#and adding that question ruins that confidence in memory and it irritates me every time

[petruchio]

WHAT YOU MEAN NOT 10 MIN whyyy

because it’s bad!! hope this helps :)

[cursedwriter]

Guitar Lessons

Request: Anon: Hi. I really love your Robert Pattinson fanfic. I was hoping if you would do one in which Robert teaches the reader how to play guitar.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading and thanks for the request! Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.8k

“Do you play?,” you asked him, hands dancing over the outline of the instrument absentmindedly. When he didn’t answer, you looked up, meeting his gaze which was already trained at you. Automatically, you felt the blood rushing to your cheeks. His piercing blue eyes never leaving yours when a shy smile edged on the corner of his lips. Eventually, he shrugged. You stared at him, disbelieving … but then again, not surprised. “Of course you do,” you exclaimed, fake irritation laced in your tone. “I mean, is there one thing you can’t do?” Playfully you jabbed him in his side and his melodic laughter echoed off the walls.  

“Trust me, there’s loads I’m not good at.”  

You huffed, “Yeah, right.” He laughed again as he mustered your irritated expression, this time it was genuine.  

“I could teach you, though,” he offered, his grin all smug now. “If you’d like to learn that is.”  

You thought about it for a second, taking the beautiful guitar off its stand next to where you were sitting on the couch and placed it on your legs. You pulled a string and the sound rang in your ears. Once the sound faded, there was silence.  

When you looked at him again, he was still just looking at your face as if his eyes were somehow glued to it. Briefly you wondered if you had something between your teeth or if there was something on your face that had caught his attention like that. Otherwise you couldn’t explain the sudden curiosity and interest that seemed to radiate in his eyes. He looked genuinely intrigued by every little facial expression. As if he tried to read between the lines of what you were saying and somehow he seemed to find the answer in your face. You sighed.  

“You know, as a kid I actually had lessons, but you know how it is… One day I beg my parents to sign me up and the next I throw a fit because I don’t want to go anymore…” You grimaced at the memory flashes. “Well, needless to say, my parents eventually gave up to persuade me to go and now I’m a talentless waste of space because my parents didn’t beat some sense into me!”  

Rob laughed again as he took the guitar from your loose grip and placed it on his lap instead. “Well, for one you’re obviously not talentless and secondly it’s never too late to start again.”  

“You really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”  

He feigned hurt. “Some trust, please? I’m a good teacher!”  

“Yeah, that might be true, but I’m a horrible student,” you explained, trying to sound very serious but failing miserably as soon as he started with his contagious laughter. There was no way anyone was immune to that.  

“We’ll see about that,” he winked and then a sweet melody filled the room as his hands danced over the instrument expertly. There was no way in hell, you’d ever be able to pull that off… and by the look on his face it was obvious that he knew that too.

“Show-off,” you mumbled under your breath. You weren’t sure if he’d heard you, because he didn’t stop playing – and you didn’t want him to – but the grin on his face suddenly turned into a huge smile that looked entirely too smug. Yeah, he definitely heard you.

“Okay, so now it’s your turn.” The melody stopped too soon for your liking. You could’ve listened to him play for hours. You looked down at his outstretched hands, dread washing through your body as you realized he was handing the guitar back to you.  

“Uh no, definitely not.” You shook your head.  

“C’mon, Y/N, I won’t laugh. Just show me what you already know. I need to know where you stand, if you want me to teach you.”  

You stood up from the couch, crossing your arms in front of your chest, refusing to even touch the guitar again. You were not going to make a fool out of yourself… well, not more than usual at least.  

“First of all, you will laugh. I know you, Rob, okay? You laugh at literally anything, so you’ll definitely laugh at this. And secondly, I never asked you to teach me,” you paused before you added, “that was your idea, not mine. And I didn’t even agree to it!”  

“Y/N, c’mon. What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m forcing you to play in front of an audience or something… it’s just me. No need to be embarrassed.” He gave you a reassuring smile, the guitar still in his extended arms, ready for you to take.  

And while his words were meant to calm you down and ease your nerves, they had the complete opposite effect. Sure enough, you’d rather play in front of an audience if that meant you wouldn’t have to play in front of him. You’d rather make a fool out of yourself in front of people that you didn’t care about than have him laugh at you, though, of course he wouldn’t mean it in a malicious way. Ever since you got to know him you knew that you felt something more than mere friendship for him, though, you had never told him that and would never tell him that, afraid that you could ruin everything if you did. He probably didn’t feel the same way about you anyway. At least, he never gave something away in that sense. Well, and typically he was a pretty open book – always said what he thought and even if he didn’t, his actions gave him away if his words didn’t. And so, given that he never said or did anything that led you to believe he liked you in that way too that made it more than obvious that your feelings were one-sided. Despite that, if there was one person in the world you wanted to impress, it was him. And you knew that you could lose any form of dignity if you caved in and played in front of him. This would be humiliating.  

“No, I think I gotta pass,” you said with a smile, trying to take some of the seriousness out of your words, trying to hide your true thoughts behind them. “I get stage fright, no matter the size of the audience… So I can’t do that.”  

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You have stage fright? That’s odd given the choice of your profession.”  

“What can I say? I’m a walking mystery.” You shrugged.  

“Or you’re lying,” he accused teasingly, patting the empty space next to him, waiting for you to sit down again.  

Reluctantly you did. “Me? Lying? Never!” You feigned shock. Rob handed you the guitar again, this time not waiting for you to decline his offer. He just placed it in your hands, putting your fingers where they belonged. His touch was gentle and his fingers were warm against your slightly colder skin. The sensation sent tingles down your spine.  

Having him so close was almost torture. You could smell the faint smell of his cologne, a scent that you immediately associated with him. He leaned in a little closer still, his hot minty breath fanning over your face. You bit down on your lower lip as a form of restraint. Everything it took was for you to lean forward just a little and your lips would touch. Everything could change in an instant and it took everything in you not to do it. What if it would backfire? What if things got weird? What if he didn’t feel the same way? No, you couldn’t risk it. The feeling of rejection would crush you more than this torturing feeling of constant longing. At least like that you were still able to have him this close. Once you’d get rejected that would be the end of it, you knew it.  

“So, give it a try now.” He was done placing your hands on the instrument and gave you an encouraging thumbs up, oblivious to your internal struggle.  

There was no fight left in you, so you pulled the strings and played whatever chord he’d arranged your fingers to.  

“Okay, and now move your index finger up,” he took your finger and showed you where to place it exactly. “Yeah, like that. Now go again and then put your finger where it was before.” You did as you were told and the sound filled the room. Well, you wouldn’t exactly call it music or any of the sorts. It sounded stiff and disjointed. Definitely nothing compared to what he had played before. At least, he wasn’t laughing.  

“Well, it’s not too bad now, is it?” He asked, a smile on his face as he rearranged your fingers again. You noticed that he sat closer to you than he had at the beginning of the evening. Your legs were touching now and even though you didn’t want to think anything of it like that your heart did a little flip in your chest, stomach filling with butterflies.  

Suddenly his hand froze in its position on top of yours. You looked up to give him a questioning look. As you did you were startled by how close his face was now, his eyes already on yours again. There was a burning sensation in them that you had never seen before, or noticed before anyway.  

Your lips parted, ready to ask him if there was a problem, but before you could even get one word out, your lips were engulfed by his. It took you longer than you’d liked to admit for your brain to process what was happening. When you finally came back to your senses you returned the kiss with just as much passion, the guitar long forgotten in your lap as you brought your hands up to his neck, tugging on his hair. Your heart was beating so violently against your chest, you feared it might jump out. The sensation of his lips finally on yours – something you’ve imagined more often than you’d liked to admit – was beyond anything you could’ve ever dreamed of. Warmth spread throughout your whole body, while at the same time shivers ran down your spine, covering your body in goosebumps. You could’ve stayed like that forever – his lips against yours, the world forgotten around you – but eventually he broke the kiss, all too soon in your opinion.  

“Well, that’s definitely something I don’t remember from my past guitar lessons,” you remarked with a timid smile.  

Rob laughed, his voice confident when he spoke again, “Care to practice some more?”  

Before you could give him his answer his lips were on yours again and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.  

You might just take him up on his offer after all.  

Requests are still open! Just send me an ask and let me know! 

[blankdblank]

Acorn Castles

Ok, here is the Firebender series. I know! I finally finished it after having been swamped with ideas for other series. :D

All –

@himoverflowers​​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @sweeticedtea​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @here2have-fun​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

x Thorin – @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun​, @queenoferebor​

@bun-bun-the-rabbit​​

Bruised and bloody you sat by the stream waiting on the Dwarves to finish bathing for your turn. None of the Dwarves wished to see you in pain or so badly afflicted by training. Dwalin out of all of them bore the weight the hardest, silently wringing the blood stain from his knee on his pants from a move ending with his leg hitting you in the nose. There was little faith when Gandalf showed up with your shivering wide eyed self to BagEnd after having wrangled another innocent bystander into the mix of his Journey claiming you would be the perfect Dragon Slayer.

A life of isolation on a tiny island with nothing but snow, snow and more snow a prank from the other young adults in the village ended with your being sent out to sea on a patch of ice. Another world where you should have been raised from firmer stuff but you were a scientist, a dreamer child of the two top researchers in protection of whales and all Arctic life leaving you less than popular for their impressions of the villagers who had been there forever holding less than factual impressions of each creature you came across.

It was decided to train you up as you couldn’t be left alone and no matter how hard you were hit even by accident you always got up and even once made Dwalin impressively scoot back half a foot in a full body slam at his urging leaving you groaning on your back in the collapse after. A rousing round of claps and cheers sure didn’t help your dislocated shoulder Oin was less than gentle in twisting back into place triggering a three day death of your arm unable to be rotated at all issuing warnings to him not to mend your dislocations that way again, because they knew it would occur again.

You were never greatly overweight, but in the surface of the water it was as if you were looking at a stranger. Thin and lean with dips and curves tracing each burning torn muscle throbbing to warn you of its injuries through each movement. Even in drying you could feel the silhouette of your figure had altered beyond what you had assumed possible. Not that you lacked motivation, you had scores to any task you wished to take on, merely when it came to fitness you preferred having a trainer or workout buddy, something severely lacking back home where you had no friends except for your giant fluffy bear dog now splashing through the lake following Thorin’s raven Roac. He loves to run and so the treadmill was your go to for cardio, something now helping at least to keep you from a heart attack through the body morphing wrestling and weapon training bouts.

Using your severely blistered hands bundled in sturdy unforgiving bandages small smooth stones were gathered up and in a circle you began to build the first house. Always while the men bathed or hunted for supper once you had been guarded through gathering wood or water on your own you would be found creating tiny villages with stones, clover, moss, twigs, leaves or any other items you might find around camp. Each day growing more extravagant with crude shovels from sticks used to carve out little lakes or streams through the town stirring soft grins onto your face. The act itself childish from the days of their youth stirring memories from each Dwarf of their own building blocks from days long gone, yet the act all the more admirable to them as it showed along with your adamant resolve that there were similarities between your races and upon that you might just find comfort in Erebor.

“Uncle, she’s doing it again.” Kili murmured in Khuzdul using his arm in a faked scrub of his face and hair to block the movement of his mouth.

“I see that,” Balin replied while Thorin wrung out his hair on the bank slowing himself to dry a bit more before pulling on his pants. Always as the leader he had to inspect his Company, even the ever unwelcoming Bilbo who did all he could to puff up and make certain it was known he did not take kindly to stares. You had shared that back home you would often wake up with small bruises without source. But the truth was far from comforting as through training they could find hand prints and large swollen bruised chunks of your body often leading to one or more of them to have to excuse and re-gather themselves from bursting into tears for the pain them in their stronger physiques had put upon you.

He hated this, but you would never survive if you were not trained, even in speaking often found to be too shy to meet the eye of those who spoke to you around the dinner fire. Gaze forward making certain not to impose. Not to be a hindrance. Not to create extra work for the Dwarves who made note of every accomplishment. Including the first time you could lift the saddle of your horse on your own halting Bofur and Bifur from assisting you on dressing him every day that stirred a wide smile from yourself to the ground in a silent moment of self pride bolstering the mood of the men on the beginnings of that gusty unpleasant day.

“Ah, a fine village, is that your former home?” Bilbo asked, the Hobbit’s arrival at your side had the Dwarves’ beards bristling as they didn’t notice his departure and from irritation on the chance you might be hindered from your silent hobby of assumed he was ridiculing you.

“Oh, no. There’s a game, back home, where you get to build your village and there are these houses with animals in them and you can go through the island fishing and collecting fruit and digging up treasure. I usually just recreate the layouts from the different versions I saw in a book on the game.”

Bilbo grinned inching closer on his knees helping to secure a tiny fence you secured the end of by winding another blade of grass to bind it to the twigs around it. “Well a fine job you are doing if I might say so. Built many a fairy dwelling myself in my Fauntling days.”

“Well, way I see it, if I build a Kingdom a day from here to Erebor I might be strong enough to face a Dragon.”

Bilbo patted your arm, “That is a marvelous plan. Perhaps I might take up building myself to practice planning on burgling a hoard. Confidence is half the effort, well concluded.”

Smirking to yourself as the words sank into the hearts of the hushed Dwarves you said, “Or at the very least I could fib and say I have experience in building to make it on a work crew. Lord knows there will be plenty to rebuild if it’s how I picture it. Dragons aren’t very slender creatures, all tail and wings bound to knocked a wall or two.”

Bilbo asked, “Any clue on how to face him yet?”

“Well, one would hope he has just left when we arrive, but fill a hand with dirt the other with wishes, which fills faster. What my Dad always said.” It wasn’t pride in your tone but pain, they could all feel the pain those words inflicted on you, how harshly they resonated and now they all had a deep ache to ensure any wish of yours possible to fulfill they would ensure came true. “Truth is, our Lords and Princes slew our Dragons to the last one proving their might. There isn’t much known about them to the public past they are gone now.”

Bilbo wet his lips seeing your melancholy gaze to the moss roof you were adding to a little bridge with a road underneath to help with rainwater collection, “Why does that make you sad?”

Glancing up you shook your head saying, “It seems you can’t throw a stone without hitting someone or a people with a terrible tale to tell about the Fire Nation, where I came from. Nothing but cinders and burnt bloody paths to bring about our glorious empire.” His hand extended to land on your knee drawing your eyes to his, “We’re not all bad. Some of us are just trying to make it day to day while our soldiers are out ruining our honor. We used to be so great, so good, that’s why the dragons gave us their fire in the beginning. And we repayed them by hunting them down and mounting their heads on our temple walls.”

Bilbo shook his head while the Dwarves just about were ready to cry for this truth they were just learning, “You are not bad. Farthest thing from it. There is no Fire Nation here, you are from the Shire.” He said nodding his head, “Consider yourself an honorary Baggins. I’m certain together we can see the end of that greedy old dragon, hopefully he’s long to bones when we get there, but in these lands our Dragons from what I’m told give naught but grief and destruction, no fire givers here. Two separate buckets entirely.” That drew a weak try for a chuckle from you and he wet his lips asking the question burning at him, “How did you end up all alone where Gandalf found you?”

“Oh,” you sighed out, “My father angered the Fire Lord so he banished us to a Northern Water Colony in the middle of a tundra of an island. The other children despised me, for where I came from, what they thought I was. But my parents were scientists, studied the animals and plants, what little there was. One day they must have snuck in unhitching my wagon from the trailer and left me and my dog out on a block of ice not realizing it’d break off and send me out to sea.”

“Varmints!” Dwalin growled drawing your eye a moment luring mutters of his try to not rant about how they didn’t deserve your company or presence on their island at all for treating you as such.

“Wasn’t all bad, I got big Bo out of the move. He doesn’t mind my company.”

.

“Trolls have the ponies,” Fili whispered to Kili only to have them flinch when you whispered behind them.

“What are trolls?” They both looked at you and you asked, “Like live under bridges, Trolls? We only have those in stories. How do you fight them?”

Kili, “Best way is daylight, but that’s hours off yet.”

“Boggins!” The pair said and rushed off to fetch Bilbo.

Under furrowed brows your eyes narrowed finding the ponies and from behind a tree you eyed a giant bubbling cauldron for a stew. All at once Bilbo was suddenly upside down gripped by a hand without a source and in the moment of deliberation whether or not to disarm to the order of the invisible Troll the men all seemed to be looking up at. Hard and fast you raced out and slammed your feet into the cauldron sending it onto the now screaming trio you caught faint slivers of from the scalding liquid sliding down their bodies. While the Company had gathered to catch Bilbo, who was sent flying your eyes scanned over the clearing to your quickening breaths asking, “Where are they?!”

The last of the liquid had lessened to where you could barely make it out in the campfire aiding in shadows to blot out their heavy steps in the grass, “What does she mean?” Gloin asked stirring questioning mutters from the Dwarves.

A swing of an arm straight for your head had Thorin shouting, “Down!”

You complied and Bifur asked, “You can’t see them? At all?”

“Sunlight,” you muttered, “Turn around! Cover your eyes!” A hand back to the campfire through a deep inhale spurred on a stunning back flip away from the invisible trio and in a wave of arms to a pausing position with hands joined outstretched in front of you the Dwarves’ mouths dropped to the wave of fire flying from the wood to your palms. A circle of your hands and a wave like motion of your arm to your right to a lift of your leg to ease it back close to a lunge began the circle of the brightening flames behind your back. The swing of your left arm came with a pendulum spin with your leg kicking up as your torso dropped to rise again, a quarter of a pirouette motion with your leg came before another dropping spin with arms guiding the flames to spark up. Fingertips gliding through the wall of flames stirring up blips of lightning while the Trolls shielded their eyes and the Dwarves turned while Bilbo hid himself behind Bombur. 

Brighter and brighter in the distance the Elves on guard took notice of the sunlit bubble just hours to midnight. Deep breaths to the dimming of the light had the group peeking out to watch your final paused pose with palms sliding together in front of your chest through the drop of your foot to plant beside your other foot. Bilbo asked in his inching step out, “Fire Nation? You, didn’t mean, literal fire the Dragons gave you?”

“Well,” you said then wet your lips that only stayed dry like the rest of your mouth. “We have an internal flame, I’m only self trained. Dad hated benders, having worked so long under them.”

Dwalin, “benders?”

“Those in the Fire Nation who can control fire. My parent’s were non-benders I couldn’t tell them. But there was no shortage of books to sneak from the library on bending techniques.”

Thorin just about hummed out, “You can control fire? Does Gandalf know of this?”

“No.” A whine from Bo turned your head to find him dragging a sack of potatoes you claimed and opened, “Potatoes?” That had the search for treasure on lit by a torch from the campfire you had sent the flames back to. Inside the hoard from the food you followed Thorin’s call to bring you over.

“Miss Pear, here,” your eyes fell to the twin blades and bow with a quiver he packed for you with arrows from several other half packed quivers found within the hoard. “These are more suited for someone your height, Elven made by the looks of it, light and sturdy. Might not trust the lot, but the forest dwellers can smith a fine blade.”

“Thank you,” to your braid hanging frayed over your chest his eyes sank making yours as well, “Something on me?”

Catching those same silver flecked purple eyes looking down at him he shook his head stealing another glance to your dusty dirtied wild curls normally in a shimmering white with speckles of tiny hues of colors temptingly close to opals under direct moon or sunlight nearly driving the Company to requesting a lock of it to treasure always. “Just, your braid has seen better days. I must ask though, did your parents have hair similar to yours?”

“Oh, no. Mother had the curls, but she went into labor while a volcano erupted and sought shelter in a temple for the spirit of the magma. When I was born my eyes and hair were like this.” Down your gaze shifted and you added, “Part of why I was decided to wed my betrothed.”

Balin, “You we’re separated from your lover?”

Locking eyes on him you shook your head, “I’ve never met Turok, his father once in passing when I was a child. He was a General and spoke to the Fire Lord who proclaimed the match.”

Thorin’s brows furrowed, “The Fire Lord proclaimed your match?”

You nodded, “Anyone of standing in the Fire Nation weds who the Fire Lord chooses for us.”

“That’s absurd!” Came at once from the Company and Bombur said, “And terribly cruel. Did you find one you wished to marry but could not?”

“No, I was sent to an all girls school once my match was set and I was secluded from any males outside my bloodline. Until we got sent to the Water Tribe village that is. There was no risk of any trying to befriend me let alone try for a match with me.”

Thorin let out a growling breath and locked his eyes on yours to say, “There is a great deal of cruelty I wish to blow back onto your clan for what you have endured.”

Dwalin said, “We will ensure when we are toasting and feasting to our return you will have no shortage of dance partners.”

“Oh, well, you might have to teach me the dances. We weren’t allowed to dance until our wedding lessons for the ceremony.”

For a tense moment the group held back their comments and Bombur broke the silence, “We should load the wagon with the food we have found, what could be salvaged, then rest up for he night back at camp and move on ahead.”

.

Across your back Bo slept in his usual way covering most of your body comforting the Dwarves that while you had a thick fur coat too warm for the chilly front rolling in leaving you just to your bedroll and a thin blanket that you would be warm enough. Past the now statue Trolls and bunnies and foxes eating the veggies from the spilled cauldron Gandalf strolled curious of what had occurred through the night. The trunk spotted through the cover parted by his staff on the back of your wagon he had found you, Bo and your things inside of he eyed the gold and treasure that with a muttered enchantment would not be visible to any outside the Company while inside the wagon.

Drawing back his staff he continued past the wagon finding you again with the creeping sunrise seated upright on your own a bit of distance from the camp giving off a faint shimmer through your morning meditations. Another odd trait the Dwarves tolerated once Gandalf had given his best guess it was a time for reflection to see if the Valar might send you guidance on your road ahead. A stick crunching underfoot opened your eyes and he could feel your return to the present next seeing your body turn and rise to grin in the usual way and welcome him back again.

Disbelieving Gandalf eyed you with Bofur and Bifur holding your hands a few moments into Thorin’s defense of you in that if Gandalf, who brought you into this Company, doubted your abilities then he did not deserve a demanded performance of said abilities. The dispute solidifying that there would be no trip to Rivendell souring Gandalf’s mood entirely to vanishing on the wind as soon as he had arrived to try and speak with Elrond to lure the Company there.

“Don’t you lower your eyes,” Gloin said as you helped to clear up camp in readying to head out. “Stubborn Wizard should have never thought he could demand a display, you were trembling after stoning those Trolls. No need to strain yourself without cause.”

Dwalin patted your back in passing you with his saddle resting on his shoulder in a subtle sign not to back up. “Listen to him Lass, not as if the wandering folk can control our Company. Barely a month all together that Wizard has traveled with us always off on the wind. You have seniority.”

Oin came over triple checking, “You are certain you are not burned?”

“Fire is more than heat, it’s light, a living thing. I can be burned but it would take some doing and I would have to be caught off guard.”

Oin nodded passing you a kerchief with a few berries in it, “A snack, last not scavenged by critters before the looming frost.”

He walked off with your thanks and the group made certain that you made it up onto your horse with ease as Nori and Dori secures their ponies behind Gandalf’s horse to pull the wagon they shared the front bench to. South you turned and for days stealing glances back when pausing for breaks distant echoes of more horses kept luring your attention to the empty distance even through the start of another deluge. Grumpy in the wagon Bo slept or moped looking through the front window lying on top of your bags while you sat under your rain cloak trying to keep from nodding off at your body’s urge to curl up when it rained. Another adorable trait for the Dwarves who ensured to have your tent ready upon camping on rainy days to grant you a mini nap before waking you for meals.

“I heard it that time,” Ori exclaimed as you turned for the end of the green pastures towards the distant mountains with slightly rockier ground around a well worn dirt path the men claimed their kin used often when they cross these ways.

“See! I’m not crazy!”

“No one said you were,” Bombur said patting his hand on your leg to his right unable to reach your knee on your tall horse.

Thorin stayed in a huff, “Probably those Elves Gandalf was so keen on visiting. We will lose them in the pass to the Mines.”

“What’s that like?”

Dwalin, “Dark,”

Fili, “Thousands of goblins,”

Kili, “Wargs too! One of the most winding forgetful paths our kin have laid to ward off intruders.”

“Sounds cozy,” Bilbo muttered and Thorin glanced back at you with a nod of his head, “If you feel up to it you could ride up with us up front.”

“I’m good back here out of your way. You know the path. Besides I have a habit of startling my horse friend here still.”

Lowly he chuckled and turned forward remembering the time a you had woken up from another rainy day nap and made your horse rear up sending you hard onto your back in the mud after your full body jerk to a leaf hitting your face. “Change your mind just trot on up.”

.

Dark and full of screeches the pass stretched on and on. When a glowing breath of a tiny flame behind your hand to peek at your pocket watch on your lap signaled for the night to camp in the pitch black cavern. A small cave was located and thanks to your flame between your palms it was lit up for all to sit inside once two axes were used to secure the cover for the entrance.

Between Bifur and Bofur you crept to the dark lapping river announcing its location even in the dark, another silent marker for their kin who unlike you and Bilbo had a clear view of the path with their eyes so tuned to the dark. Listening between shuddering breaths uncertain of when you had ever been in a place so dark stirring up a fear you didn’t want to admit their kind could not understand as the darkness was not debilitating to them. By feel alone each water skin was lowered into the frigid waters bubbling until full signaling your move to fill the next. “What is that?” You asked eyeing a glint in the distance to your right upstream.

