hope to be many! The ending is a little rushed but I hope its still enjoyable! Any comments, feedback, and/or advice is greatly welcomed. Also note the oc is nonbinary. This has been proofread by me but I may have missed things!]

WC: 3,054

The downpour outside lulled us into a quiet meditative conversation.Two Americans and two Canadians, a count of four in total, all of us students in search of degrees in education. 

Daniel spoke first, breaking the silence, a talent of his. "So," he started, "why did the rest of you get into teaching? Personally, I just want to work until I get tenure and then wild out, just absolutely go off" he guffawed, turning to another member of our party, Angel.

I hated to look at her as she smiled at the rest of us, her teeth just looked too perfect and I hated them. They were in my uncanny Valley, along with her. "I just, I don't know ya know. Kids are our future and I feel as if it's my calling to nurture that" her too perfect teeth suddenly curtained by her lips as a tight smile made an appearance on her face. 

It's my turn, a panic and sweat washing me in discomfort. "Um, well, I actually don't know. I think I'm just trying to make up for the shitty teachers I had early on in my learning" Clearing my throat I continued on, "I just feel as a mentally ill child I didn't get the care or attention I needed so I want to make up for that" I finished and gave a smile to fake a sense of calm.

Dante, our last compatriot suddenly hitting my knee, "No I feel the same! I feel as though the education system we have as of currently constantly fails those it should be helping and I want to end the cycle of educational neglect!" The words raced from him in a flurry, only to be met with my excited agreement, noise and discomfort from Angel and Daniel. Turning to me he spoke more, "Fabel, you and I, are the only two people here with any pure intent" in a shaming tone that made me chuckle.

Peeking over to a clock in the hostel room we shared the clock read 3:30 am. Our professor for the trip wanted us to stay up and go on a hike sleep deprived for some arbitrary lesson to learn how to cope under stress. Hitting my head off the wall I groaned, I didn't want to be in a foreign country sleep deprived. A shared glance and emotion feel upon us, frustration. We signed up for this, yes, but we felt as if the man who was supposed to teach us meant to belittle us. We all just needed a foreign language credit and all had picked Romanian at our respective schools, thus the event that led to our meeting. Breathing in before I rose to guzzle down another cup of coffee and grabbing the cup Daniel had suddenly flung out. The sound of rain and the smell of coffee was a perfect sleep mixture, unfortunately nothing can be perfect I found as I rubbed my eyes with my hands.

The room we resided in was average I suppose, this being my first hostel experience, plenty of room for the professor but he refused. The bunks were comfortable and the amenities worked so that's all we needed. The carpet was the best part, resembling a movie theater carpet which kept popping up in conversations. Everyone was staring into the center of the room suddenly, thoughts and movement ceased, our moving chests the only sign of life. Breaking my trance I my eyes moved to peer outside the window all of us neglected to close, instead leaving it to people watch and be generally nosey. The town we stayed in was large and seemingly filled with life. The fact that we could stay here and learn more lessons than driving hundreds of miles for a silly hike to stroke some guy's ego suddenly got to me. My chest tightened as I then remembered Daniel and his lack of coffee.

Hours had passed and the dawn was coming in just some hours as we had begun packing for the day. Angel had been seemingly the most affected, refusing to consume caffeine she began to whine to herself as she stumbled about. Daniel and Dante were throwing themselves into each other to aid in waking up even slightly. Embarrassingly, I stood and did theater exercises to help myself wake a bit. Down the hall through the door we could hear a throat clearing and coming towards us, we freezed in anticipation. 

“Good to see you kids awake! I never thought you would’ve been and hoped for a teaching moment” Our professor seemingly lamented, teaching moments his name for public humiliation and being treated like a child. I refused to learn his name, if he wouldn't show respect towards us I wouldn't show any towards him. He starts to move his body like a swiveling fan observing our room. His eyes attempting to find any mistakes, none would be found. We stood, ready for our day with bags filled as he stood like he was the embodiment of the law or something of equal importance. Finally deciding we were of his approval he clasped his hands together he began to speak in his yell-talk style.

"As you may remember me saying all week, today we will be driving to a remote part of the country for a hike. This will teach you leadership, team work, and how to rely on others. Now, this hike won't be easy nor for the faint of heart, but I know you kids should be fine" he finally spit out, his face showing a smile but his eyes betrayed him. His chest rose as he breathed and began to turn, a blessing to us as a group a few moments of reprieve needed. You could almost feel the tension in the room leaving with him. 

Realizing I had been picking at my thumbs the entire time I breathed in and shifted my weight on to my other foot. 

"I don't understand people like that. They go into teaching and act superior off some perceived amount of knowledge" I spoke with a grouchy tone. "You're not fulfilling your duty as a teacher, you're just being a dick" I spat forward as a follow-up.

"And he doesn't even offer constructive criticism, it's just straight public humiliation" Angel grumbled in agreement. Her eyes focused on the floor, brows furrowing as she continued, "he's also just plain rude. Literally has said nothing nice. I can only imagine what people say behind his back about him" she said, finally looking up and shaking her head.

Both Dante and Daniel stood like pillars, hands gripped on the straps on their backpacks. Daniel finally breaks their silence.

 

"He has off vibes, like something about him isn't settling with me" the sentence sends a chill in the room. "He's just - he's rancid. That's all I can say" he finished looking up at the ceiling suddenly.

Dante said nothing and just began to march from the room like a man possessed, we filled behind him reluctantly. The sentence "Fabel Zając faces the music" kept running through my mind. Feeling a tugging sensation I turned to look at Angel who gave a sheepish look, only asked, "Fabel, can I hold your hand? I'm nervous" thankful to have a way to stave off the panic in me rising and the ringing taking over my ears, I quickly agreed and both of us gripped hands. She wasn't a bad girl at all, I just hated her smile. She grew up in a religious home which gave her her constitution, truly you could see she was just a sweet girl. Just awkward with those outside her church. I looked forward again to see Dante's back, I reached up and tapped his shoulder and he turned to look at me as I smiled up at him and gave a wave. He laughed and waved back. Turning back again to look at Daniel, he was looking up at the ceiling of the hallway we walked through, I started to make faces at him until he gave me attention. Angel's giggles quickly gave it and he returned the faces. It brought all of us up as we giggled and leaned on one another in fits. Finally we made it to the main door, we stood and spotted our professor, he stood by a jeep and was messing around in the back. We all took a final breath and stepped out of the hostel into the cold hazy morning.

