#and she is going to stop at nothing to get Gil out of the clink

[softquietsteadylove]

@theshipper47 had this lovely idea and I had to ask you!

tyrant king/Ice Queen AU or secretary AU:

Gil is in prison and Thena needs to get him out 👀

Gil sits down heavily into the seat, hunching himself to lean against the counter as the guards watch them all. He picks up the phone receiver, "hey."

"Hey, Baby."

Gil smiles. Thena has never been one to go crazy with petnames or cutesy couple behaviour. But since he was apprehended by the Korean authorities on their way back to London, she hasn't missed an opportunity to make it clear that she's his partner. "They set a bail number, yet?"

Thena keeps the smile on her face. They're both sure that the guards know at least some of what they're saying in English, so they haven't taken any chances. "Not yet, Yeobo. I keep asking them, though."

What she means is they still don't have any evidence to convict him on anything serious, they just don't want him to slip out of their fingers again.

Gil sighs. He's tried telling her to go home without him--maybe try to make some progress from the English side of things. Even having him expedited from imprisonment in Korea to the UK would be an improvement. They're a little easier to bribe, he thinks.

"Hey," Thena gives him a softer smile this time, tilting her head in the way he thinks is really cute. She presses her hand to the reinforced glass between them, "I miss you."

He presses his hand as close to hers on the glass as possible. "Fuck I miss you, Naekkeo. Sleeping here fucking sucks."

She purses her lips, "I'm sure it's miserable. And just to be clear, sleeping at the airport hotel without you isn't what I'd call enjoyable."

He chuckles. That's more like his Thena--who would normally have a little bit of a tough time expressing how much she misses him, especially around other people. "I'll be with you soon, Gongjunim. If-"

"When," she corrects him freely, and has been doing so everyday when she's allowed to come and see him like this. She raises her brows, "they find out who is framing you for all this."

Gil grins at her. Thena worked for him long enough--she knows who to call, who to trust and who not to. She knows how to fake documents and which ones need to be legit. Hell, she worked for him so long he's still surprised she wasn't brought up in the 'embezzling' charges they had gotten him on.

But that just means that whoever blew the whistle on him was on a personal vendetta, not really out to destroy his 'shipping' business.

Apparently whoever it was didn't know - and still doesn't - what a force of nature his Thena is.

"My poor husband," Thena sighs both loudly and sweetly, putting an extra sweet note into her voice. She flutters her lashes and lets her hair slide off her shoulders, revealing just a little bit of cleavage under her cardigan. "Stuck in this awful place."

Gil raises an eyebrow, leaning closer in a somewhat vane attempt to block the guards' view of her. "Uh, baby?"

But she gives him another smile and taps the glass. It's morse code.

I'm going to pay one of them to give you something for me.

The little minx--his clever snowfox, more like. He snorts, forgoing the coded message and simply drawing a big heart on his side of the glass with his finger. "I know, it's awful. Wait for me?"

She tilts her head at him, "I won't be waiting long, since you'll be with me in no time."

He smiles. She hasn't wavered in that belief even once while visiting him. Even when he's attempted to bring up the flat back home, or his office he still owns here, or any of the other domestic stuff. She won't let him even imply that he won't be back by her side as soon as his trial happens. "Okay, fine, you won't be waiting long. But still...?"

Thena gives him a look he recognises from their earlier days of knowing each other. There's a lot happening behind those eyes of hers. But she would look at him like this sometimes when she was contemplating asking about his business meetings, or that time she had his favourite sundubu delivered to the office when he was sick.

Eventually, her debate with herself ends. It's not denial driving her, rather the drive and belief in whatever she's planning that will get him out of here. She'll do whatever she has to--he believes it too, looking at her.

Thena draws a much smaller, but just as earnest heart on her side of the glass. "I would wait for you until the world burned down around me."

Gil grins, bringing up his hand again to let their fingers press against the glass, as if he could touch the tip of his pointer to hers. It'll have to do. "I promise it won't be that long."

Thena slips her hand away and draws her facade over herself again, clearing her throat and shrugging away any real emotion she had let bleed through. "Indeed--I'm going to go have a meeting with some old associates of yours. I believe they'll hear me out. We had a lovely chat over some tea last we spoke."

Ah, yes, the juniors he had met with whose faces Thena had smashed with a tea tray. They probably would hear Thena out, even if it was just because enemies of Gil's were also enemies of theirs.

"Tell 'em to be on their best behaviour," Gil chuckles. He snarls at the guard waving at him to wrap it up. He sighs, "I gotta go, Princess."

"It's okay," Thena whispers back, her eyes already glassy at having to watch him get led away in handcuffs again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love you, Naekkeo."

"I love you too," she promises, watching as he sets the receiver down, as does she. They hold each other's eyes until he's physically pulled from his seat to be marched back to his cell.

Thena undoes an extra button on her cardigan and stands, making a weepy show of picking up her designer purse.

"Ma'am, if you'll follow me."

Ah, so sweet and innocent seeming. She smiles at the guard--young, probably looking to rise in the ranks. And if he can't do that, then maybe he'll take a payoff from a rich inmate's wife. "Oh, how sweet of you."

She bats her eyelashes at the guard, making light conversation until she's almost out of the building. She looks at the young man without the crocodile tears in her eyes, "here."

He blinks as she slips an old nokia phone and pair of wired earbuds into his hand.

"You give that to him for me and this," she enunciates, slipping a thick stack of won into his pocket, "will be doubled by tomorrow. Can you do that for me?"

The young man gulps, but he doesn't hesitate to accept it, "yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," Thena purrs, watching the poor boy blush as she leaves the same way she came, surrendering her bag to be checked again. Not that anything will be amiss (the money was in the lining of the fake purse and the phone was nestled into her bra). "I'm sure my husband will remember your kindness when all this nasty business is over."

[taran-chan]

where we could dream away all day (chapter 6)

Read on AO3

we’ve been far away from my fears

“There we go,” Gil put a large plate of watermelon and a barley tea jug down on the porch. Kingo whistled and grabbed a piece, didn’t even stop talking for a moment.

“Where were we again?” He asked.

“I asked you whether we could extract my power to make a protection charm and Thena said no, then she told you to explain so she could check if you remember the “fundamental knowledge”,” Gil replied, pouring a cup of tea and placed it on the table for Thena, didn’t forget to use a coaster so it wouldn’t wet the surface. She was re-writing their ghost stories into one of the special scrolls from the temple. It looked like she had returned to herself after what had happened there last night and got to work right away.

“Here’s the thing,” Kingo says, “Your power, when it still remains in your body, also known as the host, it’s much stronger than when it’s extracted into an item. Therefore, if you were planning on extracting it into a charm like Thena’s, forget it, before you can create a strong enough charm from your power, your energy and vitality will run out first. In other words, you’ll die. Go to the other side. Pass away. Take a dirt nap.”

“Got it,” Gil exhaled sharply, leaning against the door.

The shower stopped the second Kingo ran through their gate with his backpack covering his head. The garden was brightened up by sunlight pouring through raindrops on the leaves. The wind brought birds’ chirping and windchimes’ clinking to them, making the ever-blooming bougainvilleas and other wildflowers all the more lively. The view was appropriate for a weekend hanging out between friends, rather than a meeting to discuss breaking in an elementary school at midnight.

“Do you always do your closure requests at night?” Gil asked. Thena's eyes flicked to him for a second then went back to the scroll.

“Not really,” she said, “Only when necessary.”

“Like when she needs to break and enter some public places, or to find the Beings that are nocturnal. In this case, it’s both,” Kingo continued, grabbing the second piece of watermelon with one hand, the other took from his backpack a big, rusty key and gave it to Gil.

“By the way, I got you the key for the back gate's lock.”

“How did you get it?” Gil asked.

“I pulled some strings,” the editor shrugged, and added when he saw the other man’s expression, “Nothing illegal.”

“Don’t speak while you’re eating, Kingo,” Thena frowned, “Disgusting.”

“You’d better hurry, I’m about to eat them all,” he fired back, “This watermelon is so good. And while we’re talking about hurrying, people are wondering when you will release a new book. Not just your fans, the publisher just asked me like…this morning. They said this is your longest hiatus.”

“So? Are they going to fire me?” She said, not even looking up from her work or pausing her pen.

“Every time,” Kingo groaned, “It’s hard enough urging a writer for her manuscript, what am I supposed to do when she owns the damn publisher?”

“You own a publisher?”

“Your eyes are about to pop out,” Thena commented, her lips twitching as if she wanted to smile, “My mother found the publisher, I just inherit it from her.”

“That’s how rich people talk,” Kingo put his hands up. She rolled her eyes tiredly as if it wasn’t the first time she heard that from him.

Gil earned a surprised smile from her when he placed a smaller plate, with some watermelon cut into tidy square pieces, onto the coffee table, along with a fork.

“Just in case Kingo inhales them all before you finish,” he winks.

“That’s wise,” Kingo jumped in, swallowing his third or fourth piece. Thena picked up the fork, piercing a piece and bringing it to her mouth. Her soft, plump lips slightly opened, catching the sweet and cold fruit. Gil held his breath when she moved her hair to one shoulder, revealing her porcelain neck. That, and her profile which looked like it was sculpted by the gods, were the only parts of her skin that the sun was able to touch. And by the lord, maybe it was aware of that and was trying its best to praise her beauty whenever it could. The weather is quite warm so her robe was hanging on the back of her couch, but she was still wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. And didn’t think he ever saw her wearing an outfit that exposes too much of her arms.

A strange spot appeared on her cheek, turned out it was only her fountain pen reflecting the sun when she tilted it a bit to think. Its body was glossy black, the tip was sharp and thin, probably made of gold, and apparently it didn’t need any ink to write. He had never seen it before. Thena always used common blue ballpoint pens for her draft and red pens to edit manuscripts from other authors. His train of thought was interrupted because Kingo poked at him and handed him his phone. Gil looked down at the screen and saw the editor had typed into his note app three words: You are staring.

Gil felt the heat spread from his neck to his ears. He rubbed his nose and moved his eyes to the garden, flustered. Kingo typed into his phone and handed it out again, making Gil’s ears burn even hotter.

I’m rooting for you, pal.

He snatched the phone to type his answer.

Why do we have to talk this way?

She has very good ears. She can hear everything. You wouldn’t want her to know you were staring at her, right?

“I was just wondering about her fountain pen,” he mumbled.

“This one?” Thena asked, twirling the pen between her long fingers. Kingo threw him a look that said “I told you so”.

“Uh...Yeah,” Gil stammered, “It's just that I’ve never seen it before. Nice pen though. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone use a fountain pen.”

“I only use it to write completed stories into the scrolls,” Thena said, confirming his theory.

“It’s from Ajak. For every generation, they get a new one,” Kingo snapped his fingers at the pen, “It has magic inside so it’s very durable, can’t be broken. And when are you going to stop my pop quiz?”

“Take it easy man, it helps. I learn quite a lot from you guys this morning,” Gil said, “I barely know anything.”

“Don’t worry, this request isn’t that dangerous,” Kingo patted his shoulder, “And you have that rare purified power, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Here, let me teach you more about Bookworms.”

When they finished the watermelon, Gil went back into the kitchen to peel some oranges. Kingo took off his shoes and sat cross-legged comfortably on the porch. The wood sculptor returned just as Thena put a period at the end of the last sentence. She dropped her pen, skillfully rolled up the scroll, then flopped over as if writing drained every bit of her energy. She peeked one eye open when she heard something crinkling by her ear. Gil was kneeling next to her head, touching a big caramel candy to her cheek. He smiled apologetically.

“Can I ask you something about our plan? If you’re too tired, it can wait.”

“Is this bribing?” She took the candy, her forefinger tapping on his.

“I think some sugar might help, and some light as well,” he jerked his head toward the porch.

Thena nodded, slowly sat up. Gil almost gave her his hand to hold on, but eventually he touched her shoulder for a short moment.

Thena settled across from Kingo and his drawings and notes about Bookworm, he even got blueprints of the school and its library. Gil sat down next to her. She drew her knees up and put her chin on them, exhaling deeply in the sun of a late summer morning. She and her garden of light, gorgeous as a painting. Gil chuckled to himself when he heard the candy crinkle in her palm.

“What’s your question?” She purred, her voice light as the sound of a bird's wings, and oh-so-sweet. Gil cleared his throat and began.

“Kingo said Bookworm looks like a snake, but a lot thinner and faster so it’s very hard to cut or stab it, so I’m confused about Ajak’s knife. How do we use the knife to catch it?”

“I mentioned a special mixture to catch Bookworms, remember?” She asked, tearing the candy wrap and popping the brown sweet into her mouth. He nodded, trying to drag himself out of the alluring scent like a spring meadow as her shoulder brushed his.

“Ajak said it wouldn’t be enough to hold this one down so I’m planning to combine both. We’ll spread the glue on some books that haven’t got eaten in the school library to bait it. When it reaches the books, our glue will slow it down, then we’ll be able to find its weak spot and attack. And you’ll spot its movements easier if it got all the pages stuck to its sides. If we get lucky and don’t encounter any Uncleans, it won’t take longer than an hour.”

“I understand, I’ll try my best to assist you.”

“And I’ll have a new one-shot from Minerva for the magazine’s next issue,” Kingo clapped like an overjoyed seal, “Bravo Thena and her partner, bravo Ajak, bravo the magic knife and Bookworm glue!”

Thena ignored when Gil flicked watermelon seeds at him.

★

“Last chance to get out,” Thena speaks up, her arms crossed and her back to the wall next to the school’s back gate. Scattered streetlights and moonlight were the only sources of light around the place. The buildings, stores and houses nearby were all closed up. Pitch-black windows from the three-story building stared down at them threateningly. Gil watched the steel gates, as rusty as the key on his hand, on top of them were steel spikes pointing upwards, but the wall Thena was leaning against was smooth and very easy for an adult to climb up, if they weren’t as big as he was. He looked over to her, who was still waiting for his answer.

“And I’ll say it again,” he patiently replied, but his patience was wearing off because she kept telling him that since before dinner, “Thena, I’m coming with you. I’ll be careful, I won’t stand in your way and I’ll help you finish the request if you need.”

Thena sighed resignedly, straightened herself, “Alright then, help me up. I’ll get in first and open the gate for you.”

Gil scanned the street to make sure there was no one around, before lacing his hands so she could step on and jump on the wall.

“Don’t ditch me, okay?” He said, passing her the key, and then she disappeared to the other side.

Her feet touched the ground with barely any sound. Just as Kingo had said, the old gate was reinforced by a huge lock. She put the key into the lock and paused. This is her chance to tell him to go back, or at least keep him out there and safe. But would it help though? That little voice inside her head spoke up again. He had followed her all the way here, would he obediently go home or wait outside until she was done? Was she sure that he wouldn’t try to find another way in? And he wouldn’t be so thrilled if she treated him that way, she didn’t want that.

Gil sighed in relief as the lock clicked open, a few seconds later one side of the gate squeaked and Thena’s head poked through.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Ready when you are.”

“Let’s go.”

They quietly walked across the empty parking lot and schoolyard to enter the building. Gil was glad that tonight was a cloudless night. The moonlight stretched their shadows on the ground, even pouring into the halls. Thena pull out two small flashlights from her bag and gave him one.

“Are you feeling nauseous or smelling anything weird?”

“I feel somewhat uncomfortable, but nothing serious,” she contemplated, “Places that are filled with memories, experiences or emotions would more than often attract supernatural Beings. Kingo also said besides the Bookworm, it looks like something else has been causing strange events here.”

“So, where do you want to start?”

“The library,” Thena said and led the way. They had spent most of the day studying the blueprints, trying to memorize the rooms that had been attacked by the Bug, and all those fire escapes for emergencies. Gilgamesh stepped in here ready for a fight; he had expected the darkness, but he hadn’t thought it would be this quiet. If it weren’t for the shuffling of their feet on the floor and his own heartbeats, he would think every sound is sucked up by something, maybe some other Bugs, like letters were swallowed in Kingo’s photos of those books. And that would be the worst, because he was already unable to see them.

They went upstairs and the library was right there, the first room of the hall. Thena pushed at the thick wooden doors and they wouldn’t budge.

“Stupid Kingo forgot to get us the library key,” she grumbled, rummaging around her bag and finding her Swiss army knife.

“If you don’t want to be involved in this crime, look away,” she deadpanned.

“Don’t make me laugh, or everything that’s sleeping in this school will wake up,” Gil warned.

She struggled with the lock for about a minute before it gave way. They entered and he looked at her questioningly. She shook her head, “I don’t see anything. Bugs aren’t sinister Beings so I can’t feel them. It’s probably hiding in here, probably not. First, let’s find some ‘fresh’ books as bait. When you found them, spread this mixture on the covers,” she handed him a plastic jar containing something that looked like blue glue, “We’ll stack the book in the empty space here, so when it’s trapped we can act quickly. And try not to make noise, it could be anywhere and might be pretty big by now.”

“Understood,” he said, “Let’s meet here after fifteen minutes?”

She nodded and they went in separate directions of the large library. Finding books that haven’t been eaten was harder than Gil initially thought. It seemed like the school had surrendered to what they must have thought was a prank and just left the ruined books there without replacing them. The condition of the books got worse and worse as he approached further inside, it seemed like this thing ate books from the inside out. He made a round and moved back to the shelves at the outer ring, trying to push away the ruined books to check on the ones that lodged deeper at the higher layer, and by doing that he did find a small pile before their 15 minutes was up. He hurriedly returned to the space at the entrance. There was another small pile of books there, no doubt they were Thena’s findings, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her bag was abandoned a few steps next to them.

“Thena?” He called out, be careful to keep his voice down still. No one answered.

★

Five minutes earlier

Thena stood in front of a shelf, stacking another untouched book about pirates on her own small pile of books, already smeared with her special glue. She hoped those books and whatever Gil could find would be enough to lure the Bug to them. She put the jar back into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and picked up the books. When she reached the empty space, her flashlight shone just in time for her to see Gil’s silhouette move past the doors and walked down the hallway. Why did he suddenly leave the library? Did he find something? She put the books and her bag onto the floor, running out with her flashlight and Ajak’s knife.

The hall was completely deserted, the moonlight no longer shone through. It was concealed by the clouds. She had the urge to call out to him but she might stir something else, something that must not know his name. She cursed herself for having left her phone at home. Maybe he was just searching in one of the classrooms. She started moving forward, a fear grew inside her that he might be in danger and hadn’t had any chances to shout for help.

She pointed her flashlight at the windows of the first classroom; nothing but desks and chairs and everything else that a normal classroom always has. So did the second one. But then a lot of things happened at the same time. She heard laughter, a children’s giggle but more sinister, echoing in the quiet hall. Her flashlight flickered and died out when the classroom door at the end of the hall creaked open. Her nose was hit by that familiar odor and she squeezed the knife, her only weapon. She took two steps ahead, her panic gasp was muffled by a hand covering her mouth from the back, another hand wrapped around hers to stop her from drawing the knife and stabbing him.

“It’s me, it’s me. I’m sorry,” Gil said, holding her closer to his chest. His warmth wafted over her and his power chased away her nausea.

“Why did you leave the library?” She whispered after turning around to face him.

“I was looking for you, I thought you found something. You disappeared from the library and when I looked out here I saw you walking down the hall. I thought something was off so I ran to you. What did you see?”

“You,” she replied calmly, “I was tricked. The thing in that room over there wanted to lure me out, so it created an illusion that looks like you. Come on, I have another job for you. We need to get rid of that Unclean if we want to deal with the Bookworm in peace.”

As soon as she finished, the lightbulbs above them flashed off and on. She was staring down at the end of the hall. Through the corner of his eyes, he could only see a floating shadow, darker than the air surrounding it.

“It isn’t as strong as the ones we encountered at the temple, that’s why it has all these tricks,” she continued. The little girl in the blood-soaked dress a few meters away from them kept appearing and disappearing like a common visual effect of horror movies.

“Uncleans can be born in an elementary school environment?” Gil asked in disbelief.

“Usually not, but perhaps the problems that the Bookworm has been creating increased the negative energy. Thoughts such as “It’s pretty boring when only the books are ruined”, “I wish something else stranger would happen”, “Something scarier would be nice” were born in the mind of some students.”

“That’s why the Unclean was born and it can create strange events to scare people, or to lure you,” he concluded. Thena silently agreed, her eyes never leaving “the girl”. Its head crooked aside like it was broken, its body shook, about to transform. It probably realized the tricks didn’t work on her anymore.

“If we don’t do anything, the events will get more and more serious until someone actually dies.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’ll be your eyes. When it attacks, I’ll tell you where to hit, okay?” She watched as the Unclean’s head grew from its disguise like a snake shedding its skin.

“Alright, stay back.”

She moved behind him, a few spaces away from him so he could move freely but not too far from his protection. The Unclean noticed right away and snarled at Gil, who was standing between it and a delicious prey. This one was just as big as a grown human being, they both had seen scarier things.

“It’s right in front of us and is about to attack. When I signal, give a straight punch,” she instructed, “Then try to keep up with me.”

“Gotcha,” Gil said, getting into his fighting posture, feeling all his nerves tense, all his senses on alert.

“Now!”

Gil swung his arm as hard as he could, pushing the power from within him like it was his second nature. But as soon as the punch was thrown, he knew he’d missed, or at least it dodged most of the impact. The windows rattled as if something just hit the wall below them.

“On your left!” Thena shouted. With excellent reflexes, he struck immediately. This time he didn’t miss, he felt his power hit it directly, spreading and dissolving into the air. He didn’t dare to turn and look at Thena though, for fear he might be wrong. It was not until she touched his shoulder and told him that it was gone that he relaxed and dropped his arms.

“We did it,” he grinned.

“Not bad for a beginner,” she smirked.

“Give me five,” he raised his hand again, waiting. Her fingers twitched but she hadn't had a chance to do anything when came a loud noise from the library; a noise that sounded like a large creature was thrashing around, throwing books from shelves.

“Damn it!” Thena said, then ran toward the noise, with Gil close behind.

The library was in a whole different stage compared to when they left it. Books were scattered on the floor, a shelf was on the verge of collapsing in a corner of the room, and the pile of books that they prepared was tossed around as if something was rummaging through it. Gil couldn’t see the Bug, he could only imagine based on a drawing of a Bookworm that Kingo had shown him that morning. A very long creature, only thicker than a sewing thread, its body was inky black and created from the letters it consumed, attached together into a string, with a head similar to a venomous snake and two sharp fangs. An ordinary Bookworm wasn’t longer than a human arm, but with the way the pages were torn mercilessly like that, this one obviously as big as a boa.

“It’s stuck in the glue!” Thena drew her knife, the silver blade gleaming under his flashlight, “Let’s restraint it, I’ll tell you where to grab on.”

They jumped at the books. Thena reached out and grabbed behind its head like it was an actual snake. With her instructions, he also managed to catch it by its body. He gritted his teeth, enduring the whips of its tail, pinning it down. But by then, the mixture reached its limits and wasn’t able to hold a Bug that size and fell off just as she was about to stab its head. The Bookworm knocked the knife out of her hand with a strong thrash and sent it flying across the room. If she hadn't dodged in time, she would have lost her hand to its fangs.

“Get out of the way, it’s coming at you!” She only had a few seconds to warn Gil before it turned on him, who was still holding it, but that was enough for him to roll to the side, avoiding its jaw. It hissed at him and Thena threw a book at it, getting its attention. She turned and ran in between the shelves, with a 2-meters-length Bug close on her heels.

“Thena!”

“Get the knife!” She yelled back while pushing more books off the shelves to slow it down. the gears in her head running at full speed trying to figure out another way. Ajak always gave her enough information and tools to conduct a request. She must have missed something. What was it? The knife, the mixture, Gilgamesh…

“Gil! Get the manuscript from my bag!” She dodged as the Bug crashed into the shelf right above her head, missed her by a hair and poured a bunch of comic books to the floor. Meanwhile, Gil had retrieved the knife and pulled out some papers from Thena’s bag nearby. He recognized they were the manuscript of their ghost stories. He followed the noise to find her. Thena had almost circled the library, she appeared in front of him in the science section, her hair looked wild as a lion’s mane. Their eyes met and she didn’t notice the creature had slammed itself into a shelf, but Gil did. He rushed toward her just as the entire shelf collapsed and Thena put her hands over her head. He shoved himself between it and her. Books fell everywhere, burying the Bug, except where she was crouching because his back and arms had blocked them all.

“Go!” He urged. Thena scrambled to get up, taking the knife and the manuscript from him. She took off again, this time chasing after the Bookworm, which had dug itself out of the mess. He waited until she disappeared from his view to wriggle his way out of there, creating a small domino effect as the shelf toppled over and dragged two other shelves with it.

Thena was able to block the Bug’s escape. She offered her bait.

“Hungry, aren’t you?” She threw the papers onto the ground and stepped back, letting it devour the stories written there. It turned out Ajak had another purpose when she told them, especially Gil, to come and tell those stories. His power not only could be passed from his body to the items he made, but also to the story he told and written down by her. Even though it wasn’t as strong when dispersed, that much was enough to deal with a Bug. When it touched the letters from his story, its whole body shivered hard then started to tie itself up into big knots. Soon, it was immobilized and all Thena had to do was step up and stab it. Gil approached and she held up what was once a massive Bookworm. He could see it now; a very large, black ball of thread.

“You alright?” She asked.

“I’m good.”

“Ajak will pay sweetly for this,” she mused.

“What does it do?” He asked, “And how did you know to use the manuscript?”

She just shrugged.

“You really are a genius, you know?”

“Just experienced,” she said finally, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, “Anyways, we can go home now. Hurry, I still have to make a rough draft for this.”

“We just leave everything like this? We trashed the whole library.”

“I know, that’s why we have to go before the security comes. The noises we’ve been making must have woken the entire neighbourhood,” Thena put her things into her bag and made a beeline to the door, didn’t even check if Gilgamesh was following. They sneaked out through the fire escape. Gil got out first, Thena stayed to lock the gate from the inside before once again climbing over the wall. She jumped down next to him at the same time two police cars passed, only a street away from them, heading to the school’s front gate. They just have to turn their backs, choosing a shortcut in the opposite direction to go home.

★

The clouds had cleared, the moon had risen, stretching their shadows into two long shapes for the second time that night. They passed a closed-up Chinese restaurant, a couple of red lanterns hung on the entrance, still flickering and swaying gently in the wind, and Gil couldn't help but wonder if there were any ghosts following them. He was rubbing at his sore shoulder while he walked, he thought a book had landed on him the wrong way when he held back that shelf. And he kept stealing glances at Thena. Her hair almost white under the silver moonlight and her deep eyes made her seem unreal, ghostly but intoxicating. She looked up all of a sudden, catching his gaze, quickly and unhesitantly as catching a firefly into a jar. But then she sighed, her shoulders dropped as if the adrenaline had gone completely.

“What happened back then was a mistake,” she said, “I shouldn’t be tricked so easily. It’s because I’ve never had a partner, I’ve never had to worry about anyone else’s safety except my own.”

“I understand. You mean you don’t want my company in the next requests?”

He felt a boulder lift off his chest when she shook her head.

“If it weren’t for you, I might still be struggling with the Bug,” she admitted, “I just want to say that we need to be more cautious from now on.”

“Look, you don’t have to worry for me. I’m not dumb, you know? I won’t do anything without asking you first, you’re the expert here,” he nudged her a bit, “Let’s just stick together in the next ones, if possible.”

“Very well,” she smirked.

“Why do you do these closure requests though? I mean, I know it’s a part of the tradition, but are there any reasons for that?”

“Because the effects brought from those stories are stronger,” she said before she could consider it. There she goes again! This is the second time she casually said things that shouldn't be said to him. If she kept letting her guard down like this, he’d probably know about it at the end of the month.

“What do you mean “effects”?”

“It’s nothing, Gilgamesh. It’s nothing you need to know,” she looked away, using a tone that clearly wanted to end the conversation. He noticed the way she anxiously pulled her sleeves down lower, covering her entire arms and wrists. She increased her pace to walk ahead of him.

“Come along. Your back must be hurt from carrying that shelf. I’ll give you some pain relief patches.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

★

“Take off your shirt.”

“What?!”

“Take off your shirt,” Thena repeated patiently, holding up a few patches, “Or do you want to do it by yourself?”

“With these muscles, I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he laughed, “Thanks.”

She kneeled behind him as he sat down by the front door and took his shirt off. She touched his shoulders and back and he told her where to put the patches. If she saw his ears were bright red, she didn’t say anything. Her cold fingers drifted across his back, from one shoulder blade to another. Gil wiggled at the spot, not sure if he wanted to scoot away or closer to her.

“Stay still,” she complained, her voice seeming to be even lower in the middle of the night. He stopped moving altogether, trying to find something to distract himself.

“Where did you learn your fighting skills?” She asked, “And your reflexes are very good too.”

“I was a gangster once.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” he snorted, “I was a boxer until I’m 30. It was a long time ago so now I’m a little rusty.”

“Rusty isn’t so bad,” she patted the patch she just put on him, smoothing it nicely, “You will get bruises tomorrow. Remind me to change the patches for you.”