By the sound of their collars shifting you knew they eyed the path to the right finding the odd glint you must be speaking of. Along the muddy ground under the surface it bumped and bobbed until wetting your lips you set the skins down to dunk your arm down nearly to your shoulder. Biting back a wince and gasp from the temperature you kept reaching seeing it was lower than your hand causing your knees on the edge of the river to slide. Onto your belt securing your over shirt the pair took hold to keep you on the shore watching your shift back as the slimy muddy mess with the glowing core came closer to the surface. “It’s slimy,” You muttered and from the hard rocky edge of the stream your other hand lowered to start scrubbing only brightening the area. Hastily Bifur removed his cloak to dangle around the water above your heads and hands blocking some of it. Above the surface the brightly glowing stone with a milky galaxy of glittering mist and waves in spectrums of colors shifted in your palms now fully cleaned narrowing the pupils of the awed Dwarves and yourself. Their focus shifted to returning to the cave as you asked, “What sort of stone is this?”

Bofur said, “Best take it inside.”

“Right,” You said hastily plopping it though the neck of your shirt darkening the world to you again for Bifur to re-secure his cloak around his neck. “Sorry.”

Bofur patted your back translating Bifur’s signing, “No apologies, we admired it as well. Quite a treasure you found there.”

Water skins were gathered up and to the cave the pair guided you to find the Dwarves smirking taking notice of your soaked sleeves. “Fall in?” Kili chortled out to Fili’s snickering.

Bifur however signed that you had found something and mouths dropped with Gloin saying, “Glowing stone? What stone?”

After ensuring the cover was secured behind you, awkwardly you dug into your outer shirt to bring out the lemon sized stone filling every crack of the cave with brilliant light. Dropping the jaws of the Dwarves who each tenderly took their chance to inspect it while Bilbo straightening up the blanket he had set down for your spot to keep a chill off you from the freezing stone similar to his spot. At his side you heard the debating Dwarves unable to come to a conclusive name for the stone that as Bilbo finally got his turn he asked noticing the tears in your eyes at another glance to the swirling colors inside that had quickened and slowed by how far it was from you. “Miss Pear, why are you crying?”

Post subtle sniffle you answered, “I don’t know why, but there’s something about it that makes me sad. Like an old memory.” Ori beside you patted your back and you said shaking your head, “Maybe it’s like something from an old story sparking up in my head.”

Ori, “I used to cry seeing gourds, took me a while before I remembered about this one scene of parted lovers from a tale our Amad told us when we were little. It will surface in time.” He smiled as you glanced his way, grinning to his, “You will see.”

Dwalin said, “Might be able to wrangle up something to help cover that if you like.”

“No, I have an idea.” The men got to fixing dinner while subtly you crept out to dig in the hoard from the Troll trunks. With a handful of copper cups full of white gold coins and a white gold chain the men smirked seeing you sit on the cold dirt by the ponies napping in the safe warm cave that with your hands you dug a hole just a bit larger than the stone lighting the activity.

Hot and hard into your palms you blew licks of flames until you felt the right temperature to lift the first coin you flattened to their awe to fill what they realized was a mold in the dirt. Steadily the hole was filled until the back was forged. Next the first cup was heated and using the dagger in your boot thin strips like wire were set aside then woven into a pair of trees. The trunk spiraled splitting into smaller groups of spiraled branches reaching to the edges matching the shorter roots. Then against the back you used your water skin to clean and polish smooth with more flames from between your lips and hard pressed of your sore but finally blister free fingers. Each motion skilled after years of trinket forging on your room while the other children played outside.

Actions luring the Dwarves into a trance the tree now heated was pressed into the white gold and set aside to cool. The other side of the stone would be covered with copper with the coins flattened and cut to weave another tree pressed into the front. That through the tiny holes they had noticed you wet your lips and with the tweezer kit Nori had passed you strips of both copper and white gold was woven into hinges and a hidden securing lock on the other side along with a harnessing loop to hook into the chain. In securing the stone inside your new locket you couldn’t help but giggle to the claps from the Dwarves who each took a turn inspecting the craftsmanship of the impressive bit of jewelry.

Balin, “You will make a fine jeweler, Miss Pear.”

“Perhaps for fun, I doubt I could make a living from lockets.”

The Dwarves scoffed and took to sharing the history of their kin surrounding jewels including shared bits of jewelry tucked on their persons that each had accomplished forging themselves for certain markers in their growth with the youngest trio showing woven bracelets yet to be old enough to be trusted alone to the forges just yet. Around your neck the chain settled and the locket rested surprisingly light to your chest as Thorin said, “Well maneuvered on the hinge as well, not a sliver of light to be found.”

“Well wouldn’t be a good way to pay you back if I got us killed out here by giving us away.”

His sentimental grin widened and he hummed, “I look forward to uncovering more of your hidden talents in Erebor.”

Pt 2

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 3: A Most Dangerous Game

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Aerin meets with his mother and the Lords of Whitetower to discuss the war effort while Iliana and Kade go searching for clues about the mysterious attacks.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Aerin Valleros strode through the rose garden, the early morning breeze sliding through his curls like gentle fingers beneath his heavy crown. Dew and hints of frost clung to the serrated leaves of the manicured rose bushes, which were well-tended and enchanted to bloom year-round. The mornings were growing colder and the sun was rising later as the last, lingering dregs of summer faded away into the heart of autumn. 

It was strange, Aerin mused, the passage of time. These last few months felt as if they had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but also as if they had zipped by at record speed. He could not fathom how it was possible that only two months ago, he was held prisoner in the depths of the Khagan’s fortress, hidden in the snow-blasted peaks of the Frostwhisper Mountains of Vishanti. Then, he had been a prince with no crown, hands still stained with his brother’s blood, and haunted by the ghost of his mother.

But now… Now he was the King, with hands that were no less bloody, and he walked with the Queen Mother on his arm.

In another two months, they would be deep into the dead of winter, and it would not be a thin layer of frost that coated the gardens, but snow. Aerin could only speculate how much would change before then. Would his life even be recognizable? Would his kingdom?

Aerin’s mother, Rhiannon, walked beside him with her arm hooked beneath his, her fine-boned hand laid atop his forearm, and a dark veil concealing her face. She was dressed in the rich reds and golds of House Valleros, the perfect complement to Aerin’s midnight blue and silver tunic, which, ironically, were the colors of her family, House Archeron. 

While Baldur had taken after his father in looks, there was no doubt Aerin was his mother’s son. They had the same high cheekbones, straight nose—although Aerin’s now had a faint ridge from all the times it had been broken—and full lips. And thus, the veil that hid her royal visage. had been added to the Dowager Queen’s wardrobe. Without it, there was no way to pass her off as Lady Anielle, a royal advisor whose face was said to have been horribly burned in the explosions that took out the upper half of the palace. As far as the rest of the kingdom was concerned, Rhiannon Valleros was long gone.

Every time he, Captain Ristridin, or Rhiannon herself decided that the King was in need of her counsel, Aerin was faced with the small dilemma of deciding where they should meet. His quarters or his study offered sanctuary from prying eyes, but being alone with his estranged mother in such a small space left Aerin with a creeping feeling of vulnerability, as if allowing her into his quarters allowed her to know more about him than he would ever know about her. Because truthfully, all Aerin had ever known of his mother was nothing.

Aerin thought he had made peace with his mother’s disappearance. After all, he had taken part in orchestrating it. But if that was truly the case, then why did he feel so damned angry whenever she was around? So bitter?

Aerin did not have the answers he sought nor did he have the time to sort out and analyze his own feelings. So he preferred to meet with his mother in the gardens, trailed by attendants and members of the royal guard, even if the veil Rhiannon had to wear in public made him feel like he was part of a funeral procession. Like he was speaking with a ghost. 

If he could, Aerin would simply avoid the meetings altogether, but he could not deny that his mother’s advice about navigating the court was invaluable. 

His memory held true. No one was as skilled at courtly intrigue as Rhiannon, even if she was an outsider.

The Halfling Queen. 

Aerin had so many questions. About his mother, about their heritage, about where she had been all of these years… But unsurprisingly, Rhiannon had been less than forthcoming with her secrets.  All Aerin could get out of her was that yes—she was, in fact, a human descendant of wooly halflings, and yes, that meant he was as well, but no—she was not a true Archeron, at least not by blood. Any questions beyond that, Rhiannon had simply said, Another time, Aerin. We have more important issues to worry about.

Ah, yes. More important issues, like convincing the Lords of Whitetower to go to war. 

“We should be producing supplies, building weapons, and training our soldiers,” Aerin muttered as he and his mother meandered through the hedges beneath the cloudy sky. “Not wasting time convincing the men in charge that this war is real.”

“They say the battle begins long before the troops are even sent to the fields,” his mother mused, her long and graceful steps in sync with his. Even her voice was just as he remembered it—low, rich, and wise, with regalness he could only hope to emulate.

“Half of them don’t even believe the Empire is an imminent threat,” Aerin huffed, irritated. He reached out, plucked a leaf off of a nearby bush, and pressed the pad of his thumb into its frost-covered surface, feeling the small crystals of ice melt against his skin. “They are comforted by the victory at Cragheart and forget how close we were to defeat. And that was just a test. If Iliana hadn’t—”

Aerin cut himself off, his fingers curling around the leaf in his palm as he recalled the crater of destruction she had left on that battlefield. He’d visited Cragheart the day after the battle, once all the pyres had been constructed but before the mass funeral had been held, and was astonished by the ruin Iliana’s magic had left behind. He did not know precisely what the hells had happened to Iliana that day on the fields, only that it had left her changed. Well, he supposed none of his companions were the same people anymore.

“If it hadn’t been for them,” Aerin said vaguely, not trusting himself to speak of his friends without revealing some vulnerable part of himself, “we would have lost that battle.” He shook his head, fuming. “Have they already forgotten how many dead men filled the pyres?”

“I’d wager that they have not,” the Queen Mother replied from beneath her veil, and without looking, Aerin knew her gaze was boring into him. “But this is what happens when men are born into power but given no purpose. They’ve grown complacent, accustomed to peace. These lords grew up on stories of the fiefdom wars, of squashed rebellions. But they do not know how to get their own hands dirty. They would rather ignore the threat and hope it goes away on its own.”

“It won’t go away,” Aerin insisted, although he knew he needn’t try to convince his mother. “Why can’t they see that?”

Through the veil, his mother gave him a pitying look. He despised it.

“They do not want to,” she informed him, gently. Too gently. Aerin found himself wishing she would just be stern with him, like his old tutors were. Not like… not like she was still trying to be his mother. “They are scared, Aerin, and unlike you, they have never confronted the things they fear.”

“So they would let people die instead?” he retorted, his voice sharpening in response to her gentleness.

“Success belongs to everyone involved,” Rhiannon replied sagely, her tone cool and unruffled by Aerin’s bitterness. “But failure rests solely on those in charge.”

“They would let the fault be mine,” Aerin said dryly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“They do not know you yet, Aerin,” she reminded him, and Aerin bit back the urge to snap, Neither do you.

But he ground his teeth, reining in the words before he could come to regret them.

“It remains to be seen what kintd of king you will be,” Rhiannon continued slowly, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her. “That is the case for all new rulers, not just those with your… past. They know not whether you will be a tyrant or a fool, someone who threatens what they have or someone they may take advantage of. Today, you must show them that you are neither.”

“If Father had been in charge—” Aerin’s breath hitched ever so slightly, and he disguised the hoarseness in his voice with a cough. “If Father had been in charge, they would have listened,” he said morosely. “Just as they had when he sent the standing army to Cragheart.”

“I would not be so sure,” the Queen murmured, shaking her head. “The Battle of Ash is an isolated incident, and the order to fight was a decree given in a state of emergency. Had the lords been given time, they would have fought your father until he gave them what they wanted.”

Aerin bristled, his lips thinning with displeasure as he echoed, “What they wanted?”

“The key to convincing them the war is worth their attention is learning what they desire. All men want for something,” she explained, thoughtfully drumming her fingers against his forearm. “If duty is not enough to spur them into action, perhaps a deal might.”

Aerin frowned, nose wrinkling. “We cannot afford to waste resources that should be dedicated to the war effort on convincing a bunch of lords to defend their own people.”

“We won’t have to,” Rhiannon stated confidently and Aerin glanced over at her with a single brow arched. “Some lords are more important to this cause than others,” she informed him. “Strike the tower at its base and the rest of the pieces will follow.”

Aerin pursed his lips pensively, mulling that over. His mother’s advice reminded Aerin of something he had told Iliana once, when they faced down Ristridin and his Thirteen in the poison fields. There’s thirteen of them, but only one leads.

He really was his mother’s son.

“You have… given me much to think about,” Aerin said at last, drawing them to a halt. Behind them, their retinue of attendants and guards paused as well. 

Aerin looked skyward, taking in the dim rays of sunlight that just barely streamed through the dense array of clouds. The time for his meeting was drawing near. He pulled away from his mother, inclining his head in a polite farewell. “I will consider all of this as I prepare to meet with the Council of Lords.”

Through the opaque veil, his mother’s face fell. The hand at her side twitched, as if she had intended to reach for him, then thought better of it. “Aerin, I want to tell you—”

“No need, my lady,” Aerin said swiftly, his stomach twisting in discomfort at the sudden tenderness that crept into her voice. “I have heard all that I need to hear for today.”

For once, Aerin was glad he had an audience. The nearby attendants and guards were perhaps the only thing saving him from whatever it was his mother had suddenly deemed was important enough to share with him. He stepped back, retreating toward the path that led to the palace. “Thank you for your counsel, Lady Anielle.”

His mother stared at him for a few moments, the shifting clouds stealing away the watery light that had allowed Aerin a glimpse at Rhiannon’s countenance. At last, she nodded, dipping into a low curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. I wish you luck with the lords.”

Aerin merely inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode back toward the palace, leaving his mother behind. It was not until Aerin had cleared the rose gardens that he allowed himself to let out the heavy breath of relief he had not even realized he was holding. Some of the tension slackened in his shoulders now that he had put some distance between himself and the Queen Mother.

“You could stand to be kinder to your mother,” Ristridin mumbled beneath his breath as he fell into step beside Aerin, gravel crunching beneath their boots. “I know it must not be exactly easy having her back after all this time, but she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t care.”

Aerin seriously doubted that. He scowled slightly, glancing at Ristridin sidelong. He refused to believe she came simply out of the goodness of her heart or whatever sense of duty she still miraculously possessed toward guiding her only remaining son. There must have been some other reason why she had returned to Whitetower, a place she had despised so vehemently, she abandoned the city and her family. Aerin just had yet to figure out what that reason was.

He tilted his head, regarding Ristridin with an expression of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever contemplated getting married, Captain?”

Ristridin arched a dark brow. “Not recently. Why?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aerin replied as they stepped into the palace proper, nodding to the guards that were stationed by the doorway. “Then you could start a family of your own whose business you can stick your nose into.”

That startled a laugh out of the knight. Aerin glanced over at him once more, a small smile curling his lips as he watched the old man’s brows raise in amusement.

“Aye,” Ristridin chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Aerin back to his chambers. “I will consider it, Majesty. But let it be known that you are trouble enough.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Tagging:  @diamonds-and-decorum, @kelseaaa, @xsweetnspookyx, @tyrils-star, @maeksoo, @tylorswift, @somin-yin, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski, @rainesenator, @desperatetrashwives, @choicesficwriterscreations

Let me know if you would like to be tagged/removed!

[kyrie-silverwings]

RP // Between the Shards pt.1

[Part 2]

Kyrie grumbled. She did not anticipate the unwelcome intrusion of Erebus in her quarters at the crack of dawn, on a free day no less, nor was she prepared for the abrupt motions that followed. The Amaurotine entered in his usual fashion; with little to no warning, and conversing to himself about some topic Kyrie could barely understand. At least he had the decency not to shake her awake, but he still crept up to her bedside and leaned in until the fringe of his curly black hair brushed against her face. A soft touch pressed against her forehead as he moved away some of the locks of hair that obscured her face. Kyrie squeezed her eyes shut and groaned as she wriggled further into her bedsheets.

“Erebus. I’m not decent. Go away.”

He uttered a small chuckle, the one he always did when Kyrie was going to lose an argument. “Not right now, you aren’t. But I would appreciate your presence, whether you choose to come clothed or not. I could make you something to wear, if you want to be stubborn, but I want to show you something.”

Kyrie leered at him, pushing the sheets to her chin. Her bright green eyes pierced through him, but Erebus was never intimidated by her appearance, unsightly as she could be. “This is my day off. Why now?” she asked petulantly. Erebus sighed, eternal disappointment reflected in his violet eyes. His hands shifted and he drummed his fingers on the side of the bed in impatience. Kyrie hoped he wasn’t attempting to pull her from her respite for an insignificant task, so she feigned some interest. She sighed, rolling her eyes towards the slumped over Amaurotine. “You know, I may be persuaded if you told me what you are trying to show me...”

Erebus cupped his chin as he perked at her words. “Oh, honestly, that would only ruin the surprise. But you make a point.” He smiled. “Have I ever taken you to the First shard?”

Kyrie shook her head. “No. Neither did Kyrien, but he was always busy running back and forth from there. He never had a chance to take me along, before you came around.” Her gaze needled Erebus, but he continued blithely.

“Unfortunate. It will not make the journey difficult, but I will forewarn you that the aetherical transfer might make you feel unwell... Are you...going to get up, or do I take you wrapped up in bedsheets?”

An arm popped out from under the blankets. “Fine, fine.” Kyrie grumbled. She squeezed away from Erebus’s side and pushed herself out of bed, unceremoniously letting her thin chemise fall from her shoulders. She heard a disinterested snort as Erebus moved towards a shelf against the wall; he tended to pick around her little collection of trinkets and various monster pieces when he was bored. Kyrie shuffled to a disorganized armoire, selecting several articles of black clothing to quickly slip on. She opted for light protection, adjusting a thin guard over her undershirt before pulling a leather overcoat from a wall hook. She dusted it off and set to putting on a pair of well-worn black boots, along with a garter around her thigh that could be concealed by the coat which holstered a small dagger. Before she was done fastening her gear, Erebus returned to her and tossed a pair of leather gloves that matched her coat by her side. Kyrie eyed them curiously; they did not come from her collection and the leather smelled quite new. 

“Couldn’t wait for me to pick out my own gloves?”

Erebus shrugged, his attention turned to flicking dust from his shoulder. “It suits you more than the fur-lined pieces from the last time you traveled.” She scowled.

“I can dress myself fine enough without your input, Erebus.” Kyrie retrieved a set of matching daggers and hooked them onto the belt of her coat. She begrudgingly put on the new gloves, slowly testing the material and inspecting them closely for any imperfection the Amaurotine may have added, intentionally or not. When she returned her gaze to him, he was chewing on his lip, irritation furrowing his attractive features. He held up his hands in resignation.

“Yes, yes. You are not the wild child in tatters anymore.” He sighed, swiping aside the wavy hair from his brow. “...Well, I am done wasting your time with idle chatter. If you are ready, Kyrie, let’s go.”

Kyrie held off for a few moments to tie back her hair, left long with her side locks in braids. She pulled the stray hairs behind her ears and gave a nod. “Aye, I’m ready.” She paused as Erebus extended his hand to her. “I can--”

He interrupted her. “Not this time. We will be crossing the rift, and it would not do to lose a valuable...person, such as yourself. Take my hand, please.” His words were said firmly enough that Kyrie did not want to question them, despite her perpetual misgivings and she placed her hand in his. Compared to Erebus, Kyrie was quite small; her hand nested within his long fingers and she was able to rest her head against the crook of his arm. She knew little of the Amaurotines, Erebus being the only one she knew personally, and she wondered if his current form indicated his true height, or if it was another adjustment to fit in with the shorter races of Hydaelyn. 

A moment passed in silence and suddenly the air around the two vibrated with a brief intensity as the shapes of Kyrie’s room shifted and distorted. All that was left of their departure was the sound of a gust cut short and a lingering aetheric signature, possibly enough to disrupt the protective field around the company house, but Kyrie hoped the others would not be alerted by the teleportation. She clutched Erebus’s arm more tightly. 

The alien feeling of the rift brought back a few memories of her first, traumatizing, journey from her home world. In the passage between worlds, there was only darkness, silence, weightlessness - it was as if there was a total absence of everything save for Erebus and the thoughts within her head. Kyrie couldn’t help her own trepidation, her heart beginning to race as she impatiently waited for the end of their journey. 

‘This is the fear that Kyrien felt too.’ She thought of her twin, another shard of Erebus who had lingered in the interstitial abyss far longer than what was bearable for any person. As Kyrie dwelled on his fate, the darkness tore away just as suddenly as it appeared, their travel concluded with a breeze rippling across a bare field of lavender-hued grass.

Kyrie blinked, the sunlight startling her from her introspection. Erebus waved an arm forward, though Kyrie still clung to the other for a few moments longer. “Welcome to the First. Well, Lakeland in particular.” He continued talking, but Kyrie was busy looking in all directions, taking in every detail she could see. She was full of questions now, her curiosity fully piqued by this odd landscape. Far off in the distance, towards the seaward cliffs, she glimpsed the bright aurora of the curtain of Light but withdrew her gaze after it began to strain her vision. They were surrounded on all sides by forests and behind them rose a great hill with ruined stone architecture dotting the pathway; along one of the trodden pathways, she could see the glittering spire of the Crystal Tower. Its sight was not familiar to her, though she wondered if it was similar to the tower housed in the reaches of Mor Dhona - a region she had never glimpsed much of during her travels through Coerthas.

Finally, she held still from her darting observations. “So, where do we begin?” she asked, clearly impressed by the foreign locale. Erebus smiled, pleased by the cooperation of his normally more reserved shard. He gestured towards the distant crystalline tower peeking above the forest line. “We should stop at the Crystarium first. It’s a pleasant enough city and there, you will attune to their aetheryte. If you worry about returning to the Source, where we just came from, you should know that the flow of time here marches at an unequal pace. Spend a month here, and it will only be as days back there.”

Kyrie lifted an eyebrow incredulously. “What? How does that work? Why wouldn’t it be an equal length of time?” She was disappointed by the careless shrug given in response. 

“I know not of the precise machinations.” Erebus replied simply. “To an old soul such as mine, the passing of time is only perceived during times of great change.” For a moment, the confident spark in his violet eyes dimmed. “It wouldn’t matter if a thousand years passed here or in the Source to me. It was not always this way, back when there was a single shard...” Kyrie was confused by the sudden change in his demeanor, but waited for him to break from his thoughts. Erebus shook his head. “Ah, well, you could not understand. Not right now, but perhaps later.”

She couldn’t say much, only resting her hands on her hips as she motioned for the Amaurotine to lead her forwards. “Should we be off? I can’t speak for the woods here, but it usually isn’t a good idea to linger away from the roads.”

Erebus nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Let us be off, and we should reach the Crystarium before sundown. While we go, I should tell you of the creatures here on the First.” He began to lead, prompting Kyrie to follow beside him. “As you enjoy fighting strong, and unusual creatures, it may intrigue you to learn of the more violent fauna here, including the sin eaters...”

[bat-famzine]

Happy Thanksgiving to our followers in the US! We hope you can enjoy some hearty food and fun time with friends and family. 

How does the Batfam celebrate Thanksgiving? What are their favorite foods? Check out the incredible @preciousthingsareprecious‘s take on a Batfam Thanksgiving celebration below the cut! Don’t forget to preorder a copy of the  zine here to read more of her work, as well as amazing art and writing from our other contributors!

Jason’s attention was split. A small speaker rested on the counter behind him, the rising and falling voice of a narrator flowing from it as they read The Andromeda Evolution to the room. Below him on the counter he worked dough, kneading it with growing confidence. His apron, the counter, and the floor were all dusted with flour, spread in a mess he was not looking forward to cleaning up. 

As the narrator moved into a long technical explanation Jason’s mind wandered back to the dough under his palms. It had been a long time since he’d made rolls from scratch, or any bread beyond quick easy ones-- like those that were just a batter thrown in a loaf pan and baked-- so he’d been nervous when he’d decided that if he was going to do this, he’d do it right. Still, his hands and arms remembered the repetitive push and pull of working the dough, even if the last time he’d done it was when he’d been a kid. 

When he’d lived at the manor, it had become somewhat of a tradition for Jason to help with the rolls. He figured Alfred set him to them because kneading took such energy, but he’d loved it all the same. He loved cooking in general. More than that, he’d loved that it seemed to bring everyone together. He and Alfred, and then on holidays where there was much to be done, Bruce would join them for the easier tasks and chatting. 

He smiled at those memories, holidays had been much quieter when he was Robin than what he was expecting today. The family had grown so much since then. 

His smile turned down and he rolled his eyes, they were all still idiots though, nothing would change that. If not, he’d be in the kitchen at the manor helping Alfred cook and not settled into his own apartment with far too little counter space for all his needs. 

The narrator moved from their technical description back to the team in the jungle and Jason let thoughts of family past and present fall away as he listened. He rolled the dough into a loose ball and moved to get his greased bowl, depositing the dough into it, and covering the whole thing with a towel before setting it aside to rise. 

As Jason set it down, the doorbell rang. He tapped pause on the app playing the book and wiped his hands on his apron before moving to the door. When he opened it a burst of chilly air washed over him. 