Shivering as we shuffled towards him, hopeful he would ignore us as we loaded ourselves into the vehicle, Daniel taking the front passenger seat, Dante sitting behind him, I in the middle, and Angel behind the professor. Thankfully, he did ignore us as we all began to text our respective families about our safety and the day ahead of us ensuring them we'd be okay. I shut off my phone and closed my eyes, letting my head back as I heard a grunt and the starting of our engine.

Hours had passed as the sun began to break more, it felt like purgatory. Nothing but static could be heard over the radio which caused an uproar from all members, the one moment all of us truly agreed. The urge to cry hit me, I wanted to be back in the hostel in town amongst people. I had a sinking feeling all morning and it only worsened. Suddenly a pop broke my thoughts as we began to swerve on the road. 

"I don't have a spare" The professor mumbled.

"Excuse me! What do you mean you don't have one!" I snarled out. 

"How could you not!?" Dante continued the line of questioning.

"I mean I don't have one, I had to make room for other bodies!" The professor spat.

"Dude, what's your problem? You've been a dick since we got here and now you endanger us?" Daniel then shouted over us all. 

Angel in a moment of complete stress shreaked, almost destroying our eardrums.

We then sat in silence for a moment, all of us thinking.

"We're hours from anywhere aren't we?" Dante finally spoke.

"Yes, Dante, we are" The professor huffed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll just have to walk to find help, I'm sure it shouldn't be long" he followed by unbuckling his seat belt.

Angel, following his lead, swung her legs over the ground and hopped from the jeep. Daniel rolled his eyes, popped his knuckles and followed. Dante looked at me in the rear view, he put his head back, shook it and also followed them. I sat and finally before they were too far my resolve diminished and I jumped out and ran after them. 

Hours had passed, all of us had blisters, and we had multiple arguments until we stumbled upon the outside of a village. Huffing for air I silently thanked the universe as I bent to put my hands on my knees, my chest burning. The buildings and fencing looked old, as if the people were stuck in time; appearing abandoned and void of residents, our professor began to march in yelling for help. The pit in my stomach grew as we all shared a glance and followed despite our better judgment.

Panic began to rise in my chest as I turned to my group mates after finding myself in the front. The looks I turned to see were full of fear, as I assumed mine was a match. I held my hand out to Dante as I had found myself closer to him, "let's hold hands, I'm scared" he nodded and grasped my hand quickly. Every structure was made of wood and pathways would seemingly lead to dead ends and blocks. After a never ending amount of complications and no one our professor let out a roar of frustration. 

This is where the trouble truly began, the roar back we never expected or saw in our future. They sounded animalistic and primal, nothing a human could ever produce. All our eyes locked in that moment, the calm before a storm. My legs took over me and I began to run praying that my speed came to be like Hermis. Barreling into an empty home I looked for any place I could hide, whimpers and whines escaping my throat as I heard noises only comparable to dogs, but much larger and monstrous. Cramming myself under a bed and snuggling to the wall I waited, hand over mouth shaking with ragged breathing. Closing my eyes I let go of the tears I had been holding in allowing myself to let my mind wander to the worst possibilities about my friends, how my pets wouldn't understand, how painful my end would be all causing my body to assault me with tears. Finally, the noises subsided slowly as I could hear the beasts running further into the village. Breathing in huffes of air I steel myself with resolve and crawl agonizingly slow from my spot. I crouch and make for the door, creeping to it and cracking it open like a cold one with the boys, I peer and think of my options, deciding on finding my way back to the gate at the opening of the village. I dashed out and scramble to my right, realizing quickly I'm lost, I just keep running.

Luck wasn't on my side as I found out, finding myself at the edge of the village, during my run a few of the creatures circled back causing me to scramble for cover. The attempt was unsuccessful and one had dug a claw in my leg, slicing the meat. Still I kept running and hiding, at one point I dove for another house, barricading the door and breaking through the floor to run out from below the house as they were on top. I had only made it to the center of the village before my body gave up leaving me on the ground, my blood pooling around me as I fought for consciousness. As the world faded a shadow formed in my vision accompanied with boot steps, a cold hard object lifted my chin and moved my head back and forth as a hum met my ears.

"You're tough, you'll be useful" followed by a chuckle caught my attention. Useful, for what? The question didn't stay long as my head finally became cloudy and I left reality. 

The stick of a factory caused me to stur in a groggy state. It was a soft hum, the machinery reminding you of its presence. My head hurt and the smell of oil and metal not helping in the thumping. The mattress I felt under my hands was thin enough to bring my attention to the springs of the frame. I grunted as I forced myself to sit up, finding my wounds covered and as I'd hoped stitched. I let my body fall back and slightly bounce as I began to cry and rock. I rolled to be on my side and hug myself as I try to choke back my noises not knowing what other danger I could be in. Suddenly the sound of footsteps broke my thoughts and caused my heart to leap. Pulling the covers over my head like a child I burrowed underneath hoping to feign sleep. Wiping my eyes and nose I try to control my breathing, I lay as still as I can and wait, the steps getting closer causing the beating in my ears to grow as my chest restricted and panic set in causing goosebumps to cover my body. 

"You're not asleep" I heard followed by a chuckle as tears sprang to my eyes again, I was going to be sick. "C'mon and quit your hiding" despite sounding like a request I could tell it was an order as I snaked my arm to the top of the blanket as quickly as my shaking body could manage. It wouldn't be that difficult of a task as I'd learn, the blanket being ripped from me. I threw my arm over my face and withdraw into a ball, similar to how I learned as a child during tornado drills, just on my side. It must've been funny to my capture as he burst with a chuckle. 

"I won't hurt you, after all look at you, you already look half dead." 