He put his shirt on and turned to face her. They were close to the point that her knees and his shins touched. Thena tucked some of her hair behind her ear and went on, “Also, we have to think of a way for me to repay you for tonight.”

“You just did,” He pointed at his shoulder.

“That’s not enough. You heard Ajak, if the price isn’t fair, there will be consequences for the both of us.”

“What’s your idea?”

“I could waive this month's rent, of course you don't need to cook.”

“Or you could write me a story?” He paused to gauge her reactions, but she only stared at him confusingly, “Like when you do the homework for your writing class. From now on, whenever I help you with something, after that I’ll give you three random subjects and you’ll write me a story, as long or short as you want. Is that okay?”

“Why?”

“I just want to read more of your story,” he smiles, “Besides, I think it’d be easy for you because it’s already your specialty.”

“This is the first time I got a request like that. First, give me your hand, I need to weigh the price to see if it’s enough.”

He didn’t hesitate when he put his hand on hers. She closed her eyes as if to feel something and he got a moment to sit there and watch her. Her hair fluttered, perhaps because of her mystic ability. Eventually, she opened her eyes, gracefully moved their folded hands into a handshake.

“I didn’t expect this, but it’s a fair price.”

“So we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

He squeezed her hand slightly and she squeezed back.

“Want some tea?”

“I could use some tea,” she stood and pulled him along, “I still have a draft to write before bed.”

“Coming right up,” he headed to the kitchen, “Meanwhile, I’ll think of three subjects for the first story.”

“Great, more work,” She muttered and he laughed.

[rosemochi]

16

16. Daybreak.

"How much for a room?"

The innkeeper stares. Zack stares back. He knows he's getting blood all over the floor, but it's not as if he can help it, and if the man declines to help him, then the puddle will just get larger. Finally, the innkeeper sighs, and Zack's shoulders sag in relief. "Hundred gil. Only got single beds, though."

He limps towards the desk. It takes a great deal of effort to grab his wallet, considering Cloud is still slung over his back. "That's fine." After a pause, he says, "Sorry about the mess. I'll clean—"

"Don't worry about it." The innkeeper hands him a key. "Room charge includes a cleanin' fee."

Their accommodations are filthy, but it's still better than the lab. Zack sets Cloud down on the bed, strips him of his wet clothes, and covers him with as many blankets as he can find. He still looks uncomfortable — because anybody would've been uncomfortable on such a thin mattress — so Zack takes his own pillow and shoves it underneath Cloud's head, leaving his own side bare. Finally, he collapses into a nearby armchair and watches Cloud with half-lidded, heavy eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

Cloud doesn't answer, of course. The only noise that greets Zack is the sound of the slums outside the window; the bustling crowds, loud, inhospitable, naturally wary of broad-shouldered men in sleeveless turtlenecks. It was a miracle that he'd even managed to find this inn, considering most people in Sector 7 avoided him like the plague. "We'll figure it out." Zack's voice is light, airy, confident; the opposite of what he feels inside. "It'll be fine."

---

It's not fine.

The next day dawns. Zack counts out his remaining gil. There's only enough for a week's worth of food, and that's if he stretches it. Going to the hospital isn't an option, and it's far too late to take a potion, so he eventually resorts to digging out the bullets in his torso with a pocket knife. They make a strange kind of music as they hit the bathroom sink, clinking against the porcelain, accompanied by the steady drip, drip, drip of Zack's blood. Cloud sleeps through Zack's grunts of pain, which he's grateful for — he doesn't want Cloud to see him like this.

As Zack bandages his wounds, he thinks back to the encounter that gave him all of these injuries to begin with. He's pretty sure Cloud didn't get hit by anything, but it's not as if he's conscious enough to say otherwise.

"Sorry, buddy," Zack says. "Gotta do this."

He lifts the blankets up. Cloud's torso looks fine — other than the keloid scar in the center of his chest, stark against his pale skin, and the frightening way his ribs stick out from his body, made thin by five years of stillness and artificial nutrition. Zack doesn't look for very long, because it feels weird; he's oddly flustered by the time he finishes his pseudo-examination.

Once he's finished, Zack goes to sit on the side of the bed and misses it entirely. He slowly sinks to the threadbare carpet, his shirt catching on the rough comforter as he goes down. His head is pounding, as if somebody's hammering on the insides of his brain with a hammer. "Good," he murmurs, relieved. "Just me, then."

---

Zack wakes, his head still aching, and hastily dresses in the only outfit he has. He wants to run his errands before the slums awaken, but Sector 7 is full of early birds... that are naturally wary of Shinra-issued super-soldiers. Zack arrives at a grocery store, dressed in his infamous uniform (sans pauldrons, though it doesn't help much), beelines for the produce, and promptly gets spat at over a bushel of carrots.

"I'm an ex-SOLD—" Zack sighs. The old Wutain woman walks away, muttering curses under her breath. "Nevermind."

He heads to a nearby clothing store and spends far too much money (five gil) on a new set of clothes. The turtleneck, belt, and pants find their way into a nearby dumpster. Now incognito, Zack quickly buys some necessities — food, water, more bandages, a bar of soap — and races back to the hotel room, eager to check on Cloud.

"I'm home," he announces. Cloud doesn't respond. Zack sits on the side of the bed and rifles through the grocery bags, emerging with a container of fruit. "I bought blueberries." He hastily covers his mouth with his other hand as he coughs, his chest burning from the exertion of running up the stairs. "Your—" Another cough. "Your favourite."

---

Could he be a mercenary? He doesn't see why not, really, other than the fact that somebody might recognize him (when he's supposed to be dead). Could leveraging his ex-SOLDIER status help drum up more business? Is it worth the risk? He'll figure it out in the morning, he decides. Zack lies his throbbing head down on the mattress and falls asleep, dreaming of the painkillers he'll buy with his mercenary money.

The fourth day comes. Zack opens his eyes and hisses in pain; the sunlight feels like it's burning a hole through his skull. He flips onto his stomach, seeking darkness, and hears an unfamiliar groan.

It takes him a moment to recognize the sound.

Zack leaps out of bed and immediately sways on his feet. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, but he can't let whatever it is stop him — Cloud needs him. He grabs a bottle of water, brings it to Cloud, and holds his head up so he can drink it.

As soon as the bottle's empty, Cloud asks, "Where are we?"

"Sector 7," Zack says. "The slums."

Cloud's eyes roam up and down Zack's bare torso, pausing at the blood-stained bandages. "I remember the cliff," he croaks. "I thought I dreamed it."

Zack lays back down on the hard mattress. He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "I wish."

The mattress squeaks as Cloud turns to face him. Zack carefully looks at him, emaniciated but animated, taking in all of the features — sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones, dry lips — that display his illness, equivalent to Zack's own sorry state. Still, there's something about the sight of Cloud that Zack finds strangely wonderful, something that makes his heart race — a feeling made stronger by the fact that it's him, awake, present, right beside him.

"We're alive," Cloud whispers in wonder.

"Yeah." Zack smiles. "We're alive."

---

Though Zack might not stay that way for long.

Day five. The morning sun burns his eyes like acid. Whatever's been plaguing Zack has grown infinitely worse, and he suspects it has something to do with one of his bullet wounds — whatever's making his bandages stain yellow rather than red. Or perhaps it's because he sat in soaked clothes for hours upon hours as he hauled Cloud to Midgar, frozen to the bone in the frigid December weather.

Or perhaps it's both.

The reason doesn't matter, really, because that's not the point. Isn't he supposed to be immune to these sorts of things? What on earth was the point of his augmentations if he still gets things like colds and infections?

Zack ventures back outside in search of medicine, for things he hasn't taken since he was a child in Gongaga, fighting against strep throat and bronchitis. He heads to the nearest pharmacy, because he still can't afford a doctor. Unfortunately, he finds out he can't afford basic remedies either.

"You got wounded?" The pharmacist says, eyes wide. "How long ago?"

"Five days."

"Way too late for a potion," he murmurs. He looks Zack up and down, then rifles underneath the counter. "I'm not supposed to sell these without a prescription, but..." He rings up the antibiotics. "Two hundred gil."

Zack grimaces. "I have fifty."

The pharmacist directs Zack to the veterinarian next door: somebody who sells drugs under the table for cheap. Zack pays ten gil for a bottle of canine antibiotics (which is still too much, but he can't take care of Cloud if he's dead himself) and stumbles back outside. His head swims as he wobbles down the street, knocking shoulders with Sector 7's many residents. He hits one woman particularly hard. "Sorry," he slurs.

The black-haired woman whirls around to face him. She gasps. "Wait—"

"Sorry."

The woman says something else, but Zack rushes forward, eager to get back to Cloud. He makes it back to the inn (though he's not quite sure how), tears his way back into the room, and promptly rushes for the toilet. The bile tears through his esophagus as it comes up, leaving his throat raw and scorched in its wake.

Something crashes in the bedroom. Zack looks over the rim and sees Cloud crawling towards him, a blanket tangled around his legs. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," Zack insists, though he's sure he's not doing a very convincing job of it. He flushes the bile away. "Got meds."

Cloud hunts around for the bag that Zack dropped on the floor. Exhausted, he leans back on the bathroom cupboard, rips the bag open, and inspects the bottle. "This says 'for Fido'."

"He said something about 'equivalent doses'," Zack groans. "No idea what that means."

Somehow, he musters up the energy to pull himself up to the sink so he can brush his teeth. Cloud crawls up with him, using the counter as leverage. The image in the mirror is a frightening sight; Zack can barely recognize himself. Cloud reaches up and pulls a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Zack's temple. "When was the last time either of us showered?"

Zack grimaces as he thinks back. "Five years ago?"

It's a good thing they decide to shower together, because they end up having to hold each other up. Cloud doesn't have the dexterity to unbutton his own pants, so Zack does it for him; Zack doesn't have the strength to lift his arms above his head, so Cloud hooks his arms underneath Zack's shirt and pulls. They take turns scrubbing each other clean, trying to make up for each other's deficiencies. Zack's bandages get soaked, but he simply doesn't have the energy to care. "Bend down," Cloud says. "I'll get your hair."

The hot water doesn't last long. Strength spent, they end up on the floor, gasping for air and clutching each other for warmth. Zack's feverish forehead lands on Cloud's cold shoulder; the sensation makes him groan in relief, even though the rest of his body is frozen to the bone. "We might have to stay here forever," Cloud gasps. "I don't have the strength to haul you up."

Zack slowly drags his head up. Droplets of cold water drip down Cloud's chin, his jaw, his neck, collecting in the hollow of his throat. Zack's mouth is impossibly dry; if he didn't know any better, he might've tried to drink from it. "I'd be fine with that," he admits.

---

"Why did you give me your pillow?"

Zack drags his eyes open. Dim streaks of light pierce through the blinds, highlighting the dust in the air. The clock on the nightstand reads 5:30 AM. "You needed it more."

"How?" Cloud croaks. "I was unconscious."

Zack doesn't have a good answer for that, so he stays silent. Cloud sighs and tugs at his shoulders. "Roll over," he says, and Zack slowly complies. His head lands in the center of Cloud's chest — a much comfier surface than the hard mattress. "Stupid," Cloud whispers into his hair. "You're so stupid."

They slowly drift back to sleep. Zack dreams of everything — his childhood in Gongaga, his days as a SOLDIER, the bloodshed in Wutai, the pain, the glory, the atrocities, all blending together into a whirlpool of dreams and nightmares. At the center of the maelstrom, always present, is the laboratory and the years he spent with Cloud, so close and yet so far, within arm's reach but miles away. In his dreams, the glass is impenetrable, no matter how hard he tries to smash it; his screams are muffled by the mako that spills into his throat, filling his lungs, robbing him of freedom.

But not anymore.

Cloud is here. He's in front of him, beneath him, warm, breathing and alive. Cloud's arms rise up to hold him, enveloping Zack in a comforting warmth that feels like home; Zack's hands clutch at Cloud's shirt as if it's the only thing tethering him to the Planet. The fabric underneath his eyes quickly grows damp.

"Still feverish," Cloud whispers, his lips moving against Zack's forehead.

"Yeah?" Zack mumbles, as if he can't tell — though he obviously can. His head is swimming; he feels like a child again, sitting in the bow of his dad's fishing boat, feeling the ocean tug him to and fro. "Not enough dog meds."

"I'll go get them."

Zack's arms tighten around Cloud's waist. "Don't," he says. "They're not doing anything anyway."

"You have to keep taking them for them to work," Cloud argues. He eventually wiggles out from underneath him, though Zack does his best to make him stay put. An eternity passes before he returns, medicine and water in hand. "Open your mouth."

Zack's throat, still raw from bile, aches as he swallows the pills down. Cloud puts the medicine aside and collapses on top of him, utterly spent. They lay there for a while, arms twisted around each other, Zack taking comfort in Cloud's steady heartbeat. "Don't know what I'd do if I lost you," Cloud whispers.

Zack gently runs his fingers through Cloud's sweat-soaked hair. "You'd be fine."

"No," Cloud quietly argues. "No, I wouldn't."

Zack slowly sinks back into unconsciousness. For once, he dreams of nothing; his mind is a dark, cool abyss, a refuge from the fever. When he's pulled back into the world of the living, his surroundings are much of the same. Zack awakens to soft fingers running through his hair, stroking his burning forehead, caressing his sunken cheeks. Is he still dreaming? "Don't stop," Zack croaks. "Feels good."

The stroking continues. The fingers trace his brow, the slope of his nose, the bow of his parched mouth, thumb swiping against his bottom lip — where they suddenly stop. Zack opens his mouth to speak, to breathe, to ask for more, when something else presses against his lips: a mouth as chapped as his own.

The kiss is light, because it has to be; even in his dreams, there's no energy for passion. In its absence, the gentlest of movements becomes profound. Zack sighs as he gently presses his lips to Cloud's, swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, seeking his warmth. A shiver tears through him as Cloud's tongue brushes against his own—

—until Cloud abruptly pulls away. He coughs, his chest rattling as he desperately tries to catch his breath. Zack holds him tight and rubs his back until the coughing fit passes. "Shh," he whispers against Cloud's forehead. "Shh."

Cloud eventually stills. Zack can tell he's feverish too; the skin underneath his lips is hot to the touch. "Sorry," Cloud croaks. The misery in his voice makes Zack's chest hurt. "I'm sorry."

Zack shakes his head. What on earth could he ever be sorry for? "Don't be."

They lay there for what feels like an eternity. Zack drifts in and out of consciousness, through the past and present. The fever tries to pull him under, but he briefly comes up for air. "I'll kiss you properly," Zack croaks, "when we're better."

Cloud's arms tighten around him. "We're not getting better."

He's right. Zack's fever persists, no matter what meds he throws at it; he can feel death hovering nearby, waiting to pull him into the ether. "If you can move," Zack slowly says, "I want you to go to the hospital. Don't—" He coughs. "Don't worry about the—"

Cloud inches himself up Zack's body and kisses him again. He coughs, then kisses the corner of Zack's mouth, coughs, then kisses his cheek; the hacking sound is loud and startling, as if it's tearing his lungs into two. "Shut up," he says. "I'm not leaving you."

Zack's eyes close against his will, robbing him of the opportunity to argue. As he slowly sinks into darkness, he feels something wet drip onto his face, like a familiar droplet of rain from a stormy sky. If he were to open his eyes, would he see dark clouds? Would he still be on the cliff, lying in the torrent, waiting for death?

He opens his mouth to the rain, eager to soothe his parched throat, and tastes salt on his tongue.

---

Zack awakens. The light behind his closed eyelids is warm, soothing, like the sunlight that dries the earth after a storm. A soft breeze brushes against his neck, stirring his hair.

"Hey."

Zack cracks his mouth open. "Hey," he croaks.

The weight of Cloud's body pushes him into the ground. Is he alive? Dead? Has he always been dead? Zack doesn't know much about the afterlife, but he knows it's supposed to be a paradise, and an eternity with Cloud is the closest he'll ever get to it.

The sunlight grows warmer, enveloping him from within. The pain in his body ebbs, replaced by something that Zack can only describe as peace. "I love you," Cloud says.

He turns his head towards the sound. "I love you too," he says, smiling. "Always have."

Another sound slowly enters Zack's consciousness; two sets of heavy boots, smacking against wooden floors. "Somebody's coming," Cloud says. "Shinra?"

Zack wraps his arms around Cloud, holding him tight, tighter, until they're as close as two people could possibly be. Their bodies meld into one entity, one soul, impossible to separate, together for eternity. "I'm not going anywhere without you," Cloud says.

The boots come to a stop. "No," Zack agrees, shaking his head. "Never."

Knock.

Every single thing Zack meant to say over the past five years comes out in a rush. "I love you," he croaks, because he can never say it enough. "I love you, I love you—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I love you too," Cloud says, his voice thick with tears.

"What are you tryin' to do, tear the damn door down?!" the innkeeper growls. "Hold on. I've got a key."

It doesn't matter. None of it does. It doesn't matter what will happen, if they're alive or dead or somewhere in between, if they're spirits wandering through the ether, souls flitting through hazy dreams — because they'll always have each other.

"I love you."

The door opens.

[noodlyfun-blog]

Mystics and Malice

I have new stars that fly above me. They’re bright; the brightest is green like Gugo’s hair. They form no constellation  but make a foundation. I sit in a tall tower, surrounded by lightning on the top floor. Nothing is keeping me inside but I like looking out into the distance. Way off is a visible island, the sea is no longer infinite and dark, over it I can see the old stars of my dreams. Odd that they sit over land now when they used to just rest over sea. Primary color is a deep blue, blue like the oceans. 

The tall Viera, illuminated in a dull orange by candles, sighed deeply and closed her diary. She hadn't been keeping up with her dreams as she had wanted and knew she had forgotten some details; but dreams are temporary like these days spent in a city. Alaria took one last look around her makeshift tent; her tea kettle resting over a small fire, a couple empty chairs across from her, a small table with only an assortment of odds and ends resting atop, and a depressingly empty jar next to her that simply read ‘Tips’. It was a rough night outside the tent with rain falling in sheets and thus it was a bad night for customers. The woman stuffed her diary back in her bag and replaced it with a single night-blue teacup. She'd at least enjoy a sip of hot tea before making her way through the cold night for the ship.

Alaria had just lifted the hot kettle when a pair stumbled their way into the Viera's tent. She couldn't make out too many details of the two as they both had their own drenched cloaks wrapped tightly around their faces. Neither had a tail nor discernable ears. They were neither very small nor very tall. Neither seemed to acknowledge the Viera at the other side of the table, their wide eyes darting in every direction and to each other. Alaria couldn't tell if they were shivering from the cold or trembling in fear. She decided that it must be both. 

"Welcome my dear new friends. Please have yourself a seat." The two jumped in surprise when Alaria spoke in her sagely, mysterious witch tone as they realized they weren't alone. 

"You're both in luck as I was about to read my leaves. Come grab yourself a seat and share a cup of tea with me." The two were hesitant and just stared at the Viera with wide, fear-filled eyes but she got a better glimpse of their faces. They both had gray eyes and the same nose, clearly siblings, maybe twins. The Viera smiled at them while placing the kettle on the table. "Come now, it's very warm." 

The promise of warmth loosened the two up and they tentatively stepped deeper into the tent, eyeing the flap they entered warily as they sat. Alaria rose to her feet and blew out all the candles except one and extinguished her little stove taking the fairly lit tent into a barely illuminated haven. She returned to her chair to see the pair more at ease with the lights dimmed. 

The Viera returned to her chair and pulled out two more tea cups. She filled all three cups with hot water before opening a jar with loose tea leaves. She sprinkled a fair amount into each cup. 

"Now while those are heating up, how about you tell me your names my new friends? Mine is Alaria, reader of the stars and teller of the moon." She spoke barely above a whisper with a sing-song seer voice. The two removed the cloaks from their head to reveal dirty but young faces, they both had to be a few years younger than Alaria. One sported some face around the face that barely passed for a beard and the other had a ring through their nostrils and long, red hair. 

"I'm Erryl and this is my brother Philipe" said the one with the piercing with a soft voice. Philip looked upset at being introduced. Alaria paid him little mind and motioned at the cups. 

"Erryl and Philipe, how wonderful for the stars to guide you to me tonight." She lowered her head slightly. "Now I want you two to think of a question that you need answered. Feel with all your being and concentrate on it as you drink your tea. And please don't drain your cup entirely, try to leave a thumbful." 

Alaria studied the two from behind her own cup as they drank their tea. Philipe seemed relieved to just have something warm, but his eyes barely left his sibling and the tent flap. Erryl mouthed a silent prayer as they brought the drink to their lips and drank with their eyes tightly closed. The pair had some mud caked on their faces, probably from hiding. What clothes she could spot under their cloaks were barely better than rags. The two were also thin. She frowned that she didn't have any snacks to offer. 

The Viera’s long green ear tilted toward the sound of boots splashing in the streets outside. She couldn’t make out how many pairs of boots were running out there nor the shouts being muffled by the rain and the tent. Erryl opened their eyes and Philipe tried to crouch lower into his chair at the sound outside but thankfully the boots seemed to run right past Alaria’s little tent.

"That should be enough tea for now." Alaria said to the pair as she pulled a couple spoons from her bag. The two turned their attention back to the Viera just as she had hoped and she handed them both a spoon. "Now swirl those leaves in your cups. And remember to concentrate. We want to make sure you get an answer." 

Philipe half-heartedly turned his spoon in the cup, paying much more attention to the outside of the tent. Erryl had returned their full attention to theirs and swirled and swirled, the spoon occasionally clinking the edge of the glass. Alaria watched them but began putting a few items in her bag. Normally there would be some expected theatrics as she tried to cultivate a mode, but tonight was not the night for it. Instead she spent a minute gathering whatever was in reach until finally telling them "Stop. That should be good." 

Alaria rose to her feet and leaned in behind Erryl, placing a hand on their shoulder for comfort, to gaze into the cup. They watched as the leaves settled into place; Philipe's leg began to twitch. The leaves danced and danced as Philipe’s leg bounced faster and faster and the rain dropped harder and harder. But as the leaves finally settled into their place, Alaria gave a big “hmmm” and squeezed Erryl’s shoulder.

“Ahh a wing.” She said tracing the outline of a wing with her fingers. Erryl leaned in more closely and even Philipe calmed down to watch. 

“What does the wing mean?” Erryl asked softly.

“It means you need to find your freedom. You are caged; held down by some oppressor.” Alaria says barely above a whisper. Both siblings’ eyes dart first to each other and then the Viera.“You may be crushed from a danger unless you find your own wings and fly to your own freedom.” 

“The Hikari Family wants to kill my brother!” Erryl blurted at the Viera; her voice cracking with a plea.

“Quiet Erryl! We can’t trust anyone!” Philipe interjected, his voice strained. 

“You heard her though! We need to run!”

“What do you think we’re doing?!”

“Please! You have to help us. We have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Please!” Alaria saw tears forming in Erryl’s eyes. Their brother looked absolutely exasperated. She pulled Erryl in for a quick hug.

“My dear new friend, you were guided into my tent tonight.” Alaria gave her most reassuring smile to both of them. The pair shared an uncertain look with each other as the Viera grabbed her bag. "I have a ship docked right now and we go back a-sea in two nights time. You can hide there and then we can get you out of the city." 

“And you’d help us just like that?! Erryl! We can’t trust this woman! There’s no reason for her aid us, no reason for her to not sell us for some gil!” Philipe pleaded with his sibling. Meanwhile, Alaria had already begun stuffing her bag with some of her things.

“Philipe. If she were to turn us in, she would have already. She’s done nothing but kindness for us.” Erryl reasoned. 

“Listen to your sibling Phil. I can tell that neither of you are armed so you’ll want to stick close.” The Viera had made it to the flap of her tent and opened it. “Come on then. Let’s open your wings and fly out of this city, hm?”

With a resigned sigh, Philipe relented to following their new guide out of the city. Alaria prayed her tent wouldn’t be moved by morning so she could collect it; she had grown rather fond of its ugly purple cloth. It was a long and harsh trek with bitingly cold winds and sharp downpour of icy rain as the three wove their way through backstreets and alleyways. The Viera kept an open ear and cautious eye to avoid any armed looking guard on their hike. Unfortunately for the trio, the cold rain made for empty cobblestone streets which meant no hiding in crowds. Fortunately though, the weather made the street lanterns nearly ineffective; their orange glows dimmed or dead in the winds.

No crowds meant slower movement as to not be seen. They had to have been sneaking their way for at least a bell in this miserable weather before finally spotting the docks across a bridge. Alaria ducked behind a box as the other two hid behind some barrels; one guard stood stoically in the middle of the bridge with his back toward the group. They could try and find another way across and into the docks but Erryl and Philipe were waning with each step. It was clear to Alaria that they were exhausted and needed rest.

There was only one clear solution Alaria sighed. She motioned for the others to stay down as she stood straight up. A small line of purple aether began to swirl around the Viera’s right wrist. She summoned all her anger toward those who would oppress and the line of aether became a pool encompassing her wrist. She invoked all the loathing she had for herself and the pool of aether swallowed her entire arm. She called forth the malice toward Her and the aether shot from her arm. Alaria glared at this man as her violet aether shocked through his body. He crumpled there and the Viera strolled toward his body. Maybe he was still alive but it didn’t matter to her as she rolled his limp form into the black waters below. She beckoned the siblings and they continued along.

Finally they had made it. Only Boone stood guard but his was a giant with an axe; only the foolhardy would dare tempt him. He grunted as the trio made their way aboard.

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Lewd Dancer (Hakuno, Enkidu, Gilgamesh)

They had come home from a city that was a mess. The rain was coming down hard and the night had fallen even harder than the downpour. His hair, groomed only at the finest of establishments had been ruined from its normal state, the being beside him being in the same fashion. They were dripping onto the floors, shivering more on Enkidu’s side of things because along with being drenching and windy outside, it was also cold.

The heatwave that met them as they opened the doors to his home were entirely the opposite though.

Hips were swaying lightly. The hands were winding this way and that as the woman before them moved. The lights in the room were on high, a few of the lamps covered by thin colored fabrics to add color to the marble floors.

She sang with that defiant little spine of hers appearing in her tone. His hairbrush was in her hands as she moved in the shortest shorts he’d ever seen and-

Was that one of his shirts?

It was falling from one of her shoulders, exposing her shoulder like a lewd piece of art as she leaned towards the lion statues in his foyer and sang on. The leg popped up, landing on the railing to the upper floors as she leaned back and belted the chorus.

Enkidu glanced to him, glancing back towards the door.

Gilgamesh shook his head, setting his bags from their shopping trip carefully in a corner.

Her hands were running through her hair, lifting it up as her leg came down.

More of those hip sways, he could see the perfect circumference of those asscheeks as she squatted down and went on with her pleasurable self-indulgence.

It wasn’t like this wasn’t a song he had seen on her phone before. The woman had simply deleted it off when he had asked, stating that the song had been something that her classmates at the uni had been listening to, but he should have known there was more to it.

She was unbound, free and joyous for once instead of bookish and hidden away. Her body was spinning as she slid in her socks across the floors.

The rhythm had taken over, spreading like a ray of sunshine over the land. She was becoming flushed in the face as she drew out those notes and let her hair fall where it may.

Such a fool, falling back on the couch as the song dropped into the chorus. She was making a loud kiss sound to the air before she was rolling back to her feet.

Her stolen shirt was falling again, but she was letting the buttons come undone.

“I want to be that statue,” Enkidu murmurs, watching her give a heated look to the statue of the lion nearby and sing to it the rest of the chorus. The white fabric was falling a moment before Gilgamesh felt a breath be sucked in.

His lingerie for her-

“I’m going to buy cameras for the house.”

The black lace cupped her chest, the silk bow holding it together against her back. The gold adornments hung, clinking here and there as she danced now. There was no missing how they gleamed against her belly, tempting him to come closer. She was dancing sunlight in the midst of the greatest of storms, a beacon of light shimmering before the hungriest of men.

The being at his side didn’t hesitate any further. They rushed forth, shedding their clothes as they went.

Enkidu’s hands went to her hips, earning a squeak before Hakuno was spinning around. She tried to stop, but the being began to move in time to the music, their mouth pressing to hers. They tried at the song lyrics, spinning her with them to get her back into this.

The warmth of her face could be felt from where he stood. The stutter in her voice graced his ears as he moved to he chair nearby and began to watch them.

Around and around, the brown and dark green hair swirling as they moved. It wasn’t a simple thing to get her to work with them. She would try to return to that shell of hers, earning another stolen kiss by Enkidu.

It seems they had paid attention, focusing on dancing her moves back to her like a beast mating tango.

She smiled as she slowly came back out of that mental shell.

Her eyes were glued to Enkidu’s own, her lips moving to sing the words again.

It seemed like they were having fun.

Gilgamesh pulled the jacket from his person, tossing it aside as the two went about their trivialities. His cheetah print jacket went to he couch nearby, soon joined by his black button up. His cufflinks were tossed to the endtable.

His eyes drifted up Hakuno’s person as Enkidu slid those heinous shorts down her body… to reveal nothing.