“Heya, Squirt.” Jason said to a somewhat anxious looking Damian standing at his doorway. 

He scowled at the nickname, anxiety falling away as his obligation to be irritated with any name beyond his given taking precedence over worries. His arms were crossed across his chest against the cold, making him look small and alone in the doorway. 

Jason stepped back, smiling at the kid, “Come on in.” 

Damian hurried inside, and stopped short, looking around the apartment utterly bedecked in pumpkins, leaves, and crackling candles. Jason let his grin grow at Damian’s surprise. 

“What, did you think I’d invite you over for Thanksgiving and not roll out the red carpet?” 

Damian turned on him, “I was under the impression that most people do not decorate for Thanksgiving.” 

Jason shrugged, closing the door, “I’m not most people. Besides, it’s not every day I’m the one having family over for a holiday.” 

“Then you did not only invite me?” It was a question, sharp enough to say he knew the answer. 

He wagged a finger at Damian, and moved back towards the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, I didn’t have you come early so you could loiter at the door.” 

“Todd.” Damian demanded, stomping after him, “What kind of plan have you cooked up this time?” 

Jason was already busy, pulling an assortment of fruit out of the fridge to set on one of the counters, “I’m going to need to you slice all of this into bite size bits for the fruit salad.” 

“Jason.” 

It was the use of his name, and the worry in Damian’s voice that made Jason turn his full attention onto his youngest brother. The anxious look Damian had on his face when he’d been at the door was back, more obvious this time than last. 

“If you have invited everyone then I will not be able to--” 

“Stop that.” Jason said, interrupting him, “This is why it’s me hosting this year, because you lot all got it in your heads that it would be better if everyone celebrated without you.”

“You lot?” Damian asked, brows knit, “Do you mean to say that I was not the only one to have claimed alternate plans to Father?”

Jason nodded. He’d called Alfred a week ago to confirm Thanksgiving plans and see when he was expected to arrive and learned that everyone had mysterious ‘other engagements’. A few calls later and Jason had learned that each and every one of his siblings had opted out of the holiday festivities in an attempt to make the day better for someone else, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone. The lot of them were self sacrificing to a fault. On Thanksgiving of all days. The idiots. 

“Thanksgiving is about family.” Jason said, tossing an apple at Damian, “Peel those before you slice them,” he added three more to the growing stack of fruit on the counter, “Family and time spent being thankful you’ve got them in your life, and I’m not letting any of you skip out because we’ve all got the conversation skills of rocks.” 

Damian still hadn’t moved, apple cradled in his hands, “If I had known...I did not wish Father and Pennyworth to be alone.” his voice was tight, slightly strained like he was fighting with emotions. 

Jason moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright. It’s sorted and everyone’s coming over.” he grinned at Damian, “Alfred and I will make sure of that. I’ve got the adults bringing stuff, so pull your weight and help me out.” 

They worked in tandem, Damian following Jason’s instructions as he gave them, and showing a lot of promise in the kitchen. Jason made a mental note to have the kid help him more often when the opportunity presented itself. To avoid too much silence Jason switched the book on his speaker to something he knew Damian was interested in. They listened and worked together as a new voice filled the room, spinning tales of fantastic events. 

When another knock at the door resounded above the narrator’s voice, Jason paused it. 

“That’ll be Dick. Get the door for me?” he said, checking on now risen dough. 

He smiled to himself as he heard Dick’s surprised exclamation and rolled his eyes at Damian’s playful complaints of being “worked to the bone”. The two chatted with animated voices while Jason finished rolling individual rolls and setting them aside for their second rise. He turned just in time for Damian to lead Dick into the kitchen, the man carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes. 

“Now I see why you told me to bring enough for ten.” he said, grinning, “What’d you do, team up with Alfred to plot all this?” 

Jason grinned at him and winked, making Dick choke on a laugh, “I should have known. Careful or you’ll be hosting every year.” 

It was a warning Jason wasn’t sure he’d heed. Even with the few of them there, the feeling of the day was warm and comforting. He found himself looking forward to the chaos sure to fill his little apartment in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything in a long time. 

Everyone else filtered in slowly after that. Tim, Cass, and Steph came together having bumped into one another on the way bringing drinks and stuffing. Then Duke with a casserole looking much like something Alfred had made. 

People milled around, Tim hijacked Jason’s speaker and started playing music, and Damian (now protective of the kitchen and his place helping) shooed out anyone trying to sneak an early bite of dinner. It was a tight fit in Jason’s apartment, but comfortable. And everyone was smiling, despite all the worries of “If I’m here I’ll fight with them” and “It would be more peaceful if I did not come”. Jason fully expected some kind of spat to happen at some point, but what was a family gathering without a little bit of mess?

Jason left his youngest brother stirring the gravy to greet Bruce and Alfred when they arrived. Each carried one of Alfred’s famous pies. Alfred had a delighted twinkle in his eye and Bruce looked startled but happy. 

“I never doubted you for a moment.” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder before taking Bruce’s pie from him and moving to the kitchen to leave them together. 

When they were alone Bruce cast his eyes around the group, “You got everyone together?” 

“Alfred helped.” Jason said. 

“But you spearheaded it.” 

Jason shrugged, at a loss for words. Which was silly, it wasn’t like he’d done anything huge or dug them out single handedly from rubble or something. He’d just tricked everyone into coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. 

“Thanks.” Bruce said, and tugged him into a hug, “It’s good to have everyone together.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Old Man.” Jason said clearing his throat of the sudden tightness there, “Alfred threatened not to bake at all if the whole family didn’t come.”

This made his dad laugh, “Nothing motivates like Alfred’s pies.” 

“We should try bribing criminals with them.” Jason said. 

“Todd!” Damian’s head poked from the kitchen, his nose was smeared with what could be either mashed potatoes or whipped cream, “Your assistance is required in the kitchen.” his eyes caught onto Bruce, “Oh, hello, Father.”  

“Damian.” Bruce nodded, “You’ve got a bit of uh.” he motioned to his nose. 

Damian’s eyes just about crossed to look at his nose before he wiped a hand across it, “It is Drake’s fault. Both of you come, or the whole meal will be ruined.” 

Jason waved him back in, and turned back to Bruce, “That’s our cue, ready to go save the day?” 

Bruce nodded, “Lead the way.” 

[ohtheseboysilove]

The Devil with angelic eyes [Roger Taylor x F!Reader]

Words : 2, 200 K +

Warnings : mention of smut, language, age gape

Summary : Roger tell the band about a girl he shagged. Turned out he shouldn’t have.

Note : omg guys i don’t know what happened with this request but it is way more different that what I planned to do at the beginning....anyway I love this request and there will be obviously a second part to respect the request! I hope you all enjoy this one, it doesn’t make any sense but it was supert funny to write !

Please tell me what you think my loves xx

🌼Request are open🌼☀ Masterlist ☀

“Dear god, Roger, you look terrible” Freddie commented as his friend passed the door of the studio, looking like hell.

The blond grunted annoyingly and poured himself a hot cup of dark coffee, ignoring his bandmates.

“Who keep you awake all night this time ? Shelly ? Or was it Lola ?” John pipped in, seating criss-cross on the sofa, a mocking smile on his face. “Must be exhausting to have so many girlfriends”

“And only one cock” Added Fred with pout. “I read an article about a man having two cocks, lucky bastard”

Brian looked at the singer horrified and shook his head.

“Freddie, it not possible. Even, if he do have two penis, there no chance he can use them both” His scientific side couldn’t stay quiet hearing this absurdity. “It’s useless like people who are born with six fingers”

“I would make good use of an extra finger, trust me” Freddie chirped and threw a smile to Deaky, the only one to laugh at his joke. Brian closed his eyes with a grimace and busied himself with his cup of tea. “But that wasn’t the conversation, Roger, darling, who is this little creature who don’t let you sleep at night ?”

“Don’t want to talk about her” Roger spat and fell in the chair, massaging his temples. “She is the fucking devil”

“You said the magic word, I need more details now !” Freddie brought his chair closer and looked expectingly at his friend. “Does this delicious woman have a name ?”

“Honey” The blond replied, chewing his bottom lip at the thought of the delicious girl.

“Honey ? That can’t be her real name !” Brian gasped. “Which parents would call–“

“I know very well it’s not her name, twat” Roger bit back, annoyed by Brian’s useless comment. “But I don’t give a damn about that, honey is more than fine with me”

“She sound like a little cock teaser. I have this feeling. Am I wrong ?” Freddie asked with an arched eyebrow. His curious smile turned into a smirk as Roger blushed, clearly a bit upset. “Oh she is, she totally is ! I like her even more !” He clapped his hands happily and the blond rolled his eyes.

“She is the worst okay ? Never a girl make me crawl so hard to have her” The drummer confessed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Roger Meddows Taylor, crawling for a girl ? Unbelievable” John snickered and earned a death glare from his friend. “Well, did she was worth it at least ? You looked pretty exhausted, must be a good night”

The blond pinched his lips into a line, irritation bubbling in his blood.

“I still didn’t fuck her” He confessed, cheeks red with frustration.

“Seriously ? But you met her last month ? And you seeing her almost every night !” Brian asked with furrowed eyebrows, rather surprise of the grip the woman had on his friend.

“I fucking know that ! It had been six weeks and she did nothing else but tease me ! Sucking my cock then stop right before I cum ! She is...I can’t explain, she is so hot, everything about her is fucking erotic, I want to fuck her so badly, it’s painful” Roger whined, head dropped on the back of the chair, sharing his desperation with his bandmates.

“Hell, even me I want to shag her” Freddie said, lighting a cigarette, pressing Roger to continue to speak about this girl. “Tell us more, what she looks like ? What she do to make you so crazy for six fucking weeks ?”

Brian and John, both were married but couldn’t say no to hear about the beautiful girl torturing the infernal blond.

“She got the dirtiest mouth I ever heard, I swear everything she said is filthy, making me hard every fucking time she whispered in my ear. And she do the best deep-throat blowjob, without any gagging. Must be fucking experienced because she clearly know how to use her tongue around me” Freddie hummed appreciatively and John and Brian’s cheeks were slightly flushed, eager to know more about this – apparently – perfect woman. “Fucking beautiful tits too, she got a piercing on her right nipple and it’s bloody hot, always poking under her top, naughty girl never wear a single bra in her life I’m sure” He stole Freddie’s cigarette and took a deep puff, smirking at his friends, very attentive to each of his word. “Well, well, well, no smartass comment to make Brian ? John ? Look at these flushed faces”

“Oh come on, we are married, fantasy is all we got now” Brian grunted and rolled his eyes. “Help a friend in distress with his wife” Freddie giggled loudly.

“I’m perfectly happy in my marriage” John shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh yeah ? So you don’t want to hear about Honey’s pretty little cunt ?” Roger teased, tilting his head on the side to see his friend swallowed with difficulty. He stayed silent and motioned him to continue. “That what I thought too. So the sweet honey got an ever sweeter pussy, pink and a delicious juice. And fuck, she do the more erotic little moans, very vocal and not shy at all” He sighed loudly, chewing the inside of his cheek at the memories of the girl kneeling in front of him, does-eyes but with a devilish smile.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Roger, did you found the goddess of sex or what ? Never heard you praised a girl that much. Without even fucking her yet !” The singer smirk rather impressed, this girl was certainly something, turning Roger into lost puppy wasn’t an easy task.

“Aphrodite” The guitarist said with sweaty hands. Freddie glanced at him, wondering what this was about. “The Greek goddess of sex and beauty is Aphrodite”

“You also have Hedone, goddess of the pleasure, seems to match too” John added with an amused smile.

“Roger, you have to shag this girl” Freddie said in a serious tone and the two other nodded.

“I will, don’t worry” He smirked with confidence.

“By the way, how old she is ? Must be younger to be so wild” Deaky wondered as he gave to all his bandmates a paper with lyrics for a new song he wrote.

Roger cleared his voice, embarrassment flushing his face. “twenty-one” He replied and immediately a stream of disgusting noises followed.

“For god’ sake Rog ! You’re forty-two years old !” Brian scoffed with a grimace. “You’re a pig”

“She could be your daughter” John commented, his lips pinched in a thin line.

“Well she is fucking not ! And you weren’t complaining five minutes ago” Roger grunted as he crossed his arms, vexed. “She’s hot okay ? And she’s the one who start hitting on me, she can be very persuasive, trust me”

“Age is just a number my darlings, let Roger have his fun, just don’t knocked her up, you would ruin her young life” Freddie relaxed the atmosphere, even more amused by the scandalously young age of the girl. “Let’s go to work now, we already way behind schedule boys.

**

Two weeks later, Roger bursted into the studio, wearing a giant smirk.

“I did it ! I fucking did it ! I finally shag honey and she bloody squirted !” He yelled in a victorious tone, earning a round of applause from Freddie.

“Well done darling, but that not really the moment. Our darling Brian is having a bit of an existence crisis right now” Roger lose his smile and came to sit next to his best friend, furrowed his brows in worry.

“What’s going on ? Chrissie and the kids are okay ?”

“Yes” Brian mumbled. “Do you remember Maddy ? The groupie when we where still in Smile ?”

“The one who get an abortion ? ‘f course I remember her. She gave us a hell of fear” Roger chuckled bitterly.

“Well, guess what ? She never had the abortion, she kept the baby” The guitarist dropped the bomb as Roger’s eyes widened with shock. “She contacted me few days ago, claiming I have a twenties something daughter who want to meet her dad” He hid his head in his hands, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure it’s yours ?” John questioned. They were rich and famous, the best target for good money.

“We did a blood test and she wasn’t lying, I have a daughter that I never fucking met in my life. I just spoke to hear on the phone, she seems sweet, I invited her this afternoon, was too fucking afraid to meet her all by myself”

The boys spent the ten next minutes trying to cheer up Brian, it wasn’t his fault after all. And the girl wanted to meet him, she probably wasn’t too upset about the situation. Then Freddie’s voice echoed in the studio, making everyone eyes popped up from their heads.

“Roger, am I dreaming or you spent to much time handcuffed to the bed yesterday ?” The blond reddened furiously. “Look at these poor bruised wrists !” Freddie pushed his sleeves to expose the purple flesh of the drummer, giggling hysterically.

“Oh my– did she spank you too because you were a naughty boy ?” John snorted loudly as the blond bit his bottom lip, hiding back his wrists. “I’m sure she did. Hundred percent sure” He added more seriously then bursted in laugher with Roger’s silent agreement and death glare.

The three friends giggled like kids, almost peeing themselves at the flushing face of the blond. He shifted in his sit and involuntary grimaced at the soreness of his ass cheeks, making his bandmate cried, real tears rolling down their features.

“God, I need more details, please do darling” Freddie wiped his teary eyes, his chest still shaking with laugher slowly dying but he was practically panting.

“You said it wasn’t the moment with Brian” Roger hissed, sliding his sunglasses on his nose.

“I want to hear the story too, I need to clear my mind anyway” The guitarist smirked and every gazes fell on the blond, making him sighed.

“It was fucking good” Roger blurbed out, his tongue absent-mindedly licking his parted lips. “She is fucking wild I swear, she handcuffed me to the bed, I was bloody naked and she was wearing this tiny little red strappy bustier, barely covering anything, her breasts was outflanked, was a beautiful sight” The blond scratch his red neck. “She teased me for fucking ages, rubbing her soaked pussy against my face but I couldn’t even fucking taste” He groaned, annoyed at the memory.

“Why not ?” Freddie arched a brow then gasped excitedly. “ Oh! What did she use ? Bone gag ? Ball gag ?”

“Just a pair of panties” Roger replied, all of them looking at Fred like he was coming from another planet.

“Oh don’t be such bore darlings, bondages is fun, you should try. Especially you Brian” The curly brunette gasped a surprise me? “Yes, maybe Chrissie would like it” He winked and Brian swallowed nervously.

“Right, if you want to try Brian, I can ask Honey where she buy all of her stuffs, she has a box full of toys and some scary stuffs too. Was rather surprise, she can look so angelic when she want” He shook his head with a chuckle. “I also have a blindfold at the beginning but I didn’t like at all, so she nicely accepted to take it off”

“And she punished you for that ?” John pipped with a smirk.

“Hell yes. Nipple clamps with chains but I thought it was for her, was bloody excited but she put them on me, dear god, it’s painful ! But good too, they do the trick I guess”

Brian and Deaky grimaced at the thought of the pain but Freddie didn’t seemed too interested, shrugging simply.

“Are you sure you fucked her ? Because all of that sound more like she fucked you darling”

“I know ! She rode me first, bloody good pussy she got there, thigh and her moves...jesus the woman is insatiable, shoving my dick in her mouth like it was a fucking treat” Freddie hummed in amusement, his friend seemed like he had the time of his life last night. “We fucked literally all night, testing her weird accessories and food fantasies, pretty good actually. But when she finally let me lead, I wrecked her” Roger smirked with satisfaction. “Tugging on her hairs until her back arched completely, cuming on these perfect tits of her, she even let me take her by both of her hole and bloody hell, I wished I had another dick yesterday, could have been useful to satisfy this voracious little slut. She begged and cried until I completely ruined her” His was was drooling with pride.

“Okay too much details Roger” John grimaced with flushed pink, his fingers scratching his chin awkwardly. 

Roger and Freddie never had any problem to share the details of their sex life with everyone but Deaky wasn’t really like that. Brian was in the middle, depending of his mood, the girl he shagged and the situation.

“Coming from the man who wrote a bloody song about cuming too fast, it’s pretty funny” Roger immediately shot back, knowing that this argument always worked.

Deaky rolled his eyes and showed him his middle finger, bored that they still teased him about his song Misfire, years after he wrote it.

“Are you gonna see this girl again ?” Brian asked to close the argument between his two bandmates.

“Hell yes, she is probably the best lay I had in years, she definitively know what she does and she fucking flexible, that drive me crazy” The drummer bit his bottom lip, smirking as Brian scoffed, remembering him she was bloody young but if Roger was a bit awkward at first about her age, now that she saw what she was capable of doing, he didn’t care anymore.

Freddie was about to make a comment when a soft knock echoed in the room and Brian immediately stood up, knowing it was probably his unknown daughter. He exited the room and spoke with her for several minutes outside as Freddie, Roger and Deaky waited nervously, hoping everything was going fine for their friend.

The door opened again and a flushed and smiling Brian appeared, followed by a smallest person, hiding behind him.

“Guys, this is my daughter (Y/N). (Y/N), this is John, Freddie and Roger”

The girl was wearing a little white dress, her hairs sweetly put into two plates attached at the back of her head, letting the rest of her hairs falling loosely. She had big doe eyes, looking absolutely adorable. A perfect little angel.

The drummer stopped breathing as soon as his gaze fell on the girl, his face turning livid at the realisation. (Y/N) smiled timidly to everyone, tucking her hairs behind her ear but Roger didn’t miss the discrete wink she sent him.

Honey and (Y/N) May was the same person. She was Brian’s daughter. Roger fucked his daughter’s best friend and gave him all the bloody details. 

**

permanent tag list : @jennyggggrrr

[queen-scribbles]

Damage Control

Long, LONG overdue post-Nathema Conspiracy Spy Nerds for y’all this fine Sunday afternoon. (◕‿◕✿)

After a week and a half stuck in bed, Theron couldn’t stand it any longer. Sure maybe he “wasn’t fully healed”, but he’d healed enough it didn’t hurt(too much) to walk, and he really didn’t want to wait any longer to talk to Jaaide. Lana had spared no details on the damage he’d caused--to the Alliance in general and the woman he loved in particular--and even if he was in for a well-deserved torrent of recrimination and the loss of the very person he’d been trying to protect, he just wanted it over with. But Jaaide hadn’t set foot in the medbay since that first time he woke up. She’d been clear he was still welcome in the Alliance, but discussions of anything... more than that had been tabled for later. “When you’re feeling better,” she’d said, and technically he was. Since she hadn’t been back, clearly, he would have to go to her.

So, against the doctor’s advice, he shot himself full of painkillers and limped through the halls in search of the Alliance Commander, a knot of dreadful anticipation settled firmly in his gut. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long to find her. She was in one of the staging areas, mid-holocall with what looked like an Alderaanian representative.

“....sincerely apologize for the deception, ambassador,” she said as Theron walked into earshot. “But it was vital for Agent Shan’s mission that the Order believe he had truly defected, and if I had remained silent, they would never have been convinced. Who knows what level of destruction we would be facing now had he not been successful.”

“Be that as it may, commander,” the ambassador began, holo-distortion doing nothing to mask her irritation, “Alderaan has long been a supporter of your Alliance, and we do not appreciate being misled in such a fashion. It makes some wonder if you truly value our contributions.”

Jaaide smiled tightly, and Theron could have sworn he heard her mental scream of frustration, even if none of it bled onto her face. “We value all our supporters, ambassador. This was a very closely guarded secret, though I do understand your pique. Rest assured, we will do everything in our power to ensure no such course of action is required in the future, and our allies are confident in their value to us.” She ended to call before the woman could reply, let out a long, slow breath, and rubbed her temples before turning to leave the room.

“What was that about?” Theron asked as she stepped through the doorway. He wanted to cross his arms, but the movement tugged at things still healing, so he thought the better of it. He settled for falling in step next to her as she walked.

“That?” Jaaide glanced back toward the staging room and flashed him a wan smile. “I suppose you could call it damage control...”

Her tone suggested she’d been doing a lot of it. Theron clenched his jaw. Sithspit, even that hurt. Maybe he should’ve listened to that doctor... But he had bigger things to worry about right now. Like the dark circles hanging under Jaaide’s eyes, more pronounced than he’d ever seen before. “Sorry.”

She caught where his gaze lingered and shook her head, reaching over to cup his jaw with one hand. “That’s not where they came from,” she said softly, thumb stroking his cheek. “I was worried about you.” Her hand dropped, reluctantly, as she continued walking, as if she was concerned he would object to its presence.  “But I couldn’t ask Lana to run things single-handed just so I could plant myself by your bedside.” Their meandering pace had carried them to a small, deserted observation deck. Jaaide leaned back against the railing and gave a tremulous smile as she added, “Badly as I may have wanted to.”

Theron sat on a nearby bench, chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain. “I wouldn’t deserve it, anyway.”

“Theron.” She was giving him That Look again. “You took on an incredibly dangerous mission, by yourself, absolutely no back-up, risked your life--and nearly lost it--to protect the Alliance.” She sat next to him, rested one hand tentatively on his knee. “To protect me. Why wouldn’t I worry about you?”

Because in the process I put your in danger myself, broke your heart, and opened you up to all manner of gossip. He’d seen the HoloNet while he was with the Order. The aspersions cast on her judgment, the accusations she’d been blinded by love, the lost faith in the Alliance. Because of him. “That’s a charitable way of looking at it,” he finally muttered, letting his hands fall in his lap. He wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “And not one a lot of people share, by the way. Makes me wonder how you got there.”

Jaaide turned to sit sideways on the bench. Her smile had shifted thin when he looked at her. “Did you forget I have a background in Intelligence, too? I’m very familiar with the concept of making difficult, unpleasant choices in the short term for the long term greater good.” She let out a small, scoffing laugh. “And I’m fairly certain my superiors were rather more ruthless about it than yours.”

“So, what, that’s it?!” Theron could hear the edge of irritation creeping in his voice and wasn’t entirely sure where it came from. Yes, you are. You want her to be mad, to struggle with forgiving you, because you sure as hell won’t forgive yourself any time soon, so why should she? “All is forgiven, you run damage control telling the galaxy it was just a franging deep cover op-”

“It was a deep cover op,” Jaaide interrupted.

“So deep I didn’t even tell Lana or... or you.” His voice caught, heart aching at the memory of her face on Umbara. “And things are just supposed to go back to normal now? Just like that?” It couldn’t be that easy. He didn’t deserve for it to be that easy.

She frowned, sitting straighter and impatiently shoving windblown hair back out of her face. “Are you... mad that I’m not mad? Did you want a heartbroken tirade about ruined trust that I’m not sure can be repaired?”

Not really, but I was sure as hell expecting it. “Forgive me for recognizing the severity of my crimes,” Theron grumbled sarcastically. One of us has to. He wanted to push to his feet and pace, but pain shot through, well, basically all of him when he tried, so he stayed put.

“They’re not crimes, Theron,” Jaaide snapped back. “They’re choices. Understandable, if slightly questionable choices.”

“You sound so damn Imperial when you say things like that,” he muttered, running his hands over his hair.

There was a flicker, just a millisecond, of pure hurt in her green eyes for that before she narrowed them at him. “Alright, Theron, talk to me. Why do you want me, or need me, to be more upset with you?”

“I...” Stars, this was going to be complicated to explain. But he owed her this and much, much more. “I saw the look in your eyes on that damn train, Jaaide. It haunted me for weeks. I don’t want you burying anything to spare my feelings. I deserve whatever you want to throw at me.” He snorted slightly. “Maybe literally.”

Jaaide huffed a small laugh,turning back to a more normal position and reaching for his hand. “Is that the only reason?”

Theron raised an eyebrow. “That’s not enough?”

“Theron.”

Of course she was on to him. Of course she’d long since figured he armored the tender places with sarcasm. And still she settled for gentle nudges, not rushing or demanding openness faster than he was comfortable giving it. Even now, even with this. Kriffing hell, he loved this woman. And openness was the only damage control that had any hope of working here. So he hesitantly laced his fingers between hers, heart skipping a beat when she didn’t pull away.