"Promise?" I sound like a child, I could only assume the lycans he mentioned were what attacked earlier, and as for the bitch I hadn't a clue nor a care.

After a snort a reply was given, "I won't make promises for later, but for now we'll see." It wasn't promising, but it was all I had.

I unfurled myself with a whimper, not realizing just how much it would hurt after my sudden movements. Slowly I rolled over to observe my savior and capture. He was tall or at least from this angle he was, salt and pepper beard and hair with what looked like a leather cowboy hat adorning his head, a trench coat and combat boots. My first thought was he must be a military larper of some sort, part of me fighting a laugh as I managed to rub my eyes and groan. The thing stopping me in my tracks was the giant metal hammer, no regular person could use such a thing causing my fear to spike once again. The grin he gave was full of malice and looked predatory, the inability to see his eyes only added to his aura. The full realization of the situation hit me as I freely began to cry as he studied me. I could die here or worse with this wolf left to lick up what I leave, what proof did I have that he wasn't already planning on it. Shaking my head as I tried to get out anything but sobs I found him laughing at me again, seeming to enjoy my response of overwhelmed fear to him. 

"You'll be perfect!" He declares, "finally I can get rid of that bitch." He says voice shaking with rage as he bares his teeth like a dog. My fate seemingly sealed as all I could do was let myself freely weep and a stranger laughed at me.

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 3 | The Reluctant Agreement

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter:  Adam struggles with Charlie being around while Charlie just struggles. An unlikely arrangement is created.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

Adam walked Charlie backwards until she bumped up against the kitchen counter.

“Take it off.” he commanded. He pressed against Charlie, making his arousal known against her.

“Take what off?” Charlie questioned, looking up at him through her eyelashes

“The fucking sweater. Take it off. I want to see your tits.” He towered over her. She teased the hem up before lifting the sweater. Her breasts bounced softly as Charlie lifted her arms. Adam’s cock jumped.

“Bra too.”

Charlie grumbled while reaching behind. “You could say ‘please’ or do people lose all manners when they turn?” The bra joined her sweater on the floor, she hoped it was clean but didn’t hold out much hope given the state of Adam’s place.

Adam lowered himself to take one of Charlie’s nipples into his mouth. He sucked hard, taking care not to bite down. His fangs made that difficult. Charlie moaned and gripped the counter as he worked it to a hard pebble. Silently, he moved to the other giving it the same treatment. His lips trailed down Charlie’s stomach, nipping a it.

With long fingers, he tugged and teased at her skirt before pushing the hem up around Charlie’s hips. Adam could smell her and it didn’t take his heightened sense of smell to know she was aroused. A large wet spot soaked through the thin fabric of her underwear.

“Panties.” Charlie glanced down. “Please.” he added. Her hands moved to push them down and Adam helped her step out of them. He tossed them aside, never to be found again.

“Hey those are—” Charlie started.

“Less talking.” Adam interrupted while he pushed her legs apart and licked a fat stripe along her folds. Charlie’s knees buckled, but she remained standing.

The tip of his nose nudged against Charlie’s clit, sending electric shocks right to her core, causing her to flood against Adam’s mouth. He hummed against her, grabbing her ass to pull her close to him. She tasted incredible. He wondered how the rest of her tasted.

Charlie whimpered when Adam’s lips left hers, her orgasm aching inside her. Her walls clenched in anticipation. Adam nipped along her thigh and gripped her hip and knee tight.

“Still hungry.” He growled against her.

Understanding, Charlie nodded. “I wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied.” he teased.

His fangs sunk into the smooth flesh of her leg. The blood rushed from Charlie’s femoral artery and he knew in that moment; he was gone. She tasted as no one ever tasted before. Adam had to resist the urge to drown in her. Charlie slumped at the loss of blood and the heady pleasure. Once he had his fill, he licked the spot, sending shivers through Charlie. He tied a towel around the wound, to help stave off her bleeding out.

Adam rose and cupped her breasts before kissing her lips, his tongue tasted metallic and warm inside Charlie’s mouth. It was heady, and she wanted more. He tugged at his jeans, releasing his cock, purple and angry.

“Still hungry.” he grunted as his tip teased along her folds. Charlie’s fingers dug into his biceps. She hooked a leg up and he caught in his hand while pushing inside her.

The two of them moaned. Charlie’s pussy gripped and molded around him.

“Fuck.” Adam cursed. “I am already going to cum with the way you feel.”

Charlie bucked her hips in response and Adam’s head fell forward. He snapped his hips to bottom out inside her and Charlie moaned.

“Fuck me, Adam—”

Adam’s eyes snapped open, and he punched the pillow, cursing as his cock throbbed. Adam never realized that vampires could experience blue balls until that morning. After he stroked himself to completion, Adam still ached. Not physically although his cock would argue that point. The ache was for something more than flesh and blood. It was a hunger he hadn’t felt since Eve. Adam didn’t let his mind dwell on Eve much these days, he didn’t trust himself and feared that if he allowed himself to wallow, that wooden bullet would sing its siren song once again. Best to tuck it all away and lock those feelings, well all feelings, somewhere they couldn’t do harm.

And then there was Charlie. The fucking skeleton key to those feelings. Adam couldn’t remember the last time he woke up with a raging hard-on like a sodding teenager. And that fucking dream. He stood up and headed to the living room to feed and grab one of his guitars, hoping some writing would clear his head. Although he doubted it.

It was well after midnight when Adam remembered the leaking bathtub.

“Fuck.” he headed to the interior staircase connecting the basement to the ground floor. True to her word, Charlie had unlocked the door, and he stepped inside.

The apartment was cleaner than the last time he was in there, searching for Charlie’s phone to erase that video of Adam talking delivery of his stash. She had tidied up for their date, no appointment, Sunday night. The telltale drip beckoned Adam to the bathroom.

He kneeled on the tile, wondering how zombies managed through life with such inefficiency. With deft motions, he stopped the leak and set about reconfiguring the pipes to work in a manner they should.