Air was gone. He isn’t sure how long he’s been lacking the ability to breathe, but surely it has been a while. His body is missing blood now, having had it all run south with the fact that his woman was dancing commando, wearing only the top part of the lingerie he had dressed her in. Her hands going to her hair again has him noting now that the earrings she has in match the gold dangling from her bra.

“One more time,” Enkidu purrs, earning a laugh as the song ends.

“One more time?” Hakuno asks, smiling over to the being with those lips of pure sin.

A beat begins, same as the one before.

Her smile begins to be echoed as the being before her strips themselves of their clothes. Their hand grabs her waist, pulling her in and wrapping one of her legs around themselves.

It’s a one-two step now, back and forth, all but grinding against one another as they start singing the song once again.

Enkidu leans in, moving their lips to Hakuno’s as the first stanza passes.

His hand moves to down his own chest as he watches her lift her other leg to wrap around their waist. She seems to all but prop herself up against Enkidu’s body, brushing her hands through their hair and sealing their lips against one another.

The song spoke of the sweetness of lips, well, she seemed to be testing that theory. The dimples of the small of her back are showing more.

It may be that the song goes on, but Hakuno and Enkidu head his way, all but falling into his arms with barely enough time for him to respond. Hakuno’s head leans back, those brown eyes glinting in mirth as he leans in and presses his lips to hers. Her hand cups his face, a laugh escaping as she tries to make this upside-down kiss work.

The being in front of her seems to enjoy trailing their own path, pressing affection after affection down from her neck towards her chest. Gilgamesh slips a hand along the woman’s back, giving a pointed tug before he finds the lacy fabric of her bra coming loose.

“Welcome back,” Hakuno breathes.

Welcome- as though he had been privy to such passionate play from her time and time again.

“Enkidu, turn her around,” Gilgamesh demands in response.

The sound he gets is a moan from Hakuno, his eyes trailing down to find that Enkidu has made it to between her legs. Their mouth is pressed to her warmth, sucking and lapping away with those emerald eyes looking up to him. There is no missing the glimmer, the gaze that says nothing less than that they’re going to do things their way.

So be it then.

Gilgamesh closes his eyes a second, thinking- or rather, trying to think. A second is all that the woman atop his lap needs before a hand is slipped between his slacks and body. Her palm is against the top of his shaft, her fingers stroking and wrapping around his member as though she’s done this before as well.

“Hakuno,” but she doesn’t let him finish his words.

Her body twists, a delicious moan escaping her lips before she presses her lips to his own.

Enkidu’s hands hold her up, but he can’t see how. He doesn’t really care to know. His hands are moving to her sides, holding her and sliding his hands towards her chest as she kisses him.

Sweetness meets his lips, a lingering chocolate taste making him hum.

She’d indulged before he had come home.

Her mouth moved to his jawline as she pulled away from him.

“She’s so wet,” Enkidu calls to them. “You should see this, Gilgamesh.”

His wild moonlight girl, illuminating his world like this; she gives him the most enigmatic smile and presses a kiss to his chest, right over one of his nipples.

“Gil-“

The being is stopped as Hakuno leans back and presses her lips to theirs. Her hips move, trying to compensate for her leaning so far back, but that gives him the chance to take those hips into his hands again and pull them up to his face.

Leaning in, Gilgamesh presses his mouth to Hakuno’s body. The wetness and warmth Enkidu had drunk in coats his tongue. A gasp escapes his tease of a woman, but Enkidu is laughing, pulling back from the kiss and glancing his way.

“We need the bedroom.”

They do.

Gilgamesh lifts the two fools up in his arms and gives a glance to the clothing.

A glance is too long, the two in his arms both make sounds of complaint before he finds them moving against him. He has arms wrapping around his shoulders, lips moving to his cheeks and lips. His head is turned this way and that, fought over like the last truffle in the chocolate box.

The sweetness of Hakuno’s lips mingles with the slight liquor taste that lingers on Enkidu’s lips.

He has to carry his two lovers up the stairs. He has to make it down the hall to their bedroom, faltering here and there as the onslaught becomes unfair. His pants are falling, Hakuno’s hand leaving him before having left them loose and unbuttoned. Enkidu’s hands stroke at his chest, words echoing in his head as they purr into his ear.

The sheets meet their bodies after eternity in hell.

There’s a pale body on his lap. There’s another body behind that, pushing Hakuno’s hair to the side before their mouth is moving along her neck and shoulders.

Gilgamesh moves to line up their bodies, his hands holding her in place before he finds her moving without him.

She all but impales herself, her head rolling back with a moan before he feels the warmth covering him. His cock seems to all but throb at the feeling, knowing this feeling all too well. The tightness is once more around him, welcoming him home a thousand times than her mere words had ever been able to do.

He rolls his hips, watching those hazel eyes look up to him. He leans in, intending to steal her lips only to find her dodging him. His lips press to Enkidu’s own. The two of them are left to moan, with little choice but to enjoy the feeling. His hands move to grab Enkidu’s manhood as Hakuno takes over seeking her own pleasure out of him.

Her hips move in time with him pumping Enkidu. His lips move in time with the being’s own as teeth bite at him. He can feel nails running down his back, leaving him to moan into Enkidu’s lips.

“Come with me,” Gilgamesh demands.

The being before him smiles a moment before shaking his head.

“How else would we celebrate your birthday, my friend, if we didn’t milk your body for all its worth?”

He feels his heart skip a beat as Hakuno turns his face back to hers and steals his lips. The swat to his ass is what does him in, the shock taking him over that edge.

“We’re going to keep going,” Hakuno tells him. “Enkidu and I planned this for months, picking a day after your birthday to celebrate with this surprise.”

[lostonrevenge]

Siren   (Part 1)

Summary: With Ursula’s necklace broken, Uma feels the sweet allure of fate when a siren is thrown into the Isle of the Lost – their tears one of the few resources able to restore the power of the necklace. Though pirates and sirens were never meant to mix. Can Uma fix her mistake before it’s too late?

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

The night appeared to be normal, the same cold winds down by the water and the same misty sky which turned everything grey. Uma, Harry and Gil were wondering back from the market place to the Lost Revenge after a little mischief making, their laughter echoing off the walls of the alleyways.

“We should do this again” Uma told her boys as they exited an alley which opened out onto the waterfront where they now stood. “I want to raid some of Mother Gothel’s lanterns, they looked nice.”

While Harry makes a sound of agreement, Gil’s mind is distracted elsewhere as he focuses on a spot of light in the distance.

“Gil, whaddya think?” Uma asks him as she turns to him. He was never as excited as Harry about stealing things, but he normally showed some sort of interest.

“What’s that?” Gil ignores her as he points to the spot of light.

“It’ll just be star” Harry is quick to dismiss.

“No, it’s too low to be a star” Uma says as she makes her way towards the light that is in line with the water. The boys follow her till they reach the water’s edge at the end of the wharf.

“It’s heading for the entrance” Harry points out as the light travels across the water, appearing to be floating mid-air above its surface.

Upon realising that Harry’s right, Uma nods her head, gesturing for the boys to follow her to the entrance. They carefully hug the shadows of the shacks on the wharf until they creep forward to hide behind the archway as the entrance of the Isle.

“No one was supposed to be coming” Uma whispers as she crouches down at the edge of the arch, both boys stand behind looking over her.

“Mal won’t be coming back, would she?” Gil asks.

Normally Auradon would warn them if they were coming to the Isle. In fact, they normally made a big deal of it, holding parade type events and pretending that the Isle’s people loved them. So, for someone to come here unannounced was suspicious to say the least.

“Why would she?” Uma dismisses as she continues to watch the light. As it comes closer the seemingly singular light splits into two. “It’s a car” she says as she looks back up at the boys.

Gil’s face is fixed with a look of puzzlement as he watches the car come nearer. Harry’s body language is set in defence, muscles tight and eyes glaring at the approaching lights. “What are they doing here?” he speaks lowly through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know, but there’s not many of them” Uma replies. She’s just as furious as Harry with having their homeland invaded unannounced but she’s also curious as to why they are there in the dead of night.

“Do you think they’re picking up more kids?” Gil asks, a brighter tone to his voice.

“They’d make a big show of it, wouldn’t ya think?” Harry says to him as the car passes through the barrier, the outside being rimmed in gold light.

The three of them prepare to retreat further back behind the archway but to their surprise the car stops just before the entrance.

“What’s it doing?” Uma asks as she leans forward in anticipation.

Before any of the boys can answer the front doors of the car swing open and two dark silhouettes of men step out. They are instantly recognisable as palace guards by the hats they wear and the shape of their shoulders. All three of them tense when they see the swords strapped to their belts, but to their relief instead of walking towards the Isle they turn and walk to the back of the car.

Uma gasps in a breath that she holds when the men open the boot and some kind of commotion arises. Appearing out to the side of the car the men carry a humanoid shape that thrashes in their grip. In the dark it’s hard to see but Uma can tell the figure is being held by chains, which clink as the form struggles in the arms of its captors. She’s about to move to get a closer look when she feels Harry place his hand on her shoulder, warning her to stay in place.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Uma asks back at the boys as her own ears strain to hear any voices from the guards.

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

“Should we take the chains off her?” one guard asks the other.

“No, she can breathe underwater” says the second as they walk to the edge of the bridge. “Let her struggle in them.”

“Underwater” Uma mouths from where she listens.

“Whoa, wait!” the second guard stops the first from removing the tape over her mouth. “She’ll put a spell on us!”

“No, she won’t. Not if we’re quick” says the first one. “Also, how can she breathe underwater if her mouth is covered? We were sent to drop her off, not kill her.”

The second guard huffs in annoyance and Uma thinks that he only obeys the command out of fear of losing his job. “Alright, let’s just get this over with. I hate this place.”

At his partner’s agreeance the first guard rips off the tape which is followed by an ear-splitting scream, not one of pain but one filled with anger.

Uma flinches back, her back hitting Harry’s legs as he whispers, “Siren.”

Her mouth drops open at the realisation. She had heard pirates’ tales about them but she had always thought that they were just recitings of drunken hallucinations.

“Throw her over” the second guard says before he and his partner swing their arms, hurtling the siren off the bridge, turning their backs to the sound of the splash below.

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

As soon as the guards make their way back to the car, Uma is on her feet and about to run to the edge of the bridge when she feels Harry’s hand tighten on her shoulder. “Wait” he whispers in her ear.

Uma breathes restlessly as she watches the car reverse away from the Isle. Only calming down slightly when she feels Gil’s hand slip into hers.

At the gold light shining around the edge of the car as it passes through the barrier, the boys let her go and she races to the edge of the bridge. Looking over at the water she sees its surface still mending from the bubbles of the splash.

“Is she dead?” Gil’s small voice interrupts their silence.

Uma looks over at Harry.

“She can breathe” he assures them both.

“Can she swim with those chains on?” Uma asks him.

“Depends how heavy they are. They’re strong swimmers but with the current…” he pauses looking over the edge, seeming to consider the possibilities of the siren resurfacing. “If she makes it up, she’ll be weak and vulnerable.”

“We need to find her and before anyone else does” Uma says adamantly. “We’ll search the shore in the morning with the rest of the crew. She won’t make it up for a while now.”

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

By the time the sun was rising the crew were already out searching the shoreline for any sign of life. They spread out along the rocks at the water’s edge, some still on the dock keeping a lookout but so far, they had found nothing.

Down the beach further Uma, Harry and Gil search amongst the shore edge, scattered boulders and rock pools. After being distracted by finding a nice-looking starfish Gil looks up when he hears Uma’s voice call out from behind a mound of boulders. In and instant he’s making his way towards her, Harry not far behind him from where he had been further down the bank.

Together they find Uma standing on the shore a respectable distance away from a figure in the water being lapped by the waves, bound by chains. Now in the day light they can see the captive more clearly. Lying on her side her face covered in a mop of long dark red hair which floats with the waves, her fair skinned torso morphing into a grey tail.

“Harry do you have your hook?” Uma asks as the boys stop next to her.

Harry doesn’t reply to the obvious question as he walks toward the figure in the waves. He approaches slowly, being careful not to startle the siren. She hasn’t looked up at him or moved in any way, but he knows she’s aware of him approaching her.

It isn’t until he’s a few steps away from her that she moves and he instantly stops, not wanting to be seen as a threat. A weak growl sounds from inside her throat as she tries to scream but she’s too exhausted for any sound to come out.

“Save your strength, lass. I’m not going to hurt you” Harry speaks gently as he crouches down in front of her. He takes hold of the padlock holding the chains together but when he brings up his hook to pick the lock, the siren panics at seeing its sharp point.

She growls again and thrashes in the waves, beating her tail into the sand, kicking up a splash of water that covers them both.

“You’ll only hurt yourself if you go about it like that” Harry says calmly as he slowly removes his hand from the lock and withdraws his hook away from her. “I’m sure you want to get out of these.”

Slowly the siren starts to calm down and the thrashing stops but her grey eyes never hide her terror. Taking this as a sign of permission, Harry once again takes hold of the padlock and dismantles it with his hook in a couple of quick twists. Slowly he unwraps the chains. Carefully placing them down on the sandy shore, pausing in between each one to remain as nonthreatening as possible.

Once the last chain is removed, Harry raises his hands in the air and stands up slowly in a surrendering gesture. Now free the siren hesitantly moves her arms, stretching them out carefully after being restrained for so long, never once taking her eyes off the pirate. She still doesn’t trust him not to hurt her, it wouldn’t be the first time one of her kind was rescued by one of his, only to be hurt by their hand. Drawing her arms back into her body she pushes herself back into deeper water and quickly swims away, leaving him standing alone in the waves.

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

“Was she hurt?” Uma asks Harry as he re-joins them.

“Nah” he shakes his head.

“She was tired though” Uma says, “I heard her trying to scream.”

“Aye, she was” Harry agrees as they head back to the rest of the crew to stop the search.

“You’re not disappointed she swam off?” Gil asks Uma, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“No, I expected her too” she says simply. “I need her to trust us. She has to come to us on her own.”

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

Harry barely had to wait anytime at all from when he’d sat down on the rock at the water’s edge, placing the tray of food down next to him. He’d thought he might be out waiting for hours or have to hide behind a rock so that the siren would show up, but it was no time at all before he saw a shape moving beneath the water.

She approached him slowly, her shoulders out of the water like she was trying to be as tall as possible to assert some form of dominance. Though she still eyed him distrustfully and angled her body away from him so she could make a quick escape if she needed to.

“You know I can hunt for myself?” her voice breaks the silence like a sweet song to Harry’s ears.

“Yet, you took the food we left out for you this morning, and ye came back” Harry reminds her, pushing the tray forward to entice her to reach for it. Before adding, “though, I doubt that ye could currently.”

She can tell by the way he eyes her, that he knows she is still too weak to hunt for anything apart from shellfish. “Suppose that I could: have you considered that I might think this is a safe spot?” she points out as she stops in front of the rock.

“Nothing’s safe around here.”

“I’ve noticed… I’m sorry” she says, sympathy reflecting in her eyes. She’s surprised that the pirate doesn’t ask how she’d got here. From what she’d heard, people of the Isle are ruthless and have no boundaries. Though he doesn’t push her, and lets silence fall between them while she eats from the tray.

After washing the last of the fish grease off her hands in the water, she looks back up to the pirate on the rock, staring out the sea. “What’s your name?”

“I saved you, you tell me yours first” he breaks his longing gaze away from the horizon to smirk down at her.

“You were given the order to save me” she corrects, remembering the girl on the shore finding her and calling him over.

“Her name is Uma – my Captain” he tells her. “My name’s Harry.”

“Harry Hook?” she guesses looking at the hook in his hand. The factor of children carrying around symbols of their parents on the Isle is known to her.

He nods.

“What do you want from me, Harry Hook?”

“For now, just your name.”

“Adamaris” the siren says swimming backwards before she dives and swims away.

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

The cold surface of a rock presses against her back as Adamaris hides from sailors roaming around the rocks. It had been happening more and more frequently over the last few days. Whether they’d heard word of a siren around the rocks and were searching for her, she didn’t know. But she knew she couldn’t be spotted.

For the last few minutes, she had been trying to get back to the open sea but got stopped in her tracks each time as the sailors came closer to her path. She backpedals again as their voices come closer, taking refuge in a rockpool with higher walls.

Leaning against the edge of the rock, she sighs in relief letting her eyes close. She knows that she can’t stay there long but it is a safe enough place to stay until the sailors move away again. With another breath of relief, she opens her eyes, but her racing heart doesn’t calm down now sensing a presence behind her.

Instinctively she turns around to see a figure standing behind her in a red coat. Her body jerks backward with a splash trying to get away from them before her mind catches up with her.

“Good thing you picked this one” Harry Hook says, keeping his voice low as he crouches down at the edge of the rockpool. “There’s a tunnel through the rock over there, that leads to a cave” Harry doesn’t wait for her to reply before he continues and points behind her.

Her eyes follow his hand to a rock behind her with an opening under the water’s surface. She turns back to him and fixes him with a look to show that she understands, before she turns and swims through it.

The swim through the tunnel was longer than she expected, but it made sense in hindsight since she had to do a 180 turn from the ocean. There were a couple of tight spots for her to fit between but she was able to squeeze through and make her way into the pool of the cave where she found Harry waiting for her.

“How did you know about this place?” Adamaris asks Harry as she swims to the edge of the pool to meet him.

“Uma and I know almost everything about the shore here” he tells her.

“Can I ask why you wanted me here?” she asks him.

Harry’s eyes seem to light up as the topic on his mind is brought up. “The waters around here are no longer safe for you. My Captain would like me to bring you back to our ship.”

Adamaris smirks slightly at how his language suddenly turned formal like he was reading out a proclamation. She didn’t bother to question their motives for wanting her on their ship. They had proven themselves kind to her and realistically she had nowhere else to go except into the hands of more captors. If they planned to hold her and keep her prisoner, she would go with it until she got a better feel for her surroundings and then escape.

“Sure” she says.

Harry seems a little dumbfounded at her sudden decision, though he only shows this through a small shuffle back. Reigning himself in, he crouches down at the edge of the rockpool before hooking his hands under her arms and hauling her out.

Up on the rocky surface Adamaris swings the rest of her tail out of the water before looking up at him. “Harry, when I turn I” – she doesn’t need to finish her sentence telling him that she’ll be naked since he’s already stepped back, taking off his coat.

With a blank look on his face he leans down to place it over her before he takes a few steps away and turns his back to her.

She smiles at his chivalry. He hadn’t even stared at her bare chest under her long hair, like the boys in Auradon do. Shrugging the coat more securely around her shoulders she allows her tail to morph into legs.

Harry turns around when he hears a small laugh escape from her, seeing her slowly switching her newly formed legs up and down in the air. “How many times have you turned?” he asks her as he steps back toward her.

“Once or twice, just to sees what legs look like really” she tells him as he crouches down next to her.

“So, I’m taking it walking will be a problem?” he smiles widely and doesn’t wait for an answer before picking her up and carrying her out of the cave.

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

It was an interesting walk through the Isle for her. Even growing up in Auradon with fancy castles as opposed to rusting slums, Adamaris had never really been across land. Occasionally she would swim down rivers and the deeper streams to catch a glimpse of modern civilisation, but even she knew that buildings and architecture weren’t supposed to look like this. She’d heard whispers of how bad living conditions on the Isle were, but they’d largely been kept under wraps. Now she could see why.

“How can anyone live here?” she muses as Harry and her step out from an alley onto a wharf.

“We don’t have a choice” is all he says to her as he carries her toward a ship docked in front of them.

As they step onto the ship, Adamaris spots the blue haired girl Harry referred to as Uma commanding the crew moving things around the deck.

“Oh, good you got her” she sighs in relief, abandoning her task and walking towards them. “Take her to my quarters.”

part 2

[alexisluthor]

Prodigal Son Deep Dive - “The Professionals” *SPOILERS*

*PRODIGAL SON SPOILERS AHEAD*

A lot happened in the latest ep of PSON, “The Professionals.” As soon as Malcolm walks into the station and everyone’s staring at him, you know something bad happened. Plus, Gil was drinking. During the day.

So, Eve’s dead, that’s a bummer. We also miss getting two episodes of the show due to the virus, so who knows what those two episodes contained. What we have to work with is a seemingly all-powerful Nick Endicott who promised Whitly in 1999 that he’d…sleep with…Jessica and destroy his family if he ever reneged on their agreement. He’s made good on the first point and is working on the second.

It is my theory that when Malcolm went to “interview” Eddie, the man in the room wasn’t even Eddie. If the team were smart and trying to intercept Nick Endicott’s attempt at framing Malcolm…they would have a bandaged man sent to the hospital – have Malcolm show up with orders from Gil to interview him (which is weird bc he’s a profiler, but whatever). They’ve already got the assassin in their pocket. She goes to Endicott, tells him she killed Eddie and planted evidence after Malcolm’s visit. Voila. Nick thinks he’s got the upper hand.

The team has to keep Malcolm in the dark, to make everything look believable. But notice, at the end of the ep, Dani is looking upward. As if searching for cameras or something. Eve’s place had been spied upon and I think the team hoped that Malcolm’s place was bugged as well so that Nick would get the confirmation he sought. Malcolm gives an amazing ‘shocked’ performance, because it’s not a performance. He really thinks he’s being arrested. Although, if you watch his face carefully, you watch his expression shift to something…else. Less shocked and more… ‘aha, I know what you’re doing here.’

Maybe he’s safer in the clink than anywhere else at the moment – at least until Nick is…taken care of. But the promos for the next ep indicate that he’s not in jail.

Speaking of “taken care of…” as soon as it’s mentioned that Mr. David was sick, alarm bells went off in my head. It was nice to see Martin ‘caring’ about his ol’ pal, and even nicer to hear him hiss at Eddie that he’s, “not like other prisoners.” Is Mr. David still alive? Did Nick kill him?

Now we know that Martin’s cushy existence behind bars is because of Nick. But at what cost? The way Endicott threatened Martin…talked down to him…offered him his little rug. I would say that Martin is a…dominant…type. I think it’s killing him that Nick has infiltrated his family so thoroughly. That pent up rage is probably not doing good things for him, mentally. I think a lot of that rage comes out when he’s brutalizing Eddie.

The scene where Eddie tries to kill Martin was fantastic. Martin being choked…Malcolm unable to get into the cell. As he was being choked out, it was like Martin had all but given up until he heard Malcolm scream, “Dad!” It was a moment that so perfectly echoed that scene when Martin was in a coma. It was Bright who brought him back to the surface. Martin’s eyes snap open and he gets the upper hand, going into full kill mode, and all Malcolm can do is watch. I think Malcolm watches in both horror and fascination. This is the first time he’s really seen his father do real damage, revealing his animalistic nature in the most brutal fashion.

What’s just as shocking is the way that Martin attacks Eddie. He goes for the eye sockets, which is one of the ways he’d mentioned previously, to a collegiate Malcolm, how he could kill him. He tells Eddie, “this is for my boy,” and grins wildly at Malcolm as he does it. It’s like watching his sanity snap in real time. And Malcolm can’t pull his eyes away.

I think part of Malcolm…a part that he’d never admit to having…wasn’t too terribly upset by his father’s brutal treatment of Eddie. That is the man who killed Eve after all… The look on his face is more one of fascination than disgust. Despite not being >>as<< panicked as when Martin was being attacked, he still urges Martin to stop. JT pulls Martin off Eddie and Martin has this moment…it’s almost like he’d disassociated a bit. He almost has to come back to himself. Hmmmmm….

And poor Gil and Jessica, talking about Malcolm – drinking – reconnecting. Their night had been going well. Jessica is right, she sure can pick ‘em. And to find out that she did have a history with Gil is beyond satisfying and something I think we all suspected. But to hear that she had turned him away – made him think he wasn’t good enough for her – that was brutal. Poor Gil. Still, he got to have his life with Jackie. And now he gets Jessica. Or does he?

Boy…what a time for Martin. He lost Jess both to his enemy Endicott, and to his enemy Arroyo. That rage will really boil when he hears about Gil. He already fears that he’s lost his boy to the lieutenant and now his ex? Ouch.

We get that lovely kiss between Gil and Jess and several other incredible moments with the rest of the team.

Ainsley puts herself in danger as she tries to investigate Nick. But part of me wonders…if she’ll be the one to kill him. I think Martin went after the wrong kid to try to convince to be a killer. If I had to put my money on it, I’d see her killing someone before Malcolm would. Then again, he did stabby stabby his very own daddy daddy but I think the reasons behind that were more complicated than – well, he’s a killer. I digress.

And poor Eve. No wonder Malcolm is haunted by her specter. In a way, it is because of his family that both she and her sister are dead. She had just begun to taste hope, had just renewed her spark, and boom –  her life was snuffed out. I think Malcolm’s psyche is more fragile than ever as a result… How many ghosts can haunt him before he cracks apart entirely?

And what of Nick’s fury? What happens when he finds out Jess has moved on to Gil? When she says “no,” to him? Eeeeek. Martin is the big, bad predator, but he can’t do much protecting from behind bars. And judging from the ‘upcoming ep’ scenes, there’s a bounty on Martin’s head. He’s going to be in gen pop – all of his cushy privileges bestowed upon him by Endicott revoked. There is a prison free-for-all in the promo for the finale so I still hold out hope that Martin could manage a jailbreak, or at least a chance at staying alive.  

Tangent --- If Martin does stay alive (which he better), how would his dynamic with the team be altered now that he’s a ‘regular’ prisoner? No more private room? No more desk and books and surgical consulting? No more Mr. David, lion nature specials, and extensive private phone time? His own sanity would probably begin to splinter. Maybe his work/cooperation with the NYPD and surgical consultations would be enough to get him some old comforts back? As much as Malcolm professes to hate him (and does hate him), I don’t think he’d like these changes for Martin either (because part of him, also begrudgingly loves him). Perhaps he himself could rescue Martin from the lost privileges? After all, is it really a GOOD IDEA to mix Martin with a bunch of other prisoners? He is a puppet master, a mastermind. So maybe Mal gets him his old existence back. Wouldn’t that be a twist? >evil grin<

What I need is Mal and Martin in the same prison. Malcolm protecting him from getting whacked while the team and Ainsley try to bring down Nick. But if Martin is urging Malcolm to kill Nick, that means that Malcolm’s free. No Prison!Malcolm for me unfortunately.

I think it’s also highly unlikely that Malcolm will kill Nick in the end.

Finally, I find it fascinating that Martin urges Malcolm to be the killer, rather than Ainsley, even though he’s talking to both of them. He points out that HE is a Whitly. Like…hello? So is she? (THIS REALLY BOLSTERS MY THEORY THAT SHE IS NOT MARTIN’S KID – that and the way he barely acknowledges her existence) Maybe she’ll take Nick out in the end? Who knows.

All I know is that the team is more kickass than ever. Malcolm improvising with that knife and ketchup? Perfection. Dani taking out the assassin. Beyond amazing. The director actually giving us a LIT SHOT OF TOM PAYNE’S FACE…YESSSSSS. There were plenty of wonderful moments in this ep that have me screaming at FOX to renew this show.

PS If Edrisa is the ultimate Malcolm Stan…HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW THAT HE HAD DATED EVE? LIKE…what kind of stalker are we here Edrisa? You can do better. Plus, no one from the team thought to CALL HER? Give her a heads up maybe? “Yo – Bright is coming in. He dated the dead girl. Act somber.” NOTHING. She just had no idea. This from the same woman who HAD MAL’S MEDICAL FILES after he got kidnapped? I just…. sigh…come on team. Come on Edrisa. (GIF courtesy of MyBoy)

[sahbibabe]

death and the maiden

a final fantasy vii: remake fanfiction

chapter one. valkyrja.

LONG, SILKY HAIR一as pale as fine rays of true, genuine moonlight, tipped with mako green phosphorence and royal blue as deep as the darkest depths of the ocean一tumbled down the woman's back in a luxurious sheet. It shone underneath the fluorescent lights of the train, providing a multitude of colors to the visible eye, a brilliant sheen of pinks, blues, greens, gorgeous ultraviolets, and neon yellows. Many people stared at that hair, watched as it rustled underneath the vents in the car, transfixed when it fell over a cotton clad shoulder to rest delicately at her back.

     Wedge had never seen anyone like her before.

      She wore no gaudy clothing like the rest of Wall Market, which was from where she had boarded, and instead donned a fine cotton dress, sewn with sparkling, yet modest golden thread at the wrists, collar, and the hem that covered her bare toes, which had been painted the deepest of blacks, filed down to a neat precision. Upon her neck rested an ornate crest that appeared black but shone like oil whenever she jolted with the train; upon her wrists, unusually, were orbs of materia of various kinds, socketed into charms and chains that wound about her fingers and dangled delicately from her knuckles.

      Above the cotton dress she wore a shawl, embroidered in the same golden thread and made of the same cotton fabric. It clung to her shoulders, hiding the deep diamond shaped cuts that exposed the majority of her collarbones and upper arms, and from the bottom that clipped close to her knees dangled tassels of gold, their knots wrapped around shining orbs of golden materia.

     Her eyes were closed, but he had heard whispers from the other passengers that she had odd eyes, as violet as the sheen of her hair. A serene smile was upon her face, like she had left this plane of reality long ago, and she sat as still as a statue, her hands were folded primly, holding a small pouch that she refused to remove her fingers from. Then she reached up.