 “I... had nightmares. Every night. The same damn thing every time.” His gaze dropped to rivet in the floor, just the memory crushing and awful. “You, walking away from me, and no matter how fast I ran, how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch up.”

Her breath caught and she squeezed his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze.

So he pushed on. “Between the two, I was terrified I’d as good as lost you, one way or another. And deserved it, too.”

Jaaide was silent for a long moment, her thumb running back and forth over his knuckles. When she finally spoke, the words were quiet and carefully chosen. “I won’t deny that the initial... moment on the train hurt. That did indeed cut deep. But I was having doubts before Lana and I were even off Umbara.”

“How?!” It had ripped his heart out to play the part so well, but his success--protecting her--had hung on being convincing, so he’d done it. So well it had destroyed him, but apparently not as well as he’d thought. “I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself for that, how can you...?”

“Call it gut instinct things weren’t what they seemed. Blind faith, if you’re feeling less charitable. Like Lana and Jorgan and I’m sure half of the other Alliance membership.” She snorted softly and Theron caught her smirking when he dared a glance in her direction. “Knowing you’re a damn good shot and wouldn’t have missed from that close unless you were trying to certainly factored in.”

He toyed with pointing out that was an awfully big gamble to hang on her faith in his marksmanship, but then realized it was actually hanging on her faith in him and couldn’t breathe for a minute. “I thought I was the risk taker here,” he said hoarsely when he found his voice.

“It didn’t feel like much of a risk,” Jaaide admitted. She tucked her hair back with her free hand. “Though Lana certainly thought it was. I was fairly certain well before Copero that you were up to something, were still on our side, and had your reasons for keeping us in the dark, and I could make that work.” Her lips curled in a wry smile. “Going in blind is something I’m used to.”

Ouch. Intentional or not, the words stung. He’d been so determined to keep things between them open, the ‘straight up truth’ it had started as on Rishi a lifetime ago. But just like everything and everyone in her life, he’d pulled the rug out, left her acting on faith she was doing the right thing. “Jaaide, I’m so sorry.”

“And I forgive you.” She squeezed his hand. “Just remember, in the future, that I’ve been a double agent twice. I’m very good at hiding my true feelings and projecting whatever is called for with flawless conviction.”

“I know,” Theron said wryly, stroking the heel of her hand with his thumb. “That’s why I’m worried you’re burying the reaction I deserve to protect my feelings or something. I don’t want you doing that, Jaaide. No matter how much it’s gonna hurt, I want you to be honest with me.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “I’m always honest with you.” He didn’t respond to that, couldn’t, and she smiled slightly at leaving him speechless as she added, “I’m more offended by the slight against my acting skills than anything. I could have made it look very real if you’d had me in the loop.”

“Doubt I’ll be doing this sort of thing anytime soon”--or ever again--”but I’ll keep that in mind,” Theron said, adding a note of amusement with some effort, mind still reeling from the straightforwardness of her words. Always honest.

“That’s all I ask,” Jaaide said lightly. “Getting back to your question, though, I can forgive you because I already believed you hadn’t actually betrayed us. Our... rendezvous on Nathema wasn’t new information, it was vindication of my ‘blind faith’. And then...” She slipped her hand free of his and rested it lightly against his chest, almost directly over the still-tender scar. “Then I almost lost you right after I got you back and I... There will still be fallout, of a different kind, with this having been a risky undercover mission rather than a betrayal, but I’ll happily run damage control for that if it means I get to keep you around.”

Well, that was promising. His throat still felt dry as the sands of Tatooine as he raised one hand to curl over hers against his chest. The weight made it ache, or maybe that was just the questions sitting on the tip of his tongue. “So... I know I don’t deserve it, but... does this mean your idiot spy boyfriend can have another chance?”

Jaaide shook her head. “No.” And even as his heart started to drop because even if he deserved that, he thought this had been going well, she smiled and pulled his hand toward her. “Because you don’t need another chance, Theron. You’re still on the first one. And I am always going to love you.” She brushed a soft kiss against his knuckles. “No matter what comes.”

Ironic that he’d survived taking a lightsaber pike to the chest only for this to do him in. The overwhelming rush of joy tangled with relief was too much, and his hands shook as much as his voice when he finally managed a breathless, “Oh, thank the stars. You have no idea..”

Jaaide laughed, just a shade away from a giggle, as she released his hand. She turned and knelt on the bench, leaning in until her forehead touched his. “You said you’d do anything to protect me. Am I really supposed to be upset you’re a man of your word?” she whispered, just a hint of teasing relief in her voice.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he scoffed. “You are incredible.” He shifted half a turn to make their position more comfortable for her. “I love you and plan on spending the rest of my life showing you just how much.”

Careful, Shan, that almost sounded like a proposal, a snarky voice in the back of his head cautioned. The thought didn’t scare him as much as he’d thought it would.

Jaaide didn’t catch or was choosing to ignore the potential in his phrasing, which he appreciated, her fingers tracing the lines shaved in his hair. “Sounds good to me,” she murmured before closing the distance for a kiss.

Theron happily obliged, head still spinning at this resolution, better than he’d dared hope for. He wrapped his arms around her waist to tug her closer and ignored the twinge of complaint in his chest.

Sure there was still damage control to do; explanations given, more wounded pride salved, apologies issued, trust to be won back, and he’d help in any way he could.

But for now, all of that could wait. He needed to make up for lost time.

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

finally, it’s done! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I’ve been trying to figure out how Jaaide and Theron’s post-Nathema conversation would go since the content dropped(so, what, almost a year? OY), and even though Jaaide gave a rough potential outline a couple times, there was nothing solid until 3am yesterday. When these two started spouting dialogue like their lives depended on it. Thanks, guys. xD

Part of what took so long, tbh, was nailing down how mad/hurt Jaaide would be and what would top the list etc. And therein was my flaw: while Vica is gonna feel this a lot closer to other Theronmancers I’ve seen people write, Jaaide’s background--and that lovely blind faith/gut feeling--meant she’d be way more understanding. Maybe a little too understanding; considering how plainly guilty Theron feels about the whole mess. And that’s when it hit me that she’d just roll with it(it’s a deep cover op, not a betrayal), to the point Theron would be mad that she wasn’t more mad bc he deserves it. THEN things started falling together. I still dragged my feet a little, to be sure this was really her feelings and not just an “easy fix” masquerading as an “oh, backstory” handwave sort of thing

I was planning to do it either Jaaide POV or switching, but when the muses started chatting, it was all filtering through Theron, so that’s the way it got written. (Oh, and yes, at some point, Jaaide’s nightmares are going to come up. Probably not long after this, timeline-wise)

[twilightmademegay]

I wrote Bella*/Edythe fanfiction

And now all you nerds get to read it. Enjoy. Give me your thoughts.

*Bella does not physically appear in this, it’s mostly about Edythe’s gaywakening.

I had heard a boy, a few high schools back, refer to me as “Snow White”. It made me laugh at the time, how this human could compare me to a dainty, helpless princess when I was perfectly capable of crushing his windpipe in one hand, if I so desired. It didn’t offend me, though. Snow White was a far kinder nickname than Ice Princess. That was a title bestowed upon me far more often.

    Either one’s fitting, I thought to myself, smiling bitterly. It was clear to me now, as I lay buried in a snowbank, that the comparisons they drew were more accurate than I cared to admit. My skin was freezing, especially now that it had acclimated to the air around me. It was also pale, and even sparkled like snow in the sunlight.

    Sighing, I ran my hands through the powder around me. It was soft, fresh and actually sort of calming. With nothing for company but the stars and some scattered pines, it was easy to forget my reason for coming here.

Well, maybe not that easy. I couldn’t stop picturing her face. Her deep chocolate eyes that betrayed thoughts I longed to hear for myself. How they filled with terror when she saw the monster she’d made of me.

I growled quietly, particles of snow puffing up into the air as I quickly flipped onto my side. It wasn’t fair. I had lived for a century and this human girl, this insignificant child, would be the one to ruin me. There wasn’t even anything special about her.

That’s a lie, I reminded myself, and you know it. Her silent mind had intrigued me at first, yes, but any curiosity was swiftly blotted out by her cloyingly sweet scent, how I so desperately wanted to sink my teeth into her lovely neck and taste-

I sat up immediately, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. She’s not here now. It’s over. You’re fine. I was not fine. I could easily run back to Forks tonight, climb through her bedroom window and take what the monster inside me craved. Even the memory of her smell was enough to make my throat burn with desire, to make my fingers twitch in impatience. It would be so easy. But I knew I couldn’t go through with it. Just imagining the disappointment on Carlisle’s face, not to mention Esme…

I groaned. I needed to compose myself. Just look at you! Obsessing over Bella Swan like every mouth breathing boy at your school. Where’s your dignity, Edythe? It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She was beautiful, in her way. She had an… interesting face, all sharp contrasts. Delicate bone structure, but wide eyes, full lips. Her skin was almost as pale as mine, but her hair was a deep brown, even darker than her eyes. I chuckled softly. With that coloring, maybe she was Snow White. But what would that make me? The evil queen? I certainly couldn’t be prince charming. Mike Newton was already vying for that role, as irritating as his attempts were. When we first came to Forks his constant and often vulgar thoughts about me had been an annoyance, though nothing I wasn’t already used to. But when I recalled the way he thought about Bella, a dark feeling came over me. Jealousy, my mind supplied easily, but I dismissed the notion. I would never harbor anything short of resentment for Mike Newton, so what was there to be jealous of?

The sound of snow crunching in the distance brought me out of my musings. Tobias, no doubt, coming to find where I’d run off to. I cringed. He was nice enough, but his interest in me was obvious, even without the glimpses I had into his head. The feeling was not mutual, but I still felt bad every time I brushed off his advances.

“Ah, Edythe!” He exclaimed once he drew nearer. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hello, Tobias.” I smiled faintly as he took a seat next to me.

What is she doing all the way out here?

“I don’t know,” I replied, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to be alone with my thoughts.” I added the last part hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t.

I always forget you can do that! “My sisters told me to leave you alone, but you seemed upset, so…” He trailed off, and I didn’t bother with a reply, choosing to look up at the stars instead. I should ask her what’s bothering her.

He took a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I interjected before he could ask the question out loud. “It’s nothing.” He scoffed.

“Are you sure? Because it doesn’t sound like nothing. You even have this little crease between your eyebrows.” He reached out slowly, like he wanted to smooth it out, but I threw some snow at him before he could. He laughed, shaking his long blond hair out and hitting me in the face. I glowered at him. “Oh, come on, Edythe. Lighten up, will you? There must be something that’s bothering you.”

“Besides you, you mean?” I grumbled. He simply held up a finger, stroking his chin in thought.

Then his eyes lit up. “Oh! Is it boy trouble? Finally found someone special back home?”

I had never been more grateful that I’d lost all ability to blush. “No, Tobias. No one back home.” I tried to ignore the hopeful tone his thoughts took on after that.

Here goes nothing. “Don’t worry. I know you’ve only got eyes for me.” He grinned widely at me, confident and smug, but I simply stared back at him, unimpressed. He deflated a little, averting his gaze.

“In all seriousness, Edythe…” He sighed, then looked back at me. You know how I feel about you. Just give me a chance. Please.

This was why he always made me feel guilty. Beneath all the bravado, he was earnest. A good man. But not one I could ever want.

“I’m sorry, Tobias.” His eyes saddened. “Look, you surely must know that you’re a wonderful person, and incredibly handsome, too. You’ll find somebody that will love you, I’m sure of it. It just won’t be me.”

He smiled ruefully. You know I had to try. No hard feelings, honest.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I added, “It’s not just you. I’ve never felt that way about any man.”

Huh. His mind suddenly filled with thoughts of Rosalie and Eleanor. “Maybe you should stop trying to find a man, then.”

I furrowed my brow at him in confusion, looking into his mind to see why he put a slight emphasis on man, but he shook his head at me and smirked. Good night, Edythe, he thought, before singing some pop song loudly in his head to drown out his thoughts as he ran away.

I flopped back down into the snow once he was out of sight. Well, that was weird. What did he mean by “stop trying to find a man”? Maybe he was telling me to resign myself to a life of loneliness? As if I hadn’t already come to that conclusion long ago. And why would he be thinking of Rose and El? What did they have to do with my inability to find-

“Oh!” I gasped, sitting bolt upright. He must have assumed… My sisters had always preferred women, and they found happiness in each other. Did he think that I? No. No, that was preposterous. I didn’t have any aversion to it as a concept, even I wasn’t that old fashioned. The love between Rosalie and Eleanor had always seemed so natural to me, so right, that I could never understand why some people resented it. But for me? I was over a hundred years old, wouldn’t I have figured that part of myself out by now? No, Tobias was wrong. I just hadn’t found anyone that I liked, that was all.

    I slowly lowered myself back down. It was only natural that Tobias had come to that conclusion. I had, after all, just told him that I had never been interested in a man. But that wasn’t just to spare his feelings, even if that was my intention in saying it. I thought back on all of the men I had met over my many years, and not one of them jumped out at me as a romantic interest. I couldn’t even recall a passing attraction.

    My thoughts then turned to Tobias. He was objectively gorgeous, perfect, like all of those who shared our condition. I imagined he was also quite handsome in life. Tall, broad shouldered, a kind face. If any man were fit to be my mate, it was Tobias. And yet, he stirred nothing within me. But his sister Irina, on the other hand…

    I shook myself. Stop. What are you thinking? Clearly, my mind only went down this path because Tobias had planted the idea in my head. I shouldn’t have even entertained the possibility. Of course, Irina was beautiful. It was just as objective a fact for her as it was for Tobias. But did I give Tobias a second look? Did I look over his body like my eyes roamed across the sharp lines of Irina’s collarbones, the dip of her spine. Did my gaze ever rest a moment too long on his mouth?

    This time, I stood up. I began to pace back and forth, so quickly that I ran ruts into the snowdrift. I had no romantic feelings for Irina. I did not feel devotion for her like Carlisle felt for Esme, I did not desire to protect her like Jasper did with Alice. I did not look at her with the same soft eyes that Eleanor had for Rosalie. I was not in love with her, of that that much I was certain. But lust? Simple attraction?

    I abruptly stopped moving. “Oh, my God.” I breathed. “I’m gay.”

    Before I registered what I was doing, I was already running south. I thought about the pretty girls who would approach me every time we moved to a new school. How pleased I was that they wanted to be my friend. I realized now that it was much more than that. I remembered the time I found a copy of Le Fanu’s Carmilla at the library and read it three times a night, every night for a month, and how I bought my own copy that was now heavily marked up. It was the only piece of vampire fiction I had ever enjoyed. Perhaps I had seen myself in it?

    I stopped about fifty miles north of Seattle and leaned against a tree. It occurred to me that I was on my way back home, most likely to inform my family of my revelation. They were the people I cherished most in this existence, and I desperately wanted to share my discovery with them. I especially wanted to talk to Rose and El, the two people in the world that would understand this best.

    But oh, I had almost forgotten why I wasn’t at home in the first place. Bella Swan. I ground my teeth in frustration. Was one girl really going to keep me from my family? At a time like this? No. I was a lot of things, yes, but not a coward. I would not allow her to keep me from where I belonged.

    So what if she smelled delicious? I had plenty of experience keeping my thirst under control. So long as I avoided her like the plague she was, I wouldn’t be tantalized by the perfume of her blood, the inviting rosiness of her cheeks, the aggravating silence of her thoughts… I could make it through another year or two before we moved on, and she could continue with her mundane human life. Maybe she’d even marry that loathsome Mike Newton.

    There it was again. That pang of jealousy.

    But suddenly, I understood it.

    “Oh, shit.” No, I could not even consider that right now. It could only be a passing attraction, like Irina. Perhaps the mystery of her mind and her mouthwatering scent had mixed together and caused some sort of confusion with my feelings. I could not afford to like Bella Swan. And neither, quite frankly, could she afford any further attention from me.

    In any case, it was a problem for later. Right now, I needed to go home.

    It wasn’t long before I reached the house. I slowed to a stop as I got to the end of our long driveway and found Alice waiting for me on our front steps. She sprung to her feet as I approached, smiling and throwing her arms around me.

    I am so proud of you. I love you so much. She pulled away, but still held me by my shoulders. And I missed you. Are you going to stay this time?

    “I think so, Alice. I hope I can, at least.”

    Wonderful! She grinned, exuberant. Now, don’t let me keep you. You have some news to deliver.

    “You didn’t already tell them?” I asked.

    “Of course not,” she laughed. “You only get to come out to them once. I could never take that from you.”

    I would have had tears in my eyes, were I still able to cry. I pulled her into another crushing hug. “Thank you.”

    She giggled, pushing me towards the door. Go on!

    I decided to start with my father. He was my creator, in a sense, so it felt right to tell him first. I knocked gently on his office door.

    “Come in.” Carlisle looked up from his desk as I entered. “Oh, Edythe! Welcome home.”

    His thoughts were a mixture of relief to see me back safe and worry for the reasons I had left in the first place. He had already made up his mind to move the family if need be, which made me wince. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

    “It��s good to be home. Listen, Dad, I’m here because there’s something I need to tell you.”

    He looked closer at my eyes and I saw a flash of relief in his mind when he realized they were not the brilliant crimson he had feared. He had thought, briefly, that I’d given in and murdered the girl. I couldn’t say I blamed him, though his ready forgiveness for my imagined sin almost shamed me more than his anger would have. It strengthened my resolve to do nothing that he needed to forgive.

    “No, it’s not-” I paused, taking a deep breath I didn’t really need. “Dad, I’m a lesbian.”

    Shock flashed across his face, but as I listened to what he was thinking, I realized that he wasn’t surprised for the reasons I expected.

    “You already knew?” My voice was shriller than I intended, so I cleared my throat before trying again. “All this time, you knew?”

    You didn’t know? He attempted to school his expression, but couldn’t control the quirk in the corner of his mouth.

    “I just discovered it when I was up in Alaska,” I admitted sheepishly.

    I thought she would have figured it out by now. Maybe Rosalie was right, maybe she is a “clueless lesbian”.

    I was about to ask him if everybody in our family knew but me, but the place his thoughts trailed off to gave me a different question to ask.

    “Father,” I began calmly, trying to control my voice. “Please tell me you did not turn Rosalie into a vampire because you thought I was lonely and needed a girlfriend.”

    Carlisle lost his humor quickly. “That was a long time ago, Edythe. Edythe? Where are you going?”

    I was already at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m going back to Alaska to bury myself in the snow forever. Goodbye, Carlisle. Great talk!”

[spiteweaver]

previous | previous in arc | first | next

“Penitence is going to be pissed.”

Juneau cracked an eye open. He was drowsy from magic and medication--and from the sweet reprieve from pain, which had been a constant in his life for the past week. Much of that time had been spent in a Southern Icefield healer’s hut, waiting until he was well enough to be moved to the Sunbeam Ruins.

Now he was home, snuggled deep beneath hospital blankets, watching Isaiah run through charts and check his IV every few minutes, but he felt more restless than ever. The prospect of facing his mate was a daunting one; he almost felt he would have rather fought the Dominus a second time. He supposed Isaiah was trying to comfort him, in that funny way doctors did, and Juneau didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t working.

“I know,” he said instead. “Has he been informed?”

“Dreamweaver has gone to Aphaster lands to inform him personally,” Isaiah replied. Juneau groaned. “You were gone for a week, and no one knew what had happened until you dragged yourself back from the Icefield. I think some level of formality is called for.”

“He’s going to think I’ve died,” Juneau moaned. “Oh, he’s going to get so many awful ideas in his head.”

“To be fair,” Isaiah said, “you broke just about every damn bone in your torso and punctured a lung. If that healer had been any less skilled, you probably would be dead now.”

Juneau had received the same lecture a dozen times already, but Isaiah would likely never let him live it down. “It wasn’t my intention to end up in critical condition,” he mumbled. “I knew I wouldn’t escape the confrontation unscathed, but this was a bit...”

“You could have avoided it by bringing Dreamweaver along,” Isaiah said.

“There wasn’t time,” Juneau insisted, “and they might have killed Winter if I hadn’t gone alone. Isaiah, you know me; I was ready to lay down my life for my pupil.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell Penitence when he gets here?”

Juneau burrowed deeper under the blankets, trying to hide his sheepish expression from view. This must have been how Tau had felt not so long ago. Truthfully, he had no earthly idea what he was going to tell Penitence. He knew what his mate would say: “Why didn’t you take me with you? Why didn’t you tell me?” He didn’t have satisfactory answers to those questions yet.

“I just hope he can forgive me,” he murmured. “I wanted to tell him, after I told the founders, but--but then everything spiraled out of control.”

The sight of tears glistening in Juneau’s eyes made Isaiah’s entire body stiffen uncomfortably. He busied himself with Juneau’s IV again. “Well,” he said, “he loves you, so I’m sure he’ll just be glad to see you in one piece.”

“I know he does,” Juneau sniffled, “and I--I love him too. I love him so much...”

Juneau had always been the emotional sort, but Isaiah reckoned the meds were getting to him well and proper now. He’d be a weepy mess when Penitence arrived, and perhaps that would temper the old codger’s foul mood a bit. After all, no one could resist their mate tearfully professing their love for them.

He wondered if he ought to tell Juneau he’d bumped his dosage up just the slightest bit...

A knock came at the door, and the thought was dismissed. “Enter,” Isaiah called, “but not if you’re here to cause any mischief.”

“That’s my brother’s forte,” Winter said as he stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him, “not mine. He’ll be along shortly to pay his respects, though, so don’t worry.”

“I hate your brother,” Isaiah said, “and I want you to know that.”

“I do,” Winter assured, “and so does he. It’s his crowning achievement.”

“If he weren’t the founders’ son, I’d...”

Winter took up residence in the chair at Juneau’s bedside while Isaiah grumbled under his breath about the clan’s up-and-coming young heir. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “You’re crying; did Isaiah bully you?”

“A little,” Juneau confessed.

“I’ll tell Phantasos,” Winter said. “He’ll give Isaiah a bit of extra hell.”

“No, no,” Juneau said, “don’t. He’s taken such good care of me, and, really, he has every right. I was reckless.”

“You were,” Winter agreed, “but you rushed headlong into danger for my sake, so I can’t be too cross about it. Father is still trying to come up with ways to thank you.”

“Tell him not to worry,” Juneau requested. “I did what I did because I love you.”

Winter’s face flushed; he popped his collar, but it did nothing to mask the bright red of his cheeks. “I know that,” he said. “You’ve always been like an older brother to me, so of course I know that. Still, what you did--it deserves some recognition. It’s not every day you save someone’s life and dismantle a dictatorship.”

“I suppose not,” Juneau conceded modestly.

Winter glanced around the room, and, noting the absence of another very particular visitor, crinkled his nose. “Penitence isn’t here yet?”

“Don’t get him started on that again,” Isaiah chided.

“Is that why you were crying?” Winter asked. “I’ll drag him here myself.”

“I’m not crying because he isn’t here yet,” Juneau was quick to clarify. He knew his student very well, well enough to know that he held a nasty grudge. Winter had always gotten on well with Penitence, but that could change at the drop of a hat. “Dreamweaver’s gone to fetch him,” he added, “so please don’t get yourself all riled up over nothing.”

“Well,” Winter said, “I didn’t think he was the type not to visit his mate in the hospital, but you never know.”

“He’s just worried about how Penitence will react to this mess,” Isaiah informed. “Partially my fault; I brought it up.”

“So that’s what you bullied him about.”

“I wasn’t bullying him!”

“It’ll be fine,” Winter said. As usual, his confident tone put Juneau at ease. It was hard not to believe whatever he said, when he said it with such certainty. “Penitence would fight the Eleven for you. I’m sure he’ll be miffed for the same reasons I was, but I got over it, and so will he. Honestly, you’re lying in the hospital smashed all to pieces, and that’s what you’re crying about?”

“I just love him so much,” Juneau defended weakly.

“We know,” Isaiah said. “Gods, we know. We know you love Penitence, everyone within a hundred mile radius of the territories knows you love Penitence. You love Penitence, we know.”

“Do...do I go on about it that much...?”

“Yes,” Isaiah and Winter responded in unison.

“Oh, enough about that,” Juneau said irritably. His expression softened the next moment. “How are Vadim and the others getting on?” he asked. “I assured them they would be welcome here, but that was presumptuous of me.”

“Of course they’re welcome,” Winter replied, and Juneau visibly relaxed. “Father’s helping them get settled. I think they’re all a bit culture shocked; they kept looking ‘round the square like they’d seen a ghost.”

“None of us...” Juneau chewed his lip. It was infuriating, that the memories still pained him so, that even in death, the Dominus’ iron grip on him had not lessened. “None of us could have ever even imagined a place like this one,” he said bitterly. “That--that hell was all we’d ever known. The Dominus wanted us to believe that clans like Feldspar didn’t exist. It made us easier to control.”

Winter’s fingers closed around his, and he felt the anger seep from him all at once. “They’ll be happy here,” Winter promised, “and safe.”

“I know,” Juneau said, “I just worry.”

“Slow down! I told you he’s all right, didn’t I?! Excuse us, sorry, please excuse us--you’re making a scene!”

“Sounds like Penitence is here,” Isaiah said, and promptly stood. “Good luck. I’ve other patients to see to. Winter, Banrai could probably use your help with the newcomers, so why don’t you...?”