A soft whimper called out from Charlie’s bedroom, and Adam moved to check on her. He didn’t know what he expected to see when he pushed the door open with his knuckles. He certainly didn’t expect to see Charlie’s knees pulled up, tenting the quilts and sheets. Adam exhaled seeing her safe and asleep. Not that he cared. It was just that it would be hard to rent the apartment out if someone was murdered there, he lied to himself.

As he turned to finish his work, Charlie’s voice called out. “Adam!” her voice breathy, raspy. Not the usual uptick tone.

His head snapped around to see if Charlie had woken up. She hadn’t but her hands and hips were moving in unison. Adam’s eyes widened as he realized she was getting off and somehow he played a part in that. His cock remembered the dream from earlier and pressed against his thin jeans.

“Shit.” he hissed while attempting to will the erection to subside to no avail. “Again?” This was becoming a problem. It hurt to move and recognized he would need to take care of it to return to the task of fixing the bath.

Adam popped the buttons of his jeans and pulled himself out. The tip already dripping. His forehead pressed against the wooden door frame while his hand fisted around his shaft. He grunted softly and Charlie continued to moan, both his name and other words Adam didn’t think polite to repeat.

“Fuck!” he groaned in a whisper as he came into his hand, spilling onto the floor, making a mess.

Charlie let loose a long moan as her back arched, orgasmed herself. She turned onto her side and her breathing returned to a deep, even tone.

Adam rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath as he hunted for a mop.

Charlie woke for work and padded off to the bathroom. She noticed the floors freshly mopped but pushed the thought aside. She squealed a bit to see that Adam had fixed the tub and had in fact, improved it. Although it now looked like a failed Tesla experiment. As she stripped down to shower, she stopped as she remembered the tendril of a dream from last night. She didn’t remember much except Adam being naked, his cock, and lots of moaning.

“God, I hope he didn’t hear that!” Charlie wondered as she stepped in the hot shower.

-

Charlie sailed through the work week. She secured a settlement for Mrs. Santiago for her slip and fall and an injunction for Mr. Jameson against a disgruntled customer. Charlie loved her work and helping people, even if it meant not making the amount of money she should.

“Ms. Bock!” Jason’s head popped over his cubicle wall. “A word.”

Elise threw a pitying look as Charlie marched over. She had no idea what Jason could want on a Friday afternoon. Come to think of it, shouldn’t he on his way to pick up Ms. Shanks-a-lot?

“Please take a seat.” He gestured to the stained chair.

“I’ll just stand, if that’s okay.”

Jason glared, unamused. “Sit. Down. Ms. Bock.”

She slinked down to perch on the edge. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. Charlie chewed on her lip.

“There’s no easy put it, but this,” He gestured his hands between them, “isn’t working out.”

Charlie stopped fidgeting. “What?”

“I’m saying your services are no longer required.” Jason almost smirked. Hot tears threatened to stream from her eyes. She balled her hand into a fist in her lap.

“Can you give me a reason why you are firing me? Because last I checked I had the highest win rate of any associate.” she demanded.

Jason steepled his fingers. “Your employment at Legal Aid is at will, so I am under no obligation to provide an explanation. I expect your keys on my desk by 5 and your desk cleared out.”

Charlie nodded. Jason reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Charlie.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. Her stomach turned. “Even though this has not ended the way you hoped, I would like to remain friends.” His mouth widened into a jagged smile reminding Charlie of Heath Ledger’s Joker.

“Uh, sure. I’ve got to go clean out my desk.” she choked out.

Elise wrapped her arm around Charlie and only then did she allow her tears to fall.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Elise commiserated, running her nails in circles on Charlie’s back. “We are here for you.”

“Thank you.” she sniffled. Charlie grabbed an empty banker’s box and packed up what little personal items she had. A funny bobblehead of Spock from Star Trek. A framed quote and few other knick knacks plus three books stashed in her bottom drawer.”

“Remember to tell Ms. Mason to show up at Municipal Court on Tuesday. And the Fisher response is due on the 13th.” Charlie continued to rattle off tasks.

“We got it, sweetie.” Marie comforted her, rubbing her shoulder. “Listen, you head out early to Sullivans and we will wrap up here. Drinks on use”

“Okay.” Charlie wiped her cheeks. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you two!”

They squeezed Charlie tight. “Probably be dating Richard the Serial Dater.”

That earned a laugh from Charlie. That laugh was the only good thing that day.

-

Charlie, beyond buzzed but not sloppy drunk, stumbled to her front steps. Her shoes in her hand and jacket over her forearm. The harsh light of reality would sting tomorrow. Unemployed and precious little savings loomed. But tonight she would revel. The sound of leaves crunching brought reality back into semi-focus. A figure stepped into view.

“Jason?” Charlie squinted to make out the shape of her boss, ex-boss in the shadows. “How do you even know where I live? I never told you.”

“Personnel files.” Jason sneered. He swayed on his feet. You were not the only who had imbibed that night.

“I thought those were confidential. Why are you here?”

“I always keep an eye on my girls.” He ran his fingers along Charlie’s arm. She vomited in her mouth a bit. “Come on, let’s party. You, me and a hotel room in Cambridge.”

“She’s not your girl.” A drawn out English accent called out. Adam stepped out to grab Charlie’s shoulders.

Jason looked Adam up and down, sizing him up. “Hey buddy, isn’t it a little early for Halloween?” Adam rolled his eyes. “Come on Charlie.” Jason reached for her hand but she jerked away, pressing herself against Adam’s chest. His arms wrapped around her.

“Who do you think you are, Ozzy? Her boyfriend?” Jason took a step forward and Adam tucked Charlie between him.

“I’m the landlord, asshole. And I believe the lady has indicated she’s not interested. I suggest you leave now, before I get angry.”

Jason danced in mock fear. “Oh, what are you going to do to me, pretty rocker boy, sing me to death?”

Jason reached around Adam to grab Charlie. With those lightning reflexes, Adam snatched Jason’s wrist and twisted it back until she heard the sickening sound of cracking bones. Charlie stumbled to the bushes and heaved up the contents of her stomach.

Jason cradled his broken arm, screaming in agony.