      In her ears, one side of her hair being gently swept back to pull the generous lengths of hair to one side, dangled earrings that threw him for a loop. Bright yellow chocobos stared back at him with winky faces, their wings raised in joy, feet kicking outwards as if they had jumped in midair. It was out of place on a woman so elegant, so mysterious, and Wedge couldn't help but silently gape at her.

       On first sight, he had almost mistaken her for that Sephiroth guy that Cloud had spoken about in his sleep. But it was difficult to mistake her for him when her hair held those colors, the way her skin seemed to repel the light instead of attract it, and that sweet smile upon her lips; no one that at peace could be Sephiroth.

       "Pretty, huh?" From beside him, Jessie spoke for the first time since the woman had gotten on the train. She had been watching, too, in the same mesmeric form as Wedge. "I've never seen her before. Do you think she's one of Madame M's girls?"

       "I doubt it." Wedge pulled his gaze away. "She seems too modest for that. Maybe one of the receptionists?"

       "No, too… boring. She seems like the kind of gal that runs a business or something." Jessie tapped her chin with her fingers, snapping them when she came up with something. "A priestess!"

       "That's all you could come up with?" Wedge deadpanned. He dug in his pocket to produce a peppermint and put it in his mouth to settle his aching stomach. "I don't think your mom's pizza agreed with me tonight, Jessie. I feel like I just ate a handful of nails."

      "Or you just ate too much," she laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. He groaned and scooted away. "Big baby. We'll get Tifa to make something when we get back."

      "I don't think I could take another tonic," he complained. He looked back over at the woman, only to find her looking straight at him with a small, polite smile. "Uh…"

       "What?" Jessie urged. She then caught sight of the woman, then at Wedge, who's cheeks were beginning to flush a pale pink. "Oh, wowza! What pretty eyes!"

       "Jessie!" Wedge hissed, elbowing her this time.

       The woman's smile widened just a bit. She opened her mouth, probably to speak, but then thought better of it and turned her head away. The smile was still there, though, and Wedge felt himself getting even more flustered.

      "What?" She responded, standing when the train slowed to a crawl near Sector Seven. "It's true! She has pretty eyes! I've never seen any that color before!"

      "Ugh, nevermind. Let's go get that tonic. I think I might throw up."

       "Is that your stomach or your crush talking?" She teased, but shoved him off the train anyways, directing him down the street to the series of rooftops they would use to get back to the slums discreetly. "Come on, we need to get back to Biggs and一"

       "Excuse me?" The woman stood a few feet from them, a hand clutching her shawl and the other holding the bag in a vice grip. Her eyebrows were furrowed, setting those pretty ultraviolet eyes into a slightly unnerved expression. Framed by pale lashes, her eyes were almost ethereal. "Can you direct me to a bar called Seventh Heaven? I'm looking for someone there."

        "W-who are you looking for?" Wedge stuttered. Jessie sighed. "Maybe we can help."

       "I'm looking for a man named Barret." She shifted, turning towards the street. Her shawl's tassels rustled with the movement. "He said I could find him at this place, but I'm afraid I don't know where it is… or how to get there."

       "You're one of Barret's friends?" Jessie asked, eyes wide in shock. "I didn't know he even had any."

       "So you know him?" The woman stepped a little closer. The scent of lilacs and lavender drifted off of her in the breeze. "Can you take me to him? I'll compensate you for your trouble."

       "How much are we talking?" Jessie inquired, stepping up to close the distance between them. It was then that she realized that the woman before her was quite tall, perhaps even as tall as Barret was, flat footed. "The route we're taking is pretty dangerous. We'll have to protect you if things get rough."

       "Would one hundred gil apiece suffice?" She asked, rummaging around in one of her pockets and producing two single, one hundred gil coins for them. From the extra clinking going on in her pocket, it sounded like she had a lot more. "I can protect myself. I'm an experienced magic user. All I need is for you to guide me."

       "I'm sold," Jessie chortled, taking the offered gil and turning to Wedge. "What about you? We can split up if you don't want to do the job."

       "It's fine with me, but can we hurry? My stomach is rumbling up a storm."

     "Yeah, yeah." Jessie rolled her eyes and turned back to the woman. "How well do can you deal with rooftops?"

      "Well enough." The woman smiled, a sparkle of mischief in her eye. "Shall we go?"

      They walked down the sidewalk to one of the nearby alleyways where Jessie had set up a ladder before they left to her mother's house. They bypassed several thugs and drunkards, who parted for them knowing who they were, and allowed the mysterious woman to climb up the ladder first.

      As she reached the third rung from the top, Jessie asked,"So what's your name? I'm Jessie and this is Wedge. It's only polite we get to know yours."

      She vaulted over the raised edge of the roof like she weighed nothing with the materia attached to her body. "My name? It's Valkyrja."

      "That's a weird name." Jessie went up next. "I've never heard of it before."

      "You wouldn't have." Valkyrja smiled at her secretively before moving aside to allow the girl to help Wedge up onto the roof, pulling him up by the hand. "How far do we have to walk across these roofs?"

       "Not long, just until we can get to the back paths. Then we'll be home free." Jessie patted Wedge's back and set off down the roof. "Come on! If we get back before eight, we can see if Tifa's made dinner! Wedge, move it!"

      "Yes ma'am!" He breathed, jogging to catch up with her rapidly moving form. Valkyrja was right behind him, keeping from one roof to another as gracefully as a deer. "Watch out for the nails, wouldn't want to get caught in any of those."

      "I'll remember that," Valkyrja laughed, turning her attention towards Jessie. The girl waved at them exuberantly, pointing to another ladder. "Are we almost there already?"

      "Yep! This way's much faster than taking the normal route. That way we won't miss Tifa's cooking." His stomach rumbled in protest. "Or, maybe not…"

       Valkyrja laughed politely and allowed him to help her keep her balance as she lowered her foot to the ladder. "Thank you."

       "You're welcome." Wedge flushed red once more, following her down when she reached the bottom.

      From there they walked in silence, finally reaching the telltale walls of the slums. People waved to them and greeted them as they passed, eyeing Valkyrja with some suspicion, and Jessie took them all the way to Seventh Heaven's doorstep.

      Barret was sitting on the steps with Marlene, laughing up a storm while she colored in one of her books. The doors behind him were open, exposing Tifa, Cloud, and Aerith inside; Jessie even spotted Biggs with them. She bounded inside before Wedge could stop her, motioning halfheartedly to Valkyrja.

       "Sorry," Wedge apologized sheepishly. The woman inclined her head with a small nod of acknowledgement. "Jessie gets too excited sometimes. Hey, Barret, you have a visitor!"

      His laughing abruptly cut off. "A visitor? Who in the ever一"

      "Aunt Val!" Marlene exclaimed, dropping her crayons and book. "Aunt Val!"

      Wedge looked over to see relief pouring over her features as the little girl ran over to her and slammed into her legs, jumping and holding her arms up to be lifted.

       "Valkyrja?" Barret mumbled, the visible parts of his face frozen with surprise. "Well I'll be damned. I thought you were dead. And here you are, in the flesh."

        "Marlene," Valkyrja cooed, scooping up the little girl and showering her with kisses to her forehead. "Has Barret been taking good care of you, honeybunches?"

        "Yeah!" She exclaimed, wiggling to be let down. "Look, look! I got a new coloring book! Come look at it!"

       When the pale haired woman released her, Marlene bounded towards the stairs, gathering up her supplies to eagerly show to her. Wedge, baffled, edged up to the doors.

       "It's good to see you both safe," Valkyrja sighed, moving to grab Barrett in a gentle hug. Wedge was even more surprised to see him respond to it. "I was worried. When that reactor blew up, I thought you didn't make it. I came as fast as I could."

       "I'm glad you came, Val," Barret replied. Wedge could hear the tiredness in his voice; something he had never heard from him before. "Marlene missed you."

       "Not you?" The woman teased, poking him in the shoulder. She laughed at the face he made. "I'm just kidding. I know you did. I missed the both of you too. The temple had to be shut down because of the reactor going down, so I'll be here until it's all cleaned up."

       "I'm sorry. Not for the explosion, for the temple. I know how much it meant to you." Barret sounded almost apologetic. "So, sorry."

      "It's okay." Valkyrja patted his shoulder. "A temple can be replaced. People can't. Now, let's meet you and Marlene's friends. Her letters made me curious about them all!"

       "I ain't got none." Wedge paused, a little sting in his chest. "I got family, though."

       "Your family, then." Valkyrja smiled, her happiness brilliant underneath the neon red sign of Seventh Heaven. "I've met Wedge and Jessie, but who are the rest? Marlene told me about a Tifa, an Aerith, even a Cloud…"

       "Eh… Just wait till you meet em'. They're a good bunch of people. "

       "Are they now?"

       "I dunno. Cloud's still pretty iffy."

       "You're just saying that. I'm sure he's nice."

       "Sure I am."

finis.

tell me your thoughts! what do you think of valkyrja? how do you think she is connected to marlene and barret? what did you like, what did you not like? let me know!

[the-second-circle-ffxiv]

Common ground

It started like any other, very early morning in Ishgard - with the exception there was a little bit of thin mist hovering above the ground. Also, the complete silence was broken by constant clatter coming from a certain viera's high heels, while she marched along the silent streets. "I don't believe this", Silke muttered to herself while heading towards the Blacksoul manor. "I can't focking believe this." She had clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth. The damn package Lareine had left into her apartment and which Silke had found had contained none other than the godsforsaken dress Silke had been dreaming of since she had seen a mannequin wearing it in a display window on the day before they started to sell it. It was the latest fashion: a turquoise green - and her absolute favorite hue too - long dress with puff sleeves, lace decorations, crystal pendant and everything, including also a soft, dark blue cloak. Silke had known at the first glimpse this delicacy had been something she would never be able to afford, and in low spirits had been leering at other people scurrying around and wearing it while looking fabulous. And now she miraculously had one. It also fit her like a glove. It was without a doubt the fanciest and best fitting attire she had ever owned. This was also the first day Silke had gone out while wearing it, and she was sorry for all those poor bastards who weren't there witnessing this majestic apparition flying by. Silke's first reaction after opening the package had been pure dismay. Then the tears had come. She had managed to hold them back almost for a month, but apparently this had been too much. Lareine certainly knew her the best, perhaps even better than Asagi - at least in some things. Namely, Silke hadn't told Lareine about wanting the dress. They hadn't even been talking back then. After crying for a while Silke had started to giggle in disbelief while thinking about the price she had seen in the display window. Lareine had probably burned all of her money into this attempt of hers to make amends. Silke wasn't the sort of person one could steer by bribes but still she couldn't have denied this had impressed her no matter how hard she had tried. Well, it wouldn't hurt if she gave Lareine at least an opportunity to explain herself while not being intoxicated, Silke thought while walking. And the explanation had better be a good one.

Before she actually noticed it she was already standing in front of the estate. To her surprise Silke noticed she was nervous. She wasn't sure was it more because she and Lareine hadn't met in weeks, or because this was the first time she came here alone. Before this it had always been with Lareine, or her and Arsene. Suddenly Silke felt like an intruder. The estate - not to mention its master - was very grim and repulsive, although usually Silke was drawn to and liked dark but elegant things. Silke walked through the garden to the front door, grabbed the doorknocker and smashed it three times. For a moment it was completely silent. Then she heard heavy, leisurely steps approaching inside. That wasn't Arsene, she thought. He was usually almost or completely silent. The thick, wooden door opened with a lazy creak and a moment later Silke was looking at Varg, who was dressed in white blouse, black vest and formal trousers. The only thing that broke the carefully polished whole was his hair he probably hadn't done anything else to except hastily trying to sweep it back before opening the door. He seemed bored, and stared at Silke with narrowed eyes, like he would've just found a cockroach from the floor and was wondering what to do with it. The fock was his problem as well? Silke had never been rude to him or anything. In fact, they hadn't had any negative interactions with each other and still Blacksoul seemed to loathe her. The sudden spike of annoyance drove her trepidation away, and Silke opened her mouth to blurt out something snarky just for the sake of it. However, before she had uttered even a sound, Varg stepped aside, leaving the door open, turned around and said to someone Silke couldn't see: "It is for you." Iris dropped a half-finished toast back onto plate with a soft 'thud' as she heard Varg's voice from the hallway. The fock someone wanted of her? Had she forgot a shift at work? No. The Second Circle was closed today. For some reason, Asagi had started to keep the place closed for three nights a week. It didn't bother Iris, though. Considering the fact she didn't have to pay the rent, she still made a decent amount of gil. With a drawn out sigh, she forced herself up from a comfy, upholstered chair, wrapping a black dressing gown tighter around her matching, laced lingerie, and made her way to the hallway. "...Ya have ani fockin' idea what time it is? If dis is some...", Iris never got to finish her sentence as her gaze locked on the creature standing in the open doorway. Iris felt like someone had just dropped a huge, cold stone into her stomach. And soon the stone shattered, giving birth to a swarm of blue butterflies that filled her, sending a shiver up her spine and making her head swirl. For a short moment she could do nothing but stare at Silke, her mouth slightly ajar, and taking support of the door frame, as she felt like she could pass out. "...Am... Am I a heckin' dreamin' 'ere...?” she tried to gather herself. "S... Silke? You... Fockin' 'ell, you... look smokin' hot..." Iris couldn't move her eyes from the girl. She had thought the dress would fit her former friend, but never had an idea just how good it would look on her. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up again. "Uhhh... I was... just 'aving tea. Ya... care to sit down with mi? J... Just tea ya know?" she waved her hand towards the kitchen. "...Just... sit down for a moment, okai? I need to explain a lot of shite... A lot..." Meanwhile Silke was still standing in the doorway, keeping her hands behind her back and squeezing them together so hard her knuckles were probably bone white. Her uneasy gaze was bouncing between Lareine, the marble floor, Varg, the door frame, the dark, wooden roof, then Lareine again and so on. It sure was a strange as heck feeling when one wanted to both embrace someone and never let go, and punch their teeth into their throat at the same time. Without showing any kind of emotion Varg casually loitered back into the kitchen. Silke could hear a couple of faint chinks, and soon he walked out of there, holding a fresh cup of black coffee with a thin trail of steam rising from it, and disappeared into the corridor leading upstairs, leaving the two vieras alone. Not wanting to let a somewhat awkward silence to continue for too long, Silke released her hands, feeling her blood starting to circulate in them again, and closed the heavy, wooden door behind her. She followed Lareine into the kitchen and sat opposite of her spot on a chair that had already been pulled from under the table. It was warm. Silke's first instinctive reaction was to lower her gaze onto the table, and she noticed there was some bread crumbs or something there. "Did I interrupt your breakfast?" she asked in a polite tone. Iris made her way to the stove, pouring herself some leftovers coffee, and started to prepare a cup of tea for Silke. “Ya aint interruptin’ shite, Silke...”, she muttered, her back turned to the other. “...I heckin’ missed ya.” The whole situation felt so fragile. Like a soap bubble, ready to break at any moment, and to be carried away with the wind. Silke's words had kept ringing in Iris' head - stronger than ever during the last three weeks. Do not ever touch me again. A scent of herbal tea with ginger filled the air, as Iris made her way to the table, carrying two cups. She placed the tea in front of Silke, before walking around the table and taking a seat from the opposite side. For just a fleeting moment, the whole room was silent like a wintry grave, except for the clinking of Silke’s spoon against the edge of her cup. “...I dunno where to even start... I'm sorry. The whole shite was a royal fock-up from mi...”, Iris started. While talking, she kept her gaze down in her coffee. This was hard enough on its own. Just seeing Silke's face there, in front of her. No. Iris felt she would break if she looked the girl in the eye. “...Was about to get ya dat book I... ya know. But I have no fockin’ idea what the name was. My memory of dat evening... It's like someone just splattered black paint all over it. I dunno if I even paid much attention to the name... Aniway. Ya just... gimme the name of the book, and I'll get ya a new one from mi next paycheck... Okai?” During a couple of weeks, Iris had gone through her head a thousand times what she would say if she ever met her friend again. And now that the girl was right there, she felt like someone had taken her brain out and replaced it with pillow stuffings. "...I cut mi medication back then, ya know... I'm back on it now, but... Yeah. Since dat, everythin' just went down a fockin' shitslide..." And without even thinking Iris told everything she could remember to Silke. She laid everything on the table before her. About the night at Sakuya’s place, and Tora, trying to take her through the night without the medical dose. And how that had ultimately led to Iris almost sleeping with the feral forcibly. She told about Sakuya, finding the two from her bed, sheets soaked with blood. And how that had led into a fight, and Sakuya almost stabbing Iris before Tora stopped her. She told Silke about the night when she got back to Ishgard, how she got thrown out by Varg, and all the way to the moment when she found her way to Silke’s doorsteps. Silke quietly sipped her tea while Lareine talked. Part of her had been expecting the similar kind of shite like during that morning a few weeks ago with some miserable excuse toppings, and she had even thought beforehand some equally sharp answers to them. But to her surprise the situation had taken almost a completely different direction from the start. She couldn't help but to listen with wide eyes while Lareine told her about the mess with Sakuya and Tora. Silke had met them only for a couple of times briefly and didn't know those two well, but based on what she knew, they were chill folks. A bit weird ones, but in a good way. Just the kind both Lareine and Silke had high possibilities to get along with. People like that were rare treasures, since Silke was more than painfully aware she and Lareine - and especially Lareine - didn't get easily along just with anyone. And now Lareine had blown it, too. “...I dunno whut the heck got into mi... The thin’s I said", Iris went on. "Fock, I dunno how I could throw such shite on ya... It just ‘appened! And the kiss... Fock’s sake, dat will never ‘appen again... I promise! I just...” Finally Iris raised her gaze to Silke, biting her lip, eyes gleaming with tears she tried to hold back. Silke tried her best to keep her own feelings in check, but she was extremely relieved there had been something else behind Lareine's behavior than just being drunk. Silke had always thought the ancient proverb of drunks 'I didn't mean it, I was drunk', wasn't valid. Since alcohol messed up functions of the frontal lobe, drunkenness actually made people more honest. That's why Silke took the words of drunkards to her heart. “...I just felt miserable... Been fockin’ bottlin’ up mi feelin’s for ya for heckin’ years... And the whole thin’ just blew up onto mi face... On yer face!” Iris sighed frustratedly and wiped a single stray tear onto her dressing gown's sleeve. Meanwhile Silke quickly put her cup back on the table and yanked her hands into her lap so that they wouldn't be shaking on the table for all to see. “...I fockin’ love ya, Silke... And I know I focked it all up big time... But... Can ya, like ever... in dat cute head of yer, even think about forgivin’ mi? I know its fockin’ lot to ask, but... Could we at least... like... heckin' try to build somethin' back? I cant live without ya, Silke...” After Iris finished her story, there was a long silence. Finally Silke cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. She thought she owed some explanations to Lareine as well, about something else, from the time they had even met. "Back when I was a kid, I used to wonder why monks and priests dedicated their life to their faith and retreated into some desolate monasteries in the mountains", she started silently. Immediately she had to clear her throat again. It felt like there would've been some lump. "During my teenage years in Kugane I found out I was gifted in channeling aether. It was a mindblowing experience for me." Silke made an instinctive silly face accompanied by a gesture with her hands portraying like her head would've exploded and brain splattered all over the place. Then she remembered the situation she was in and lowered her hands into her lap again. "Before that day, I had managed whatever tasks I had done only averagely. I had never been truly skillful at anything. I don't know have you ever experienced anything like it, Lareine... discovering your true calling." There was still some tea left at the bottom of her cup. It'd be shame if such a good tea went to waste just because she had forgotten how to swallow, Silke thought. "My family members have always been very supportive, and I'm so, so grateful to them...", Silke continued after a short while. "But pretty much everyone else - both my so called friends and romantic interests - have been against it. 'Are you reading again, Silke? You're so boring, have fun sometimes! You have lessons again, Silke? We haven't focked this week even once, just cancel them! You wanna follow your dream, Silke? But what about meee?'" she imitated in a mocking tone dripping with bitterness. She had to take a very deep, long breath before she went on: "I was so angry at them... part of me still is. But after it had happened multiple times I also realized perhaps it wasn't fair of me to expect anyone to spend their time with a bookworm who hardly has any time or interest in the things most of other people prefer. So... I decided I would never again give anyone a reason to blame me for being cold or heartless for following my path, feeling my lifeblood in my veins..." During talking Silke had been mostly just staring at the table, her cup or her hands. She grabbed the cup again and gulped the leftover tea down, hoping it would've been something more potent. She had read from somewhere mind was actually so powerful it could become drunk without alcohol if one believed in it strongly enough. It didn't work now, though. At least not fast enough. She should've probably started telling her brain she was drinking booze since they had started talking with Lareine. "You saying you love me, Lareine... I'm humbled by your words. And... so flattered it almost makes me speechless. But I could probably never give you what you want from me... As much as I care about you... so much I could maybe call it even love of some kind... and I would absolutely want to keep you in my life no matter how this conversation will end... but it still doesn't make me want to stray off my course." At that moment Silke could've otherwise been like an archetype of a fancy looking portrait made of some revered noble. She was sitting straight, hands squeezed together on the table in front of her, wearing her expensive dress, and her long, straight, ash black hair tied in a loose bun. Her voice was stable and formal like she would've currently been in a job interview. But this paintinglike whole was broken by a slow flow of tears. Iris kept the gaze of her purple eyes nailed to Silke, as the girl told her story. She knew about Silke's old lovers. What they had been after. How Silke had been unable to live up to their expectations, and in the end, always got left with her books and spells. Was Silke right though? Had she been right all along? Maybe she had noticed all Iris' attempts to get close to her, and had kept offering cold shoulder to protect Iris from a let down. Damn girl thought she knew better what Iris needed. Bullshite. She took a sip of coffee, sniffing her nose at it. For some reason, the coffee had suddenly started to taste so bitter on her tongue. "Stop with da Lareine-crap, Silke... It's Iris. Its startin' to...", but before she got any further, she noticed Silke's tears. The tears on those pale cheeks were like a raging river for the flames of her frustration, putting them out in a heartbeat. Without thinking, Iris got up, walking around the table and searching for a tissue from the pocket of her dressing gown. She cursed in her mind as she came to a conclusion both her pockets were empty. Silke couldn't help but to frown slightly at the remark about the name. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, not giving a damn did it make her look like a panda bear with all her smeared make-up or not. The Iris thing was still partly a mystery to her. Silke had heard some people calling Lareine Iris sometimes, but she had thought it was a nickname they had given her. However, at times it seemed like a hot potato and Silke had never found a proper moment to ask about it. And mostly she had just forgotten the whole thing until it popped up again later. With a couple of quick steps, Iris suddenly made her way to the stove, picking up a towel from the hangar, and walking back to her friend.

Do not ever touch me again. Iris dropped the towel on the table, in front of Silke, before taking a step away from the girl, and leaning onto the table. Didn't Lareine like her own name? Silke thought to herself. She knew Varg had given it to her. Or was the name itself fine but Lareine just didn't like it because she didn't like the one who had given it to her? Or did it have something to do with her odd shifts? Silke's thoughts were interrupted by a towel that was dropped in front of her. She grabbed it and wiped her face, more thoroughly this time. "...Heck... I'm sorry, Silke... I do love ya... I fockin' love ya more than anythin' I have ever loved. And its scarin' the livin' shite outta mi. Yer all I 'ave been able to think durin’ these past weeks. And...", she sighed deeply, tapping the surface of the table with her long nails. "...However dis ends, I too want to keep ya in mi life. Abso-fockin'-lutely! And 'onestly? Why the heck ya keep thinkin' I'm tryin' to get ya stray off ya course? Haven't I fockin' supported ya durin' these years we have known? Not heckin' once I have told ya to drop yer classes and be with mi. Have I?" Sitting this close to Silke made her blood burn, like a dragon's breath. Like someone had drawn out her blood and replaced it with molten iron. Tears on Silke's cheeks made it just worse. Oh, how much Iris wanted to wrap her arms around this beautiful creature, and never let go. Protect her from all the heart-ache and poison-dripping words the girl got from people. But could she protect Silke from herself? The idea terrified her to the core, where the emptiness was lurking, ready to be set free. Ready to consume everything good and beautiful Iris had laid her hands on. And like speaking of a demon, called by her thoughts, the emptiness rose its head. A fleeting thought. To lift Silke on this very table, and rise her up to the heavens. Fill the emptiness just for a moment. Iris swept the thought on side, like it was an annoying insect, trying to get into her drink. The 'ell is wrong with me?