“Oh.” Winter stood as well, but was stopped by Juneau, who clung desperately to his wrist. “What do you expect me to do about it?” Winter asked, tapping his foot impatiently. “He’s your mate. I’d only make things worse by taking up for you. I’m trying to be the responsible one here.”

“I-I don’t know what to say!” Juneau cried.

“That you love him,” Winter said, “and that you’re sorry you worried him.”

“But--but--”

“Hello, Penitence,” Isaiah said, slipping out the door and into the hall. “We were just on our way out. He’s all yours.”

“Isaiah,” Dreamweaver groaned, “don’t encourage him. Keeping up with this drake is a nightmare; I don’t know how Juneau does it, let alone poor Artha. I had to chase him all the way from Aphaster, and...”

Winter seized his chance. While Juneau was distracted, staring wide-eyed at the door, he wrenched free of his mentor’s grasp and darted across the room. Then, grinning, he joined Isaiah in the hall with one final, teasing, “Have fun.”

Juneau threw the blankets over his head.

@nostlenne

[leadpaintrose]

Behind Closed Doors

This is a fic that I wrote based on a group of my friends. It was inspired by one of them using a voice mod to lower his voice, and it made me think of him as a James Bond-ish character.

All the names have been changed to protect identities (it was originally written with all of their online names), and I know it won’t make sense in some places. But I’m really proud of it, so here it is!

________________________________________________________________

 Down the dark alleyways of central London, a simple wooden door stands as a silent sentinel. Thick, heavy, but unerringly plain, it could lead to anything. It is always locked. Every so often, a stranger or a group of people, swathed in coats or cloaks, will knock at the door. A crack of light will spill out, a few words exchanged, and the seekers will either enter or be turned away. No-one ever makes a fuss if they cannot enter. It is not worth doing so. 

Inside, however, the plainness is stripped away into the bright lights of wealth and loss. The space inside is loud and cavernous, lit fitfully by cheap chandeliers and greasy candles, crowded with poker and blackjack tables – even a few tables for another card game, more fantasy themed. A speakeasy, in a city which has long since shaken off the claws of Prohibition, if it ever truly had a foothold. A strict dress code is enforced here – T-shirts and shorts don't belong in a place like this.  

At the far end of the room, across from the well-stocked bar – milk is the specialty – a gaslamp-lit stage holds a small swing band, and a slinkily dressed jazz singer. She croons out smooth tunes, encouraging a few couples to sway together on the polished floor in front of her, or to sway over their cups on the smattering of tables placed further back. Laughter rings out, rich and real, and the clink of glasses threatens to overwhelm even the cries of glee from the more successful patrons.  

But for those with the right connections, there was a room far past the roulette tables and the glitzy lights. Guarded by plush red ropes, and well-groomed men, the room was softly lit. A thick air of mystery, interspersed with a thin haze of fragrant cigar smoke, and the deep, black leather of the chairs lent the room a sense of secrecy and power. 

A tall man leant comfortably against the mahogany bar, casting an easy yet alert eye around the room. Wearing a tailored, stylish suit – the cut a little old, perhaps, but fitting – he looked the picture of a man with little to worry him. As long as you didn’t look too closely at the tension in his hands.  

She pushed the thick, heavy curtains aside, and looked around the luxurious room. Eyes pausing on the man at the bar, she strode towards him; her rich ebony gown gently brushing the soft carpet. Stepping up to him, she violently shoved him off the bar. 

“My seat. Shoo.” 

He scrambled to his feet, somewhat ruining the suave picture, though he managed to recover it before anyone noticed.  

“Could you at least pretend that I’m in charge here.” 

She eyed him sideways. “Can you?” Seeing his slightly crestfallen face, she sighed and pushed away from the bar. “For fuck’s sake, Will. I was completely convinced when I walked up here, and I know you! You’re so charming that we’re going to have to fend off every woman in here just to keep our cover.” He straightened up, trying not to look satisfied.  

“I do have a magnetic personality.” 

“That’s probably why it’s so easy to stab you.”  

“Well?” he asked her, choosing to ignore the pun. “Did you bring the stuff?” 

“Yes, Will. My memory isn’t as horrible as yours, remember? Wait, maybe you don’t.” 

“Remember what now?” he responded, an insufferable grin spreading across his face. Evie muttered darkly under her breath, and Will wisely didn’t try to understand her. 

They ceased their conversation as they felt two people approach them at the bar. Already having sent two others packing for other seats, they covered their sighs of relief as Sarah and Matt materialised out of the haze. 

"What took you so long?" Will asked casually. Sarah shook her head, and Evie offered her a drink, pilfered from behind the bar as the bartender turned away.  

"We ran into some issues at the door." Matt supplied. "We left Michael there to replace one of the guards. Should be a bit more accommodating to us now. Sebastian’s the other one on guard."  

Will nodded, then let out a low whistle, eyeing Matt's suit appreciatively. "Man, you are looking sharp." Will turned to find both Sarah and Evie staring daggers at him. “What?" 

"Aren't you going to say something about us?" Sarah finally prompted. 

"No?" Will said, "Have you seen his suit? Damn.” 

"Moving on," Sarah said, putting down her drink with a click, and passing around small tokens. Will and Matt clipped theirs onto their lapels, while Evie slid hers into her hair, just above her right ear, to mirror its placement in Sarah's hair.  

"Do they work?" A few shivers as the device switched on, the buzzing fading to below the sound of the room after a moment's connection. They could hear each other clearly through the tokens. "Notice any issues on the way in?” 

"Everyone's in tonight" Will replied. "It's a full house. There are a lot of people we will have to avoid. Or take out." An uncomfortable silence met these words. Matt breathed out.  

"We'll do what we have to. We've done jobs like this before” 

"No." Evie said quietly, "No, this one's different. This one's family.” After a moment, Will cleared his throat.  

“Split up, find your paths, and let us know when you find it.”  

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

Will pushed between the crowd around the main bar, heading nonchalantly towards the door at the far end, marked with an embossed “Employees Only” plate. Glancing along the length of the bar, he locked eyes with Violet, currently pouring a rich espresso martini into the glass of an almost casually dressed man. With a brief nod at Will, she poured a little too far, and splashed several people in front of her with the drink. 

"Oh no! Oh, I'm so sorry ladies and gentleman, please let me help you get cleaned up a bit."  

"Let me help you!" Susie offered, jerking her head in the direction of a small key hanging near the door, while pulling a large cloth out from under the bar, heading over the small group trying to wipe the black liquid out of clean pressed shirts and dresses.  

Grabbing the key, Will eased the door open, slipping through as quietly as possible. He froze, hand still on the door behind him, staring wide-eyed at Kathryn and Jon sitting at a small table in the plain room beyond. They casually looked him over contemplatively. After a moment, Kathryn coughed quietly, and Jon nodded. He pointed to a thin crack in the wallpaper of the room, and Will finally took another breath.  

Approaching the crack, he noticed a small keyhole hidden in the floral pattern. He placed the key inside and turned it. With a click the wall panel slid to the side, revealing a richly appointed, high ceiling room. A low mahogany table, matching the bars in the main rooms, was placed in the very centre. A throne-like wingback chair sat behind the table. The rest of the room disappeared into shadows, as only a glittering chandelier illuminated the centre of the room.  

As Will advanced towards the table, dozens of lamps burst into light around the room, revealing several groups of people, laughing around tables filled with cards and drinks. A voice called down from still darkened balcony above him. 

“Much obliged.”  

“Ah, fuck.” 

************************************ 

Evie tapped her blood-red polished nails on the table, counting the guards posted around the room. She was sitting near the bar to the side of the singer’s stage, eyeing the backstage entrance. If there was ever an entrance to a lair, it was behind a dramatically lit stage.  

She jumped, startled, as a silver tray clicked down on the table, and a waitress unloaded a plate, glass and cutlery, neatly wrapped in a linen napkin. “I left a few extra in there for you, Miss.” 

Evie looked up, and Penelope winked at her. Unwrapping the napkin, Evie slipped the extra daggers into the hidden pocket of her wide belt, and nodded at Penelope. “If you need anything else, just let me know!” Penelope walked back towards the kitchen, not looking back.  

Hiding a grin, Evie sat for a few minutes longer, until Jared and Kevin made their way past the stage entrance on their patrol. She walked confidently over to the door, slipping in and gently closing it behind her. Breathing out, she turned, and walked straight into Greg and Nate.  

“Who are you?” Nate asked. Greg rolled his eyes. “Looking for something, Evie?”  

“You’re looking well?” Evie ventured. Greg sighed, barely suppressing a chuckle. 

“Wait, Evie? Really?” Nate asked, stunned and in awe. She was only spoke of in whispers around the club. Greg nodded, gesturing for Evie to walk in front of him. She sighed, pulling out one of Penelope’s knifes, and throwing it at Greg and Nate. They dodged out of the way, and she ran back towards the door, which opened at just the wrong moment to admit Jared and Kevin. She groaned, irritated, and promptly turned to walk the way Gnome had gestured. 

“For fuck’s sake, I know the way” She grumbled, not looking back, knowing that the four of them were walking close on her heels.  

********************************** 

Sarah picked up an abandoned serving tray sitting on a dirty table. She piled a few glasses on it, adding a couple of pieces of silverware for good measure, and pushed her way into the kitchen. It was thankfully empty, and the door to the inner workings lay unguarded at the back. She pushed the door open and walked through boldly. 

“Aren’t you a bit overdressed to be serving tonight?” The question came from Micha, sitting in one of a group of four easy chairs pushed to the side of the corridor. Steve, Melody and Pheobe sat with him, comfortably lounging. Sarah shrugged, a rueful smile on her face. “Came in for a good time, and of course, someone calls out and they need me straight away.”  

Melody nodded. “Yep. Happens all the time. Come grab a drink with us when you’re done.”  

Sarah assured them that she would, and quickly took off up the stairs at the end of the corridor. She paused for a moment, pressed up against the wall. When no following footsteps were heard, she continued up. Another long corridor stretched away, ending in a heavy, steel bound door. She smiled, then froze as the door opened, spilling light and sound onto the floor in front of it. Looking around frantically, Sarah grabbed the handle of the door next to her, hurrying inside and closing it as quietly as possible. She pressed herself against the wall next to the door, only breathing out when she heard the footsteps pass. Her eyes closed in relief, only to snap open as she heard a cough in front of her.  

The room opened up into a balcony. Walking to the figure hunched over a desk near the edge, Sarah realised that one could see the whole main floor from here. She breathed out in awe, and the person nodded. “Yep.” Jess agreed, focused on the drawing taking shape under her fingers.  

“You don’t mind if I’m up here, do you?” Sarah asked, voice pitching up. Jess shrugged.  

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Sarah turned to the footsteps behind her, Jess still sketching the scene below. “But, they might.” 

Three men appeared out of the gloom, looking unimpressed. Sarah crossed her arms, just as unimpressed. 

********************************** 

Sarah sighed as she caught sight of Evie and Will kneeling on the floor before the low table. "Thanks, Pat," she spoke over her shoulder, giving every appearance that he had simply been escorting her. He chuckled, a knowing smile on his face, and stepped back out of range. Sarah looked sidelong at the other two, leaning back slightly to catch Evie's eye. "At least I wasn't the first one caught.” 

"No, that was me." Will answered, and Sarah shook her head.  

"At least Matt's still out there." Will whispered, as a thud echoed from behind them. They turned their heads to see Matt being pulled in by a muscular man. "I may have spoken too soon." 

Matt fell heavily to his knees. “Sorry guys. Wasn’t paying enough attention.” 

Sarah leaned over. “Will was caught first” she helpfully supplied. Will sighed.  

His reply was covered by a loud creaking, as a set of stairs unfolded from the balcony above them, crashing down just behind the chair opposite them. A man walked casually down, dropping into the seat. 

"Tom" Will said flatly. 

"How is he so good?" Evie whispered, more out of instinct than self-preservation. 

“You’re the one who runs this place?” Matt asked, incredulous. Will remained silent, tight-lipped and unsurprised.  

“You’re the bad guy we’re going up against?” Sarah added. Tom stood, looming over them 

"You're not the 'good guys' here" Tom said, words ringing with truth. "We're just two sides of a coin. You don't flip a coin, and argue that Tails is evil, just because you chose Heads.” He sat back down, relaxing into the chair. “You're trying to take what we’ve rightfully stolen.” 

“You mean, what I stole.” 

From behind Tom, seated in the luxurious leather wingback, a teenaged girl stepped lazily down the stairs. Pausing beside the chair, she smiled at the four kneeling in front of her. “Move.”  

Without a moment’s hesitation, Spanner rose swiftly, and moved to just behind the left arm of the chair. The girl settled, lounging comfortably.  

The four in front of her stared in shock. “Jasmine?” Sarah finally managed, choking out the question, stunned. The guards had stepped back, astonishment holding those kneeling in place far better than threats ever could. Jasmine grinned. 

"You shouldn't be surprised, Will. I did tell you about this just a couple of months ago." The other three turned to him, incredulity easily finding a new target. Will gaped, mouth open in shock. Evie sighed loudly, the sound of her palm striking her forehead echoing in the silence. 

"Will, your memory is so. Fucking. Bad.” 

Louise stepped from the side of the room, handing Jasmine a small remote. Jamine pressed the button on the device, causing a small panel in the centre of the table to slide back, and a gem sitting on a small pedestal to rise up.  

“Finally!” Will cried, rocking back on his heels. “THAT’S where it was.” Jasmine looked at him, confused by the sudden change in demeanour. Will turned to Evie, smirking smugly. “Told you I could find it.”  

“You only just noticed that panel in the table?” Evie asked. “You really are blind.”  

“Hey!” Will was indignant. He turned a charming smile on Jasmine. “Well, thank you for your generous hospitality, but it’s time to go.” 

“Ollie!” Evie screamed, and a screech sounded high above them. Jasmine and the others around her wisely took cover, as several bright red gnomes rained down in the centre of the room, landing neatly between the two groups. As they exploded into red smoke and white flashes, Will grabbed the gem from where it had been abandoned on the table before them. All four sprinted out through the covering smoke, Matt quickly taking the lead.  

Bursting out through the stage door, they shoved aside the men leaning casually against the edge of the stage. A slim man tossed a few knives towards them, and Evie snagged a few out of the air. “Thank you!”  

“Sorry!” Will called over his shoulder, as a flood of people flowed out of the door. They rounded the end of the bar, barreling down the narrow passageway towards the entry room. “A little help!” Will yelled as they passed the final table. Ingrid and Sally looked up from their drinks. Ingrid handed a black ball to Code, and hefted one herself. “Best to aim for the sprinkler head just above the bar.” The smoke grenades exploded on the fixtures, causing a mixture of haze and water to spread through the air, covering their exit.  

The four of them ground to a stop as they approached the front door, Sebastian standing firm across their escape. Michael stood in front of him, speaking in a low voice. Will walked up to the pair and looked Sebastian steadily in the eye. With a sigh, he stepped aside, leaving the way clear. Will nodded at him, striding past, the others following. Michael drew a slim pistol from his jacket, complimenting it with a short dagger from his belt. 

“You go. I’ll hold them off.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Michael” Will groaned, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him into an unsteady run. “We don’t have time for this. Leave off, and get moving.” 

The noise at the door grew louder. A shout followed them into the street, but was cut off suddenly as the door swung shut. It was still a secret club, after all. Even the gem wasn’t worth being uncovered. A small window near the top of the building came alight. They could see a silhouette, watching them escape into the winding lanes.  

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

They finally stopped running under an awning several blocks away, taking refuge in the deepest shadows. 

“What the hell is that thing, anyway?” Sarah asked, peering at the gem Will held tightly. He raised it up to his eye, peering through it to the street lamp beyond.  

“A transporter. Lets you travel anywhere in an instant.” 

“You nerd.” Evie said absentmindedly.  

“What are you going to do with it?” Matt checked down the street for any movement. Will grinned, tucking the gem into the pocket of his waistcoat.  

“Convention, anyone?”

[jiveammunition]

Reaper76Week - Day 7 - Someone to Watch Over Me (T)

Title: Someone to Watch Over Me Pairing: Reaper76 Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Past Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cats, Reaper76Week, Bittersweet Ending Summary:

A well-aimed — or perhaps unfortunately-aimed, depending on who you asked — bullet grazed the very edge of the prototype, and with a stuttering blink and electromagnetic hum, activated itself. The blue glow it let off only served to make itself a clearer target for the security system, and before Reaper could even drop the device, several bullets pierced it in the dead center of its glow. Rather than turning off or even smoking like Reaper expected it to, however, the device sparked menacingly, buzzing and humming in a frequency that made the nanites in his body swarm with unease. The Chronal Accelerator prototype buzzed and flashed once, twice, and then…

FLASH!

Day 7 of Reaper76Week - "Comfort"

A sidestory for I've Got You in My Slice , my Bakery AU. This story takes place right after Chapter 4, 'Come at the Pumpking, Best Not Miss'.

Also on AO3 here: Someone to Watch Over Me

To the rest of the world, Jack Morrison died on August 1, 2070 in the explosion of the Overwatch Headquarters in Zurich, Switzerland.

To the mercenary known as Reaper, Jack Morrison died on June 27th, 2077 during a retrieval mission of an Overwatch agent from a Talon base in Rouen, France.

Both events had been caused by an unexpected explosion. Both deaths Reaper had to witness with his own two eyes, helpless and unable to do anything but watch the love of his life lose the light in his eyes and embrace death in a tired resignation.

Reaper recalls Jack Morrison's last words from his first death just as clearly as he does the second.

Just before the flames of the Zurich explosion had engulfed the both of them, Jack looked to him in anguish, and said, “You were right. I'm so sorry,” voice breaking in a way Reaper had never heard before. Even though he should have felt righteous and vindicated in that moment — after so many years of warning the Strike Commander about the potential of Talon agents infiltrating Overwatch and being dismissed — at having been proven right, Reaper recalled that all he had wanted to do in that moment was hold Jack close and assure him that everything would be all right.

“Thanks for everything, Gabe. I'll see you around,” Jack had laughed, his second set of last words ringing clear as a bell in Reaper’s mind. The broken visor and mask on Jack's face did nothing to hide the sadness and regret that no doubt flashed across his face just as the heavy reinforced steel doors slammed shut between them. Jack was sealed inside what eventually became his tomb not but moments later, while Reaper had to flee from the scene with the safely-retrieved, but unconscious Lena Oxton in his arms.

Jack Morrison died on those two days, and Gabriel Reyes, his trusted confidant and devoted husband, had died along with him.

Yet here he stood as Reaper, in the research lab of the abandoned Overwatch Headquarters in Gibraltar, months later and still unable to put the past behind him. And how could he, when he was literally drowning in a living memory of the past at that very moment? Memories of all the times he had spent with Jack on that base haunted him at every turn, each one elicited in some way or another by the sight of something nostalgic and familiar scattered about the ruins.

“Are you still moping?” a voice chided from behind him.

Reaper didn't need to turn around to know that it was Sombra standing in the doorway, no doubt with a hand on her hip and the other waved in the air dismissively.

“No amount of sulking is going to bring him back, you know,” she added, having the decency to sound a bit less sharp and tiny bit sympathetic.

A growl of irritation rumbled from him briefly before he went  back to ignoring her. Reaper was tired, in every sense of the word, and knew her well enough to not take the bait. He ignored her presence and resumed searching through the rubble to find what they had been tasked to retrieve. Talon intelligence had confirmed that the Chronal Accelerator prototype — the first incarnation and not the one Sombra had stolen to create her teleporter — was located somewhere in the empty husk of this base.

It was a tedious search, to say the least, made even more annoying by Sombra's inability to leave things well enough alone and constantly asking questions about miscellaneous things she had found in her search that always brought back one unwelcome memory or several. Had he known he was going to effectively be searching for the prototype on his own with almost no effective assistance, Reaper would have requested this retrieval be a solo mission. But, alas, he didn't.

And so, Reaper settled for the next best thing.

“You stay here and keep looking,” he growled after Sombra asked yet another inane question about Overwatch, punctuated by the nickname that had been reserved for only those closest to him, ‘ Gabe ’. “I'm going to the engineering lab to search.” Before Sombra even had a chance to voice her protest, Reaper disappeared in a swirl of nanite-infused smoke, Shadow-Stepping his way into the aforementioned laboratory.

Sure enough, he found what he had been looking for, albeit slightly cracked and buried beneath a pile of scrap that had definitely seen better days. Letting out a small noise of satisfaction, Reaper retrieved the prototype from beneath the broken and dented pieces of metal, careful not to disturb too much lest the auxiliary security system be activated.

Unfortunately, he was not nearly careful enough in his game of pick up, as right when the prototype was about to clear the pile of scrap, it collided with a rusted edge of some sort of panel, sending the precariously piled mess of scrap toppling down in an undeniably loud banging crash. As he feared, the security system in the lab activated, and Reaper found himself at the wrong end of several turrets, all with their barrels aimed directly at him. He dissipated into his Wraith Form just in time to avoid the hailstorm of bullets flying from every direction, but made one grave error.

The Chronal Accelerator prototype was still in the line of fire regardless of what form Reaper took.

A well-aimed — or perhaps unfortunately-aimed, depending on who you asked — bullet grazed the very edge of the prototype, and with a stuttering blink and electromagnetic hum, activated itself. The blue glow it let off only served to make itself a clearer target for the security system, and before Reaper could even drop the device, several bullets pierced it in the dead center of its glow. Rather than turning off or even smoking like Reaper expected it to, however, the device sparked menacingly, buzzing and humming in a frequency that made the nanites in his body swarm with unease. The Chronal Accelerator prototype buzzed and flashed once, twice, and then…

FLASH !

Reaper found himself engulfed in a blinding light, his body and nanites twisting and tearing and folding in themselves and each other over and over again for what felt both like eons and milliseconds all at once. He felt both renewed and on his deathbed at the same time, some sort of in-between state where his consciousness was nowhere and everywhere all at once. He saw nothing and saw everything. He felt everything and felt nothing. It was nauseating and exhilarating and utterly terrifying.

But, at the very least, it wasn't anywhere near as disgusting as the feeling of puking out your insides in some unknown back alley in the middle of the night, and then watching the same black puddle of what was forced outside your body start oozing back into it through the soles of your steel-plated combat boots. Reaper spent several moments standing there, hunched and gasping for breath as his nanites scrambled to pull himself back together, doing his best to muffle the hissing and groaning slipping from between his gritted teeth behind the mask. When he finally felt himself whole again, he cautiously left the dingy alley, ignoring the angry hisses and yowls of the stray cats that no doubt called the alley their home as he passed them. He emerged from the darkness into the glow of a nearby street lamp, clueless as to where he was.

He was sure of at least two things, though, 1) the Chronal Accelerator prototype was nowhere to be found, and 2) he was definitely not in Gibraltar anymore. If his brief cursory glance around told him anything, it definitely wasn't the same date as before, what with all the Halloween decorations to be seen hanging nearly everwhere the eye could see.

In fact, he wasn't even sure he was in the same year anymore. Cars — old cars,  vintage  , you could say — on   wheels  — not hover tech — drove up and down the roads illuminated by streetlights fitted with what was undoubtedly some form of sodium light, given the shapes and warm glows. Even the store signs were extremely dated. No holo displays, no advertising omnics, and even the store sign of what appeared to be a bakery — what else could “  For Goodness’ Cakes” be, after all — across the street looked like a picture he'd seen in vintage magazines found in his grandfather's attic so many years ago.

Reaper’s eyes widened in surprise behind his mask when he saw a vaguely familiar street name hanging above a street sign that directed towards highway 101. He turned this way and that, each bit of strange-familiarity hitting him like a bolt from the blue. It looked different than how he remembered, but he was definitely in Los Angeles. To be more precise, he was in his old neighborhood, where he lived and grew up. At least, the physical location was. His heart beat with a nostalgic longing with each different-but-familiar neighborhood landmark he could see, but each time his mind chided him that this was not the neighborhood he knew. This was not his Los Angeles.

Especially not the strangely-named bakery, located right where Reaper remembered stood a cafe run by a family friend, an auntie who would always welcome him warmly and let him hang out after school. He frowned at the store sign; it was unfair of him to think that the bakery didn't belong there, as —  again he reminded himself — that this neighborhood was not  his  neighborhood, but he couldn't help himself from feeling a bit of resentment and hostility at its presence.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by a rather loud gasp from behind him.

“Oh, wow, what an awesome costume!” a voice behind him shook Reaper out of his nostalgic reverie. A nagging pang in his head recognized the voice as someone familiar, but he didn't think too much about it. At least, not until he turned around.

His breath caught in his chest and his heart nearly jumped into his throat at the sight of the stranger who had complimented him.

There, in front of him and not even ten yards away, stood the spitting image of Jack Morrison, a man he knew for certain died half a year ago. But the man before him looked far too young to  have been the man who died in Rouen and left him behind. If anything, the lookalike in front of him was the spitting image of the Jack Morrison he knew oh so many years ago, the one who helped Gabriel Reyes form the Strike Team that ended up saving the world from the omnic crisis, the one whose smile could brighten an entire room, and the same one who jumped into his arms screaming, ‘ Yes yes yes !’ when Gabriel Reyes finally proposed six months after the first Omnic Crisis was declared over.