“Come near her again and I’ll break something more important.” Adam threatened cooly.

“Come near her again and I’ll break something more important.”

Jason crawled and Adam picked up Charlie by the waist cradling her against him as they walked to his apartment.

The door slammed, and Charlie slumped on the couch. Adam filled a glass of water from the tap and shoved it into her hand. He paced the floor in front of her.

“Who the fuck was that?” Adam stood, hands balled into fists. “Answer the question.” he demanded.

Charlie broke down into tears. “My boss, ex-boss. Jason.” she spit out the words between garbled sobs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would be here. He shouldn’t even know my address!”

Charlie’s head fell into her hands. She just repeated “sorry, so sorry” over and over. Adam winced knowing his harsh words had sent her into a tailspin. He sat beside Charlie, his hand hovering over her knee before landing next to her on the velvet couch.

“I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly. Drink.” He lifted the glass to your lips. “How long?”

Charlie took a long draw of water before returning the glass to her lap. “How long what? I wasn’t dating him?!” She shuddered, her senses returning.

“How long have you been out of work?”

“Oh…” she sniffled again. Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Today.”

Adam blinked not knowing what to say. Charlie broke the silence after draining the glass and placing it on the one clear area on the table.

“I’ll see myself out.”

“You could stay here tonight.” he blurted before he realized what he was saying. Charlie stay here? He wondered. Would his libido survive?

“No. I don’t want to disturb your…” she waved a hand over scribbled sheet music and other notes written in Adam’s unintelligible handwriting. “… work.”

Charlie chewed on her lip as she lingered in the room. She didn’t want to stay the night in her apartment alone. Not for fear of Jason. Just the fear of the all-consuming silence and loneliness. And anyone’s company, even a brooding vampire with a penchant for funeral music was better than the alternative.

“I insist. You can take the bedroom. I would feel better if you stayed.” Charlie’s cheeks flushed, her hands twisting at the ends of her curls, a wild halo around her head. He wanted to run his fingers through them, getting caught up in the twists. Adam cleared his throat. “I mean I would hate to come up at night should that reprobate return.” He covered.

“I can’t take your bed. The sofa is fine.” She patted the cushion.

Adam shook his head. “I’ll be up all night composing. I’ll find you something to wear.” He left the room.

“That really isn’t necessary. I have…” He returned with an oversized t-shirt. “… clothes upstairs.”

“Here. It’s clean.”

“Thank you.” She ducked into the bedroom. “For everything.” she whispered the last two words.

The shirt was soft and came down to the middle of Charlie’s thighs. She put her clothes in a neat pile in the corner. She inhaled Adam’s scent on the shirt. Sandalwood, and musk, and something that was like men’s cologne from another century. She pulled back the dark sheets. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

-

“Fuccck meee.” Charlie moaned as her head felt as though Athena herself was attempting to escape. She blinked her eyes open to find a dark unfamiliar room. Surely, it can’t still be night. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she realized this was not her bedroom.

“What the—” She attempted to sit up but was weighed down.

Whoever was beside her groaned. She remembered the night in snatches. Lots of drinks, Jason. Oh fuck, Adam. She retched at the sight of Jason’s arm snapping. And then falling asleep. In Adam’s bed. In his shirt. Panicking, her hands smoothed over her body. Panties in place.

“Well, that is at least one awkward conversation we can avoid.” she muttered to herself.

Again she attempted to sit up but Adam’s arm pulled her tight against him. It relieved her he was wearing pants, choosing to ignore what she noticed pressing against her backside. Charlie laid there for several minutes, wondering whether Adam was that strong, she was that weak, or when you became a vampire, you weighed a cubic ton.

Adam huffed as he rolled onto his back releasing her from his grip. She scrambled to her feet before he entrapped her again. She smiled at the glass of water on the nightstand, left by Adam at some point last night. Charlie scrambled across the room to grab her clothes. She glanced at Adam’s sleeping form. The way his taut muscle twitched at the slightest movement. It was impossible to ignore how the sheets tented unnaturally around his crotch. Charlie giggled when her foot connected with something hard and sharp sticking out from underneath the bed.

“What the—?” she questioned rubbing where her knee came down hard on the unforgiving floor.

It appeared to be a mini fridge. The door flipped open. Charlie moved to shut it when she saw the metal canisters like the one from the weekend before. She gasped. This must be Adam’s stash. There was only one canister in the fridge.

Charlie wondered when he would get some more. She closed the fridge and tucked it out of the way under the bed. She grabbed her clothes from the corner when Adam called out.

“Charlie!”

She spun to see if he was awake, ready to chastise her for sneaking out. But his eyes were squeezed shut, his face marred as his brows furrowed. As she tried to determine the reason for him calling out her name when her eyes widened when she realized Adam’s eyes weren’t the only part of his body being squeezed. It may have been awhile since she had shared a bed with a man but Charlie could tell Adam was stroking himself underneath the sheets. While calling out her name. She gathered her things in a hurry and bolted up the interior stairs, slamming the door behind her.

-

“Shit!” Charlie slammed the laptop closed. She rose and paced the living room. “Shit… shit… shit.. FUCK!”

Charlie couldn’t make rent at the end of the week. No matter how much she scrimped and ate ramen, the numbers wouldn’t add up.

“Fuck this!” She cursed at not saving more. “I’m going to have to sell a kidney or some… thing.” Charlie snapped her fingers and reached for the phone. “Scathingly brilliant idea.”

The person on the other line picked up.

“Hello? I was wondering if you had any appointments for today.” A pause. “Great! I can be there in thirty minutes. Perfect!”

Charlie threw on a pair of ratty jeans and Boston Red Sox hoodie then grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

-

Adam woke up in bed that evening. The one problem: he didn’t remember falling asleep there. What he did remember was telling Charlie to take the bed. And then him passing out on the sofa. But here he was, in bed, no Charlie and his hand sticky.

“Fuck.”

He flashed on that fucking sweater again. And Charlie’s tits bouncing. While on his cock. He hoped Charlie had been asleep through all that. Now he was hungry. Adam fished around until he found the mini fridge. One canister left. And at least three more weeks before his connection returned from vacation.