"I... think I might 'ave burned our heckin' loveboat on dat evenin' at yer place, huh? I kinda thought so. And 'onestly? I did not expect ya to just forgive me... Heck, I'm glad over mi head ya even came. At least let me tell ya I'm sorry. If we... can build somethin' out of this... Even an echo of whut we had. It would be...", Iris felt salty tears burning her eyes, and she had to work hard to hold them back. She couldn't cry now. Not now. Silke needed her. "...But tell mi this... okai? Ya have like... Whut? Six? Seven bells a day in dat class of yer? Mages 'ave relationships. Whut the heck is keeping ya from havin' one? Fock's sake, people have careers, Silke! And still dey have love-life. Heck, some might even have couple of kids! How come all yer time goes into studyin'? And... I'm not 'ere keepin' ya from followin' yer dreams! Nor strayin' ya away from yer path.. But really? Ya gotta 'ave somethin' else in life... A fockin' relationship is no full time job... Don't ya ever feel like ya just want someone to wake up next to ya in tha mornin'? Be dere when ya get home... Fockin' worship dat form of yer! Don't get mi wrong, but always when ya talk about damn relationships, it's like yer talking about some fockin' chore! Dats somethin' I will never get in ya... But ya may be right though! Maybe we were never made for each other in more wais than friends..." As the words left Iris' lips, she felt like they ripped a part of her soul with them, and scattered it into the wind. She felt the emptiness' low growl deep in the depths of her heart. "No, you haven't told me to relinquish anything, ever", Silke admitted, sniffed and put the towel back on the table. "Not even once... And for that I was very grateful. That's why I felt so happy around you. ...Until the last time we met." There was a short pause. "According to what you said to me back then I understood you've been just keeping up a facade, pretending to accept me, but in reality you had been hecking frustrated all the time. And that it took a couple of years and a few bottles of booze for you to gather courage to say it straight to my face." Silke also knew more than well other mages had relationships and whatnot. And it felt like everyone would've been constantly pointing out she should as well. Heck, she wasn't even certain did she want to. So far she had been trying out things mostly because she had been told to, not of her own volition. It wasn't only romance, but other aspects of life as well. Silke had been purely horrified when people of her age or younger had been saying they 'felt like settling down' and then got pregnant or married. Or worse: both! She felt like a caged cardinal craving to take off and disappear into the limitless blue, but was constantly told to stay in her cage. Because it was good for her. Because it was appropriate. Because others thought she should. It all made her so frustrated, baffled and furious before all, wanting to flap her wings and peck the bars even harder, not giving a damn about her pretty plumage wearing off of all the struggling and revealing blood, tendons and flesh beneath. What a useless, weak body and mind of a bird, she shuddered at the mental image. A demon or dragon would've fit her better. Like the great Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg. Oh, what magnificent creatures. Silke shook her head, forcing her thoughts back into the moment. "Haa, you are kinda right... about the chore thing", Silke explained after the silence had gone on for long enough without her noticing. "At least partly. And for gods' sake don't get me wrong! I do enjoy the company of other people. But for some reason I... don't seem to crave for it as much as most. It often feels like... there wouldn't be enough hours in a day for me. Like... I feel like I've just gotten started with some interesting transmutation or experiment or an old scroll and gotten all pumped up, like yesss this is the stuff, and then I notice it's already four in the focking morning and I should've gone to sleep hours ago, and should be at a lecture at eight. And then some time ago one of my professors noticed me either sitting in the library or using the chemistry class long after everyone else had left and offered me a part time job in their service, saying I could 'put all of that enthusiasm into a good use and earn some gil while at it.' And of course I accepted! She could've as well shown me a jam-filled doughnut with thick frosting and lots of sprinkles and asked me do I want it or not. And I was like 'No good ma'am I definitely don't want your delicious looking doughnut that smells like ambrosia from the heavens! Just hand it over!'" When Silke noticed she had started to get worked up again, she took another deep breath and cast a glance to a partly withered sunflower on the other side of the kitchen window. It was a stained glass window, very pretty, and looked very expensive. Silke tried to make sense of the patterns and what they presented. "Then at some point, after sedating my curiosity, I get an urge to go somewhere and meet people... and then I of course just go, and usually it's really fun. But when the urge to leave emerges, I rather go while I'm still in high spirits, and not trying to stay there just for the sake of staying, and being only half present. It seems like... others see it as rude I don't meet them so often, or that I don't stay for as long as they'd want, but I think it'd be even more rude towards my companions if I didn't give them my full attention and live my time with them to the fullest." Silke slowly turned her gaze from the window back to Lareine. "I'm terribly sorry, I started to babble again", she hissed while grimacing. "What I'm trying to say is... I've seen... many times... the way you want to live your life, La... Iris. You remind me of a shooting star or comet, roaming its way through the sphere and shining brightly, attracting attention and admiration. Meanwhile I'm some distant star twinkling leisurely in the horizon, just above the trees, and one would need a telescope to see it properly. As much as I don't like it, our preferences seem to be like fire and ice, godsdamnit! It's a bad omen!" "What the fock, Silke?" Iris couldn't help herself. "Yer not a distant, meaningless, piece of shite-star somewhere in the heckin' horizon! Yer the damn brightest star dere is for mi! All the time, after I came to Ishgard... Damn, I guess maybe even before dat... I 'ave felt like I'm walkin' in a dark, swampy forest with no wai out! Not until I met ya, Silke!" without even noticing it, Iris had taken a step closer to her friend, now standing only a step away. "...Yer mi guiding fockin’ light in this shitefest we call life! Ya shine down on mi, and help mi keep goin’! But if ya leave mi now... Whut do ya think it will do for mi? I’ll be damn lost in the darkness again! Don't ya dare to call yerself some useless fart-star in mi company ever again... Okai?” What was this girl even thinking? Silke had always had low self-esteem in all other areas, except her magic. In which her pride was clear. Maybe that was why Iris somewhere deep inside... some part of her disliked Silke’s magic. Magic took everything from her. Iris hated all the people who pecked at Silke for how she was... what she did. If she knew she could get away with it, without causing Silke any trouble, Iris would've gotten rid of every damn arsepluck who dared to say bad things about this goddess among women... And almost as much as Iris hated the people making Silke’s life hell, she hated the girl doing it to herself. “And I told ya already!” Iris turned around, bending over, leaning her elbows onto the table and bringing her head on the same level with Silke’s. “...I dropped mi medicine back den! It... I dunno whut I was sayin’! But whutever it was, it was not true... Ya really think, I would ‘ave just... heckin’ bottled it all up for two years? Tell mi... Would ya waste yer time on someone ya think is just frustratin’ company? Hold up a damn facade for such person? Dats fockin’ waste of time!" Quite many people seem to be doing it, actually, Silke was tempted to say in her most annoying, know-it-all tone, but she bit her tongue. "Yeah, yer right about bein' frustrated, though...", Iris continued. "I might have thought about it time to ‘ime... Especially when ya fell asleep on mi...  How do ya think it made mi feel? How it made mi look?” She let out a shivering sigh, shaking her head. “And whut the heck is dis mumbo-jumbo about bad omens? ‘ow are we a bad omen? We... We are made for eachother, Silke! I love ya, sweetie! ‘ow can dat be a bad omen in ani way? A... And ya just... Ya just said ya love me, ‘aight? So... I... I dont see whut’s the matter! I just want ya to be damn part of mi life, Silke...” As Iris talked, she could almost feel Silke’s breath on her face. Feel the faint scent of a flowery perfume. The emptiness inside her fought, tearing it’s shackles, and Iris had to close her eyes for just a moment, to keep it in check. “... And I got a job and everythin' ya know! I'm really doin' mi fockin' best! ...I just hope we could get even something back... Of whut we had before all dis..." Her fight against the tears seemed to be falling for a loss, as they started to run freely, messing her dark makeup, and painting dark lines onto her pale cheeks. "...I heckin' love ya, Silke..." Silke lowered her reddish eyes from Lareine to her own hands again and started wringing them compulsively. What the heck was Lareine babbling about? They usually understood each other perfectly, but sometimes this happened. They had a language barrier or something between them. Silke had just announced she wanted to keep Lareine in her life and Lareine was already talking about Silke 'leaving' her. Or was this about that inexplicable concept of being 'just friends' again? Silke had never understood it. She didn't have any ranks for the people precious to her. They were all equally important, just in different ways. To her, there was no being 'just' something. "Once again I'm flattered you've thought of me so highly, and that I've been able to be of help to you. But do you have any idea what kind of contract you'd want to scrawl your name on, princess?" Silke almost whispered. "Let's imagine for a moment we'd live together, okay? I would leave very early for school or work, and return very late in most days. We would see each other only slightly more often than nowadays", she started to list. "You sleep with every second person you find attractive. I couldn't care less about such things. I've done it for a few times only to please my partners. It's like housework - a necessary evil - and even more boring than housework to be honest...", she couldn't help but to roll her eyes. Silke's gaze wandered around the table and fixated on her empty cup. There was some skillfully painted, pink and white roses on it, and the cup's handle and rim were gilded. She couldn't help but wonder about the possible ratio of materials to get such a perfectly balanced hue. "As you know already, I'm striving to become an archmage, and alongside that, an alchemist", Silke continued after a short while. No more tears were coming out and she noticed her voice was saturated with perseverance and finality like always while talking about the subject. "If they call me in the middle of night... or party or dinner or whatever and there's some emergency or major breakthrough, I'll most probably be going. If they need someone to test a new portal or check stability levels of a tear in the rift, I'll be the first one volunteering. If there's demons, voidsents or extremely powerful, magical beasts causing trouble... well, you know how it goes: I will be there." Silke turned her head slightly towards Lareine, but didn't look at her directly, just from the corner of her eye. "Is that truly what you want in your life... Iris?" Suddenly Iris started to regret she ever corrected the name. When they were talking about love earlier, Silke repeating Lareine’s name over and over again had made Iris feel so miserable. Almost like her beloved was confessing her love to another woman, right there under her very eyes. But now? As things had started to take turn to the south again, it would've been so much easier to take all hits while hiding behind the mask of unsuspecting Lareine. Iris felt like she was swimming in a bottomless lake. And every sentence Silke weaved, every word leaving those pretty, thin lips of hers, felt like a creature of the deeps, grabbing Iris’ leg and pulling her down under. She tried to fight back, gasp for air, but it was no use, and soon she would just give up. Sink into the deep dark embrace of nothing. “No...”, the words left Iris’ lips, without her even noticing it. She straightened her back, and staggered to the stove. Her head was spinning. A numb hand took a grip of the teapot and filled it with fresh water, placing it on the stove. Flames in the fireplace were slowly withering away and dying, so she picked up a couple of logs, throwing them into the fireplace to keep the flames alive. Deep down Iris hoped she could do the same for her own, withering heart. The silence in the room was like that of funerals, and that's how Iris felt. A funeral. She was about to bury something very dear to her. Put it into rest. After a while that felt like an eternity in purgatory, the boiling of water broke the silence. Iris moved the pot off the stove, reached for a bottle of rum, and a tiny jar of honey, mixing them into two fresh cups, and filling to the brim with boiling hot water. She walked up to Silke, placing the cup in front of her before returning to her own chair with hers. “Ya will always be pickin’ yer damn archmage dreams over mi, huh?”, she noted while taking a sip. The steaming, hot drink burned her mouth, but it was better than the feeling of emptiness inside her. “...Don't ya get mi wrong, sweetie. I'm heckin’ proud of ya. Yer gonna be the most kick-ass fockin’ archmage dey have ever seen from ‘ere to far East. And damn I wanna be dere to see tha faces of yer fellow students, when dey see it. After all dey ‘ave said about ya... And ‘ey, maybe I dont ‘ave to use Mori’s portals animore den. I don't trust the portals of dat lass in the slightest...” Taking another sip, Iris placed the cup onto the dark, wooden table, returning her gaze to her friend. “Ya just... try to heckin’ understand how dis feels to mi. I ‘ave been fockin’ eartips deep in love with ya for damn two years. And now? It’s just kinda all shatterin’ in pieces in front of mi. Like dat damn painted glass window I broke on dat night. I... I feel like bein’ a damn child again. ‘ave I told ya about mi mom, Silke? She... was a useless dreamer-type, fillin’ mi head with stories about lands like those from fairytales dat waited for us outside of tha forest. And silly me even believed those words. ...Then we came to Limsa Lominsa. And instead of my fantasy fairyland, I got a stinkin’ city, full of cut-throats and rapists... Mi damn world just fell apart.” Iris’ lips curled into a smile of a kind. “...Ya know whut I promised to miself back den? While burnin’ mi mom’s corpse? To never let anyone fill mi head with shite of fairytales ever again. And for the fockin’ past two years... I ‘ave done it miself. The apple sure doesn't drop far from the damn tree...” Iris emptied her cup with one single gulp, feeling the rum burning its way down her throat. “I'm heckin’ sorry, Silke. I don't wanna lose ya. Maybe our damn lovestory was not written in the stars after all... But I still love ya, gal. And if I can't compete with ya silly dreams... Damn... I’ll be dere to cheer for ya, when ya make dose dreams reality!” A warm smile on Iris’ lips, hid behind the emptiness pulsated and growled, and finally broke its shackles. Silke tried her best to think about something extremely annoying and cling to it with all her might to prevent her flow of tears she could feel pounding behind her eyes like roaring waves against a dam that was about to break. She would've so much wished Lareine to agree, but deep down she knew it wouldn't have been fair. If Silke had tried adapting to live the wild life Lareine was after, it would've been like a fish trying to climb a tree. And if Lareine for her part had shut herself into libraries or ancient tombs and ruins, or Silke's silent apartment with Laurence, she would've eventually felt as caged as Silke currently did with generally everything. "If you want to put it that way", Silke agreed silently. If she wasn't able to have both, magick would be her choice, now and forever. "I am trying to understand. I think I even do to some extent. And I truly do wish I could give you what you seek because I want for your happiness. But I don't think I have it in me. I wouldn't want it to go to the point we desperately tried to mix our fire and ice just because it seems nice on the outside and eventually ended up hating each other for it." At least they were no longer at sixes and sevens. That alone eased the giant vortex beneath her calm surface at least some. Like Lareine, Silke also emptied her cup with one go, not caring although it made her feel like she was swallowing lava. Feeling like she didn't have anything to say anymore Silke glanced absent-mindedly outside. It had gotten really foggy. Then she turned to look at the clock sitting on a cupboard nearby. "I think I should go", Silke stated formally, and calmly stood up. "Not for work or school this time, though. It's my laundry room turn soon and I have only an hour to wash almost my entire wardrobe. Hahah!" She let out an awkward laugh and bowed politely immediately after. "Thank you for the tea, Iris. It was absolutely delicious. See you around!" I must get out, she thought to herself. I must get out right now.

Silke was able to get past Lareine before she saw Silke's face starting to twist, but before Silke got out of the kitchen, she almost collided with Varg, who had returned from upstairs, his hands full of an empty cup and briefcase, and this time with tidied hair. Silke wasn't fast enough to hide her facial expression, which made the old au ra give her a long, curious look. "Excuse me", Silke almost whispered, not lowering her wavering gaze from his chilly, black eyes, but in her mind she added a sarcastic 'wink wink nudge nudge.' His only answer was a slight frown and a calm step aside so that she could pass. This felt so wrong, Iris thought while watching Silke getting up and leaving. So wrong. Deep down Iris knew this would be for the best for both of them. Like Silke had said, trying to mix fire and ice would never end well. Still, she could not look at her friend’s back as she was walking out of the room. Silke was acting... weirdly? "Silke!" Iris shouted after the girl. But as the other didn’t pay any mind to her voice, she quickly rushed around the table and towards her friend. Usually Iris had an excellent balance. She had been honing it for years on the streets of Limsa Lominsa. Yet now, her foot got stuck around a leg of the chair that was pulled out, and the slippery marble flooring did the rest. With her hands flailing, she tried to regain her balance, but it was no use at this point. With a loud crash from a falling chair, and a series of colorful curses, Iris fell on the floor, just barely missing Varg, who had just walked in, looking annoyed. Without wasting any time, she jumped back on her feet and took a couple of quick steps, reaching her friend just before she reached towards the door. Do not ever touch me again... Do not ever touch me again... Do not ever touch me again... SHUT THE FOCK UP!! Iris wrapped her arms gently around Silke from behind. The hold was light like butterfly’s wings, and Silke could've easily walked out of it if she had wanted to. Iris buried her face into Silke’s long, velvety hair, inhaling her scent. The familiar scent of flowers, ink and parchment felt so good. Like someone pulling Iris out of a freezing water and wrapping her into a blanket. It felt like home. With one arm around Silke’s chest, and another around her neck, crossing in front her, Iris could feel Silke holding tears. So this was why she was acting so weird? Iris was about to say something about it, but decided not to. She would let Silke have her tears. The girl had cried enough. After just a fleeting moment of standing there, Iris rose her chin, whispering softly into Silke’s long ear. “...Let mi walk ya ‘ome, okai? Just... Just gimme a moment to dress up. I can help ya with dose laundry of yer, okai? We’ll get it done in no time, the two of us? Yes?” While talking Iris brushed the back of her index finger up on Silke’s jawline. “I cant just let ya walk awai from mi like dat, Silke. Let mi give ya a ‘and. I ‘ave a day-off and all dat shite. Got nothin’ to do aniway...” Lareine's careful hug made Silke accidentally vibrate, but instead of dashing out through the half opened door, she had frozen on the spot, held by her own hand squeezing the metallic doorknob. It felt icy to touch, but Silke used it as an anchor to hold herself together. It had been embarrassing enough to weep - multiple times even - in front of Lareine, who was the only one apart from Silke's family members who had ever seen her cry. But even more humiliating it would've been in front of strangers or people Silke didn't care about. Although Blacksoul seemed to care equally little about the two vieras and their personal mess, just his presence in the next room was enough for Silke to remain as stoic as she possibly could. First she had interrupted their breakfast and now she was blocking the doorway with her carcass so that he couldn't leave for work. She painstakingly lifted her free hand and grabbed Lareine's arm she was holding around Silke's neck, squeezing it almost equally hard as her other hand had clung on the doorknob. If the place had been more appropriate, Silke could've just stood there forever. Though she wasn't quite sure what exactly was it that prevented her from running: surprise, bliss or horror. Another awkward laughter - a bit more authentic this time - escaped her lips. "If that's how you truly want to spend your day off, who am I to forbid you, princess?" Silke asked in a somewhat swollen voice. "I just hate housework. If I was some rich bastard who had enough gil to wipe their arse with it, I'd gladly pay for someone to take care of that stuff for me." “... Either dat, or ya could juust... leech yer wai into a manor wid butler, ya know?” Iris closed her eyes just for a moment. Silke’s tight grip holding her arm was like that of a valkyrie, rising a fatally injured warrior from the mud and blood, carrying her on the other side. Iris felt peace. For the emptiness inside though, the touch was like an iron maiden. Shutting its doors around it, draining its strength away. Iris could still hear the growling through that metallic face, frozen in a calm expression, but as long as Silke was holding onto her, she felt like the doors would stay closed tight. Silke half accidentally let out another laughter - aghast this time. "You kidding me, right?" she splurged, lowering her voice into a whisper. "The miasma in here is just -" She bit her tongue again before she could finish the sentence. Asagi and Blacksoul weren't on best terms with each other, and Silke had decided that despite her hanging out with Lareine and Arsene, she'd make sure she at least wouldn't be the one throwing fireballs into a powder keg. She had actually been trying somewhat to extinguish the flames, because she was tired of both Asagi and Varg's disapproval of her just because she was Asagi's sister and Lareine's friend. After a moment Iris pulled her arm away gently, taking a step back. “...Just a moment, sweetie... I will be back before ya know it!” And with those words, she rushed upstairs, her long dressing gown flowing like a cape after her. Meanwhile Lareine was getting dressed upstairs, Silke was wringing her hands behind her back again, trying to recover from her and Lareine's recent conversation and to come up with some superficial and boring subjects for small talk just in case. It transpired she didn't need them. Not a long after, Iris hurried back downstairs, now fully dressed in a leather jacket, a top with skull pattern, tight leather pants and a pair of ankle boots. “Blacksoul! I'm goin’ out! May stay over night, I dunno... No drinkin’! Promise!" she yelped at the old au ra while passing the kitchen door on her way back to Silke. “Righto! I'm ready!” Iris hurried to her friend's side, quickly hooking her arm with the other’s. “Have ya eaten, by tha way? Because I can almost bet mi next paycheck ya have not... So dat in mind, lets take a 'urn through Jeweled Crozier and get sum food stuff, okai? I’ll make a dinner for ya after we are done wid tha laundry shite! Hm?” Iris felt Silke’s tension while their arms were locked together. Her friend had been through so much. All the things Silke had said kept running through her head, but for now? Silke was all that mattered. Whatever happened, Iris would make sure this beautiful girl, who was like a ghost from the eastern legends, would never have to cry because of her. Ever again. "I've eaten only some instant ramen last night", Silke answered when they had already walked out of the estate. Immediately after she furrowed in disbelief. "...You? Dinner? You mean... You can actually cook something and not just boil water?" The thick fog soon swallowed the two vieras. If some citizen had been within hearing distance, they wouldn't have seen a thing, but had only heard some extremely loud chatter and banter somewhere from the whiteness.

With @lareine-kira​ :3c

[axispheydra]

Prompt 23 - Thirsty

“It’s the rivers, miss. With the toads in spawning season, the locals can’t fetch the water they need. Damned things are so aggressive, and there’s so many of ‘em, too.” They Hyurian woman is almost apologetic as she speaks, wringing her hands and looking off towards the gentle baddle of the stream. True to her words, a number of gigantoads have made it their spawning grounds, and while one or two might not be a problem, no one in the village can handle that many at once.

It wasn’t an unusual thing in Thanalan’s deserts. Small settlements popping up along the rivers, just people trying to make their way in the world away from the suffocating grasp of Ul’dah. But these are ordinary people with ordinary talents, not versed in combat or blessed with fortune. They can’t even afford to hire an adventurer to clean out monster infestations like this.

That’s why they’re always so glad to see a paladin. Royalty among adventures, who work not for the clinking of gil in their pockets, but for the sake of those who need it. This is what justice is to Orara: helping those who can’t help themselves, and protecting the weak from the strong. Even if, in this case, the strong is just a handful of really big toads.

The toads themselves are scarcely a both to someone at her level. Although they regard her with curiosity (and likely hunger) as she approaches, they barely even react until her blade cuts their flesh. Even when they do fight back, it’s nowhere near enough to compete with a trained paladin. Soon, the small town’s water supply is free of monsters once more, and they have a sizable stock of toad meat as well.

“I don’t know how we can ever repay you, paladin,” says the Hyurian woman, taking Orara’s hand in her own. There are tears in the corners of her eyes, but Orara just shakes her head.

“You don’t need to worry about that. It’s our duty to try and help each other where we can.”

“I only wish more folks thought like that, paladin.”

How long ago was that? Less than a year? It seemed like another lifetime, now.

Orara stared into her drink, ruminating. It had only been two suns since a hole was blown into the side of the Free Company’s house and Ibe’ir escaped into the night, and the company was still in turmoil. Ganzeidin and Hastswys pulled on the reigns as best they could, but it seemed that everyone in the guild was shocked that one of their own could stoop so low.

“If anyone can steer us through this, ’s Ganze,” Hastswys said between tankards of ale. She was a lot less sober than Orara had ever seen her, and was presumably trying to get rid of the stress from the lookout. “Company’s important to him, y’know. To both of us. Father’s real proud, when it really took off. He’ll want to see it through.”

She’d looked over at Orara and smiled. “’M glad I thought to try and take ya in, Orara. Compared to most o’ the other folks in the company, yer just a lot more... whassa word...”

“Level-headed?” Orara tried. “Sensible?”

“Sounds about right. Quieter too. 'S a shame you’re a Lalafell, if you were a coupla fulms taller, then I’d-”

Hastswys got half a sentence in before the burning in Orara’s ears made her beg the woman to stop. The Roegadyn cackled, reaching for her tankard while Orara retreated back to hers.

“Something’s bothering me, though,” she said, feeling somewhat loose-lipped herself. “About the other night.”

“Oh? Whassat?”

It was more than one thing, actually. The timing of Ganzeidin’s arrival had been too perfect, especially considering Ibe’ir said their leader had contacted him and told him to check the house out. It was possible those two things were just a coincidence and a lie, but there was also the case of the arrow in Ganzeidin’s leg. Ibe’ir hadn’t been carrying his bow and arrow when they saw him enter the house. Hastswys’s expression began to harden as Orara spoke, before she finally responded in a low voice.

“Are you sayin’ my brother set this all up?” There was something of a threat in her voice, something that made Orara try to deflect.

“No, no. I’m saying it’s just odd.” Orara had expected some resistance, but to her surprise, Hastswys was quiet for a time.

“I was thinkin’ about the arrow thing too,” she muttered, staring into her drink. “But it don’t make no sense. Ganzeidin’s been workin’ harder’n anyone to make sure this Company stays alive. If he wanted out, he coulda left any time.”

“But then it would’ve been without money.”

“Fuckin’ hells,” said Hastswys, dragging her hands down her face. “It does kinda make sense.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just- it’s about justice. I can’t just let these things go.”

Hastswys peeked at Orara through her fingers. “’S about what?”

“I- oh. Nothing.” Orara retreated back to her own mug.

The pair sat in relative silence for a few minutes before Hatswys finally spoke. “We should go an’ talk to him.”

Orara coughed on her drink. “Right now?”

“Yeah. While we’re thinkin’ about it.”

“But we ain’t- I mean, we’re not really-”

“I know. But if I don’t get this outta my head I’m not gonna be able t’ sleep tonight. So c’mon.” Hastswys stood up and- to Orara’s horror- lifted the Lalafell out of her seat.

“What the- put me down!” cried Orara, kicking against the woman’s grip. It was terrifying to be reminded that you were so small compared to nearly everyone else.

“Oof, Orara, yer way heavier’n I thought you’d be,” said Hastswys, staggering from the tavern. “Whadd’re you eatin’?”

“Then fuckin’ let me go!” she shouted, still squirming.

“Yanno, that’s the first time I think I ever heard y’curse!” laughed Hastswys.

“Aye, and you’ll hear a lot more if you don’t put me down!”

“Alright, alright,” said Hastswys. She knelt to place Orara back on solid ground, where she earned a slap across the face for her troubles.

“Hells whassat for?” said Hastswys, placing a hand over her cheek.

“Do that again and I’m usin’ the butt of my gun next time!” shouted Orara, finger thrust out. “Now c’mon. Let’s go find Ganzeidin before we sober up.” She began to walk away, only slightly wobbly.

“Ah, y'got a fire in you, lass!” said Hastswys, rising to her feet. “I like it. ‘S like good drink, leaves y’wantin’ more.”

“Keep it to yourself,” Orara grumbled. Hopefully they’d sober up on the way back to Mist; this was a side of Hastswys she was not fond of.

[gararmstrong]

Goodbye Eorzea

It’s been sometime since I posted Journal.  Unfortunately, this will probably be the final chapter in the book of Garinn Armstrong.  

The trip East with Mitsu was exactly what I needed.  Spending two weeks bonding with a close friend as we explored the East was a much needed vacation.  I helped conquer her fear of the ocean, and it made me smile to see her swimming among the deep coral and shipwrecks.  She got scared when a whale passed, but we made progress!  I was so proud of her.  We then went to Yanxia, the Azim Steppes market, and finally back to Shirogane.  There she was met with an Elezen, who offered her a deck of cards and told her what her future had in store.   Seems she would be heading to Ishgard and learning from the Astrologists in the near future.

Unfortunately, the damage had been done.  Divorcing Ivory followed by being forced to step down as the Free Company Leader of the Black Garden was one of the worst weeks of my life, and it seems was unrecoverable.  Funny that one lead to the other, but fate was determined to see me lose both I guess.  When I returned I tried to re-acclimate with the free company, but it seemed it was just too late.  Cliques had formed, and honestly, I didn’t feel a part of any of them.  If I had cat ears and a tail maybe things would have been different, but I cannot change the past.  Everything was made more relevant when a Miqotess Fighter Snarls joined the FC.  She was immediately included into the Miqo-clique as they took her off to do events and missions.  I was not asked to go on them.  Yes, I was jealous.  I have always wanted to be a part of something.  My whole life I have been the outsider, and I guess these days are no different.

“This isn’t a family Garinn.  These aren’t your friends.  This is a business.  Everyone is here to get paid.”  ~ Emeline.

Emeline was right of course.  It was a business.  Thing is, if I was going to lead these people into battle and die for them, then I wanted to do so among friends and comrades.  

So quietly one night I packed my bags, and while all were asleep the next morning I left.  I left a note for the officers, left my keys and link-pearls, and departed.

I was right.  Out of 50 people I once called friend, how many reached out to me after I left?  3.  One being Kat wondering what happened.  We got into a huge fight, and that was that.  Certain people never reaching out to me hurt.  A lot.  Again, it’s in the past.  When you break ties you see where the true bonds of friendship lay.  

I saw them from time to time and had pleasantries, but nothing deeper.  The exception being Saterra.  We saw one another often at the Proving Grounds, and she showed me she was one of the special ones.  I ended up joining another free company by the name of Chimera.  They run the Jeweled Cyprus, a bar, restaurant, and spa I had been to several times and enjoyed.  It was nice to have a much more casual atmosphere, running jobs occasionally and helping to run the bar.  Most of the free company was Xaela, and I wondered if they had accepted me by mistake haha.

And then everything changed around Starlight Festival time.

Because....I met her.

Her name is Sophie.  She was sitting around the steps of Uldah talking to one of her friends.  I don’t know what pulled me to her.  Well, now I know it was fate.  But, at the time I decided to walk up and introduce myself.  She beamed at me and introduced herself, but she said she was busy.  I asked if I could leave her a linkpearl, and she said yes.

That night we talked.

For hours.

And kept talking the next morning.

The two of us became inseparable as we seemed to talk to one another non stop on those little pearls.

Eventually she came over, and we continued to hang out and talk.  About what we loved: adventures, life, our goals, our hobbies.  With each moment we clicked more and more.  Hours turned into days.  Days into weeks.  At some point we figured out we were dating when I kissed her lips.  There is just something about her that seems so different to everyone else.  I know this has turned into quite the sappy post, but you don’t know how happy she makes me.  How lucky I am to find her.

As her and I spent the days enjoying life together, I noticed something else.  All of the friends I had among Eorzea, all the connections.  Those link-pearls had grown silent.  It was a bittersweet moment to realize this.  On the one hand I felt bad I was losing all these friends I had accumulated over the past year.  On the other hand, if they only talked to me when I reached out to them...well how deep did those bonds of friendship go?  Honestly though, I didn’t care, for I had found Sophie.

By spending so much time with her I had somewhat abandoned the rest of Eorzea.  I still fought in the Proving Grounds, and the Wish Fight nights.  And lost, badly.  The PG even threw me a bone with a championship fight against Bremwyda as they moved to a new format.  I lost, and Brem shaved my head as her trophy.  Losing the fights and friends, I felt my connections and wanting to be on this continent dwindle.  I was fumbling for a purpose, a goal.  Anything to keep me here.  But, it wasn’t meant to be.

So I talked it out with Sophie.  To sell everything I owned, buy a boat, and sail it to the Ruby Sea.  I asked her to come with me, to enjoy the rest of our lives raising my kids on the ocean.  She agreed, and made me one of the happiest men alive.  

While most of my friendships may have faded, there were a couple that still burned brightly, and hopefully would forever.

Her name is Gal, and she has been one of my friends since the beginning.

A paladin turned Red Mage turned Blue mage turned Violet Mage.   We have gone on adventures and enjoyed life together, and I hope she visits me out on the Ruby Sea one day.

So rather then sell my Medium House and sit on a pile of gil I didn’t need, the obvious choice was clear.  I invited her over and showed her the empty building.  I then handed her the keys.

“Garinn, I can’t afford this house!”

“I am not selling it to you Gal.  I am giving it to you.”

She stared at me in disbelief while the keys clinked into her hand, and with tears in her eyes gave me one of the biggest hugs she ever had.  I know the house is in good hands, and she will enjoy it as much as I did.

Sophie and I are sailing East now.  The twins are asleep in their cribs, and the holds are stocked with trophies, memories, and food.  I look forward to a life of Blue Skies, fresh fish, and relaxation.  Should Ishgard ever go to war, or face a national crisis, I will be called back to service.  Until then, you know where to find me.

Goodbye Eorzea.

Garinn Armstrong: Dragoon, Healer, Fishermen, Chef, and Gladiator.

Best body in Eorzea.

(OOC: Thanks for the fun and all the memories friends: @gal-the-violet and all the others to list.  The game just isn’t fun anymore.  I am enjoying all this new found free time :) )

[thatsadorbsyo]

Spark - An RP Story

My #ffxivwrite2018 entries spanned a number of my original characters and several of my ongoing roleplay plots, but I also had one self-contained and completed story in the mix, and I wanted to collect all of its parts in one place and set them apart from the broader challenge.

Below is the story of how K’tara Tyatu, an Ala Mhigan malcontent, came to Kugane with her best friend, a lapsed Qestir named Kimi, to learn how to sell drugs and do arson from a young Hingashi yakuza named Makoto Matsuoka.

It’s a romance. Of sorts.

This story spans multiple character viewpoints and contains themes of violence, sex, drugs, arson, manslaughter, ritual mutilation, and depression. Several parts contain explicit sexual content. The full story is about 10,000 words.

Letter (K’tara)

Serendipity (K’tara)

Glow (K’tara)

Validation (K’tara)

Plateau (Makoto)

Marked (Kimi)

Spark (K’tara)

Undertone (Makoto)

Not A Weapon (Makoto)

Fling (K’tara)

Dote (Makoto)

Close (K’tara)

Click the links above to visit each post in its original place, or click-through below to read the story in full. 