Reaper couldn't believe his eyes. Surely they were deceiving him! Perhaps wishful thinking was projecting the image of Jack Morrison onto this random stranger, dressed in an outfit eerily similar to the motorcycle jacket and battle fatigues ensemble — albeit completely red and black — that the man in question used to wear.

“Oh, wow, you even did a mask too! Holy cow, look at all the detail on you! You could have given even Gabriel a run for his money in the costume contest!” the Morrison lookalike laughed cheerfully. “You look so badass! What is your costume from, exactly? Is it animé?”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head minutely, Reaper hoped that his vision would clear and he would see what the stranger actually looked like without his mind playing tricks of him. It was a fruitless effort, however, as when Reaper had opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. The spitting image of Jack Morrison, albeit decades younger, was still standing there, grinning and looking at him with an amused glimmer in his eyes.

But not for long, the cheerful expression on the doppleganger’s face quickly changed to that of concern the longer Reaper stood there, quiet and unresponsive.

“Are you all right?” he asked, “Are you lost? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Reaper shook his head no, and said nothing more, brain still reeling from its confusion to piece together anything coherent to say. For a few moments more, the both of them simply stood there, staring at each other until the other man broke the silence.

“Um, well, do you want to come inside, and sit down then, at least?” he asked, gesturing across the street, to the bakery with the ridiculous name. “I'm Jack, the owner of the store. C’mon, let's get you inside so you can at least get your bearings.”

The sound of that name brought Reaper to a sudden halt, the shocking revelation that this man not only looked like Jack-  his Jack, but also had the same name hit him like a deluge of ice water. He froze, images of Jack during his last moments — both in Zurich and in Rouen — flashing before his eyes and putting a stop to his heart.

Once again, the other man's voice-  Jack's  voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Jack rushed over, hands hovering close to Reaper’s own as if unsure as to take them and tug him aside, or leave him, as common courtesy said he should in regards to invading personal space.

Reaper nodded in affirmation, and Jack let out a small sigh of relief. “That's good,” he murmured, still hovering awkwardly until Reaper continued walking towards the store.

Jack unlocked the door and held it open to usher Reaper inside. “Come in. Have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

Although Reaper took his seat at one of the cafe tables and shook his head, he found himself faced with a cup of coffee in front of him anyway, a small pitcher of what looked to be cream and a sugar dispenser placed nearby. Though it smelled rich, fragrant, and likely tasted as good as it smelled, Reaper left it untouched, doing little more than staring into the dark liquid as his mind tried to wrap itself around his current predicament and come up with some sort of a solution ...assuming there even was one.

The chair across him was pulled back, and Jack sat himself down, worry coloring his expression and his own cup of coffee placed on the table in front of him.

“Hey, are you sure you're all right?” Reaper never could stand to see Jack looked so worried or concerned about him, and this Jack was no different.

“Just peachy,” he rasped.

Jack nearly jolted in shock, no doubt surprised at hearing him speak for the first time.

“Oh! You do speak!” he blurted, before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. “Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to assume or imply anything, you just… never said a word to me at all before is why. I wasn't sure if you were mute and didn't want to make you feel awkward.”

Jack smiled apologetically, wringing his hands in nervousness — yet another trait he shared with the Jack Reaper used to know. The more he looked at Jack, the more his heart ached in recognition. This was most definitely Jack. Perhaps not his Jack, but still Jack, nevertheless- likely this world's version of Jack. And if there was a Jack here, then perhaps…

Was there a version himself here as well, of Gabriel Reyes? If so, then what would happen if the both of them were to meet? Did Reaper’s presence here mean that something had happened to the Gabriel of this world? What was this world's Gabriel in relation to this world's Jack? Did they know each other? Had they even met? What if, in this world, Jack didn't even know Gabriel even existed? What if-

Realizing Jack was still staring at him in curiosity, he quickly abandoned his runaway train of thought.

“Is there something on my face?” Reaper asked, and once again, Jack jumped in his seat in surprise.

“Oh, no! I was just… admiring your costume is all. I've never seen anything like it, that's all. You never did tell me where it's from, after all.”

Reaper let out a small laugh, and replied, “I would be very surprised if you had seen this look before. It's... an original design, so to speak.”

“That would explain it,” Jack smiled, taking a sip from his coffee. His eyes drifted down to Reaper’s neglected cup, and he frowned slightly. “Not a fan of coffee? I can get you something else, if you want.” He gestured behind him towards the counter and the steel door behind it that no doubt led to the kitchen.

Reaper shook his head no. He briefly contemplated taking a sip just to appease Jack, but realized that would require removing his mask. A sight that would no doubt send Jack fleeing in terror. He could have used his nanites to fix his appearance, but if there indeed was a version of Gabriel Reyes in this world, and Jack indeed knew him, then that would have caused even more problems that Reaper needed to deal with.

A sudden realization dawned on him. Hadn't Jack mentioned a ‘Gabriel’ before?

“You said your friend Gabriel was in a costume contest?” Reaper asked, quickly changing the subject.

Jack seemed to roll with it with no issue, however, as a smile made its way into his face. Reaper felt his heart clench for a brief moment, but forced himself to ignore it, more interested in what Jack had to say that made him smile so sweetly.

“Yeah! Gabriel is really talented! He apparently makes his costumes by hand every year! This is my first Halloween in LA, so I can't really tell you what costumes he made before, but this year he dressed up as the Pumpkin King!” Jack answered excitedly. He fished his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it for a few moments before holding up the screen for Reaper to see. “Amazing, right?!”

Amazing was one way to describe the picture, yes, but the only word that popped into Reaper’s head was ‘ unbelievable ’. Shown on the tiny screen was a picture of Jack himself standing besides a girl — the spitting image of a young Fareeha Amari, no older than 8 years old, perhaps — and the spitting image of himself, Gabriel Reyes, except at least 20 years younger, decked out in the very same Pumpkin King costume he had worn oh so many years ago.

Reaper could only nod as a lump formed in his throat, and a storm of emotion began to swirl and churn inside his chest. There was indeed a Gabriel in this world, as well as a Fareeha Amari. This world's Gabriel knew Jack. The both of them were friends. Just friends, or something more?

The brief expression of fondness on Jack's face as he took another look at the screen before putting his phone away told him enough. They might not have been something more than friends, but there was definitely some desire on Jack's part that he wanted to be. After all, Reaper recognised the same look on Jack's face as he did back when he and his Jack were still dating, whenever Jack stealthily read the messages Gabriel sent him via communicator even though they were in the same room together.

Jealousy crept its way into Reaper’s heart. With no Overwatch and no Talon to speak of, this world's Gabriel and Jack no doubt stood a better chance at ‘forever’ than his Jack and himself ever did. They didn't have a war to deal with, a crisis to end, an international organization to run, and a United Nations to directly answer to. It wasn't fair.

And yet…

Reaper couldn't find himself harboring such negative emotions for long. Life had dealt his Jack and himself a completely different set of cards than this Jack and this Gabriel. It wasn't their fault that their future looked brighter than Reaper’s ever did with his Jack.

“Not bad,” Reaper replied rather neutrally, and Jack laughed at that.

“I'll be sure to pass that criticism along, then,” Jack smiled, finishing the rest of his coffee.

Just then, a loud clatter was heard coming from outside the store, somewhere beyond the steel door that led into the kitchen.

“Oh!” Jack exclaimed quietly, as if a realization suddenly dawned on him. He got up from his chair and held up a pointer finger. “Sorry, I seem to have forgotten something! Give me just a few moments to go take care of it. I'll be right back!”

Reaper shrugged and nodded, and Jack took that as his cue to go handle whatever it was he needed to do, most likely something related to the metallic crash that just occurred.

A few minutes turned into several, and before long, Reaper had grown as curious as his coffee had grown cold. Quietly, he got up from his chair and peeked into the kitchen. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he went deeper inside, letting the door swing closed behind him. Neither Jack nor anything unusual was to be seen, and just as Reaper was about to leave, he heard Jack's voice.

“C’mon, guys, you need to learn to share and slow down, or you're going to make yourselves sick!”

Curious, Reaper headed towards the sound of Jack's voice and eventually found another open door, this one leading to the alleyway behind the store and propped open to let the light from outside flood into the dimly lit kitchen. Reaper could swear he heard meowing and hissing the closer he got to the door, and sure enough, when he peered outside, he was greeted with a sight that had his heart clenching once more.

There, in the alleyway, was Jack, crouched in front of several small dishes of what appeared to be wet cat food, and around him, were several, if not at least 10 different cats, all either eating from the dishes or just lingering nearby, doing whatever cats did when they weren't eating or sleeping.

Jack himself was preoccupied with a few other cats, clearly more interested in Jack himself than the food being offered to them if the ways they were climbing and pawing and purring at Jack were any sort of indication.

An orange cat- a rather scrawny orange cat meowed at Jack and swatted at Jack's knee with one of its white paws, and laughing, Jack picked it up, bringing the cat's face level with his own and laughing. His Jack had always loved cats, and it was abundantly clear that this Jack was no different.

The look of sheer joy and contentment on Jack's face had Reaper’s heart aching all over again, simultaneously breaking at the memory of his own Jack being lost to him forever, and being stolen all over again by that smile made warmth and sunlight. He longed to see his own Jack smile like that once more, but given that wasn't an option — hadn't been for a long time — he took what he could get, indulging himself in the sight of this Jack at ease and enjoying himself, the spitting image of the one he longed for.

For a while, time felt as if it stood still, and when Reaper felt like he could take no more of the simultaneous feelings of love and grief warring inside of him, he took his leave. He shifted his mask just long enough to quickly down the now-cold, but still tasty coffee, scribbled a note that read ‘Thank you’ to be weighed down onto the table by the empty cup, and left the bakery, the bell chiming behind him as he vanished.

The bell's ringing suddenly brought Jack to his senses, and quickly but carefully, he set all the cats that had climbed atop him down on the ground and scrambled inside, ready to apologize to his guest. However, when he got inside, the stranger in the mask was nowhere to be found, and the sign on the door had been flipped to show ‘Closed’ when looking in from the outside.

A pang of guilt hit him briefly until he saw the note the stranger left, and Jack wondered if he would ever see him again. The stranger never showed his face or told him his name, but there was something about him that gave Jack a strange feeling of familiarity the entire time the stranger was there. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he knew him.

Sighing and hoping the stranger didn't write him off as rude and neglectful, Jack dutifully cleaned off the table before heading back into the kitchen to finish his business with the cats as well as review his list of things needed for tomorrow, when the store opened up once again.

The next day was nothing short of routine and boring, the same thing as usual. He couldn't complain, what with the steady flow of customers and regulars, but there was a small part of Jack that craved something different, something special.

He got his wish later that day, when he went to feed the alley cats once more.

As he set down the last dish of food, a cat he had never seen before approached him. With fur as black as night and distinct white markings on its face that almost looked like a skull, the strange cat caught Jack's attention immediately. It meowed at Jack as it approached, clearly more interested in Jack himself than the food. It rubbed up against Jack's legs, meowing and purring all the while.

“Hey, little guy, where'd you come from?” Jack asked, amused and curious. He bent down to get a closer look, and the cat all but leapt into his arms, purring the entire time. A red collar could be seen around the cat's neck, and Jack immediately checked the tag, wondering who this affectionate cat belonged to. To his surprise, there was no address on the back, but on the front, clear as day, read what was undoubtedly the cat's name.

“‘Reaper’, huh? What a fitting name,” he laughed.

Reaper couldn't say that turning himself into a cat was exactly the best idea he ever had, but given the situation, he couldn't exactly think of anything better. He couldn't exactly go about living like he did before as the mercenary Reaper. But neither could he continue his life as a normal human. There was already one Gabriel Reyes in this world, there was no place nor need for another.

It was foolish of him, but at the very least, this way he could find some sort of comfort in spending the rest of his days with Jack, even it wasn't the way he had ever expected when he said his wedding vows. He could watch over this Jack from nearby, and make sure he found the peace and joy that his Jack was never able to. Call him sentimental and selfish, but he was going to make sure that the story of Jack and Gabriel in this world would at least have some sort of a happy ending.

You'll forgive me if I make you wait a little longer to see you again, right, Jack? It's for your sake, after all.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 42. In which the past plays havoc with the present

Read the full fic on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (desktop)

They left the inn around noon the next day to begin the journey back to Skyhold. They rode until dusk, and after the lack of sleep from the night before, everyone turned in almost immediately. As Cullen pulled the covers around him and listened to Dorian's quiet snoring, he fervently wished for some tea. Yesterday's events combined with a hard day's ride had left him aching and restless. His ever-present headache needled into his brain making the itch for lyrium all the more irritating.

Speaking of irritating. He hadn't recognized her immediately when they passed each other in the dim corridors of the Winter Palace, but when Evana had informed them that Celene's arcane advisor would be joining them at Skyhold as a liaison to the Empress, Cullen finally put it all together. Morrigan.

Memories of Kinloch, never far away to begin with, rushed back to him. In his mind's eye, he could see Neria, the Hero of Ferelden, standing before his magical cage with Leliana and Morrigan, his body withered with thirst and hunger and his mind nearly broken from the torture. Among other things, the demons had tortured him with Neria's face - the face of his youthful infatuation - and Morrigan had witnessed him at the end of a descent into near madness. He'd demanded all the mages be killed, whether they were possessed or not, but Neria had refused, thank the Maker. The young and idealistic Leliana had been sympathetic to his condition, but even now, more than a decade later, he could still see Morrigan's cold, yellow eyes glaring at him through the transparent barrier of his prison. If she could've reached him, he had no doubt she would've killed him for his words alone.

After turning over a few times, trying to push the thoughts away, he finally gave up on sleep. If he didn't get up, he would wake Dorian with his restlessness. He quietly put his boots and doublet back on and exited the tent. The watches nodded to him as he sat down at the fire. Attempting to keep his mind busy, he ran over the previous day's events in his head before turning his thoughts to the future.

Unfortunately - for himself and for his work - they had been invited to a small gathering at Lady Seryl's estate in Jader. The detour would cost them little in time - they would stay the following evening at Lady Seryl's home, and leave again the following day - but he'd been looking forward to getting away from the nobles and back to work. He had much to organize now that Orlais could be counted as an ally. The last thing he wanted was spend another evening with them. He had an assault to plan.

Although none of them had spoken of it recently, the Grey Wardens and their potential demon army weighed heavily on them all. He'd done all he could to set things in motion before he left, but it would still take weeks, perhaps months, before preparations were complete. And just because they were planning an assault didn't mean other problems would go away. No, he'd have plenty to deal with once they returned to Skyhold.

A sharp pain pierced through his body, and he tensed as the ache spread from his chest and down his arms and legs. He felt a fine layer of sweat form on his skin as he struggled to maintain even breathing. Curling into himself, head resting on his knees, he repeated a Chant to himself for several minutes. Gradually, the pain dispersed, and he tentatively relaxed again, though his muscles now ached from how tensely he'd held himself while trying to ward off the pain.

Cullen cursed internally. All his planning depended on him performing his duties to the best of his ability. The symptoms had been manageable to this point, but only with Evana's help. He relied on her tea and draughts almost completely now, and even they couldn't fight back the worst of the withdrawal. He'd been a fool to think he could go this entire trip without...

"Couldn't sleep, either?"

Evana's soft voice startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to find her in the process of settling beside him.

"No," he admitted. "Despite the lack of sleep, I'm feeling a bit restless."

"Me, too. I came out to make some tea." She glanced over at the watchman on the other side of the camp and then lowered her voice even more. "I'm glad to have your company, vhenan. We don't have a kettle, so I'll have to use magic. Will that bother you?"

"Uh, no. Of course not."

Cullen just stared at her. Her delicate features reflected the soft warmth of the firelight, and it dawned on him that she'd pulled her hair back. It had grown longer since she'd first joined them, but this was the first time he'd seen it this way. She'd braided the silvery strands tightly against her head, starting at the crown, and he marveled internally at how it opened her face and exposed to him the soft lines of her jaw, the curve of her high cheekbones, the smooth expanse of her forehead decorated with the crisscrossing lines of her vallaslin. He realized he'd never seen it fully and studied the lines now with interest, eager to learn more of her, commit every part of her to memory.

He almost thought she might be a figment of his imagination. He had, after all, been wishing for tea - her tea - and now here she sat making it for him. Surely he was dreaming. But she continued to work quietly as she set two wooden cups on the ground and filled them with water. Then, she pulled out a pouch and added the leaves. Finally, he felt the small pull of her magic all around him, and the air shimmered slightly as she heated the water. Instantly, the smell of earth and herbs surrounded them. The familiar scent seemed to have a subtle calming effect all on its own, and he was forced to admit this was real. She was real. Here. With him. He marveled anew at his luck.

She handed him a mug. The warmth of it radiated out to his chilled fingers.

"Here you are," she murmured with a small smile.

"Thank you. I'm sorry you're having trouble sleeping."

"I'm just restless, like you," she replied softly. "I feel tired, but my brain won't stop running in circles. So much has happened, but all I can think about is what might be ahead. And... I'm not really looking forward to tomorrow night, either."

Cullen smirked. "After last night, me neither. I had no idea that joining Cassandra's cause would bring this kind of attention. Ironically, it's your leadership that has made our organization so powerful - and therefore desirable - in the first place."

Evana smiled at him. "Without your leadership, we wouldn't be here at all. It's not surprising that others are starting to take notice."

Cullen smiled and tilted his head to her. "Thank you, but as I said last night, there's only one person's attention I crave. And she's having tea with me right now."

She quirked a brow and smiled at him. "Hmmmm... you do have a way with words, Commander."

He just laughed quietly. Sharing his feelings with her became easier each time he allowed himself the liberty. Perhaps her positive reactions had made him less frightened that he might say too much? He still had much to work through and many unanswered questions, include new questions about her clan after what they had discussed the night before. But sitting around a campfire within earshot of two guards was neither the time nor place to discuss any of those things. So for now, he determined to be comfortable. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, and he felt the herbs begin their work. Finally, she broke their comfortable silence.

"How long do you think it will be before we can head to the Western Approach - to Adamant?"

"At least another month, but probably longer. I'll need to check in with Rylen about supplies and troop numbers. We'll have to arrange transport of the siege equipment and ensure Harritt is on track with the other blacksmiths for armor and weapons. Getting the troops out there will take at least a few weeks, fully loaded as they'll be with equipment and supplies. We'll also need to talk over strategies for the battle - best and worst-case scenarios based on the plans from Adamant..." Cullen sighed and gave her a weak smile. "We have much to do. But thanks to you taking Griffon Wing Keep, we're already ahead of the game. It will be hard fought, but I believe we can do this."

Evana chuckled wryly. "It's good to know my Commander has confidence in our abilities. I thought I might use the time to finish stabilizing the Emerald Graves and then stop off at the Exalted Plains. I might even head back to the Western Approach early. I didn't have a chance-"

She interrupted herself with a large yawn. Cullen gave her a sympathetic look.

"We'll have time to discuss all this back at Skyhold. Why don't you go ahead and get some sleep?"

"What about you?" she asked with poorly concealed concern coloring her tone.

He looked into his half empty mug. "I'll just finish my tea and head to bed shortly."

She gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. Glancing toward the nearest guard to find him turned away from them, she leaned toward Cullen to kiss his cheek, but he surprised even himself by turning his head to meet her lips instead. After a blissful moment of delicate pressure, she pulled away, blushing furiously and glancing at the guards again. She shot him a shy smile, and then left him there by the fire.

Maker, how he wished he could lay by her side and hold her tonight... and every night. If he'd realized how his one night with her would ruin him for sleeping alone, he never would have...

Who do you think you're kidding? He'd have done it just the same. He could still feel the press of her back against him, the way their legs and hands entwined as they slept. When he'd woken with her in his arms, he'd been sure it was a dream. But then he remembered - he didn't have good dreams.

Perhaps one day, after he'd told her the truth about himself and learned a bit more about her in return, he'd give himself permission to... stay the night with her. At least once in a while... if she wanted him... and if she didn't end things first.

The deeply scarred, insecure part of him had feared that eventuality from the beginning - and was astonished she hadn't already.

Cullen felt his eyelids grow heavy. Finally. He drained the remainder of the tea and made his way back to his tent, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 **

 "Cullen! Cullen, wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Dorian's voice pulled him out of the Circle - out of the grasp of the desire demon and, not surprisingly, the depths of Morrigan's cat-like eyes. He shot straight up in bed, nearly cracking skulls with Dorian. The blood rushed through his ears as images from his dream held him in thrall. The thin layer of sweat covering his skin now cooled in the morning air, and he shivered.

Cole's voice cut through his fog. "Cold, dark, temptations all around. I will not give in. I shall endure. Maker... please..."

He groaned internally. "I apologize for waking you both. Please, I'm alright. Go back to sleep."

Dorian looked unconvinced. "You're sure? Would you like me to wake Evana?"

"No!" Cullen said quickly, a tiny surge of panic rippling through him. He took a breath and tempered his tone. "No. Thank you. I... I'm quite used to it."

The last thing he wanted was to worry her even more. She didn't need to shoulder his burdens as well as her own.

"You're 'used to it'?" Dorian questioned, the concern in his tone deepening.

"I often have nightmares," Cullen explained with affected calm. "It is of no concern."

Cole looked like he might say something else, but Cullen jerked his head in a nearly imperceptible negating motion to silence the boy. Dorian nodded and gave Cullen a final searching glance before sliding back under his covers, and Cullen laid back down to try to sleep again.

It was no use. Every time he closed his eyes, the images from his nightmare filled his brain. Although the tea still helped him fall asleep, it certainly wasn't blocking out the nightmares anymore. Another result of the worsening withdrawal. Maker, when will it end? Will I ever be whole again?

"You will."

There was a time he'd have found Cole's whispered affirmation to be completely unnerving, but now, somehow, he found a strange comfort in it. Cole believed it, which made it easier for Cullen to believe that someday he might feel well and whole. He wasn't sure he could even remember what "whole" felt like.

Today, however, was not that day. After staring at the ceiling of the tent for several minutes wrestling with the after effects of the nightmare, he finally got up and dressed for the day. The gradual lightening of the tent told him dawn approached. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least begin preparations for breaking camp. The dull ache of a headache niggled at the back of his brain as he quietly worked to set up for breakfast. Cole came with him and helped but said nothing, for which Cullen was immensely grateful. A little after sunrise, Leliana joined them around the fire.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long," he lied.

Leliana looked around her at the mostly packed camp. "Right."

"I'm used to being up early. And Cole's been up with me."

Leliana just hummed at him, her gaze at once knowing and somehow sympathetic, and fell into silence. With the memories of the Kinloch and Morrigan still floating in his brain, he almost asked after the Hero of Ferelden... but then thought better of it. Leliana surely knew that his 18-year-old self had been infatuated with the elven mage under his care in the Ferelden Circle, and he didn't want the spymaster to think he was asking after Neria because he still harbored feelings for her. So they sat together quietly until Leliana finally broke the silence. He found her thoughts had echoed his own.

"Morrigan is to join us, then, yes? I will admit, though we traveled together extensively during the Blight, she is not my... favorite person. And you... will you be quite comfortable with her around?"

Astonished and touched by Leliana's show of concern, Cullen responded in kind. "It was a long time ago. We are none of us the same people we were then, for better or worse."

"Still, I know we spoke of this when you first joined but... I often wonder if my presence causes you pain at times, knowing that I saw you at your lowest point."

Despite the roiling in his gut, he tried to keep his tone light. "It's alright, Leliana. Nothing has changed since then except for how much my respect for you and your work has grown. All I remember from our first meeting is your kindness - and I've already apologized for my harsh words in return. Unless you wish for me to apologize again?"

Leliana shot him a wry grin. "That won't be necessary."

"I will likely avoid her if at all possible, but that has less to do with her presence in the keep and more to do with the fact that-"

"-that she is utterly smug and unlikable?" Leliana finished with a grimace. Her voice softened slightly as she added, "What Neria sees in her to call her friend, I will never understand. Well I remember her smug distain for the rest of us... poor Ali bore the worst of it."

Cullen tried to bite his tongue and resist the urge, but Leliana had left him with the opening. He had to take it.

"How is the Hero, by the way? Have you heard from her recently?"

"No."

The short, biting answer brooked no follow up question or even a sympathetic response. They sat in silence once more, but this time, the tension overwhelmed him. He should have known better. If he'd thought about it at all, he would have realized it must be difficult for Leliana to be so often separated from her love. After all, he could relate. Next time, he'd keep his idle curiosity to himself.

By the time the tension between them finally dissipated, Cassandra and Josephine had joined them around the fire. The soldiers had already packed up and were eating breakfast.

Finally, Evana and Dorian joined them for a quick breakfast, and they started off for Jader. After stopping briefly for a midday meal, they arrived at Lady Seryl's home just after sunset. Josephine had procured "appropriate" clothing for them in Halamshiral, so they retired to freshen up and change clothes. Cullen would have much rather spent the evening working - or better yet, with Evana - but he was pleasantly surprised to find the gathering was to be a very small party of Jader nobility. At least he wouldn't have to keep up appearances for an entire room full of people.

He emerged from his room as Evana passed by on her way to the stairs. She wore a simple but elegant pale blue long-sleeved dress. Instead of the large, chunky waves of Halamshiral, she'd braided her hair as it had been last night except for the several curled, loose locks that framed her pale face. The effect was enchanting. She paused to greet him and gave him a teasing grin - almost a smirk.

"Care to escort me down, Commander?"