He would need to source out another connection. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He poured out a carefully portioned serving, smaller than usual and drank with fervor. All these sex dreams were taking a toll on him.

-

It was late on Sunday evening when Charlie knocked on Adam’s door. He answered like usual, shirtless, bathrobe, hair mussed in a dangerously sexy fashion. Charlie fiddled with the folded piece of paper in her hands and smoothed out the dark green sweater. It was identical to violet one. Jesus Christ, Adam swore in his mind, how many of those infernal sweaters does this woman have?

“We need to talk.” She moved to step into the apartment but Adam held out his arm.

“If this is about Friday night, I can—”

“Not it’s about… wait about Friday night?” Charlie narrowed her eyes at Adam.

“Unimportant.” He lied. “What did you need to talk about?”

She took a deep breath. “So you remember how I lost my job on Friday?”

Adam tilted his head. “And?”

“I’m not going to be able to make rent.” the words spilled from her mouth. She glanced up at Adam, a flicker of something crossed his face. Charlie wasn’t sure if it was sadness, disappointment, or relief. It was gone as soon as it appeared.

“I’ll be sad to see you go. If there was any way to make this work…” Inside, Adam was a tangled mess. On one hand, he hated to see Charlie leave. As far as zombies go, there were worse options. On the other hand, he go could back to a quiet existence with little to no sex dreams involving low cut sweaters.

Charlie stopped him from shutting the door. “I might have a solution to both our problems.”

Adam huffed. “I don’t have any problems.” He crossed his arms.

“You’re looking awfully gaunt, Adam? And not in that cool I’m-a-rock-star-I-live-on-cigarettes-and-espresso gaunt. Are you eating okay?”

His eyes flashed. “My supply is fine. Now if you excuse me—”

“Liar.” Charlie retorted, not accusing but more of a statement of fact. “I found your stash the other day. One canister left. And by all appearances you would seem to be rationing. How long before your dealer,” Adam held up a finger in protest. “sorry, your source is back in town.”

She mirrored his stance, crossing her arms and giving that stare she reserved for asshole landlords in court. At the moment, it was appropriate.

“I’m waiting for an answer.” She tapped her foot.

“Too fucking bad.” Adam hissed.

Charlie sighed and uncrossed your arms. “Look, I need a place to stay and you need a reliable source of blood. All I am suggesting is an exchange. You get to feed on me and I get to stay in my apartment. It’s a win-win. It’s not like I am asking you to sleep with me.”

Adam stiffened at her last statement. She must be a mind reader.

“I don’t fuck zombies.”

“Good, I don’t fuck musicians.” She thought ‘any more’ to herself. “Now what do you say?”

“How do I even know that it’s safe you could have a disease or something wron—”

Charlie shoved the piece of paper at him. “I already went to the free clinic. They ran a full panel. Everything is clean and in normal range.”

“O negative.” Adam commented, licking his lips. “Your cholesterol is on the higher side of normal.”

“I’ll cut back on the fast food. Are you in or is it couch surfing for me and the local blood bank for you?”

Adam didn’t think it over long. He pushed the door open wide.

“Let’s discuss things further inside.”

Charlie stepped in with a smile on the outside and butterflies on the inside.

[wingedquill]

over the mossy roots

@geraltwhumpweek

TITLE: over the mossy roots

SHIP: Gen

PROMPT DAY: Day 1: Ostracism

  MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: Child abuse (of the magical mind manipulation variety), Hurt/No Comfort, Unhappy Ending

SUMMARY: Ciri has been running too hard for too long. When Visenna stumbles across her in the woods, it's no wonder her mind welcomes in the warm, comforting feeling of her magic. It's no wonder she bends to her suggestions, becomes the perfect daughter Visenna has dreamed of since she was forced to get rid of her last child. And, when Geralt finds them, it's no wonder he's horrified.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is the second part to a lil series I’m working on where Geralt has inherited some of his mother’s druid magic. You can find the whole series on AO3 here

Ciri is so tired of being wary. Of looking at every stranger like they wish to rip her heart out.

It’s a necessity to keep her alive, she knows that. If even the familiar is dangerous—she still dreams of Mousesack twisting into a monster—then the unfamiliar is even more so. The Nilfgaardians wouldn’t even need to disguise themselves, they could just send a soldier to pose as one of the dozens of well-meaning women that have tried to adopt her.

And yet, part of her—a very large part of her—is begging the rest of her to just take the offer. To let herself be someone’s daughter again, to live in a simple, warm house, and take whatever name her new mother might want to give. To stop running, to stop looking for a man she suspects doesn’t want her. To be safe.

Right now, she’s huddled in her makeshift camp in the forest, shivering as the wind skitters across her back on icy feet. Her fingers are growing numb, but she can’t risk a fire—not so close to the nearest town. So she keeps them clenched into fists in Dara’s gloves, tucked under her armpits. Hopefully that’ll be enough to stave off frostbite.

Something growls.

She snaps her head up, staring intently into the undergrowth. Four pairs of yellow eyes stare back at her.

Shit.

She should have built that fire after all.

She stumbles to her feet and takes one step backward, then another, not breaking eye contact with the wolves. She fears that, if she does, they will take the opportunity to attack.

Breathe. Stay calm. Don’t let them smell your fear.

Sweat pricks at the back of her neck as, pools in her gloves. One of the wolves slinks forward, slipping from the undergrowth, followed by his fellows. He’s a monstrous thing, gray fur stuck through with twigs and burrs, the fur around his mouth already matted with blood. He’s just eaten then, but he’s clearly still hungry, drool dripping out of his mouth as he stalks towards Ciri.

He snarls and Ciri trips over a tree root, jolting her wrists as she tries to catch herself on the muddy, mossy earth. The wolf seems oddly satisfied as it moves towards her, like it can taste her panic in the air. Easy prey.

She reaches inside her, tugging at the part of her soul that tore a rift in the Earth, that fell the boys that tried to hurt her, but it feels stifled, buried deep beneath something else. Something stronger.