You may also wish to read Ichika Tanaka’s story, which provides some background information on Kiyoshi Matsuoka’s interest in the Star Sapphire Theater.

1. Letter (K’tara)

Somewhere in the stack of mail scattered all over Wyra’to’s floor when he returns from Gyr Abania is tucked a letter.

—

Hey.

Yeah, so, I don’t wanna drag this out or anything. I’m going to Kugane.

Kimi finally got enough gil to pay back that guy she owes (I told you about Kimi, right? I introduced you?) and she wants to stow away on a boat back to Othard and see if she can, I don’t fucking know, beg for forgiveness, suck his dick, whatever she can do to to have him not kill her.

I don’t know why she’s going back. I keep asking her why she doesn’t just stay in Eorzea, but she says she misses home. It almost makes sense to me sometimes, but I still feel like she’d be better off in Ul’dah. And then I spend too much time thinking about Ul’dah and I sorta want to throw up. Did I ever tell you about that dumb cunt who told me that if I never left this city I’d just end up with my thumb elbow-deep in my own ass, helpless, while the Sultana bends my people over just like Garlemald did?

I wanted to kick her teeth in, but part of me thinks she’s right. I can’t do shit here. Nobody wants to give me a chance, they’ve already decided who I am the moment I open my mouth. Maybe I’d do better somewhere else.

Maybe I can’t actually help Ala Mhigans. I’m still gagging on that pill, but it’s starting to go down.

I can help Kimi, though. She needs backup, if she’s going to go into this snake den of whatever the fuck Hingashi is all about. I can help my friend. That ain’t nothing.

Sorry for not mentioning this before you left. You have your own shit to deal with, and I didn’t really wanna pile on. You don’t need to be worried about me while you’re, uh, busting your skull open on rocks and sand worms or whatever you’re doing. I’m glad you have that to focus you, but the monk shit never really worked for me. All that focus, discipline, fuck, dude, that ain’t me. That ain’t me at all. I do wanna honor Ralgr and shit, but I need to find another way.

I wish I could tell you when I’ll be back (I’m pretty sure it’s “when” and not “if”), but to be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Assuming we don’t get arrested for stowing away as soon as we get to port, I planned on winging it from there. But, hey, if you’re ever in Kugane, please come visit. I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping, but chances are good I’ll be in linkpearl range.

[Something is scratched out here.]

Stay safe.

K’tara

2. Serendipity (K’tara)

Makoto ended up being one of those guys who liked to spread out at the table, slumped down in the couch with his knees in different prefectures. Unfortunately, so was K’tara, which made finding space for all three of them around a tea table in the dingy back room of a sushi joint a bit awkward.

Kimi had to perch on the arm of one couch so that K’tara could take over the rest, squatting forward with her arms resting on her knees and fingers dangling toward the floor. She looked over the paraphernalia on the table--tiny bottles, droppers, some stray powder, a deck of cards--and then studied Makoto like she was looking down the barrel of a blasphemously gaudy gun.

One unkempt eyebrow raised in mild disbelief as she appraised the hoard in front of them. "All that gil… for this much?" She jerked her thumb over at Kimi, who was trying her best to look as demure and inoffensive as a Xaela can. "She worked for the better part of a year! For--what--one, two… five bottles? What’s this shit?" K’tara picked up a small packet of powder and flicked it back onto the table with disgust.

Makoto leaned forward, mimicking her posture to pick the packet back up and set it off to the side, leaning it upright against some liquor bottles. He rested his hands on his thighs and stared silently at K’tara for long enough to make her leg start jittering--long enough for the violent shade of yellow on his robe to make her eyes want to water--before finally answering her question.

"Oh, that? You can't have that. That’s Serendipity." He dismissed her with a small smile.

"Uh, no. We want it. We want Serendipity or we're gone tonight."

Kimi shrank into the corner and hissed into both hands, which were cupped around the linkpearl hanging from her horn. "If you’re trying to get us killed, just tell him he has a girly name."

K’tara brushed her off, aiming an elbow in the general direction of Kimi's knee. Her eyes were deadlocked with Makoto's, which was nice because it meant she could focus on his face instead of his clothes. He wasn't a bad looking guy--he had an impressive jaw for a hyur, a tight haircut, a firm build. No wonder Kimi had fucked him with her guard down until he'd fucked her over.

He pointed at Kimi without looking at her. "Your Qestir friend can't help herself around Serendipity. She fucks like a Roegadyn in international waters, did you know that? She tried to put her tongue in my ass. Disgusting." He spat at her. It fell a bit short of hitting her leg, but it's the thought that counts.

"Did you really?" K'tara blurted before she could stop herself, and immediately regretted it. She shook her head, no, focus up. "C'mon, man, give me a shot. I'll keep it away from her."

Makoto dragged his hand over the shadow of stubble around his mouth, deliberating her request for a good few minutes. Chatter from other rooms of the restaurant filtered in, the merry sound of plates and glasses clinking together coming from the basin down the hall. A whole city was bustling around them, and K'tara was stuck here in a tiny little room that stank like fish while this smarmy prick measured her worth. It was like she never fucking left Ul'dah--same jackasses, different smells. Her knee bounced restlessly, making her whole body shake with thinly contained rage.

"Maybe we take it together," he finally grumbled, looking back and forth between K'tara and Kimi. "You. Me. Her. See how well you handle yourself. See if I can trust you with it." His eyes settled on K'tara, lingering over the exposed midriff under her short jacket. Her flat stomach rose and fell with metered breaths as she squashed her initial reaction, which was to flip the table and fight her way out.

This wasn't the place. Even she knew that.

Kimi's carefully blank expression gave no clues as to what K'tara should do. Thanks for the help, whore. She covered her eyes with one hand, resigning herself to a stressful evening. "Yeah, okay. Can we bug out, though? I don't wanna be high here. This place fucking stinks."

3. Glow (K’tara)

Despite his protestations, Makoto ended up also being the kind of guy who liked getting his ass eaten. Who would've thought?

He took K’tara and Kimi up to the balcony of a hostelry on the edge of the city, where the sea air smelled pleasant enough for K’tara to want to get high. Cheerfully colored paper lanterns were strung along the balcony overhang, lining the view of Kugane. Similar lanterns dotted nearby buildings and along the streets, a cacophony of lights unlike anything she’d ever seen. They were bright enough that when K’tara slumped against the railing and looked up at the night sky, she couldn’t see the stars.

Kimi insisted on wearing her mask, only tugging the bandanna down long enough to lean forward in Makoto’s lap and inhale a bit of pale pink powder from the tea table at the back of the deck. The two of them whispered quietly to themselves, passing telling gropes between them as they laughed, and K’tara probably would have just left them alone to their inevitable conclusion if not for the fact that she wanted some of that Serendipity.

She walked up to the table and sprawled out on the floor across from them, legs spread apart and arms draped over her knees. Small piles of powder were scattered across the glass tabletop, with rolled up straws of paper and a few stray bottles of sake. K’tara looked around for some matches. “...I can’t smoke this?”

Makoto regarded her with a lazy glance that soon turned to mirthful derision. “That one asks if she can smoke it,” he rumbled into Kimi’s horn, and her eyes narrowed at K’tara, crinkling with good humor at a friend’s expense.

Frustration bloomed hot in her chest, overpowering the undercurrent of embarrassment. “Yeah, so I’m not a fucking addict, forgive me. What do I do with it?”

Kimi gave a small yelp of protest when Makoto picked her up and planted her on the sofa so that he could join K’tara on the floor. He sprawled out in a similar fashion to her, draping one arm over her shoulders and reaching across her lap to pick up one of the paper straws.

“Here,” he passed it into her hand. K’tara turned it over between her fingers, staring at it like it was some esoteric technology that she had to decipher how to use. “Inhale it through the nose. It will hurt.”

“I’ll show you!” Kimi added helpfully, tugging her mask down again and picking up another straw. She snorted the Serendipity like a professional, closing one nostril with her finger while the other swept up a line of powder through the straw. If it really did hurt, she either hid it well or had gone numb to it already, because she surfaced with a serene, unhidden smile.

K’tara watched this with a steel gaze while Makoto’s hand caressed her shoulder and slid down her side, his fingers brushing over the sideswell of her chest. She didn’t hate how warm his palm felt on her skin, and that was the moment when she decided that if he tried to fuck her, she’d let him do it.

She put the straw to her nose and tried to mimic Kimi, quickly inhaling a small amount of powder from one of the tiny piles. Makoto grabbed both of her shoulders and held her firmly in place while he pain radiated through her sinuses, making her drop the straw and grab her head. “Ohhh gods, what the--you guys do this for fun? This is fun to you?” she moaned.

Kimi gave a breezy shrug, putting her mask back on and leaning back into the couch. She crossed her legs and kicked her foot absently. “It gets easier.”

Makoto slid K’tara’s ponytail over her shoulder while she was slumped over and clutching her face in pain, dragging his finger across the back of her neck just along the neckline of her undershirt. His lips were as warm as his hands when he pressed a kiss under her hair, breathing hot on her skin. “You are going to feel very good. Give it time.” His voice was quiet and not unkind, almost soothing.

She watched Kimi’s face while she waited for the pain to subside, a series of emotions flitting across her friend’s eyes over the mask while she watched them. It looked like she eventually settled on jealousy, but it was hard to tell, because over the next few seconds, Kimi’s limbal rings started to glow. More than usual, bright blue lights leaving motion trails through the darkness when Kimi stood up and walked over to Makoto, resolutely unbuckling his pants.

“What the fuck...?” K’tara whispered softly, her face twisted with confusion. She looked around, and the lanterns were glowing too. Gentle purples and blues leaving trails across the black sky as they rocked back and forth in the light breeze.

“There. You see?” Makoto laughed, untying his robe and letting it slide to the ground so Kimi could pull his dick into her mouth. Underneath was a network of tattoos that covered his entire back and upper arms--dragons, fish, trees, swords, all of them glowing with dazzling color and shifting as his muscles flexed.

K’tara was rooted to the spot, unable to look away. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. Powerful, decorated, well-connected, sexy. She didn’t want to fuck him--she wanted to be him.

Well... okay, she still wanted to fuck him, but suddenly she was a third wheel. His eyes fluttered closed to focus on thrusting up into Kimi’s mouth, one hand on the back of her head, and something about the intimacy of the moment made K’tara feel awkward about watching them. She peeled herself up from the floor and trundled over to the railing, leaning against it to look down at Kugane spreading across the beach below.

What was already a dizzying view before made K’tara have to clutch the banister now, Serendipity amplifying the glow of the city until it was an indecipherable mess of light noise. It almost hurt to look at.

The Ruby Sea glowed turquoise from the edge of the pier, fading to a dark purple at the horizon. Kugane itself was a mess of pink and white, with the pleasure district a notable strip of red down the center of the thickest part of the city. Spires of light rose all around her, the tallest buildings with glowing yellow from every open window, and still more paper lanterns dancing in the sea breeze.

K’tara was so enthralled by the view that she almost didn’t notice him approach her from behind, groping at her waistband. She shifted her stance, wordlessly letting him tug her pants down while Kimi got on her knees behind him. He was either too high to act like he didn’t want her tongue in his ass, or too focused on K’tara to care.

Makoto gripped her chin firmly and held it in place, keeping her senseless gaze locked on the city while he pushed himself between her legs. Each point of bright light got brighter and blurrier as he fucked her against the railing, the glowing auras widening in radius until a formless glow was all that K’tara could see.

4. Validation (K’tara)

Makoto’s boss mostly dealt in fancy powders, so it took K’tara a while to find something she could smoke that wasn’t opium. Fortunately for her, moko grew pretty much everywhere on Hydaelyn, and Hingashi was no exception. About half a bell of scanning people on the street was all it took for K’tara to find a guy selling pre-rolled cigarettes out of a little box at the end of a line of market stalls. She bought half a dozen of them with Makoto’s money and carried them back to the hostelry with a bounce in her heel, hands jammed into her coat pockets.

She lit one up on the walk back, but decided to save the rest for after sex or after a job, whichever came sooner.

And as it turned out, what came soonest was Kimi. That selfish bitch passed out in a sake coma on the floor immediately after she finished, drooling on the floorboards with her panties still looped around her ankles.

K’tara dragged herself over to the side table to grab her packet of cigarettes, staring at her friend with a half-hearted sneer of sympathy. “I love her, but she’s the sloppiest sack of shit I’ve ever known.” Her matches weren’t on the table, so she parked a cigarette between her lips and walked around the room, tugging her shirt on straight and looking for her pants.

Makoto watched her wander from his spot on the bed, where he pulled absently on his dick and followed her ass with narrowed eyes. “Not all cunts can be made of flint like you,” he said when she bent over, leaning to the side on his elbow for a better view.

The comment struck her as uproariously nonsensical. She held the spasms of laughter in her stomach with one arm while she dug through her pants pockets, eventually surfacing triumphantly with a half-wasted pack of matches. “If my cunt was flint I’d be serving up a eulogy for your cock right now,” she mumbled around the joint, cupping a flame in her hand to light it.

“Mmm, come here.” He let go of his dick and spread his arms wide across the bed, inviting her gaze. She crossed one arm over her chest while she smoked, leaning against the wall to partially accept his invitation by openly staring.

A moment passed quietly this way, neither tense nor relaxed as they silently probed each other’s intent from across the room. Late evening light filtered in through the paper windows, diffuse and indirect on the bright white sheets that lay rumpled around Makoto’s naked body. His muscular legs were loosely spread, one leg lazily hooked under the other, and K’tara’s eyes trailed up to the cock standing up straight against his tattooed belly.

She sighed on a resigned exhale, smoke pluming in front of her face as she came to terms with her own desire. “Yeah,” she said shortly, pushing away from the wall and padding the ten fulms over to crawl into the bed.

He put both hands on her waist when she grabbed him, holding him at an angle so she could sit down on his cock, knees spread on either side of his lap. They both felt the fluttering throb when they connected, but at first neither of them moved. She simply sat like this, still smoking her cigarette and blowing the smoke in his face with feigned disinterest. “Okay. I’m here,” she rumbled, voice low and quiet. It could have been a challenge.

Makoto watched her thoughtfully, his chest rising and falling with a relaxed rhythm in the muted sunlight. “You have a neglected little spark to you.” His thumbs trailed back and forth over her hipbones as his eyes searched her face, piercing through the haze of her defiant smoke with a placid confidence that she couldn’t quite meet. “Cultivation. That’s what you need. You like drugs? You like fire? I have so many uses for you.”

K’tara felt painfully seen. She had to look away, at the paper windows glowing orange, but Makoto grabbed her jaw and jerked her face back to him, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. Instead of speaking, he pulled her forward and kissed her, opening wide against her lips to pull the smoke on her breath right out of her mouth.

He blew it back in her face and laughed, and her return laughter made her body squeeze him tight. “Well... fuck, yeah, that’s why I’m here. I can handle myself. Use me.” A feedback loop of nervous chuckles tumbled out of her that made them pulse together until they were both panting with the need to move and feel more of each other, grinding on the bed and passing smoke back and forth between them.

5. Plateau (Makoto)

"You must think I'm real fucking pretty, Makoto. You owe my wife reparations for how much you've been fucking me lately. She likes rubies. Go on, write that down." Matsuoka flung a notebook across the desk at Makoto's chest, the pages fluttering loudly in the small office until the book fell at his feet with a quiet thump.

The desk bench gave a moaning creak each time Matsuoka moved. He was a big guy, liked to say his grandma was half-roegadyn, but everyone knew he was just part highlander. None of the brothers ever said that to his face, and Makoto bit back whatever words came to his mouth as he looked down at the little notebook on the floor.

"I bet if I went down to all your little hidey holes," he mimicked a running motion with his fingers, zooming his hand across the desk, "I'd find half a dozen unconscious darkscale sluts with more of my product coating the phlegm in their lungs than you've sold in the past six months. Have you ever fucked a woman who was awake? You should try it sometime."

Makoto clenched his jaw and suppressed the urge to pick up the book. He stared at a freckle on Matsuoka's cheek, letting the lieutenant talk about whores until he was finished, as if he had any room to talk on that subject. Losing his vice grip on that cold cunt of a dancer had apparently hit Matsuoka hard, right in the pride. This could take a while.

"I literally pulled your frozen body out of a dumpster because your mama mistook you for garbage..." Not true, Makoto's mother had left him in a basket in front of Miyoko's home back when she was still the boss's wife and not the boss herself. The joke had been that she gave Makoto to the lieutenant because there were decent odds that any abandoned orphan was a Matsuoka anyway. "...And this is how you repay me. I didn't raise you to piss away your potential on whores. When did you stop growing, son?"

This seemed to warrant a response. Makoto shifted in his seat, bending down to pick up the notebook and putting it back on the desk. "You ask this like you don't already know, sir."

Matsuoka pursed his lips, staring at Makoto with paternal scrutiny. He rumbled thoughtfully from somewhere deep in his barrel chest. "Losing Nishiki was hard for all of us, but that's the price of doing business. You cry at the funeral, and then you move on. Mmh." He pulled the book toward him and scribbled down an address before shoving it back across the desk and into Makoto's lap. "You've got a week to show me you can actually make us money instead of flushing all my drugs into the sewer. I want to see results, Makoto. Real gil, on my desk. One week."

The address on the paper blurred as Makoto looked down at it, suddenly unable to focus his eyes when Nishiki's name was mentioned. "It will be done. What's this?"

"You're familiar with the Star Sapphire Theater, aren't you...?" Again, Matsuoka was asking questions he already knew the answer to, his voice adopting a breezy quality that belied the tense way his bench began to creak. Makoto nodded to pacify him, and Matsuoka leaned in conspiratorially, resting both hands on the table. "The family isn't in the business of arson, but all our efforts to buy that shithole out have turned up fruitless. We don't like any of our remaining options, so we thank the damn kami that somebody outside the family is gonna take matters into their own hands."

The pointed look Matsuoka passed him didn't require further explanation, which is fortunate because none was going to be given. Makoto nodded tersely, pushing his chair back as he stood. "Yeah, that's awfully accommodating of them. I already have ideas."

"Excellent! Don't tell me any of them. Just get it done and get out of my sight," Matsuoka called at Makoto's back as he left the office, sliding the partition door shut with a deep sigh of restrained frustration.

He left the office and turned down the street toward the hostelry, fingers clenched into fists inside the pockets of his robe. His whole body throbbed with a dull, impotent anger at Matsuoka, at the family, at his inability to perform lately for no good fucking reason. Drugs didn't sate it, sex didn't sate it, but that didn't stop Makoto from trying them over and over again, like he expected new results every time. He needed something new to get him out of this slump.

Some kind of spark.

6. Marked (Kimi)

The Star Sapphire Theater was one of the crown jewels of Kugane’s pleasure district, with a gaudy facade that enticed passers-by with the promise of girls--dancing girls, singing girls, girls who read poetry, girls who did magic tricks--and woodcut posters that teased even rarer delights, assuming you had enough gil to cover the price of admission.

Kimi stood outside the building in the evening darkness, gazing up at the woodcuts and holding an unlit cigarette. Other theater-goers milled about idly during the intermission under the light from the lanterns, chatting among themselves, smoking under the awning to hide from the light drizzle, or going back inside the club to get drinks from the bar. K’tara was in there somewhere, fighting the urge to assault all the rich people in favor of sneaking around and finding her mark--namely, a point of entry for later and anything that looked conspicuously flammable.

K’tara had her mark, and Kimi had hers. She smiled with her eyes over her mask at the roegadyn bouncer, a grim-looking man with thick sideburns and a braided rat tail who was doing his best to ignore all the customers. Kimi held up her cigarette with a self-deprecating little chuckle and spoke in a thick Steppe accent, “No matches. You have, yes?”

The shock of being spoken to by a Qestir was just enough to pull his eyes away from the middle distance and toward her face, which he studied through squinting eyes. She got a rumbling grunt in response, and the spark of a match coming to life in hands that were larger than her head. Kimi tugged the mask down and put the cigarette to her lips, leaning in toward the flame and tilting her cheek slightly into his hand, just enough for him to notice the difference in size.

“How to get a job here?” She pointed up at the woodcuts covering the windows, tilting her head and appraising them with mild disdain. “They have tits? Okay, so I have tits. Better tits than that. You want to see?” Before she could pull her neckline down, the roegadyn was covering her hands with his own, glancing around furtively with an expression that clearly wondered how this had escalated so much in the space of two breaths.

“I’m sure you’ve got specious tits, sweetheart, but you can’t just pull them out on the street. We’ve had enough decency infractions for the week, we don’t need darkscales stripping down on the patio.” He firmly removed her hand from her decolletage and placed it at her side.

“Mm. Okay, yes, that is fair.” Kimi nodded quickly, puffing on her cigarette and staying in the bouncer’s personal space. “I don’t want trouble. I just want a job. I show you later then, yes? Inside?”

He gave a put-upon sigh and scratched his chin through the braided goatee, weighing his options. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, why not. This place clears out after the eleventh bell, why don’t you come by then. You can show me what you’ve got, how about that?”

Kimi beamed up at him and tossed her cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with her boot heel even though she’d only taken about three drags from the damn thing. “Of course! Kimi will be here. No funny business, yes? I want job, not, what you say, casting couch.” She poked his chest with one claw and walked off before he had an opportunity to react to that, disappearing into the crowd heading back into the theater.

“I’m good here, how ‘bout you?” K’tara chimed in over the linkpearl.

The flow of people swept her through the entrance hall and back toward the stage, where Kimi pulled her mask back up over her mouth and nose, returning to her seat. “I have a date with the bouncer at eleventh bell. You should be fine to poke around while I keep him busy, yes?” Almost every trace of her accent was suddenly gone.

“Take your mask off, I can’t fucking hear you.”

Kimi rolled her eyes and said nothing, folding her hands in her lap and crossing one leg primly over the other. The show was about to start, and she wouldn’t be the one talking rudely through the performance!

7. Spark (K’tara)

The eerie, quiet darkness of the Star Sapphire Theater offered no resistance to K’tara’s intrusion, and she snuck through the vacant hallways without interruption, creeping slowly toward the auditorium. Distant fireworks and other festival noises could be heard from the matsuri downtown, where the occasional cracking flicker lit up the theater windows whenever the night sky bloomed with sparkling color. The theater itself was empty, as was much of the pleasure district. Most of the city’s populace was crowded into Kugane’s main plaza to eat festival food and watch fireworks, including Kimi and Makoto.

But K’tara had a box of matches clutched in one hand, and Kimi’s mask tied over the lower half of her face. She was here and she was ready to do this, for no other reason or excuse than because someone had looked her in the eyes and asked her to.

The massive red curtains that hung over the main stage stood open in a silent yawn, indifferent to K’tara’s approach. These curtains had endured thousands of performances, offering years of service as window dressing to all varieties of titty shows and even a few notable class act performances, but all K’tara could see in them was chaotic potential.

The tail of the curtain left a dusty grime in the palm of her hand when she reached out to touch the fabric. It had a textured, velvety feel to it, and an unsettling stickiness from years of sitting through the elements. Ugh. K’tara wiped her hands on her pants and pulled three matches out of the box, striking them all at once on the rough strip and tossing them at the curtain’s feet.

At first, nothing happened. The matches burned dutifully down their wooden sticks, cradled in the red fabric. K’tara snarled and lit three more matches, holding them under the curtain instead of tossing them on top. Still nothing happened for a long moment, the match burning down until points of pain bloomed on the tips of K’tara’s fingers. She grit her teeth and held still, waiting... until...

It was the dust that caught first, the sticky film lighting up with a sudden flare that burned out quickly, but not before lighting embers in the fabric itself that soon began to spread, bursting the fire to life. K’tara dropped the match tips and darted over to the other side of the stage, sneakers squeaking on the wooden floor as she slid into place and repeated the process on its twin. Soon, both sides had a sluggish flame creeping up the length of the curtain, embers slowly flickering into lively flame that gave off a stinking black smoke.

She was rooted in place, watching from the edge of the stage with wide, rapt eyes as the two flames raced toward the ceiling, turning the yawning mouth into a fiery, crackling maw. Her heart thudded in her chest with a hammering force that she’d never felt in her life until now. Her fingertips felt like lightning and her head buzzed, ears ringing with the scream of warping wood. K’tara put both palms flat on her head, pushing her hair out of her face and staring at what she’d done, raw jubilation taking her over as she summoned a decent approximation of Ifrit’s face.

The yellow tips of the flame tickled the wooden support beams overhead, smoke slowly filling up the whole top half of the room as the curtain withered and snapped. Paper partitions melted away behind the stage, the fire rolling with an angry fervor as it worked through the wooden walls. One of the curtains fell apart under its own weight, dropping like a blanket onto the carpet and setting several tables on fire beneath it.

She should move.

She should get the fuck out of here.

But she couldn’t stop watching.

The fire took over the entire back wall of the auditorium, creeping through the ruined partitions and into the backstage area. The beams that crisscrossed over the seating area began to squeal menacingly as the embers burned away their supportive core, but that wasn’t what finally got K’tara to move.

A sudden wave of hot air rushed through the theater from the backstage area as countless rows and racks of performance outfits--ruffles, crinoline, giant bows, silk dresses, elaborate headpieces, unique items without number or price--sparked to life. As soon as one piece lit up, two more next to it caught and spread, passing the fire through the dressing room not with the sluggish quality of the heavy curtains but with the airy speed of light, breathable fabric. It spread like gossip.

Someone from the depths of the theater started to scream, and K’tara’s heart stopped. The icy pain of fear gripped her chest and forced her into action, sneakers once again squeaking loudly on the floor as she bolted out of the auditorium and into the lobby, arms held out over her face as she darted into the back and ran through the hallways toward the service exit at the rear of the building. Two hallways were filled with flame as she passed, spewing smoke into her face that made her eyes water and lungs ache, even through the protective mask.

Someone else was running, the frantic clack of high heels interspersed with the sloppy stumbling noise of hands and shins hitting the floor somewhere down a fiery hallway to K’tara’s right. “Is anyone here?!” a woman’s voice called, croaking through a mouth full of ash. “Help me, I can’t--”

K’tara didn’t have time to think. She looked down the hallway, squinting through the smoke, but she couldn’t see anyone in the shadows. The exit door stood right in front of her, safety just on the other side, and perhaps a small part of her wished that this was a more difficult choice, that she would struggle with it a bit longer, but she didn’t.

The night air on the other side of the rear door was cold and clear, filling her dry lungs with crisp and overwhelming freshness. K’tara stifled her coughs in her sleeve and strolled with as much calmness as she could muster through the shadows, not looking back until she’d gotten all the way to the end of the street. There was nothing to see but a few thin wisps of black smoke rising against the blacker night sky, only really visible where it blotted out the stars, and there was no sign of the woman who had called for help.

She pulled the mask down from her face and jammed it into her pocket, turning on her heel and walking with purposeful footsteps toward the sounds of the matsuri. Each step took her further from the inferno, and each fulm made it feel less real, her face cooling off and the adrenaline draining away as she descended into the town square. Her heartbeat was almost back to normal by the time she saw Makoto’s face in the crowd.

8. Undertone (Makoto)

K’tara had a new, bitter flavor on her that morning, and even though it had been years since Nishiki, it didn’t take Makoto long to place it. Her hands at the back of his head trapped him between her legs, and despite this novel detail, he wasn’t in a hurry to pull away. The early sun filtered dimly through his apartment window, granting a sleepy warmth to the sheets of his floor futon and his bare legs, making him feel slow, lazy as he lapped away at his companion, cataloging the flavor.

It didn’t bother him, but maybe something else did.

When she finally let him up to breathe, Makoto crawled up K’tara’s body, planting a kiss between her breasts and another in her wild black hair. She looked sleep-stupid and half-awake, her eyes barely opened into slits that focused on his face, with puffy bags resting just under them on her cheekbones.

“Who did you fuck?” he asked, pressing their bellies together and resting the weight of his cock in the crook of her thigh.

“None yer business,” she croaked in reply, pushing her hair out of her face and tying it up in a loose bun at the crown of her head. She left her hands up on the pillow, elbows spread wide on each side of her face as she stared up at him, daring him to ask more questions.

Makoto reached down to line himself up with her and push inside, not giving her any time to savor the sensation before pressing on. “You let him come inside. You don’t let me do that.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.” She lifted her hips to meet him, legs spread just as wide as her elbows, so that her body was completely open to him despite the clipped and closed nature of her words. His face was blank as he scanned her for any sign of weakness or doubt. He wanted to take her at her word, but something just didn’t match up. Something about how she was here with him, waking up in his apartment to find his face between her legs, even though he never brought girls home.

He couldn’t find what he was looking for, so he dropped his head and fucked her, grabbing her ponytail with one fist and snapping his teeth at her throat. K’tara’s deep groans filled the sparse apartment room as she was rocked around the mattress by the force of his jealousy. He raised up on his knees and grabbed her around the throat, watching closely as her face grew red and her eyes finally opened up, wild and angry. “I could be,” he spat at her, letting the undercurrent of his thoughts break through.