"I... uh..." He cleared his throat in an attempt to focus on creating a coherent sentence. "Yes, I'd love to," he finally managed.

He offered her his arm and smiled as her hand curled around his elbow. Although he felt a bit exposed without his armor, he relished the feel of her fingers gripping his arm through the formal shirt and jacket as they began their slow descent.

"You look quite dashing, Ser Rutherford," she commented airily. "I'd hardly recognize you but for that alluring scar on your lip. I think I quite like seeing you out of your armor."

Cullen coughed and felt the heat of a blush spread over his face. He stole a glance at her and witnessed the exact moment she caught on to the double meaning in her words. It was her turn to stutter and blush.

"That is... I... um... I meant seeing you in plain clothes, not ... I mean, not that I wouldn't like... oh... my..."

They paused halfway to the first landing, still hidden in the shadows, and she covered her burning face with her free hand. She tried to withdraw her other hand at his elbow, but rather than let her go, he turned and caught her around the waist, pulling her to him as he'd wanted to do since Dorian had forced them to part at the Winter Palace. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder... and started laughing quietly.

"There I was, trying to be suave and confident. I should have just played it off like I meant it that way. I mean, we are... we are... together."

He laughed with her for a moment before placing a gentle hand to her jaw and lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Yes. We are," he affirmed quietly.

Cullen leaned forward and this time witnessed the moment she understood his intent. Her lids fluttered closed as his nose touched hers, and he tilted his head slightly, his heart racing as his lips drew nearer to their goal. Why did every time feel like the first time with her? Why did his body react with such intensity - the kind of intensity he'd not felt in years... if ever?

He used every ounce of his willpower to slowly, chastely brush his lips over hers, but the way her lips felt - warm, soft, inviting - Maker's breath, his willpower came up short. Being in her company but unable to touch her or kiss her had worn on him. He pressed his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, enthralled by how she responded to him so quickly, so effortlessly. He let his fingers slide over her cheek and down her neck, and she let out a soft but vocal sigh into his mouth.

A vague thought played at the back of his brain. We shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not now. We could be caught at any moment. With a groan of reluctance, he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, though he didn't let her go just yet. Her chest heaved invitingly as her labored breathing mingled with his own. She opened her eyes slowly, lazily, and he fought back the inappropriate visions dancing before him of her flushed cheeks and languid smile in an entirely different setting.

"Perhaps we should not kiss on Lady Seryl's stairway," he breathed, a wry grin curving his lips.

Evana gave him a coy grin in return. "Perhaps not."

He placed one last kiss on her cheek as he murmured in her ear, "Although I do remember you giving me permission to kiss you whenever I like."

She laughed breathily in his ear, and a shiver ran down his spine. "So I did. But I think you'd be more embarrassed than me if we were caught."

"Hmmmm... you might be right."

He offered her his arm once more, and after a final moment to regain their composure, they joined the party. Josephine already stood with a group of nobles in a corner, and the rest of her companions joined them shortly thereafter. He registered Cole's presence here and there, but none of nobles seemed to notice him at all. The Orlesian pomp and circumstance was almost more ostentatious here than in Halamshiral, but Lady Seryl's support of the Inquisition bought her their time and polite conversation, regardless. Cullen knew he in particular couldn't afford to snub the lady or he risked losing a large portion of his siege equipment.

Unfortunately for the Commander, Lady Seryl seemed particularly enamored with him. He retreated to Evana's side whenever possible, but the noble woman would always draw him back into her conversation. By the time they turned in for the evening, Cullen had a splitting headache, and he thought in passing that it might have been better to build the siege equipment with his own two hands rather than endure such an evening.

 **

 The party arrived at Skyhold late the following day. Several nobles had arrived ahead of them, and as Josephine dragged Evana away to meet with them, Cullen gave her a sympathetic look before heading to his office to deal with the work that had accumulated in his absence.

He found himself still awake at midnight, running over the reports he'd missed in the last several days and sorting out priority for requests and requisitions. The most alarming request came in the form of a note from Harritt stating that his current staff simply wouldn't be able to finish all the required armor in the time frame necessary for the assault. The Inquisition's forces had grown to a point that he could no longer keep up with the demand. They would need to find an additional - and trusted - master blacksmith to guide a second shift of workers in the armory.

Cullen made note to find and speak with Harritt the next day and settled back in his chair to rub his temples. The headaches plagued him still, but the nightmares were worse. Without the lyrium to help him forget, the dreams of his time in Kinloch Hold and of the Kirkwall Rebellions were becoming more intense. He found himself more often than not dwelling on the dark thoughts and whispered temptations he'd endured from the demons all those years ago - even in the light of day. And last night, he'd relived every death he'd witnessed at the hands of the abominations in vivid detail - as if not a day had passed. The images flashed before his eyes again, and he sucked in an angry breath.

"I shall endure."

The words came out as more a growl than a prayer. The willpower it now took to simply remain focused exhausted him. Cullen sunk deeper into his chair and pushed harder on his temples. A sharp stab of pain, enough to make him gasp at the sudden intensity, shot through his left eye. He stood up and found his legs weak - he would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed onto the chair. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and fell into the seat of the chair as he held onto the arms. After another moment, Cullen pushed himself up. He would endure. He had to. The song called to him, but he deliberately avoided looking at the shelf across the room.

Crossing the room slowly, he placed the kettle on the fire and turned back to ready his mug.  Pulling off his gloves, he dosed out the tea and then leaned against the mantle to admire the skill and effort she'd put into the pouches as he waited for the water to boil. The designs were delicate and precise - not floral exactly, but they did remind him of forests and trees. He shook his head. All this - her heritage and her family - she had given up to stay and fight with the Inquisition. Even if she hadn't always been happy with her clan, even if she'd told them to move on without her, wouldn't she want to go back in the end?

Finally, after avoiding it for days, he allowed himself to think back to their conversation about Dalish customs. Her vague words had left him with more questions than answers, but in the back of his mind, he knew what it really meant.

His jaw clenched involuntarily as he slowly replaced the pouch, pushed away from the mantle and began pacing. The books he'd read on Dalish customs had been vague as well, but one thing was clear - the Dalish didn't like any humans, which meant clan Lavellan wouldn't like him and would certainly never accept him as a proper partner for Evana.

What did that mean for her... for both of them? Their connection still seemed so tentative, so fragile. After the war, if any of them survived, would she truly want to build a life with someone like him, someone human, someone so broken? Would her clan force her to choose? Could he in good conscience ask her to give it all up - her previous life, her family, her entire prior existence - for him?

With a pained cry, Cullen let his bare fist connect with the stone wall beside him and then breathed heavily as the pain radiated from his now bruised knuckles to his palm and through his forearm. His head felt as if it might split in two from the wedge being driven into the base of his skull. Dark memories of past actions and whispers of inadequacy muddled his brain, but one thing stood out crystal clear from the muddy ruins of his thoughts - a sudden, inescapable knowledge that wounded him more deeply than any blade he'd ever known.

He could never presume to ask her to sacrifice so much for him. It doesn't matter what I do, what I want. When this is all over, I must let her go.

I'm going to lose her.

[ifnotlovethenwhatff-blog]

Chapter 14

Vera, had been standing in the doorway of her daughter’s old room for twenty minutes reminiscing on the past. Six years of memories rest comfortably within the walls of this room for the three girls to always remember. Now times have changed and Vera is left to care for her youngest daughter.

Did I fail her?

That one burning question is what Vera asks herself everyday for the last two months. The poor woman does nothing but doubt her abilities to be a mother, decapitating her self confidence in every way imaginable. Young Careena even noticed a difference in her mom’s attitude, mood and some days her appearance. On the days Vera doesn't have to work, she's typically dress down in old shirts and pajama pants. With her being back in school now for the spring semester she does a lot lounging around the house.

College isn't what is used to be and these online courses are a real bitch. Arielle used to help her mother out with homework and exam preparation but now that she's gone, Careena has to pick up the slack. The short version of all of this, is that Arielle’s absence is taking its toll in more ways than one.

Careena on the other hand is happy for her sister's new life. Of course there are days when that sister bond is longed for but that hasn't cause Reena to feel sad or upset. Down at the end of the hall Vera could hear Careena’s music creep under the open space at the bottom of the door and fill the hallway faintly. It’s questionable how Reena has been able to deal with her sister's lack of appearance so effortlessly. But it's rather quite simple, at least in Careena’s mind it is.

Trudging toward the opposite end of the hallway, Vera grabbed the doorknob and burst into the room taking in everything she saw. There on the bed lay multiple and different size boxes covered in baby themed wrapping paper. Vera had no clue what was inside each box but she knew they were gifts for her soon to come grandbaby. Careena put down her beauty blender egg and turned to face her mom with slow movements. Vera had this sad puppy dog expression on her face and Reena didn't know how to react to her mom burstin in her room.

“Are those for your sister?” She mumbled, with one hand on the doorknob and another on her left cheek. Careena slowly nodded in response to her mother's question, not having any desire to further upset the woman.

“When did you have time to buy baby presents? You've been skipping out on school haven't you?” Vera's quick assumptions were scary and intimidating but Careena kept her wits about her.

“Mom, no. I made time to get a few things for the baby so Arielle wouldn't have so much to buy. You know how she is with being prepared for the future. I just thought I could help her out to make this ea-”

“Wow..” A low murmur flew out Vera’s mouth and before she knew it she was chuckling to herself. Careena now holds right to be afraid of what her mom might do. Some flip of emotion must've just occurred in Vera's mind prompting her change in mood. She then stalked over to Reena’s bed and went for the harmless boxes.

Careena yelled over and over for her mom to stop ripping opening the paper to see what was inside. Even with just the two of them in the room, their arguing sounded like so much chaos for two small people.

“Mom stop! You're gonna ruin everything!”

“I don't care!”

All one could hear outside of this room is yelling of the loudest kind. Three out of six boxes were successfully torn apart with the baby’s new clothes scattered across the bed and the floor. Careena was knocked onto the floor by her mom’s erratic behavior, just adding more fuel to the fire. The doorbell going off throughout the house put a pause on the current event and brought silence back to the home once again.

“Go answer the door mom. You told me I wasn't allowed to so go see who's at the door.” Careena spoke with uneven breaths. She watched Vera turn towards the door with wet eyes and a reddened face.

With Vera stomping off down the hall Careena slammed her door shut and slid down to the floor gripping her hair in between her fingers.

“Dang Ari..look what you being gone has done to her..to us.” Reena muttered to herself. She got up off the floor and went back to getting ready for the day. The remainder of the time she spent dolling herself up she could hear a man's voice downstairs. The voice is one she doesn't recognize giving her the opportunity to focus on the tasks at hand. With the sound of 21 Savage blaring out loud as Arielle’s specific ringtone, Careena ran to retrieve her cell.

“You gotta come and get me now. I can't stay here another minute longer.” She spat out in a rush, going around the room to prep a bag. Inside a large gift bag were the re wrapped boxes for the baby along with some extra belongings of Arielle's she left behind. Reena also threw in some stuff of her own.

“What's going on? Did mom spazz on you again?” Arielle questioned innocently.

With an irritated snack of the lips Careena kept pushing herself to clean up and get ready for her weekend with her sister.

“You already know she did. She's crazy Ari and I'm tired of being the one to deal with the fallout. I'm not saying you're to blame but you being gone is really screwing with her head and her feelings. You have got to sit down and talk to that woman.” Reena’s suggestion was more of a demand than a piece of advice but Arielle knew that. She smelled her little sister's attitude the second the line connected.

“I will.”

“No I mean a real conversation. Woman to woman. I don't know what y’all talk about but whatever it is doesn't seem to be resonating with her the way you think it is. She has these crazy objects anytime she goes into your room or sees anything baby related. She hasn't cooked nor has she gone grocery shopping in two weeks Ari so I've been living off snacks and juice. I'm hungry, I'm tired and I'm fed up.”

Arielle held sympathy towards her baby sister being that she knows what she's going through with Vera. Once upon a time when Canaan had just divorced Vera, Careena would go and stay with her dad every summer. Every day was a showdown with the behavior Vera expressed because of her youngest child being away.

“Walk a couple houses down. Go out the back and around the side of the house. Is she near you?” Arielle asked skeptically.

“Nah, she's downstairs talking to some man. I'm coming out. Bye.” Reena hung up on her sister and jetted for the stairs and towards the back of the house. Another look over her shoulder to ensure Vera wasn't watching and she was out. Quietly sneaking around to the side gate Careena unlatched the lock and snuck the gate door open just wide enough to squeeze through. She was successful at crossing the yard and following Ari’s directions on where to find Kamil's car.

Hearing soft knocks on the window, Kamil hit the locks so Careena could slip into the backseat.

“I feel like a fugitive right now. What took you so long?” Careena settled herself into the car, placing her bags on the empty seat next to her.

“We had some stuff to do. So why was mom freaking out again? You didn't really explain much on the phone.”

Careena broke down the fight with their mom shocking Arielle but not Kam in the slightest. Vera may have upgraded some of her characteristics but others will never change indefinitely.

Nestled comfortably at a booth inside the busy downtown PF Changs, the trio were enjoying their night to full capacity. No talk of personal problems or stress, just fun conversation to help go the night go by smoothly. Careena mentioned the subject of a baby shower which is currently the topic in rotation.

“So when will it be? I don't want you to have it while I'm in school and then I can't come.” Careena pointed out, picking through the vegetables mixed with her noodles.

Arielle and kamil both have their own ideas for the baby shower details. Since they know Ari is having a boy there is no set color scheme, place of interest, food choice, etc. Arielle doesn't want to go with the traditional blue that most parents go with. She's so bent on having a neutral theme so no one will be able to guess the gender right away. This has been her plan ever since she knew that she wanted to have kids of her own. Now Kam likes the blue idea but he wants to throw in grey as an accent shade or white as an accent tint.

“I thought about making the date for early April like the second week possibly. My due date is set for May 20 which is a Saturday but I could give birth anywhere from the 29th of April and the 3rd of June..so I don't know.” Arielle huffed.

“Okay what about who's all going? You know Canaan and Jaz will want to go and maybe even Erica. Ooh..what about y’alls moms?” Good question. Neither Kamil or Arielle could pretend they weren’t presented with a great fucking question. In order to keep the peace between the families one of two decisions will have to be made.

Since Kamil and his mom aren't Vera’s biggest fans they won't have much a choice but to tolerate Arielle’s mom. Because after all, Arielle won't keep her mom out of her baby’s life, not indefinitely anyhow. With the small changes Ms. O’Brien is making she might not be as big of a threat to the survival of this baby shower but there's always room for surprise.

“As long she stays in her place and doesn't come out of pocket I won't have anything to say. I know my grandmother, my mom, and my mom’s sister will be there like they were for La’s baby shower. We’ll figure something out that will be best for the both of us.” Kam declared, removing his glasses and roughly rubbing his face.

“I didn't know you wore glasses Kamil. That makes you both nerds.” Careena joked innocently.

“Nah these are not prescription they're just some glasses I ordered online when I got her a new pair. You're the real nerd, except you wear your contacts most of the time don't you?” He flipped the script putting Reena on the spot with no hesitation.

“That I do.” She confessed, flagging down their waiter for the night.

The waiter, Zeke, appeared with the check and a to-go bag of food for Arielle intended to be eaten later on tonight. Kamil foot the bill, the girls split the tip and then they left the restaurant full and satisfied.

“I feel so full. Ari how did you eat everything on your plate?” Reena moaned in disgust at rememberance of her sister's clean dinner plate.

“This baby helps me eat. I’m over 130 pounds now and I don't know how I feel about that. I got my food for later tonight and tomorrow so I'm all set. You good babe?”

Kamil looked over at Arielle and nodded with confidence. The engine turned over and out of the parking lot they went. Arielle turned on the radio and connected the car's blue tooth to her Apple Music. While she scrolled through her many playlists, Kam started up some talk with Reena to get to know her a little better. A velvety mixture of R&B and 90s rap was flowing through car, changing the mood in the air.

Kamil had a sudden craving for sweets and made his way to a cookie shop he lives for. Anytime he visits Gideons he leaves with a surplus of cookies. The drive to Gideon's took no time at all with Kam going 70 on the interstate and the lack of police. It's pushing 10 o'clock and the girls are getting sleepy but they'll soon awaken. Parking right in front of the bake house, Kamil turned the car off and scurried inside to pick up some treats.

Elle locked the car from the inside watching from her seat as Kam stood at the counter. Resting quietly with her hands on her belly, Elle swayed her head from side to side locked in mentally to the music. Inside Kamil was scanning the variety of cookies, cakes, pies and cheesecakes. A young woman walked over to where Kamil was standing with her hands behind her back.

“Have you decided what you wanted?” The girl asked stepping closer to the glass counter and looking at all the desserts for the millionth time today.

“Uh..yeah it's gonna be a big order though.” Clasping his hands together Kam bent down to see the goodies behind the glass better.

“Okay so I want two of every cookie in here.” Standing up straight Kam removed his wallet from his back pocket to get his card out. He felt a stare on him so when he met the eyes of the girl, he couldn't contain his laughter.

“Oh you're serious? Okay let me get started on these right away.” The girl slipped on a pair of gloves, grabbed carry out two boxes and began filling them up with cookies.

Glancing up at her customer the girl focused back on packing the small boxes. “So..whats with all the cookies..you throwing a party or something?” She laughed, closing the counter doors and bringing Kamil’s order over to the register.

“No party. I just really like these cookies. They're the best I've ever had. It's kind of slow in here tonight though.” Kamil's innocent observation was taken completely out of context with this girl. In her mind she saw an opportunity present itself with a good looking stranger. But unknown to her is that he's out of her league. This chick just dabbled in the confidence of transforming from a teenager to a legal adult.

There's no chance in hell that Kamil or any man in his right mind would even consider touching a girl as young as her. She's still thought of as a baby in most people's eyes and yet she believes her chance has come to snag a real man. She rung up the order and placed a sticker on the flaps of the boxes to keep the treats inside.

“That’ll be $51.18.” She murmured in a delicate tone of voice. Kamil looked at the board behind the counter and did his own math of how much these cookies really are. When he finished his calculation he shook his head in disbelief at what's happening. It didn't take him long to understand the situation.

“Please don’t do me any special favors. I know the total is way higher than what you're telling me. Here.” Handing over his card Kam turned around to find Arielle watching the show in amusement. She's a smart girl. Without even being inside the bake shop Arielle knew what mess Kamil was trying to clean up.

Looking back at the girl Kamil took back his card and grabbed the boxes from the counter. He thanked her and heads back out to the car.

“Hey wait..”

Stopping in his tracks Kamil faced the associate halfway not wanting to give in completely.

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I wasn't right for that and I didn't mean any harm I swear. I just..I don't really know what I thought.”

Kamil nodded in solidarity to her little speech and accepted her apology. This time when he turned around he didn't look back. Stepping out onto the chilly sidewalk Kam walked towards the driver side of the car.

“Hey..” A voice called out. Kamil got the door open thanks to Arielle unlocking the car and looked around to see who was talking to him. He locked eyes with Kaliyah yet again in a public place with Elle around. Kam placed the boxes over in Arielle's lap and shut the door, walking back over to the sidewalk.

Kaliyah has the same mindset as the little girl in the shop but Kam could easily recognize this new issue. Being that Kaliyah is no stranger to old boy he actually knew how to get rid of her.

“Why the fuck do you keep showing up everywhere that I go?” He spoke loudly.

“I want to talk Kam.” Kaliyah put on this voice that usually attracts men to her. The sultry, low pitch voice that gives off her true intentions and what she's feeling.

“We..” He motioned to himself as well as her, “don't have shit to talk about. If you're following me..stop. And I'm not asking Kaliyah. I don't want anything from you nor do I want you. You need to understand me when I say leave me the hell alone!” He exclaimed. The girl from inside the shop heard commotion but stayed in her rightful place.

“And you're gonna settle for her? Of all bitches you choose her! I gave you four years and this is how you repay-”

All in Kaliyah's personal bubble Kam started going off. Words of all sorts were being exchanged, hand gestures were flying about, and curse words being slung back and forth. A shouting match is what's really going on and as stupid as it sounds Kam is enjoying taking his frustrations out verbally.

“Fuck this shit. I'm out. Stay away from me!” Kamil jogged over to the car and ducked off inside and sped off to the apartment. What a way to end the night right?

As Kamil was finishing Careena’s sleep palette in the living room, she was taking her shower. The only sounds in the apartment came from the movie playing in Kamil’s room, the water going, and Kam re-arranging the living room. The door was locked and bolted, so once he was done, Kam headed to the room to check on Arielle. Today has been eventful for everyone, not one person has more to talk about more than the other two. 

Stretching out beside a very tired Arielle, Kam focused on her while she focused on the movie. He saw the stress in her face and in her eyes. There’s nothing she can do to hide her true feelings everything that’s happened in just this week alone. Breaking her concentration of the TV, Ari closed her eyes and fingered the curls falling around her face. Luckily for her the stresses of everyday life haven’t effected the growth of her hair, nails, or overall health. 

“You okay?” Kam muttered, moving in to play with her hair as well.

Poor girl couldn’t fight the small chuckle that slipped passed her lips. “Oh do I wish I could say yes. I just don’t understand why all of this shit is happening. The stress is driving me insane deep, deep down. I’m trying my hardest not to let it show on my face because being this far along and stressing can really affect the baby. All I want is some peace and quiet. I’d rather disappear until after the baby is born. Where’s my sister?”

“I’m right here. Did you want to open these? It might help get your mind off of things.” Careena’s suggestion was welcomed and now the three of them were sitting on the bed.

“I’ve been shopping here and there for some baby presents so I hope you like everything.” All six boxes were piled up beside Arielle’s knee, waiting to be opened up. She wasted no time getting into the presents. And just like Kamil and Careena bet on, Ari cried every time she unwrapped a new box. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks as she lined up all of her son’s new clothes.

“It’s all so damn cute and I can’t stop crying. Thank you for this. You have no idea how much you doing this for me means to me Reena. And with the way mom has been acting lately, I’m even more grateful to you for putting up with her and still supporting me.” The girls shared an intense and intimate moment as sisters and friends. The day has it’s ups and downs but this moment trumps the last 22 or so hours, all thanks to a kick ass little sister.

[jackalwrites]

Ghirahim found himself lost in his thoughts lately. He was always compelled into reflections from when he had first Zant. At first both of them had been the veritable definition of what disagreeing or animosity was. He recalled it like it was yesterday that Ganon, his beloved General and reincarnate of his master had called him into the tent.

Why was there a need for this? Hadn't he been good enough at helping Ganon to carry out his goals and strategies against the Hyrule forces? To say that he was jealous was an understatement when earlier in the day Ganon had talking to him about another powerful and formidable ally he revived.

'This better be good, I swear if it is anyone like that Wizzro fool..' He was interrupted out of his thoughts as he saw the tall figure with a helmet in place. He hadn't been able to stop his feet and had almost walked into him like some kind of fool. How very unlike him to do such a thing.

'What's the helmet for? Are you really so repulsive that you have to hide your face?'

At least that was what Ghirahim had wanted to say, but his need and complete desire to seem polite and someone who carries out with manners at all times won out.

"So you are the other ally that master spoke of- how... charming." There was even dripping venom in his tone even if it was half saccharine too.

He was wondering just whether or not that his new teammate could actually understand him when the fellow lieutenant mumbled something underneath his breath. If it wasn't for a language barrier at the get go he would have found it absolutely captivating, but he couldn't just relent just like that- no, he had to keep a mask on in this first meeting. What had he said anyway? Something told him he wouldn't be satisfied until he found out just what.

"What did you just say?"

Ghirahim wasn't used to people throwing insults at him first thing- and certainly not in a different language. Still.. there was the slimmest possibility that he was actually complimenting him. Flattery (and slight delusions) knew no boundaries when it came to the sword. He was accustomed to being the one in the spotlight and frankly if this.. this thing was to jeopardize any of that- No! That couldn't happen. His thoughts continued running until Ganon cleared his throat. He was clearly trying to get their attention.

"Now that I have both of my lieutenant's attention I want to introduce you both." He stood with his muscular and armor clad arms behind his back. Really the fact that they were already at each other’s throats was too amusing, but he would allow that to pass.

The usual meetings out of the way he noticed that Ghirahim was actually leaving no sooner than he had semi-introduced his new teammate. Maybe not literally, but he could tell it by the way that the arms came up to cross over the blade's chest.

"Did you hear me? I said this is Zant," A grin seeing that he could actually elicit some kind of entertainment from all of this he added with a smirk. "King Zant," He was an usurper of the Twilight Realm, but Ghirahim didn't know that, and already he was getting the reaction he wanted. Eyes of dark brown widened, and then settled before Ghirahim stared at Zant up and down. "King, how lovely." It still came out as a compliment, but he was thrown off of his amiable insult by Ganon now introducing Ghirahim.

"And this is Ghirahim," He directed a nod of his head towards the demon blade in question. Zant didn't seem all that impressed, and actually mumbled something else once more before chuckling.

'He's laughing and he said something again! What did he even say to start with?'

Ghirahim was determined to find out what Zant had said even as the Twili excused himself in a broken sampling of Hylian. The way he pronounced words seemed to match his aesthetic Ghirahim noted, but only dispersed as he noticed he had been left in the tent alone with Ganon who was shooting him a leer in the meanwhile.

'I can take a hint to leave,'

He noted sarcastically in his own thoughts.