“That’s enough, dearies,” a voice says. It’s a woman’s voice, clear and calm, and that something else shifts over Ciri, rolling across her mind like a warm wave. Her limbs feel heavy, fuzzy with sleep, the aches of five months on the run sliding away from her as easily as a shed coat.

The woman moves forward, into Ciri’s line of sight. She walks through the forest as if it’s her court, and it bends to her like a loyal subject. Roots moving away from her feet, clearing the path between her and the wolves. The wolves that are no longer, snarling, bloodthirsty beasts, but docile puppies, whining and wagging their tails as she kneels down before them.

She’s never seen this kind of magic before. Nature magic, yes, from the women of Brokilon, from Mousesack. But never something this warm and weighty.

“Hush now,” the woman says, stroking the lead wolf’s nose. “Hush.”

The wolf goes to the ground, closing his eyes with a huff as sleep rushes over him. His pack follows suit, and soon, the woman is surrounded by snoring wolves.

The woman turns her head over her shoulder, locking eyes with Ciri.

“They’ll sleep for a while,” she says. “Would you like to pet one?”

The warmth slips through and around her brain, enveloping her in a feeling of safety so full and complete that she thinks she’ll cry. She doesn’t trust herself to speak so she just nods, slipping forward to crouch down next to the lead wolf, the one with the bloody muzzle.

She wonders if he ate some other little girl without a druid to protect her.

“These ones aren’t scared of people,” the woman murmurs as Ciri rests her hand on the wolf’s head. It’s softer than she imagined it would be. “They see them as prey.”

Ciri knows what happens to wild animals that aren’t scared of people.

“Are you going to kill them?” she asks.

“Oh no. It’s not their fault they’re hungry. Not their fault they were born with the taste for blood.” She keeps stroking the wolf’s head. A glow forms at her fingertips, the sickly yellow of half-rotted flowers.

“This will keep both them and the humans safe,” she explains as the glow covers the wolf from nose to lazily-flopping tail. Ciri feels like she’s being lectured by one of her tutors. “It’ll cause them pain to be within fifty feet of a person. They’ll turn and run when they feel the pain, and while it might hurt them a bit, it’ll cause less death and suffering overall. Does that make sense?”

Ciri nods.

“Good,” the woman says. She moves her hand to the next wolf. “I’ll teach you how to do this someday. You should be able to. I can sense your power. It is strong, but misguided at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” The nearly-forgotten wariness is back, shoving insistently through the artificial safety.

The woman smiles, but there is sadness in her eyes. She brings her free hand up, stroking her fingers through Ciri’s hair, and Ciri can’t stop herself from flinching. She half expects the yellow glow to cover her too, a punishment for her chaos.

“When you’re in danger, your first instinct is to lash out,” the woman says. “To kill. There is no need for this.”

They tried to kill me first, Ciri wants to protest, to defend herself. But her tongue feels very heavy in her mouth.

“I’ll take care of you,” the woman says, and then her arms are around Ciri, hoisting her into the air. Panic coils in Ciri’s throat, but it is quickly soothed away by safe, safe, safe. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a child in my house.”

“But I have to find—”

Who does she need to find again?

“You just need a place to rest,” the woman says. “To grow. To become something wonderful.”

She’s forgetting something. Something important, slipping further and further away from her brain as safety, warmth, home, comfort, quiet, quiet, QUIET, slips in.

The woman turns her head to look at the place that Ciri had fallen.

“I am Visenna,” she says. “But you will call me Ma. And you…”

“I’m C—”

“I will call you Moss,” she says decisively, shifting Ciri—Moss—Ciri, her name is Ciri, she won’t forget that too, she can’t forget that too—so that her weight rests against her hip.

“Why are you doing this?” Ciri manages to ask as the warmth floods her brain. She knows she won’t be able to hold out against it much longer.

“I told you,” Visenna says, running a finger over Ciri’s cheek, almost lovingly. “It’s been so long since I had a child.”

Ciri sleeps.

***

Moss wakes up.

She stretches lazily, staring at the first rays of sun as they play over her bedroom wall. Something is lingering in her brain, a dream of a forest, a star, a pair of flashing golden eyes. She shakes her head, blinking back the last bits of sleep and readying herself to start the day. Ma said she could start learning taming magic today, start coaxing restless piglets into contented slumber. She can’t wait.

She climbs out of bed and heads into the kitchen, where Ma is already up and slicing up thick slices of bread.

“Morning, Ma,” she yawns, snatching an apple out of the bowl on the table.

“Good morning, Moss,” Ma says, dropping a kiss onto Moss’s hair. Her touch is soft and gentle, her voice is soft and gentle, her magic is soft and gentle. And part of Moss thinks that that isn’t quite right, that her Ma is supposed to be burning violet eyes and fire and fierce protectiveness.

But that isn’t right.

She’s lived here all her life.

Must just be the remnants of a dream.

***

She’s happy.

***

She’s safe.

***

But some days she feels like she’s not supposed to be happy and safe. She’s supposed to be grieving something, something greater than a single person’s death, something huge and all-encompassing. She’s supposed to be terrified of something equally vast. Something coming for her.

She’s just a simple druid. She has made no enemies, has lost no family, has no reason to be sad and scared in this warm, bright forest.

And yet she is.

***

Ma teaches her how to coax the flowers out of the earth, how to calm piglets and wolves alike, how to soothe away small storms, how to encourage trees to grow into useful shapes—houses and walls and the like. She cultivates a gentle kind of power, and the urge to scream, to run, to get away(and why does she feel that anyway, in her own home?) lessens day by day.

***

There’s a knock at their door.

A man standing there, all shining white hair and fierce yellow eyes. He balks at the sight of Ma, staring at her like she’s a monster, like she’s dangerous. Moss bristles in indignation, glaring at the man as she comes to stand by Ma’s side.

(Part of her hollers in triumph, that someone else recognizes Ma for who she is.)

“Can I help you, sir witcher?” Ma asks, looping an arm around Moss’s shoulders. There’s frost threaded through her voice. She noticed the man’s stare too.