K’tara raised her hands between his forearms and spread her elbows, forcing his hold on her throat loose and gasping harshly for air. “No, you couldn’t.” She wrenched him to the side, rolling them over until his back was on the warm floorboards and she was riding his cock, pushing him into the floor with both hands on his chest. The ruined ponytail flopped messily to the side of her head. “...'cause I’m not stayin' in Kugane.”

Before he could talk back, she clamped a hand over his mouth and shoved his head until it clattered against the floor, rattling his teeth. Makoto rolled his eyes with pain, but she only rode him harder, with deeper urgency that left her moaning openly and him struggling to breathe hotly through his nose over her fingers. He tried to speak, to warn her, but all he could manage was a strangled noise in his throat.

“It’s okay,” she panted. “This is what you want, right? It’s fine. Go ahead.” Her words had an uncharacteristic kindness to them, a softness that wasn’t matched by the vicious way she fucked him, unrelenting, until Makoto closed his eyes and chose to let the current take him.

9. Not A Weapon (Makoto)

The knife sitting on Matsuoka’s desk had never seen a fight. It’s purpose was purely ritual, and as such the wooden sheath was still shiny and unblemished, without any dings or scratches marring the painting of a tree that wrapped around one edge, nor the gleaming black lacquer that covered the rest. Matsuoka pulled the blade free and sat it down on a wooden board, sliding them both across the table until they were directly in front of Makoto.

“I used to wipe your ass, you know,” his voice grumbled lowly. “I could do this for you too.” It was both a challenge and a genuine offer, perhaps the closest thing to a kindness that Makoto could expect from the man who raised him.

Makoto splayed his fingers over the pristine wood block, pressing down until the tips of his fingers turned white. Fear sat curdling in the pit of his stomach at the same time that expectation weighted his shoulders into a hunch. Still, he picked up the knife. “I can do it. Just... let me think.”

He was probably supposed to be meditating on why he was in this situation to begin with, something about atoning for K’tara’s mistake, but all he could think about was Nishiki. Dumb shit like going fishing as kids and dangling their dirty feet off the docks, wiggling their toes in the water and scaring away all the fish. Or the first time they had to fight together, because some merchant’s son mistook them for the guys who had been harassing his kid sister in the markets. Nishiki almost got his eye cut out, and Makoto’s jaw had never gone back into its socket correctly, but they made it out alive, drunk on their own stupid luck.

Less dumb shit like getting a little older and sucking each other off under the docks, the scent of zinc and seaweed overwhelming him as he held tightly to Nishiki’s tan hips and tried so carefully not to gag or cough. Then laying around on the beach like bums for the rest of the evening, letting a film of sand cling to their exposed stomachs and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes until the pinks and oranges of sunset turned to indigo and black.

Makoto felt nothing, the fear and pressure evaporating in the face of the depressive void that crept in like vines and pushed everything else out. Now was as good of a time as any. He could delay all he wanted, but there was never a right time for ritual mutilation.

He started screaming a few seconds before it actually happened, working up the nerve to jerk his hand down, slicing the knife’s blade through his little finger just behind the first knuckle. Everything that came after was static.

10. Fling (K’tara)

The script was simple. Every afternoon, K’tara stood a certain distance away from a specific stall in the Rakuza district, dressed in simple Hingashi peasant clothes. She leaned against an adjacent building, feet splayed out in the dirt in front of her, and half-heartedly passed out a pamphlet from a stack in a large basket to anyone who passed by.

The pamphlets were about some guy named Maeda, a vagrant preacher out in Yanxia who was supposedly giving an allied clan some degree of trouble in Doma. Makoto didn’t elaborate, and K’tara didn’t ask. She did flip through the trifold pages whenever she was bored, looking at the colorful woodstamp images and trying to decipher some sort of meaning from the foreign script until her eyes started to cross and the lines blurred, like maybe she thought an answer would pop out of the page if she stared long enough. Were they pro-Maeda? Anti-Maeda? She had no idea.

Mostly all she felt when she gazed at the strange writing was dizzy, but it was almost like meditation. White noise for her restless soul, forced by a combination of ambition and circumstance to stand idly in one spot until somebody said exactly the right phrase when she passed them a pamphlet. Being here, doing a whole lot of fucking nothing and waiting for something to happen, was the negative space on the canvas of her nomadic existence, and it invited questions to fill the void.

Questions like: What if I stayed in Kugane after all?

The thought bubbled up from nowhere while she focused on indecipherable kanji, tapping her feet without rhythm under the afternoon sun. K’tara blinked with surprise and put the pamphlet back into the stack, withdrawing her arms into her sweeping robe sleeves and hugging her chest tightly.

Okay. So the question was out there. What if she stayed?

Kugane was always meant to be a short stop on a longer journey, but there was nothing that said she had to go back to Eorzea after Kimi moved on to the Steppe. Another two-week boat ride didn’t sound particularly palatable, and besides, Kugane had plenty of work for somebody like her. She couldn’t say as much about Ul’dah, where everyone she met had already made up their minds about who she was the moment they met her and noticed the Ala Mhigan dust on her nose.

“Do you bring tidings from the West, ijin?” A middle-aged man asked her, approaching from the nearby stall with his hand outstretched and an expectant smile on his face, interrupting the tranquility of her uncomfortable navel-gazing.

Oh, fuck. That was her cue. “I bring messages of Serendipity, if you’ll have them,” she recited the line she’d been taught, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand so she could get a better look at the guy. He was clean, with colorful robes and a funky-looking mustache. Rich, probably. Eccentric.

“I would take them gladly,” he returned crisply with a decisive head nod, exactly on script.

K’tara pulled a pamphlet from a second, smaller stack in her front pocket, one that had a little flat package of Serendipity powder inside it. She passed it to him with a curt bow, which he returned in kind before swiftly moving along down the corridor of stalls, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.

Her head thunked heavily against the wall behind her, rolling back and forth on her shoulders as she grappled with indecision. There wasn’t much in Eorzea that she’d miss. Not the charity that never actually solved anyone’s problems except for inflating rich people’s egos, letting them believe they’ve made a difference in a small folks’ lives. Not the way the Sultana constantly found ways to funnel money from K’tara’s people into her coffers, no matter how much she deluded herself that she was ‘helping’.

Makoto--

No. Makoto was a fling, and it would be stupid to ever think he was anything other than a fleeting... albeit bright and shining... blip on her life’s radar.

Something in her chest lurched, making her stomach nauseous and her skin tingle. A question dug at her, a sliver of doubt that had taken root in her lungs and blossomed into a garden of uncomfortable choices that she couldn’t ignore forever. But... Makoto had helped her, in a real and active way, instead of just showboating in front of her and telling her pointless platitudes about how pretty she was, as if that was something she cared about. He’d seen potential in her, cultivated it, breathed a spark of life into the clay of her pointless existence.

When was the last time she could say that about anybody?

K’tara wiped angrily at her face with her long sleeve, aggressively shoving an empty pamphlet into the hands of some bewildered passers-by. That ache in her chest felt more and more like an obvious answer that she didn’t want to accept.

She had to stay in Kugane.

No sooner had she had this thought than she heard familiar footsteps, the sharp tap of sharper shoes through the dirt in a specific cadence that could only mean one thing. The vice around her heart loosened as she turned around to see Makoto’s face towering over her, blocking out the Hingashi sun.

She was so glad to see him, so lost in her own thoughts that it took a few beats before she noticed how pale his face was, the olive tones of his skin washed out into a sickly grey. It was another few beats before she noticed the bandage around his hand, carefully wrapped but still seeping blood. Her heart, only just freed, leaped into her throat.

“What the fuck happened to you?” she hissed under her breath, the basket of benign pamphlets completely forgotten.

He stared at her with a stone expression, hard and blank but not cold. His eyes searched her face in that way they always did, scanning the myriad fronts she put up until he found a weakness, and then digging in until he found the spot where she really lived. His hand--the good one, the one not dripping blood--grabbed her shoulder, caressing absently but also pinning her subtly to the wall.

“We have to leave for Eorzea. Tomorrow. Kimi must come too,” he whispered into her ear, which flicked automatically with annoyance.

All she could do was gape at him with disbelief. What rotten fucking timing. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you at the hostelry. Come on, your shift is over.” Makoto slid his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the edge of the city, a pit of confusion growing harder in her gut with every step.

11. Dote (Makoto)

Makoto couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, but now fresh tears gleamed on his cheeks while K'tara cleaned the mangled stump of his finger. His lips stretched over his teeth in a grimace, and his eyes squinted with sickened disbelief at the crude hackjob that wiggled where the tip of his pinkie finger used to be. He'd actually done it. He really fucking done this to himself. If he hadn't been there, he didn't think he'd believe it.

Yeah, and if he wasn't in so much pain right now, this would be really funny.

K'tara did her best to pull the skin over the stump of bone and sew it shut, a grim determination on her face just like she wore whenever she had a job to do. Her mouth was a thin, dark line, lips pressed together in concentration, head ducked low to the table while she worked so that she could really keep close eye on what she was doing. That girl had an iron fucking stomach--she was ride or die and crazier when sober than a namazu on Matsuoka's finest powder. This was maybe the closest thing she'd ever done to taking care of him like a traditional girlfriend, and here he was crying through the whole fucking thing like a little bitch.

Eventually she sat back, puffing both cheeks in a comically forced exhale, pushing the hair back from her forehead with both hands. "Tha's the best I can do." The needle sat on the table in a pile of bloody bandages, a white thread turned pink with his blood trailing off the end of it. "I'm tryna think of a joke to like, make this less heavy, but all I can come up with is somethin' about how this is gonna make fisting a lot easier for you real soon."

Through the tears, he managed a tight laugh, quickly followed by a pained hiss as his hand throbbed insistently. "Oh, it hurts when I laugh. Why. It's my fucking finger."

She dropped her hands to her knees, spreading them wide under the table and laughing once, deep in her stomach and dark in its fascination. "Laughing puts pressure on everything. Like, uh, like a sneeze. Or like when you cum." Her eyes stayed fixed on her inelegant stitches. "Did I really fuck up that bad?"

"Arson and a murder is a different story than arson alone. Matsuoka says that bouncer knows Kimi's face. They know her name too. If they find her, and she gives me up, that's not just trouble for me. It's trouble for the whole clan." He looked over, and K'tara's eyes were doing that swimmy thing like maybe she wanted to cry but couldn't quite make it happen. Makoto was kinda jealous of her for that. "Is she gonna come easy, or--"

"She'll come," K'tara said firmly, before he could finish. "She's not happy--she really wanted to go to Reunion first, you know? Wanted to see her family, although between you and me, I don't think they'd wanna to talk to her." A moment passed before she realized what she’d said, and when it registered she gave a cruel little chuckle. "I mean, well... you know what I mean."

His finger was throbbing so hard he could feel it in his eyeballs. He could feel it in his fucking teeth. It took everything he had to concentrate on this conversation, so he nodded dumbly without adding anything, simply watching her face.

Silence filled the room like lead, heavy and cold. There wasn't anything to say.

Eventually she picked up his good hand, cradling it in both of her own with her bloody fingertips. She lifted it to her face, turning it over to plant her warm lips right in the center of his palm so that he could feel every hot puff of her breath. He had just enough time to wonder what the fuck she was doing before she curled three of his fingers into his fist and sucked the other two in her mouth, staring at him over his own knuckles. Her eyes were full of deliberate intent, almost defiant, daring him to mention his dumb little finger or the blood that still covered everything.

"You're fucking disgusting." His dick twitched weakly, willing to listen to her argument but struggling to compete with the horror show on his left hand that still firmly demanded his attention. "This isn't the..." He frowned, looking around the room for an excuse not to get turned on with carefully contained desperation, gradually resigning himself to his fate. "Gods, you're a sick bitch," he finally whispered, coming up with nothing to counter her proposal when she slid out of her chair and onto the floor, crawling over to him on her knees.

K'tara dutifully unfastened his pants and pulled him out, taking all of him into her mouth even though he was only half hard. There was a tenderness to this, a naked honesty. She was too polite--or maybe she still felt too guilty--to point out his more reluctant than usual erection. "You wanna slap me?" she asked, and his whole body pulsed with desire. "You wanna punch me? Yeah? Go ahead, this is all my fault anyway, I des--"

The words stopped abruptly when he leaned forward without thinking and dropped his shoulder to aim a short jab at her gut, all the air leaving her body as she gazed dumbly at him with open-mouthed bewilderment. She fell sideways onto the floor, curling up into a little ball until her knees were under her chin and her sneakers were tucked up against her ass. Makoto sagged back in his chair, breathing carefully through a spike of pain in his hand.

"Get up," he growled down at her. When she didn't respond, he shouted it. "Get the fuck up and look at me."

She pulled herself up his legs, gripping his knee with one hand and surfacing slowly while the other arm cradled her guts. Her eyes were sharp steel, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she gave him a return punch to the jaw, hard enough to make him forget whatever he was about to say.

Black blossoms threatened to drown his vision, but he had just enough wits left in the tank to grab her wrist before she could do it again, jerking her forward and into his lap. She kept her momentum until the chair fell backward, sending them both clattering to the floor, panting loudly with pain and fury. Makoto rested his mangled hand up over his head on the floor, out of the path of retribution.

His dick was rock fucking hard now, sitting firm against her belly as they lay sprawled out on the floor, and K'tara spat in his face when she grabbed it and pushed it between her legs. Makoto closed his eyes against the spittle and let her take it out on him, all of her sharp teeth and angry tears on one end, and the squeeze of soft, wet oblivion on the other.

This was how they cared for each other.

This was how they showed it.

12. Close (K’tara)

Their room on the boat from Kugane to Mor Dhona was little more than a broom closet with a mattress on the floor. It had no windows and no ventilation to speak of, which meant that it constantly stank of cum and moko from their desperate attempts to entertain themselves. It was either fuck or go crazy–there was simply nothing else to do during the two week journey, which meant it was torture for K’tara’s stimulation-hungry existence.

She flexed her feet off the edge of the mattress, stretching out her calves and blowing smoke up at the wooden slats on the ceiling. Makoto mirrored her about three fulms away, putting space between them the moment they were finished. K’tara’s hand curled in his direction, trailing after his torso when he slid away, but this was for the best. After six days at sea, everyone was a little bit ripe.

The dim light that permeated everything below deck was just enough to see the blankness on his face as he stared up at nothing, one palm resting lightly above his navel to rise and fall with his breath. Where did Makoto go, after they did this? His expression held no clues, and he never voiced his thoughts.

K’tara curled away from him, leaning to one side to ash her cigarette into an empty cup. More of him slipped out of her as she shifted position, hot and sticky between her legs, clinging to the small hairs on her body. Cleaning that up later with nothing but a sponge bath was going to feel tacky and miserable. “I’m prob’ly gonna be sick of your face by the time we get home,” she offered, spreading her fingers in his direction on the sheet.

He rolled his head to the side, scanning her naked body dispassionately. The wood all around them creaked and moaned in the silence, shifting to keep up with the constant pressure of the ocean’s subtle but forceful turbulence. K’tara felt trapped but not seen, her heart fluttering in her chest like a scared bird.

“I’m already tired of yours.” Makoto sat up with a grunt, resting his elbows on his knees and rolling another cigarette, his back hunched over to focus on his work. Their cigarettes were uneven and shoddy, the result of having to re-learn how to roll with one hand so heavily bandaged as to be functionally useless, but they were getting better.

The tiger on his back watched her with more interest than he did, stalking close to the ground with wide, observant eyes glaring at her through a curtain of bamboo. It’s mouth was closed–no bark, no bite. Not unless it had to. K’tara couldn’t relate. “Yeah. I guess that sucks for you, since I’m the only person you’ll know.”

The careful, deliberate motions in his lap paused. Makoto raised his head and looked over one shoulder at her, the lazy glance not quite making it to her face. “We have other people in Eorzea. I plan to find them.”

Anger flashed hot in her belly when he stepped around her bait, making her nostrils flare and her ears curl back to sit flat on her head. “Oh, okay, sure, fuck me then.” She bit down on her cigarette and sat up, untangling her limbs from the sheets to storm off naked through the underbelly of the ship.

Before she could do that, Makoto grabbed her wrist and held her in place as she moved the other way, his patient eyes piercing up at her with disdain. “Shut up and sit down.” His order was quiet but firm, and when she complied, crossing her arms under her breasts in impotent defiance, he leaned close into her space, bringing with him the stink of old sweat and fresh pussy. “I still need you.” The cigarette bobbed limply between his lips when he spoke, and he held her jaw in place so he could press the tip of his to the cherry of hers.

It awoke briefly in flame between their faces and then cooled to dull embers. Eight more days of this forced, artificial intimacy. They’d be lucky if it didn’t kill them.

[thorn-ffxiv]

.|a fire, part I

She was a vision.

Theodosia was donned in dancer’s garb the color of a deep red merlot, filmy and see-through in strategic layers. Gold chains and what appeared to be coins hung around her waist and from the lower half of the cloth covering her chest. She dazzled, a broad smile on her lips as she moved her curvaceous figure as fluidly as water. Her hips sway and lift from side to side, her belly back and forth as her hands and arms move in time with her, the bangles around her wrists clinking together, though you couldn’t hear it over the music. 

The rhythm started slow, achingly so, and she watched the crowd through golden eyes lined in black. Her dark brown hair was long, reaching her waist in a mass of wild curls, yarn wrapped around different strands to add subtle hints of red, of blue, purple, gold. She flipped it and then straightened up with a wink before turning as she shook her hips, lifting her hair again to reveal the full movements of her body. A shake of tambourine seems to be her queue to face the audience again and she does, exactly on time, a sly grin on painted lips. As the music picked up in pace, so too did the dancer. It was like magic, the way the crowd of the carnival had fixated on her. 

Though he was not the only gentleman transfixed on her, it was an Ishgardian nobleman that found himself closest to the stage to watch, sipping slowly on a pint of ale he’d bought at a stall. Earlier in the day, he’d seen all the sideshow had to offer; a bearded woman, a fortune teller, triplets that were born conjoined that could jump rope, a strong man that could lift two fully grown Roegadyn men on either arm, a woman with so many piercings in her face that it was nearly impossible to tell if she had skin there at all, a little boy whose legs were fused together, giving the impression of a mermaid’s tail. The gils on the side of his neck were prosthetic, but looking too closely at that would give away the illusion they were going for. He was kept in a large tank filled with water and given treats by onlookers. A wild coeurl was tamed in a tent by a man with nothing more than a whip and small stool. Merchants peddling their wares and food called out from stalls lining the fair grounds. 

The air smelled heavily of smoke and food and incense, of sweaty bodies. Even still, Gaspard knew why he’d come. It had been Theodosia in the poster he’d seen, painted with one of her sly smiles and her wild curls and hips, beckoning all who walked by to attend the Carver Family Sideshow in the heart of the Twelveswood. For all of the oddities he’d seen, nothing compared to the heart thief dancing upon a heavy oak stage, accompanied by a band of men playing her music towards the side. 

Theodosia slid a scarf from her hips and crouched to wrap it around Gaspard’s neck, smiling at him as she slid a finger beneath his chin and reclaimed her scarf again, light footsteps bringing her back to center stage. The young woman, with glitter on her face, had smelled of lilacs and amber. She was exotic to a man who had known only the pale, stony faces of Ishgardian noblewomen; delicate roses, the lot of them, with the thorns to match. But Theodosia was a wildflower, never to thrive in a carefully planted garden. She was not just a spark; she was an all-consuming fire threatening to burn him alive beneath his collar underneath that warm, starry summer’s night. 

When the carnival ended for the night, there was still a touch of wildness about it, about the laughter and voices and music carrying over the air long after the attendees had departed. Gaspard had spied their caravans and tents not far from the fairgrounds and followed the group back as they shook their tambourines and danced like fae creatures down a forest path. Theodosia was among the dancing girls, giggling and twirling and speaking in loud voices, but with words he couldn’t quite understand. 

In truth, his ulterior motive to meet Theodosia lead him into uncomfortable territory. He was unfamiliar with the Shroud, and the deeper they got, the stranger the legendary forest felt. It felt like eyes peeked out from beneath greenery at times. It sent a tingle up his spine, to feel as though he was such an outsider that he was being watched. The deeper they got, he began to wonder if they really were a troupe of fae, disappearing into the forest and accidentally bringing him along with them into a realm he was not to tread. 

Before it got to that point, though, they reached their campsite. By good fortune, Theodosia waved the other girls ahead to stray off towards a creek right on the other side of the path, and Gaspard continued to follow. It didn’t enter his mind even once that this was strange behavior, to follow a complete stranger - and a rather young woman, at that - to a secluded place. He just knew that he wanted to be nearer to her, to hear her voice and catch her scent and to see the way her golden eyes sparkled like the sun when he got close. And when he did get close enough to see her again, she was bending over the water, catching it in her hands and closing her eyes as she spread it over her face.

“Excuse me--” he started, and she jumped, whipping around with her eyes wide. The man held his hands up with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just seem to have gotten a bit turned around,” Gaspard said. Theodosia narrowed her eyes at him. He had to be in his late forties, maybe his early fifties, but he was attractive; a tall, stately Elezen man, donned in clothes he probably thought looked humble but were, in reality, worth more than she’d made in the past month. His skin was pale like snow, and his hair like salt and pepper, neatly kept and combed. 

“The forest does that to the unsuspecting,” Theodosia responded after slowly straightening back up from her crouched position on the ground. “Were you not paying attention to the path you took, sir?”

“I was -- but it seems that it only lead to you,” he replied with a smile, revealing a full set of gleaming white teeth. The girl raised her eyebrows and smirked with a shake of her head. 

“That’s a good line to use, if you’re one to use a line,” she said. She extended a small hand out to the stranger. “My name is Theodosia Finney.” 

“Gaspard,” he said in turn, stepping closely to take the offered hand and lift it to his lips, kissing the back of it as he looked up at her from his position bent at the waist. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Theodosia. I saw you, earlier, during your performance. It was... incredible.”

“Ah.” There was a touch of suspicion in her tone, but he couldn’t let her stop talking. Her voice was so sweet, so lyrical. He felt like he was getting drunk just on her presence. “I remember you, sir -- the gentleman who I let borrow my scarf for a moment.” 

“And how very kind of you it was, Theodosia.” Theodosia. Theodosia. Theodosia. Even her name sounded like a song. From a distance, he could still hear the music and the laughter that seemed to surround her people-- and there was the heady scent of cooking spices, too, ones he’d only smelled when the chefs back home and at parties were instructed to go for something spicier, more exotic. The girl seemed to notice the turn of his head, and half-smiled.

“You must be tired. You’re not from around here,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “Come -- you can share some dinner with us. We have enough to go around tonight. You won’t find a better cook than my mother in all the world.”

“A bold claim, but I don’t take you to be one to lie,” Gaspard said with a grin. “I’d be happy to join you, Theodosia. Thank you. I’ll admit that my stomach is rumbling. To break bread with a girl as beautiful as you certainly must be a blessing from the gods themselves.” 

He kissed her hand again, and their eyes met again. Theodosia knew from the time he’d first looked at her back at the fairgrounds that he wanted her. She knew that look in men’s eyes. Few of them were good at hiding it. His words might have been considered sugary were it not for the tone he used, honest and earnest but sultry. His accent betrayed his Ishgardian descent. Handsome and charming and polite, eager to meet her family and break bread with them - strange. She’d taken wealthy lovers a couple of times before, and they’d no interest in anyone she was related to, no interest to see how she lived. Maybe the man was just a flirt with a genuinely empty stomach. 

“You’re quite the flatterer,” Theodosia teased, reclaiming her hand. “Come along, then. We’ll not let you starve.”

“I’ve heard that if you eat with the fae, then they have some hold over you,” Gaspard said as he followed the girl away from the creek and back towards the camp. “Is that your grand plan?”

“Hm? Oh, no. You were mine since you gave me your name,” she said with a smile over her shoulder, golden eyes dancing with mirth. “Never tell a fae your real name, Gaspard.”

He fancied himself rather in love, then and there-- to hells with the nagging wife and newborn child he had back in Ishgard. He’d have followed Theodosia to the ends of the earth if it meant she’d smile at him like that again. And the poor girl, unsuspecting, unaware of a ring he never wore, unaware that he had claimed his trip to be one of business rather than pleasure when he departed from his manor and from his little family. 

There’d be no winners at the end of this game. 

[captain-zajjy]

Solstice, Chapter 29 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

A/N: FINALLY hitting the character moment for Ignis that I envisioned when creating this story way back when. I hope it works for you :)

Ignis had wanted to prepare a large breakfast using a few things he’d been saving for a special occasion, but Valeria insisted he do not waste them on her father’s account. So, he served their usual morning meal of dry toast with the thinnest smear of berry preserves. Before Ignis could apologize for the paltry spread, Mr. Soleil smacked his lips and let out a long, contented sigh.

“That sure hit the spot.” He even sounded like he meant it.

“I- it did?” Ignis blurted out.

“Couldn’t even tell you the last time I had bread, to be honest,” Mr. Soleil said. “All they had at Galdin was fish, fish, and more fish.”

After finishing his own toast, Ignis immediately went to the refrigerator and replaced the fish filet he’d set out to thaw with what remained of a behemoth steak Gladio had brought him weeks ago. It was barely enough for two people, let alone three, but Ignis had high hopes that a bit of red meat, however small, would go a long way in impressing the man. Valeria might not have cared what her father thought, but he certainly did.

And so, when Valeria left the two of them to have her first shooting lesson with Prompto, and Mr. Soleil asked Ignis if he’d like to accompany him on a stroll around the market, Ignis was left with a dilemma.

He desperately wanted to show her father that he was capable, that he wasn’t a burden to whom Valeria had to constantly play nursemaid. On the other hand, Ignis still struggled with the cacophony of the market; he hadn’t gone by himself since Valeria had joined him in Lestallum. Have I become too dependent on her? Even if he could manage by himself, short of forcing the man to wear some sort of bell, it would be impossible for Ignis to keep track of Mr. Soleil in the crowd.

Putting his pride aside, Ignis nodded. “I shall join you.” He wanted to spend time with this man, the father of the woman he loved, get to know him and, Gods willing, obtain his approval.

Ignis donned his gloves and took up his cane, easily following behind Mr. Soleil in the familiar confines of the apartment building.

When the stink of the city streets assailed his nostrils, Ignis cleared his throat and stuck out his hand, moving it up Mr. Soleil’s back to grip his shoulder.

“If it’s not too much of a bother…”

He felt Mr. Soleil shrug in response. “Not using that shoulder for much, anyway.” His body was tense at first, as it always went with people guiding Ignis for the first time, but quickly relaxed when it became apparent that the only thing Ignis required of him was to proceed as he normally would.

“I can usually manage on my own,” Ignis heard himself say. “It’s just that with the crowds and maze of the market, it’s difficult to keep track of one’s companion, and I believe Valeria would be very cross with me if I lost her father on his second day, so I-” He knew he was babbling, and clamped his mouth shut. “I very much appreciate the assistance.”

Again, Mr. Soleil shrugged. “Not a problem, son.” Did he really not care? He certainly sounded indifferent, but Ignis felt that old specter of self-doubt rear its ugly head once more. Was he not thinking, ‘this is what my daughter has to put up with every day?’ Blast you, Ignis said to the intrusive thoughts.

“So tell me - how does a son of Tenebrae come to serve the Lucian crown?” Mr. Soleil asked as they set out down the street.

It was a question Ignis had been asked many times before. “I was a small child when I immigrated to Lucis,” he explained. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

“So you got out of Tenebrae before the Niffs moved in, huh?”

Ignis nodded. “Had I not, I suspect I would have perished during the Empire’s Purges.” That had always struck him as the bitterest irony: he was alive today because his parents had died then, before the Empire had taken the country and eradicated the ruling class.

“Blue blood, eh?” Mr. Soleil asked.

“A minor noble house,” Ignis admitted. “And now, a nonexistent one, since the Empire abolished all titles and seized all holdings.” He knew he ought to feel some kind of sadness when speaking of the fate of the country where he was born, but, in truth, he felt very little. His uncle had said nothing when the news broke back on that fateful day over a decade ago, but had appeared ashen-faced, cleaning their already-tidy apartment in an aimless, mechanical way, like the walking dead. Ignis had not been able to understand, not until another fateful day in the near-past, when Insomnia was taken.

“Damn,” Mr. Soleil muttered. “They even killed the kids?”

“Root and stem.” There was a logic in that - cold and cruel, as logic often was - and part of Ignis loathed himself for being able to see it.

“Did you like your job?”

Such a simple question, and yet it nearly knocked Ignis off his feet. Did I... like it? It was his duty; his personal feelings were irrelevant. And yet, here was someone asking, by all appearances in earnest.

“It...it was my whole world. For better or for worse.” Ignis knew that wasn’t an answer, but it was the best he could come up with.

Of course he liked it. Everytime Noctis asked for his counsel and heeded it, he liked it. Every time King Regis had favored him with an approving nod for a task completed, he liked it. Every time he did something that, in its own small, insignificant way benefited the people of Lucis, he liked it.