He wasn't used to feeling like he was going to be tossed to the side, or even worse than that and far more worrisome- forgotten altogether eventually; he would just have to kick into action to make sure that didn't happen wouldn't he?

It was rather preposterous to think that anyone could even so much as get close to let alone fathoming that they could replace him. Once Ghirahim left out of Ganon's tent he went to go and scope out the enemy, or rather his new teammate.

Among the various Gerudo, Lizalfos, and Dinolfos who stayed around their own personal camp he wasn't getting too much privacy, and throw in his own servants, the bokoblin and he had put all of his best efforts into finding his own special little sanctuary. The temple wasn't far from the desert and the oasis where Ganon had set up camp for his own forces, and scoping it out Ghirahim been very at home as it had reminded him of Skyview Temple from his past. As much as he tried to forget it still resonated well within him even after he had been revived in this new life. He usually was fond of finding one of the pillars of one of the long lost and broken deities and perching himself atop of it like some odd avian.

He was planning just that and was walking into the temple pleased to see the spacious walls, the cracked ceiling in places, and the floor where one or two tiles was missing entirely. Unfortunately all wasn't as it had seemed, and as he opened his eyes as he was giving a rather eccentric greeting to his home he was met with the sight of the lofty male from earlier kneeling before an altar. He was aware of the rage surging within him, but instead of going in for a sure kill like he usually would have he chose to instead slink behind one of the statues and conceal himself.

A strange yet fragrant scent filled the air, and Ghirahim realized soon enough as he saw the wisps of smoke wafting up into the air that Zant was going through a special set of movements. He must have had them down by memory as they were fluid and seemed to be well rehearsed until they seemed to be mere second nature; it was honestly a nice sight to behold, but the incense irritated him and his true nature of what he was. He was feeling that he would have to leave soon, or else risk showing his innate irritation with the purifying scent. He was fixing to step back and walk away when he realized that Zant had turned his head in a sudden movement along with his body with a swift manner. He wasn't wearing the helmet this time around, and he couldn't help but finally place an expression to the slits and smirking lips that had accompanied such handsome features.

'Wait..? handsome? Snap out it!'

Ghirahim dusted the front of his clothes off in habit before sighing. It seemed he had been discovered. He needed to recover his dignity quickly. "As much as I want to give apologies I have to admit that you have probably permanently ruined this place for me with your noxious fumes. Such a sickly scent, what are you burning anyway?" He asked harshly. Instead of the tongue he didn't understand making an appearance again he was met with broken Hylian once more as the tall usurper walked past him as if he hadn't noticed, nor cared for his presence one bit.

"Incense." Zant spoke as he was retreating. The once usurper and great strategist was anxious to get to his quarters for the night as his new teammate honestly irked him.

The nerve of this guy! Who was he to walk past him as if he was some measly commoner?! He only glared after the male as he stalked away, but to Ghirahim, Zant had just declared a duel of duels, and he was aiming to win even if it took every solid fiber of his being. Maybe he could just look past all of this and get some rest. He was deciding to walk back to camp when he was alerted by the usual signal that they were needed on the field.

Hyrulian forces had closed in on them once again. And like the true diamond which was his trademark- it would be his time to shine.

Unluckily for Ghirahim if Zant had anything to do with it he was going to make sure that he was in his new place as he wished to impress their master just as much, and if that meant making sure that Ghirahim knew that place by ulterior means, then so be it.

Once on the field Ghirahim was going through his usual motions of exercising his expertise with a sword. Glittering diamonds were in his wake as he unleashed quite the attack on a group of unwitting soldiers. He had just pulled his sword back and licked the tip of it with tongue extended. Blood and carnage, especially by his own hand always got his instincts going and he was pleased to see that Ganon had looked on him a few times with a nod. He was outdoing himself as usual. Why had he ever thought that he was going to be shown up?

Confidence could be a great downfall and Zant having grown accustomed to having praise for his techniques on the battlefield only had a taste of it, and where he was concerned he wasn’t too thrilled with sharing the spotlight with the demon blade. He scoffed as he watched the sword operate. In a way it was captivating and like choreography. Ghirahim seemed to move through the throngs of enemies seamlessly. Now was the time to act.

Ganon directed both of them to follow, but Ghirahim was too occupied with his favorite subject- himself. Coming to attention he looked around realizing that his teammates were leaving without him. He hadn’t the slightest idea which direction everyone was supposed to be going, so when Zant helped to navigate him back onto the proper course he figured maybe his jealousy was unfounded.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“L’oten..” Zant chuckled to himself as he watched the demon blade fall for his strategy. It was underhanded, but a skilled one at tactics he saw through Ghirahim and noticed a fatal flaw: This guy was positively into himself, and while he could stay on top of any enemies that approached and grind through with his sword, it also annoyed Zant especially distracted nature had no place on the battlefield. Sure it occurred to him that Ghirahim could have been acting oblivious to lure in enemies- and if that was the case it was quite brilliant, maybe too brilliant.

The usurper was deciding that he would employ the demeanor and skills at going through the motions and sealing off his thoughts and emotions that made him a strategist of high caliber.

“This way,” Zant waved over his shoulder and was trying to appeal to Ghirahim. If he showed that he had second thoughts to try and be an ally to the sword then maybe what he was planning would go easily. He ran through groups of fodder soldiers and like he had planned and even anticipated, Ghirahim had followed without issue.

Zant finished leading Ghirahim into the keep, only it became perfectly clear that Ghirahim was being led into a trap as the doors shut behind him, and he noticed Zant dissipating like shadow. A mere doppleganger used to fool him. That threw him off and as he was using more basic techniques that related to his instinct to spill blood, he had been easily led and duped.

With a snap of his fingers after getting over the initial shock he finally resorted to his abilities as a sorcerer to get out of the keep. He was out just in time to see Zant finishing off the rest of the forces who had gone attack against them with a slash of his scimitar as he spun. Whirling, whirling, whirling, he had to admit even throughout the anger that was dwelling to the top at being fooled that he was mesmerized.

Insult was added as Ganon came to congratulate Zant with a firm nod and praising words. Ghirahim lit up at the prospect of receiving the same, but instead of getting so much as a word of thanks he was met with a shake of the head as Ganon walked past. His mannerisms and body language screaming at him practically that he had failed.

After such a fiasco all Ghirahim had wanted was to be as far away from Zant as he could possibly get. With a soak in the oasis and repairing his clothes back to a pristine state with a simple spell he was going back to the tent he had had previously all to himself. The thoughts of the warm pillows and blankets against his cool skin as he settled onto the settee couch he insisted on sleeping on, drove him inward. Perhaps he would have a nice evening in with one of the spellbooks or even one of the history books that they had recovered when attacking and looting Hyrulians. The possibilities were endless, but he was met with the very one who had insisted on making a fool of him.

He knew better than to start an argument on the field as Ganon would have reprimanded and punished him on the spot if he had an outburst like that. Instead right now at the moment he went for his bed and sat on the edge with feet planted firmly on the ground and glared at Zant. Silence wouldn’t suffice totally and eventually with an eerie calm he spoke.

“Why are you in here? Don’t you have somewhere else to sleep?” He blurted out and was met with a look from Zant that screamed how idiotic he thought he was. It was a simple answer wasn’t it? They were being forced together.

Ganon having the foresight to plan ahead had decided the best way to make them get along as his two lieutenants was to make them share a living space. Oh, he was a lot more like Demise than Ghirahim had first thought wasn’t he? That didn’t solve the problem that was at situation right now however.

“I am stuck sharing with you.” Zant murmured as he sat down on his own bed- this one a cot. There was a squeak underneath the weight of his body as he settled that made Ghirahim’s skin crawl. And as he stared at Ghirahim he added in his own unique tongue: ‘'Suvu’tuul.” Ironically enough Ghirahim had braved many languages and cultures and he recognized this word.

Degenerate. Just great he was being insulted by an interloper! How utterly perfect. Ghirahim shot back hotly.

“I know you just called me a degenerate and you’re one to talk. You lack any sense of fashionable tastes, and you look like if I truly wanted to knock you over I would just have to flick you and you would topple over!” That was only half true; he despised the eyesore of dark robes with runes and armor and that helmet. On the other hand he noted a sizeable difference between them and that unnerved him slightly. He wasn’t accustomed to being shorter except with Ganon, and that truly irritated him.

That was a really pitiful insult on his part; was he losing his touch? No, that wasn’t possible. He felt suddenly small as he realized the eyes burning with an unknown emotion were staring him down. He felt exposed underneath that scrutinizing gaze. Silence closing in like it was going to be suffocating he was getting ready to go into another tirade when he was interrupted by the taller male.

“You have the audacity to approach me, and tell me that I lack any sense of fashion? Heh. This coming from the one who wears a mantle, and radiates arrogance along with a decorum of ego the likes I’ve never seen. You are my roommate, but that does not mean I have to accept that, understood?” Zant was laying down the law and how he felt about things. All of it was so confusing to Ghirahim who tried to scramble about in his thoughts to find a good comeback, and found for a change there was none.

In fact he had the oddest urge of desire, but he was thinking it was just misplaced frustrations wanting to manifest into something different. He chose to just sit on his side of the room, and contemplate his thoughts, but it seemed that Zant wasn’t finished in insulting him.

“L’oden p’resu.” He heard the strange, yet deep tone as he had placed his nose into a book trying to dissuade this disagreement from escalating anymore. He wasn’t going to get that lucky it seemed, and he put his book down after a few minutes of trying to think what it was that the lofty one could possibly be saying about him. He decided to try to approach this from a different angle. Flattery usually got people to open up, and what better way than to keep your enemy close?

“What exactly are you calling me?” He tapped his fingers along his cheek as he saw that the other had turned his back to him. He saw the runes decorating across the dark skin in entrancing curves and circular touches and for the first time since meeting Zant that day he had to watch himself as he exhaled a breath. He hoped that wasn’t noticed- it would make him seem more vulnerable than he really was.

“I called you a rusty blade, and before that when we first met a light worlder. They aren’t wrong, I can tell that much just from looking at you.” Zant sat up after situating against the pillows on his own makeshift bed. It seemed that he wasn’t all that comfortable given his body language. The demon blade was a fan of instigating an argument keep things interesting, but instead of returning back his own insults he was choosing to go his route of curiosity and flattery.

“You aren’t wrong, well you clearly are about the ‘rusty blade’ insult, but that is just a base insult on your part. Usually one would be full of regret for giving a single utterance, but I am trying to appeal to you since we have to work together.”

“I don’t have to do anything that I abhor.” Zant said coldly, and was surprised to see that Ghirahim had got up from his side of the room with a flurry of diamonds of yellow, black and white. The glittering was brilliant not like anything he had seen in the Twilight before.

“That might be true… but you also appeal to me in another way.” The sword chuckled with his arms crossed and his back to the twili. “You could be quite amusing.. In fact..” He had a eureka moment, and before Zant could react he pulled him down and pressed his lips to his own. Unfortunately he also realized what he had just done so he stepped back looking as confused as the male in question in front of him.

“That didn’t happen.” He mumbled, watching Zant who was slow to react, but he did with a smirk on his lips. “I suppose animosity is a good fuel for any fire.” The usurper chuckled finding that the sword was amusing in his own ways. At least he served to give him a challenge, and wasn’t someone willing to curry his favor in each way like some of his servants could be. He could however be just as calculating and the argument was simply the beginning of things that made him surge with a desire to continue this animosity between them.

“C’ithu pon’nuul, hegaal muu.” Zant whispered against Ghirahim’s one uncovered ear after he pushed him against the wall. He could sense no pulse like he was used to, and the coolness radiated off of the demon. Since he had spotted his fellow lieutenant he had been thinking that he would hate him on the spot. Strange how he was now finding the sword so tempting wasn’t it? He pushed the other against the wall of the tent and pulled away and even made a move as if he was cleaning his hands off on the long robes of his pants. “I guess I can convince you to tell me what that means too, eventually.” Ghirahim muttered as he watched the usurper leave out of the tent and into the cool desert air.

He was hooked automatically, because he sensed another fractured part that he had missed for countless centuries. The blatant power and arrogance that had seemed to radiate with his former master, Demise- while Ganon was a calmer version, yet still powerful on his own.. It seemed that Zant held that quality unspoken- that animosity that had been between him and his former master, and while he hated it, he was also drawn out into it, and was only hoping that they would have a better chance to get to know each other. Zant wasn’t half bad, and Ghirahim a master telegraph figured that he was somehow putting up a wall the same way that he often did with his eccentric behaviors. Maybe they both were fearful and jealous of one another gaining Ganon’s affections?

Perhaps a compromise could be met and they could even move in synchronized attitude and strategy instead of bickering and trying to thwart each other.

At least hopefully Ghirahim thought with a sigh as he went out to the tent and looked out. There was no sign of Zant since he exited. Strange how he had gone from instantly despising him to being curious and even wanting to get along with him better. Still.. He wondered what exactly Zant had said to him and he would keep on until he was told; that was a guarantee.

[recentanimenews]

An Introduction to the "SAIYUKI" Anime

An Introduction to the SAIYUKI Anime... As Told By a Fan Who Read the Manga Almost a Decade Ago

By Dee Hogan

After being off the air for nearly 13 years, Saiyuki has at last returned to grace our televisions with attractive men beating the crap out of each other while waxing poetic about their dark-and-stormy pasts. But with Saiyuki's previous anime seasons scarce and its manga volumes even scarcer, you might be hesitant to check out the new series.

  Well, fear not! I, an ardent Saiyuki fan who read the manga as it was coming out almost 10 years ago, am here to provide you with the story exactly as I remember it. Which is to say: Very vaguely! Now you, too, can enjoy Saiyuki Reload Blast as if you were right there with the rest of the fandom, reading the manga in the mid '00s, selling the volumes to help pay for grad school, and now racking your brain to piece together the semi-existent plot of that gloriously feelsy action series you still love so very, very much.

  Come along with me on this journey, won't you? This journey...TO THE MAX!

Caution: Loving irreverence, questionable accuracy, and spoilers for the Saiyuki and Saiyuki Reload manga below. Content warning for mentions of child abuse.

  But First, a History Lesson!

Saiyuki began as a manga created by Kazuya Minekura. Well, I guess technically it began as the Chinese novel Journey to the West. Saiyuki is based on that classic epic, in the same way that Taco Bell is based on Mexican food.

Journey to the West is a Buddhist-inspired comic adventure story that follows a monk, a monkey king, a half-pig man, and an exiled immortal as they travel to India to retrieve sacred sutras. It's a complete story that has been translated in its entirety into English, unlike the Saiyuki manga, which is neither complete nor fully translated. Tokyopop imploded (along with half the U.S. anime industry) in the late '00s, leaving us one volume short from finishing Saiyuki Reload, and we've seen neither hide nor hair of the manga since. I am still salty about this.

  Pictured: Saiyuki sexily locked out of the U.S.

  The anime adaptations have fared somewhat better, at least: the three TV series (Gensomaden Saiyuki, Saiyuki ReLoad, and Saiyuki ReLoad Gunlock) were all released in the U.S., as was the film (Saiyuki Requiem) and the most recent OVA series (Saiyuki Gaiden). I only caught about 15 episodes of the anime, but my memory is that it's a reasonably faithful adaptation, albeit one that tones down the R-rated elements and adds a bunch of filler stories. Depending on where you live, you can stream both the original TV series and the Gaiden OVAs, but the two ReLoad sequels are confined to dusty DVD shelves for the time being.

  And if all these title variants are confusing you, then congratulations! You're well on your way to being a Saiyuki fan, because they're confusing to me, too. Saiyuki is to manga as Kingdom Hearts is to video games. The series has been running off and on for twenty whopping years, and it's splintered in a  bunch of directions along the way. For now, all you really need to know is that the central story goes Saiyuki, then Reload, then Reload Blast. Everything else is prequels and side stories.

  As for what that central story is all about, well...

    The Story!

Saiyuki takes place in Shangri-La, a fantasy world created by plucking Chinese fiction and history fruits from across the centuries, tossing them in a blender, and adding a splash of good old-fashioned manga tropes for spice. Humans and youkai share the land, six-shooters are as common as swords, and the main characters ride around in a jeep that's actually a dragon. (Or is it a dragon that's actually a jeep?)

  Things are going great until a youkai sorceress hooks up with a mad scientist and they start brainwashing youkai into murdering the faces off every human they can get their hands on. Then the local humans start panicking and murdering the faces off every youkai they can get their hands on, whether they've been brainwashed or not, and pretty soon everyone in Shangri-La is starting to feel pretty Shangri-Low.

To keep the peace, the local Bodhisattvas decide to send their Top Man, Double-Oh Sanzo, out West to find the culprits and tell them to knock it off. Our priest is joined on his quest by three companions: Goku, Gojyo, and Hakkai, each with their own uniquely upsetting backstory and particular set of skills. They're also all youkai (or at least youkai-adjacent), but they've been equipped with handy-dandy power limiters to keep them from going berserk like the others.

  Together our quartet travel across the lands, getting into scrapes, fighting off the minions their mysterious antagonists send after them, and frequently threatening to kill each other as they journey ever Westward, hoping to one day reach their foes and stop their nefarious scheme.

    And I'd tell you all about that nefarious scheme, but I have straight-up forgotten it. The Big Bads' oh-so-sympathetic underlings are prominent in the original Saiyuki series, but then they have to take an extended spa vacation, so most of Reload is one long semi-self-contained arc about cowboys and necromancers. It's GREAT, mind you, but all the tension and shootouts and good good angst have shoved what's-her-name and scientist-face and their plan to do something-or-other straight out of my head.

  Honestly? It doesn't matter. Saiyuki is about the journey, not the destination. More to the point, it's about the people you get to hang out with along the way.

  And speaking of...

    The Characters!

  There are a lot of compelling supporting characters (mostly antagonists) who drift in and out of the Saiyuniverse, particularly Kougaiji and his merry band of Youkai In Need of Hugs. But the story is carried by its four protagonists—most of whom you're also going to want to hug, and two of whom may try to kill you if you do—so you're gonna want to get to know them.

    A chain-smoking, booze-slinging, trigger-happy, permanently irritated Buddhist priest, he's the current holder of the Sanzo title and the wielder of some very powerful sutras, though he's usually content to keep those stored away and just shoot people in their dumb faces instead (all faces are dumb to Sanzo, I'm pretty sure). He met his trio of party members through various traumatic adventures and brought them together, offering them a chance to start over. Despite his grouchy exterior, deep down he's a good guy.

  ...Deeper than that. No, further. Little further. There it is! See? Good guy.

  Sanzo's history is told in fits and starts, which is to say I can't keep it straight anymore. I feel pretty confident saying he had a rough childhood, because this is Saiyuki we're talking about. And I know he witnessed his master's murder and it messed him up right proper. I have a working theory that Mr. Mad Scientist (Jianyi! That's his name!) is involved, because he used to be a Sanzo priest himself and sure seems to know a lot about our Sanzo, but take that with a grain of salt. Sure would make for some good drama though, yeah?

    Goku's the youngest-looking of the gang and often acts like it. Don't let that fool you, though: He's actually a powerful monkey king who was imprisoned on a mountain for hundreds of years. His memory's as patchy as mine, so all he really remembers is being lonely and then Sanzo freeing him and then him not being lonely anymore. See, happy things do happen in this story!

  Like another Son Goku you may know (who's also based on the monkey king in Journey to the West, by the by), this one fights with a staff and loves to eat. He's generally cheerful and friendly, but if you take off his diadem, he gets real angry, and not just because that diadem brings his whole outfit together, you uncultured boor. Mostly it's because the diadem is his power limiter, and removing it makes him hulk out somethin' fierce.

  I know this is the part where I'm supposed to say “you won't like him when he's angry,” but berserker Goku leads to some of the best fights and dramatic beats of the series. I like him when he's angry a lot more than I should.

    Half-youkai, half-human, Gojyo is the child of a “forbidden” affair between the two species. A literal redheaded stepchild, he was abused by his youkai stepmom and shunned by society at large. He had an older brother he loved (not like that, you pervs) who stepped in to defend him, to the point where he was eventually forced to kill his own mother to protect his brother. The two eventually meet again and it's... it's real sad, y'all. Gojyo's backstory is real sad.

  Nowadays he's a foul-mouthed gambler who likes to pick fights with Sanzo and quarrel with Goku, but he's maybe the most loyal member of the team and (despite being the least powerful) doesn't hesitate to step up to defend others. An asshole with a heart of gold, more or less. He fights with a sickle-flail that doesn't make sense but looks real cool, and he's technically a womanizer, but don't let that stop you from 'shipping him with one of his teammates. Gojyo is Extremely Shippable, you see.

    There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who think Hakkai is the best character in Saiyuki, and those who are wrong. Since the rest of the team has zero chill, Hakkai has an excess of chill to balance them out. Perpetually smiling and perpetually The Saddest, he's the team peacemaker and magic user, the owner-driver of the Dragon-Jeep, and a secret badass. Hakkai has removed his power limiters exactly twice, and exactly twice he has ruined his opponents. Other fun facts include: Can and will drink you under a table. Technically died once to save his friends. (Don't worry, he got better.)

  His backstory is basically one big D: emoji. Born a human, he had an older sister he loved (yes, exactly like that, you pervs) who was kidnapped by the resident evil youkai noble. Hakkai slaughtered ONE THOUSAND MUTHAFUGGIN YOUKAI on his way to rescue her, but she died anyway because Kazuya Minekura is a cruel, cruel manga-ka. Also, it turns out that when you slaughter ONE THOUSAND MUTHAFUGGIN YOUKAI, you, uh...turn into a muthafuggin youkai yourself. Womp womp.

  Hakkai wasn't doing so hot after all that. In a fit of guilt and despair, he even ripped out his own eye to appease a vengeful youkai (he eventually replaced it with a fake one, and got a rad monocle to match). He was ready to rip out the other eye, too, but Team Sanzo showed up in time to slap his hand away and offer him a new life and a second chance. They're his FAMILY now and he loves them VERY MUCH and they all need to PROTECT each other and—

  Er. Ah-hem.

  So. Uh. Yeah. I used to scour eBay looking for a UFO doll of this guy because that's how badly I needed to give him a hug. Hakkai is Best Boy. It is known.

    Okay, But What's it About?

  Kicking ass and having feelings and looking damn fine while doing it.

  And if that's not enough for you, then here's a bit more: The title of the manga (最遊記) is a play on the Japanese title for Journey to the West (西遊記). They're both read as Saiyuki, but the manga replaces the kanji for “west” with the kanji for “most” or “extreme.”  With one simple character, our journey to the West has turned into a journey... TO THE MAX!

  And, honestly, that's what Saiyuki is about. Big expansive world, big bombastic fights, big heart-on-sleeve emotions, big tragic histories, big meandering narrative. Everything is cranked up to 11. The series first ran in a shounen magazine (targeted at boys) before later finding a home in a josei one (targeted at adult women), which I think speaks to the way it dances between all those extremes: From rip-roaring action-adventure to character (melo)drama and on over to broad or black comedy before bouncing right back to one of its other modes again.

    Is it over-the-top, unfocused, and unapologetically packed with shipteases and emotional fanservice? Oh, yeah. One hundred percent. But, all teasing aside, I love it. I used to devour new volumes in one sitting, cheer out loud during the fights, bite my nails when my boys were in danger, giggle at their down-time bickering, and lap up all those theatrical, quasi-philosophical monologues.

  I love it in a way that's hard to put into words because it's so intricately tied to being a stressed-out high school/college kid in the mid-to-late '00s, but I think it comes down the series' overall tone and message. Because, despite its many moments of levity (particularly in the early going), as bullets fly and youkai rampage, the story always comes back to a bunch of sad-yet-defiant survivors trying to make it in a world that seems fundamentally, maybe even permanently broken.

  It's devastatingly grim at times, but even at its most dismal, it always manages to offer a kind of skeptical hope instead of just pessimistic tragedy porn. “Everything is terrible, but I'm not gonna give up,” in essence. Or maybe more to the point: “Everything is terrible, but I have people who support me, so I can get through it.” And there are times even now when that message has been a comfort to me, melodramatics or no.

  Saiyuki is too gleefully ridiculous, both in terms of world-building and staging, for me to take it too seriously or champion it as A Great Classic That Everyone Should Try. Frankly, if you read “a jeep that's actually a dragon” and didn't at least crack a smile, you probably should have walked away right there.

  Even so, with its raging battles, skewed sense of humor, smokin' hot anti-heroes, and willingness to dive head-first into sensationalized but nevertheless sincere explorations of trauma, depression, community, and identity, it scratches a particular itch and does so very effectively. Saiyukiis intense and bombastic, as overloaded with bullets as it is with feelings. It's stylish, heartfelt, top-tier trash, and I can't wait to roll around in it all over again. Lock and reload, gang. It's gonna be a blast.

  About the author, Dee Hogan

Dee is a nerd of all trades and a master of one. She has bachelor’s degrees in English and East Asian studies and an MFA in Creative Writing. To pay the bills, she works as a technical writer. To not pay the bills, she devours novels and comics, watches far too much anime, and cheers very loudly for the Kansas Jayhawks. You can hang out with her at The Josei Next Door, a friendly neighborhood anime blog for long-time fans and newbies alike, as well as on Tumblr and Twitter.

  SAIYUKI RELOAD BLAST is available for viewing now on Crunchyroll!

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com