“I’m here for Ciri,” he growls and Moss—

That name sparks something in her, clamps down on her heart until it hurts, until she’s biting down on her fist to stifle a sob. Ma gently steers Moss—that isn’t your name, and that isn’t your mother, wake up—behind her, putting herself between her and the man.

A wave of warm safety rushes over Moss and she leans into it with a sigh, letting go of the fear that had flooded her system at the sound of a name that she’s quickly forgetting. The man shakes his head like he’s shooing away a fly.

“Stop that,” he says.

“You’re strong,” Ma laughs. There’s no humor in it. “Even for a witcher.”

“I always have been,” the man says. His voice is shaking, no matter how tough he tries to sound. “Give up the girl.”

“I have more than mind magic you know.” She steps forward, but the man doesn’t flinch.

“So do I,” he says evenly. It’s not just his voice that’s shaking now. Fine tremors run up and down his body, making him tremble all over except for his right hand, which rests steady against the hilt of his sword.

“You won’t take my child,” Ma says. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

And the man laughs. It’s bitter. Wounded.

“That’s a new tune for you,” he says. His knuckles are turning white. “How long will you want to keep her then,Visenna?” He spits Ma’s name like it’s poison. “A year? Five years? Until she gets a mind of her own?”

Around them, the trees that make up the framework of their house creak in warning. Ma stretches out her arms, trying to cover as much of the space in front of Moss as she can.

Run. Go to him. He’s here to save you.

SafetyWarmthQuietQuietQUIET

She stays still. This feels more like a dreams than her dream had.

“You’re breaking her,” the man says. He sounds close to tears. “You’re shattering her mind, surely you must realize that—”

“I’m helping her,” Ma insists. “Her chaos is destructive. Dangerous—”

“As is mine,” The trees shake more violently. Three of them break free of their contorted (wrong, wrong, they shouldn’t growlike that) positions and curl inwards, branches snapping threateningly.

Ma stretches her fingers up and the trees fall still. Her shoulders heave as she takes in the man.

“So what will you do with her when her chaos escapes your shackles?” The man storms forward. Branch after branch peels away from the ceiling. “Take her off to market? Leave her alone by the side of the road?”

Leaves spin around them like a gathering storm and Moss doesn’t even know how to counter this kind of power. More than that, she doesn’t know if she wantsto counter this kind of power. Because Ma isn’t denying the man’s accusations.

“Aspen,” she breathes instead.

“Not my name anymore.”

The branches descend.

Moss thinks, for a moment, that she’s about to watch Ma die. Fear and relief burn through her, so intermingled she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Her head burns like something is tearing apart her brain piece by piece. Just when their home is about to pierce through Ma’s heart, she waves her hand and they freeze in the air.

She’s trembling, clearly straining against the man’s power, but she holds fast.

“You want me dead,” she whispers.

“I kill monsters,” the man says. He draws his sword. There’s pain on his face, stark and stricken, flashing in his eyes and twisting down his mouth. “And I’m sorry that you are one, but you are.”

“I’m not the one trying to pull apart a mother and her daughter,” Ma says, and she twists her right hand in a familiar pattern.

“No,” Moss says, as her hand glows sickly yellow. She’s seen this spell used before, on countless wolves and bears and kikimora. The thought of using it on a person is just—it’s unimaginable. Unthinkably cruel. “No!”

QUIET.

Her mouth snaps shut and she falls to her knees, the pain peaking in her head. The man growls and charges forward, swinging his sword at Ma’s head. She ducks under the swing and darts past him, brushing her hand across her chest as she goes.

The glow spreads over his skin, eating up every inch of him, and he drops to the ground with a scream, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. He curls in on himself, the scream still piercing the air, writhing and gasping like a dying fish.

“Wh—Wha—?” he chokes, reaching for his fallen sword. Ma takes a step closer to him and his hand curls into a useless claw. His question cuts off as he chokes on air, curling even tighter as agony racks through him. Moss can practically see the pain shuddering through him, wave after wave, his muscles twisting and jerking against it.

Her mother did this.

Her mother cursed a human being to feel pain whenever he goes near another person.

Her mother has effectively cut this man off from the rest of the world.

Moss is going to be sick. She’s sure of it.

“I had to,” Ma—no, Visenna, this woman doesn’t deserve the title of mother—says, cupping the man’s cheek in her hand. He wails as soon as she touches him, jerking backwards in a feeble attempt to get away from the pain. “You’re dangerous. You’d murder your own mother. You can’t be trusted around people.”

“Wha—?”

“Fifty feet,” Visenna says, getting to her feet. Her voice is clinical. Instructive. “That’s how close you can get to humans, before the burning starts. It’ll keep you and me safe, both. And keep others safe from you as well.”

“Y—You—” He’s trembling, and Moss isn’t sure if it’s from pain or fear. She wants to go to him, comfort him, but that will only make it worse.

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But we wouldn’t be here if you’d just listened to me, all those years ago.”

She sighs, regretfully but not mournfully, like she’s discovered one of her plants—not even her favorite plant—is infested with aphids.

“Be well, Aspen,” she says, ignoring his earlier insistence that that isn’t his name. Ignoring the fact that he could hardly expect to be well with this kind of curse, that killing him would have been kinder.

She turns around to pick up Moss, and for the first time in a long time, Moss struggles against her grip.

“No!” she screams, as Visenna hoists her into the air and carries her towards the door. “No, no, you have to undo it, you can’t just leave him like this, you fucking—”

“Language,” Visenna says idly as a wave of safetywarmthquietquietquiet rushes over her. She fights it with everything she has, thrashing against it like a fish caught in a net. But Visenna has always been stronger than her, will always be stronger than her, and she can feel her mind slipping out of her control.

And then, another command. One that she dimly realizes she’s felt before.

Forget.

The man lies on the floor of their house, shaking and shuddering as the pain pours through him.

Forget.

He tilts his head and meets Moss’s gaze with panicked golden eyes.

FORGET.

And she remembers. The White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia. Her destiny.

FORGET. SLEEP.

Ciri closes her eyes.

***

Moss wakes up.