And he loathed it. Noct’s apartment covered in trash, the calls just as he’d finally settled into bed, the disparaging looks from the Lucian uppercrust at the foreigner who’d been chosen over their own flesh and blood to serve the Prince. At least he wouldn’t have to suffer that last one any longer.

“Never been one to hold down a job for long, myself,” Mr. Soleil said. “I know, I know - try to contain your surprise.” Now that they were in the thick of the market, he frequently stopped and paused, humming tunelessly to himself.

“May I ask what you’re shopping for?” Ignis asked.

“You can, but I ain’t gonna tell ya. It’s a surprise.”

Ignis frowned. “I believe Valeria will be rather vexed by a ‘surprise.’”

“Oh, yeah,” Mr. Soleil replied, flippant. “And this way, you can tell her you didn’t know anything about it.” He clapped Ignis on the back. “Just looking out for you, son. I know she can be nasty when she’s mad.”

Well, yes . Ignis knew better than to agree with him out loud.

“Still, not half as bad as her mother,” Mr. Soleil added offhandedly with a low whistle. “That woman, Gods rest her soul, could punch you in the gut, then kick you in the balls with a single sentence.”

Ignis lowered his voice. “You have my condolences on your loss.”

“We all lost something that day.” Ignis surmised that, glib as he was, Mr. Soleil’s former wife was an understandably sensitive subject.

“Indeed.” We all lost something....starting with our innocence.

“You’re probably wondering how someone like her ended up with someone like me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to pry…” But, yes. Ignis had wondered that from the moment he’d met the man all those years ago.

“Yeah, me too, kid. Me too. Ol’ Viv sure was a piece of work. Ambitious, smart as a whip - I didn’t mind living in her shadow - that was alright.” He cleared his throat. “Once the company started getting real big she changed - or maybe that was who she really was all along. Hell, I don’t know. I just couldn’t take being treated like one of her damn employees, you know? But, she was the mother of my child. And for that, Vivienne will always be important to me.”

Mr. Soleil stopped abruptly. “Ohh,” he said. “Here’s what I’m talking about.” Ignis sidled alongside the older man as he chatted with the vendor, trying to make himself less obtrusive to the aimless throng of passers-by. He didn’t think many people actually did much shopping anymore - the market was simply a place to go, to idle away the hours until one’s next paltry meal, to stave off the overwhelming sense of loneliness and hopelessness that pervaded the city’s population.

“Barter only,” the vendor said off to Ignis’s left, as something metallic clinked on the counter. “Don’t have any use for money these days.”

“A wise man,” Mr. Soleil crooned. “But this isn’t gil. This here’s ancient Solheim money, genuine, one hundred percent silver.”

“Don’t have much use for silver either.”

“Oh, but you will!” Mr. Soleil’s voice radiated confidence, assurance. “Silver’s an investment in your future. When all this is over, who knows what the gil will be worth, if anything. But silver? Always worth something! Way more than just these few things here.”

Ignis heard something rattle as it slid across the counter.

“Hmm…” the vendor responded.

“Alright, alright. You’ve got me.” Another coin clinked as it was set down. “Double or nothing.”

“Fine,” the vendor relented. Ignis tried not to chuckle at how thoroughly the man had been foxed.

“Thanks for doing business, my man.” There was the rustling sound of a paper bag, and then Mr. Soleil gave Ignis a nudge. Ignis placed his hand back on the man’s shoulder and they continued on their way.

“A silver tongue runs in the family, I see,” Ignis mused.

“Heh, well...I ain’t good at much - or anything, really. Just talking to people.”

“An extremely valuable skill, under any circumstances.”

“Eh. I guess.” Mr. Soleil paused. “Hey. Isn’t that my daughter’s necklace?”

“Oh.” Ignis resisted the urge to bring his hand up to the chain around his throat. “Well, I...she, er, gave it to me.”

“Ohhh.” The sing-songy way Mr. Soleil crooned reminded Ignis of Prompto. At least he isn’t angry. “You two go way back, then?”

“Since the Academy. First year.”

“That’s a good thing to have these days. Someone you know you can trust, that ain’t gonna go up and bonkers on you.”

“Indeed.” Ignis nodded, ruminating on just how fortunate he’d been in that regard. Not only did he have Valeria, but the Amicitias, Prompto, the Marshal - all people he’d known for years, people whose intentions he never had to second-guess.

With his shopping concluded, Ignis took Mr. Soleil to pick up his ration vouchers, explaining how Valeria had played a pivotal role in establishing the food bank that now fed the entire city. On the way home, they stopped somewhere - Ignis wasn’t entirely sure where, exactly - to sit on a curb and ‘people watch,’ which seemed like it would be terribly depressing, but since Mr. Soleil was apparently quite keen on it, Ignis went along.

Since he obviously could not watch the passersby, Ignis instead worked on drumming up the bravery to ask a very important question.

“Sir, I…” Ignis plucked at his collar, nerves suddenly causing his stomach to churn. “I would like to ask your permission to court your daughter.”

Mr. Soleil let out a hearty guffaw, and Ignis’s dark thoughts immediately began to swirl. Is that really such a laughable request? Have I read him all wrong?

“Damn, kid. You really are old-fashioned, aren’t you?”

“Er-”

Mr. Soleil clapped a hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Here’s some advice - typically, you wanna ask that question before sharing a bed with the lady in question.” Ignis felt his face flush hot, stammering out something that was half-apology and half-explanation, making very little sense.

“You’re both adults,” Mr. Soleil went on, still chuckling. “Only person’s permission you need is hers. Besides, it ain’t like she ever cared what I thought before.”

“I care,” Ignis asserted, despite his embarrassment. He knew her mother never would have approved, and even less so now. But there was still hope for her father.

Mr. Soleil’s laughter tapered off into a lengthy silence. “Huh,” he finally said, sounding more surprised than amused. “You sure are an odd one. But if you want my blessing or whatever, then okay. I know people, and I can tell you’re one of the good ones. Odd, but good.”

Ignis felt relief flooding his limbs and warmth filling his chest. Good. A good person . He’d never really thought of himself as such; he was just someone who had the fortune to serve good masters.

“Er...thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Although Valeria had serious reservations about leaving Ignis alone with her father, it wasn’t in her nature to break off an appointment at the last minute, especially when Prompto had so generously offered his time and expertise, asking for nothing in return. Before leaving, Ignis had reminded her that he was able to advocate for himself - his very polite way of telling her to back off.

Valeria sighed as she made her way to the high school. What was the worst her father could really do to Ignis? Make a cruel joke at his expense? Maybe she was just projecting her own fears onto him. Because her father had hurt her, cut her down to the core, and he could absolutely do it again - if she let him. I’m not a little girl anymore, she reminded herself. I don’t need him anymore. What a lie that was.

Fortunately, Prompto provided a welcome distraction. “No Iggy?” he asked after greeting her.

“He’s entertaining a guest,” she replied, praying Prompto didn’t nose into the matter further. He whistled, but let it go, and she followed him to the school’s gymnasium.

“Got the place to ourselves for the next hour,” he said. Toward the back of the large room, a human-sized target had been strung up on a crude pulley system between the basketball hoops. Upon further inspection, she saw that the target was a photograph of an older man, blown up to life-size, its subject sporting auburn hair, a striped scarf, and a sickeningly smug grin.

“Ardyn,” Prompto explained, his usual sunny disposition suddenly uncharacteristically dark.

It took Valiera a moment to place the name. “The Imperial Chancellor.”

“Uh-huh.” Prompto had turned his attention to loading his special rubber bullets into a small revolver.

She turned back to the photo. “This guy is the Chancellor? He looks like a bum.” He wasn’t wearing a uniform, not even a badge of office.

“He is a bum. And a lot of other words Iggy says I shouldn’t say in front of a lady. So-” Prompto handed her the gun, then took a step behind her. “Put a couple between his eyes for me, will you?”

Valeria turned the weapon over in her hands and exhaled deeply, trying to recall what she’d been taught back in high school. Target shooting, along with archery and fencing, had been part of the physical education curriculum, not to train future soldiers or even for self-defense, but because, for Insomnia’s elite, such things were - or had been - considered leisure activities, sport, a way to pass the hours when you had no real obligations on your time.

She raised the gun, both hands on the grip, and took aim at the Chancellor’s forehead. After taking a few moments to calm herself, she squeezed the trigger. The noise and the recoil startled her, jerking her arms backward. After composing herself, Valeria turned toward the target, noting a small hole along the man’s hairline. Okay, not exactly between the eyes.

Valeria shook her head, let her heart rate come down, this time aiming lower. By the time the six rounds were spent, she had decent grouping in the target’s face.

“Hey, that’s pretty good!” Prompto handed her six more rounds, which she loaded much slower and more clumsily than he had. When she looked up, Prompto was behind her near the basketball hoop, tugging on a string.

“How about a moving target?” The cut out of the Chancellor danced along the rope as Prompto pulled it. Oh Gods …

Valeria tried to track the movement with the barrel of the gun, but her first two shots missed the target entirely. Then she tried leading it, but went too far, ending up with only two of the six shots hitting the Chancellor at all - in the side of his arm.

“Well, you winged him.” Prompto gave her an encouraging smile and handed over more rounds. They repeated this until his supply of rubber bullets was spent, and Valeria stared at the target in frustration as Prompto gathered up the spent casings and rounds to be reused. In all of that shooting, she’d hit the target in the chest exactly once, and the majority of her shots had missed it entirely.

“I’m terrible at this,” she said with disgust. There were few things she hated more than failure.

“What?” Prompto said. “It was your first time!”

“Yeah.” Valeria gestured at the target. “And I’m terrible.”

“Oh, come on. Nobody’s good at stuff their first time.”

I am, she thought. And if I’m not, I don’t do it again.

“You’re too tense.” Prompto pointed at the target, encouraging her to take aim with the unloaded gun. “See, your shoulders are up at your ears. Just relax.”

“How am I supposed to relax if this thing were trying to kill me?”

Prompto chuckled. “Just like Iggy. Overthinking everything. You just gotta keep practicing.”

Valeria handed the gun back over with a deep frown. “Thanks, Prompto. Sorry I’m such a crappy pupil.”

“Bah.” Prompto threw up his hands. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hey, you wanna see something cool I’ve been working on?”

“Okay,” she said slowly, wondering just what she might be getting herself into.

Prompto led her to a small classroom on the second floor. Most of the student desks had been removed or pushed aside, the teacher’s desk and floor were littered with an assortment of wires and electronics.

“Just gimme a sec to get it set up.” As Prompto scuttled about, Valeria turned toward the front of the classroom. Someone (likely Prompto) had drawn a chocobo pecking at a stick figure whose hair was reminiscent of Prince Noctis on the chalkboard.

Next to that was a bulletin board, the border of which was decorated with a colorful pattern made from layered construction paper and a various shapes of a hole punch. If something had been hanging there before, Prompto must’ve taken it down, and replaced it with photos that had to have been taken while he and the others had been on the road for Prince Noctis’s wedding.

Some were posed, many were candid, and Valeria was struck by just how content they all looked in one another’s company. A shot of all four of them with their car at Hammerhead Garage, Gladio leaning on Noctis outside of a diner, Ignis sitting by a campfire drinking his coffee. She knew that while these photos were taken she had been stuck in Insomnia, frightened and hurt, still reeling from the loss of her mother, but Valeria didn’t begrudge them their tranquility here. She was glad Ignis and the others had been able to have this time and these experiences together, knowing what misery the world had in store for them later.

“Those were the best times of my life,” Prompto said, standing next to her, looking at his photos with a faraway smile. “Sometimes I still can’t believe they let me tag along.”

Valeria tore her gaze away from the photo of Ignis and turned to him. “Is that why you joined the Crownsguard? Adventure?”

“Nah,” Prompto replied. “Noct’s my best friend. A job that’s basically just hanging out with him all the time? It seemed too good to be true, but it wasn’t.”

“It must be hard for you now.”

Prompto shrugged. “He’s gonna come back. Until then…” He gestured at the photographs. “And I’ve started tinkering with things to keep myself busy. Check this out.”

Prompto had cleared the teacher’s desk, leaving only two rectangular lights the size of her fist, crudely linked together with electrical tape, wires spilling out the back and hooked to a pair of large batteries.

“Are those...flashes? Like, for a camera?”

“Yup!” Prompto replied. “Studio grade. Super bright. My first idea was to convert them to something like a flashlight, but it drained the battery way too fast. So, I slowed down the timing on the flash so that it fires for a couple of seconds, instead of like, half of one. It still needs some tuning, but right now I can get about five shots out of one battery.”

“Huh.” Valeria took a closer look at the device. “For daemons?”

“Yep. Got the idea after we fought that monster one back at the Fort. A few seconds of light probably won’t kill the big guys, but it should mess ‘em up pretty good.”

Valeria imagined it was similar to dousing someone in boiling water - even if it cooled right away, the damage was already done. “So, you won’t have to be Gladiolus to finish them off.”

Prompto snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Here, let me show you.” She joined Prompto behind the desk, and he leaned forward to flip the switch. “Uh, you might want to cover your eyes.”

“Then how can I see how it works?”

“Just sayin.” With one hand over his eyes - and his face turned away - he flipped the switch. The room instantly filled with brilliant white light, so bright she felt it searing through her eyes and right into her brain. Valeria shrieked and brought her hands up to her face, but it was too late. Her vision swam with white and yellow and violet starbursts, her head throbbed, and she clung to the desk to keep herself upright.

“Gods, Prompto!”

“I warned you!” he said. “But...it’s pretty cool, right?”

Valeria rubbed at her eyes. Splotches of the classroom began to return here and there, but her vision still swam with the blinding light. “I think that ought to do it. Stars above,” she muttered. She was still seeing them. “Don’t you think you should have safety glasses or something if you’re going to work on this stuff?”

“What, like goggles?”

Valeria sighed, wiping her watering eyes. “Goggles, sure. They make them like normal glasses too - or, they used to anyway. You seriously work on electronics without any safety gear?”

“I like to wing it,” he replied with a grin. How are you even still alive ? “I think I might have put some gloves or something in the desk.”

Shaking her head, Valeria began to rifle through the drawers. She found a large amount of school supplies - markers, glue, paper punches in various shapes - and eventually pulled out a clunky pair of clear goggles missing the strap.

“I’ll take this stuff to the market,” she said, putting the things in her jacket pockets. “See if I can’t trade it for some actual safety gear.” Now that she was finally able to see clearly again, she favored Prompto with a smile. “This is a really good idea, Prompto.”

“Oh, well…” He rubbed a hand over his reddening neck. “Just messing around, really.”

“I’m serious. This can save lives. Just... don’t hurt yourself in the process, okay?”

Valeria returned home to find Ignis in the kitchen and her father in the window sill, the top half of his body concealed behind the blinds. Before she could even ask, Ignis greeted her.

“Welcome back, my dear. How was your lesson?”

“It was...not good,” she admitted, never taking her eyes from her father. The only thing worse than being bad at something was having to admit she was bad at something.

As Ignis began to offer some words of encouragement, her father chuckled and hopped out of the window. “So, what - you miss the target once or twice?”

“A lot more than twice. What the hell are you doing?”

“I asked several times,” Ignis said from the kitchen. “He wouldn’t say.”

“Yeah, so don’t yell at him.”

Valeria crossed her arms over her chest. “Just tell me.”

“This, pumpkin - this here is a gold mine.” Her father pulled up the blinds and lifted a terracotta pot almost reverently. A small lamp had been placed next to it on the sill, which she immediately identified as a UV lamp meant to mimic the lost light of the sun.

“A planter?” Valeria asked skeptically.

“Seeds.” Her father poked his finger into the soft soil filling the pot. “Tobacco.”

“Tobacco?” She let out a noise of disgust. “Really, Dad? Not food?”

“Alas.” Ignis let out a crestfallen sigh. “What I wouldn’t give for some fresh herbs…”

“Not half as what the nicotine addicts will pay when the cigarettes run out,” her father quipped, a shit-eating grin on his face. Just another one of his idiotic schemes.

“Like you’re not going to keep it all for yourself,” Valeria muttered.

“Well…” Her father winked. “You never know. Might be room for another pot or two here, too. As you’ll see,” he made an exaggerated demonstrative gesture, “everything’s tucked away, nothing underfoot. You won’t even notice it’s here.”

Except for the ridiculously bright lamp, Valeria thought with a frown, although she knew her father wasn’t really referring to her. All the things he’d acquired, even the bag of potting soil, were gathered on the window sill, and the cord of the lamp had been taped against the wall - an eyesore, but not a tripping hazard, and that was all she really cared about.

With no real reason to chastise her father further, Valeria was forced to relent. After he finished raving about their afternoon meal, she told both men about Prompto’s invention - and his apparent lack of safety concerns. The three of them spent the rest of the evening listening to the radio; Valeria and Ignis were beyond sick of the reruns, but her father laughed at every joke.

That night, laying in bed, she shamelessly watched as Ignis undressed, feeling her pulse quicken as the broad muscles in his shoulders and back worked and rippled as he moved. She remembered back in high school when she’d first noticed his shoulders and chest getting wider, noticed just how much taller he was becoming relative to her, and the multitude of strange, confusing feelings that accompanied those observations, feelings she had kept deep inside for so long. And now, if it hadn’t been for her damned father, already sound asleep and snoring a few feet away on the couch, she could have acted upon those feelings at long last.

Valeria couldn’t help her disappointment when Ignis covered his bare torso with a thin undershirt and crawled into bed alongside her. Swallowing all those things down, as she had time and again, she rolled onto her side, facing Ignis as he laid down on his back.

“Okay,” she began, her voice low. “Tell me how it really was being stuck with him all day.”

Ignis’s lips parted in concern. “Your father,” he whispered. “He’s...he’s right there.”

“Can’t you hear him snoring? He’s not going to wake up unless we start shouting. Trust me.”

“I suppose ‘snoring’ is relative, but if you say so,” Ignis muttered. “It was a perfectly pleasant day. Truly.”

Valeria’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?” She studied Ignis’s face, striped by soft orange light that filtered in through the slats in the blinds. He didn’t look like he was lying. “He didn’t call you names and do everything in his power to embarass you?”

“He can be a bit crass,” Ignis admitted. “But there’s no malice in it. Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on him?”

Valeria frowned. “He left me. He abandoned me.”

“I’m not saying he hasn’t made mistakes in the past,” Ignis said, shifting so that he could wrap an arm around her back. “But given all that’s happened in the last year, I consider it a small miracle not only that you’re both alive, but have managed to find one another here.”

Valeria bit her lip. She knew he was right. “It scares me,” she admitted.

Ignis reached out with his other hand to stroke her cheek. “Why?”

“Because he hurt me. And I...if I let him in, what if he does it again?”

Ignis let out a knowing sigh and pulled her close. “You are strong. I suspect you can handle just about anything this world will throw at you. I admit I don’t know him well, but I believe he cares for you. I really do.” Valeria felt her lip begin to tremble and buried her face into Ignis’s neck. “Oh… Have I upset you?” He ran his fingers through her hair.

“It’s just a lot,” she said, managing to keep herself from crying. Valeria didn’t even fully understand all the overwhelming emotional baggage that accompanied the topic of her father, let alone possess the ability to articulate it. “I…” She’d already forced herself to face daemons - was her father really so frightening? “Okay, Iggy. I’ll try. But old habits might be kind of hard to break.”

“Ah,” he said after planting a soft kiss on her temple. “They really are, aren’t they? Even so, I’d daresay that if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Valeria snorted. “I think your opinion of me is a little inflated, but thanks.”

Ignis smiled as they fell silent, appreciating the quiet comfort of each other’s company. After a while, he spoke. “Am I really your boyfriend now?”

Valeria couldn’t help but laugh. “That didn’t get past you, huh?”

“Few things do,” he replied with a smirk.

“Well…” Valeria nuzzled her head into his chest. “Of course you are - if you want to be. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Perhaps such an admission should have been accompanied by embarrassment, or apprehension that her feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated, but for Valeria, it was simply stating a fact. There was nothing to fear, because she knew Ignis felt the same. She turned her head to see him swallowing hard, adam’s apple bobbing at his throat.

“That is…” Ignis’s voice was trembling, and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The last thing she had expected was to distress him.

Valeria propped herself up on an elbow to get a better look at his face. “What is it?”

“I…” Ignis cleared his throat. “I never thought I was someone who could be loved.” Valeria began to speak, but he shook his head, so she let him continue. “All these years, I contented myself with being needed. I… I thought that would be enough. It would have to be enough, because I-” His voice broke.

“Oh, Iggy…” Valeria wrapped her arms around him, planting kisses along his scarred cheek. “You are loved - not just by me. Gladio, Prompto, Prince Noctis - they’re your friends. They don’t just need you; they love you. We all love you.” Different kinds of love, but one was no less valuable than another.

“When I was injured, my friends, they… I was helpless. I could do nothing for them, but they stood by me.” A tear formed in the corner of his right eye, and Valeria wiped it away with her index finger. “When they wanted me to stay behind - and I know it was only out of concern for my well-being - I couldn’t bear it. I knew it was foolish, and it was dangerous, but it was as if all my fears were being realized: I was useless, no longer needed. The only value I saw in myself was in what I could do for others. If I was needed, then at least I...I wouldn’t be alone. ”

Looking at the man now, Valeria could see the boy who still lived buried deep inside, small and frightened and solitary, and her heart broke for that child who had lost his parents and his home, thrust into a strange new city filled with unfamiliar faces. Even if her mother had sometimes made it feel like her love was conditional, even if her father had made it seem like his love was only available when it was convenient for him, Valeria still knew her parents cared. They were still there, in her life, even if it wasn’t always when and how she wanted them to be.

Ignis might not have had that as a child, but he had a family now. Her, and the Amicitias, Prompto and Talcott, and of course, Prince Noctis.

“You’re not useless, Iggy. I need you,” she whispered, rubbing his cheek. “I need you, and I love you.”

“You don’t need me,” Ignis said, sounding almost pleased. “If something were to happen to me, you might grieve, but you would get by. You could take care of yourself. You wouldn’t end up taking ill from the mound of trash accumulating in your living room.”

In spite of the seriousness of the conversation, Valeria giggled.

“That was only half a joke,” Ignis went on. “There was a time - a long time - when, if I didn’t do Noct’s chores, they simply wouldn’t get done. And I suppose I encouraged that, enabled his laziness in a way, to ensure that he continued to need me.”

“But he’s your friend.” Ignis’s hairstyle had begun to come undone, and Valeria pushed away the stray locks that had fallen forward into his face. “You don’t have to do anything like that so that he’ll keep you around.”

Ignis’s lips quirked upward in a smile, a smile that was tinged with sadness. “I- Yes. I understand that now. It certainly took me a while, but I understand, and I want to show him that when he returns. I want to thank him for being my friend.”

“I’m sure he knows.”

“And you.” Ignis turned his head toward her, his hazy right eye looking through her, into the darkness only he could see. “Thank you. Thank you. For loving me, and for showing me that I am someone worthy of love.”

Now she was crying. Despite her best efforts to keep them contained, the tears began to fall. Ignis held her and kissed her softly on the mouth, and for this moment, at least inside the space of their narrow little bed, it felt like everything was finally as it should be and all was right with the world. Like all the terrible things that she’d seen and felt were somehow alright, because they’d led her to this time and place, in the arms of the man she adored.

“When this is all over,” Ignis said, wiping the moisture from Valeria’s cheeks. “Well, I hope you haven’t grown tired of me by then.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“It is my job - my duty - to advise the King of Lucis. Not to do his laundry. Anyone can do those mundane chores.” Ignis paused for a moment before continuing. “He will be surrounded by sycophants and people trying to further their own interest. What Noct will require isn’t a servant, but a friend, with whom he can speak plainly, and trust to tell him the truth, to keep him grounded. Which is all to say, I will no longer be working sixteen hours a day. Of course, if you still want to-”

“No,” Valeria said quickly, grinning from ear to ear. “That was a life someone else wanted for me. I want to help rebuild Lucis, but I want to be with you, too. And since everyone else seems to be able to balance work with their personal lives, I think we’ll be able to figure it out.”

Ignis was smiling as broadly as she was. “Yes. Yes, indeed.”

[damndescendants]

It’s Our Turn

Part 2 of Guess Who’s Back

Writer - @damndescendants Requested - nope. Just finishing other requests up Disclaimer - I do not own any of Descendants’ characters and/or ideas all credit goes to the creator and producers of Disney Descendants • Pairing - Harry Hook x Reader (she/her) Descendant of - Dr. Facilier Summary – After their encounter with Harry Hook, (Y/N) and the other Villain Kids make a plan to get Ben back and find a way to bring Harry back with them  Warning(s) - sword fighting, injury, blood, near drowning, throwing up, swearing (?)

“Are you sure you’ve got this, (Y/N)?” Mal asked, all eyes shifting to the girl who stood outside of the tunnel leading to the docks. Her eyes glanced down the metal, the smell of sea water and fish overpowering her senses as she took in a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m sure. I’ll use my magic to protect you guys, stay out of the way as much as possible.”

“Remember you’re a target.” Jay spoke up, the concern for the girl in his eyes - all their eyes - was undeniable, “Uma knows how much you mean to Harry. I don’t know her well but I don’t think she’s going let you go easy if she gets her hands on you.”

“That’s an understatement.” The girl’s laugh was more scoffed than anything, “But you guys do remember I have friends on the other side, right?”

“Do you really though?” Dude, who had managed to sneak onto the limo back to the Isle, questioned the girl. She glared at the dog.

“Dude.” Carlos gave his dog a disappointed look, “What part of just because can talk doesn’t mean you should did you not get?” 

“Take this sword just in case.” Lonnie, who also decided to come to the Isle despite the protest of the others, handed he girl a sword from her pack, ”You can fight, right?”

“I can.” (Y/N) gave a short smile as she took the sword from her friend’s hands. Memories of being taught how to sword fight by Harry rushing to the forefront of her mind. 

“Are you guys ready?” Mal asked, nervousness written across her features. Everyone nodded, the same sense of nervousness flooding their veins.

Mal went first through the tunnel, the rest following. (Y/N) was last though, as she reemerged on the other side, she snuck around the wooden docks until she was just above the furthest dock that led directly along the ship’s edge. The only way she would be seen is if someone were to look up and over at her. Her sword now leaning against one of the rotting posts as she leaned on the railing, watching like a hawk from above.

Since the girl was such a large target for Uma, the group decided it was best for her to stay as far away as she could. Although she didn’t like the idea of being pulled out of the action, she compromised on using her abilities to protect those fighting. 

The two sides went back and forth with threats and arguments before Mal and Uma met in the middle of the dock leading to the ship. In Mal’s hand was the fake wand that Carlos and Jay 3D printed for them. 

“Hold up.” Uma stopped Mal who held out the wand, “Too easy. Why don’t you give it a test drive? We want to see it work.”

(Y/N) could see as Carlos and Evie who stood at the entrance on the dock side, exchanged looks and hushed words. (Y/N)’s jaw clenched tightly as she watched the scene, hoping some sort of Deus Ex Machina would save them.

“You always were quite the drama queen.” Mal scoffed. Movement out of the corner of (Y/N)’s eyes drew her attention to where they came out of, Dude the Dog, who didn’t listen to Carlos once again, was now sitting himself just above them. There it was, their saving grace. 

“Oh, and nothing too big or Ben is fish bait.” Uma threatened the purple haired girl. A lot of the pirates cheered and laughed at their captain's words. Harry held the back of Ben’s jacket as he held the future King closer to the edge of the plank.

“Mal. Dude’s to your right.” (Y/N) whispered to the shadows the delivered the messaged quietly into the future queen’s ear. She watched as Mal’s head ticked to look at her but stopped in realizing that would give her hiding spot away. Mal thankfully understood what she was implying. She turned on her heel and went to the railing, facing Dude.

“Although it seems absurd, turn your bark into a word.” Mal faked a spell, waving the wand around for show. Their breathes were held as they waited for the dog, the ones who knew the truth silently begged with the animal to actually listen.

“Does this vest make me look fat?” Dude finally spoke after a long moment. The laughter roared of the pirates as the dog continued, “Hey, does anyone have some bacon? Cookies?”

“Give me the wand!” Uma demanded with her booming tone.

“Give me Ben!” Mal’s tone similar to the pirate captain's. 

A tense moment was shared between the two. Uma was the one to break it as she laughed before turning to her second in command, “Harry. Bring him over.”

The hook-handed pirate listened, dragging a still tied and clumsy Ben over to the bridge that connected the ship and the dock. Gil was telling him something that his father wanted Ben to tell his parents on the walk over before Harry shoved the king to his knees besides Uma. Harry, with a free hand now, pulled out his sword in a threatening manner. Both of the girls held out their hands, waiting for the other to hand over what they wanted.

Once again, Uma was the one to break the tense moment, “Harry, cut him loose.”

“I never get to have any fun.” Harry groaned as he listened to her, dramatically cutting the ropes with his sword. 

“Harry, be safe.” The girl whispered to what she thought was herself as the pirates exclaimed in happiness as Uma returned to them, wand in hand. She knew hell was going to break loose the second Uma realized the wand was a decoy and held no magic. Unknowing to her, the shadows carried the message to the pirate, who looked around shocked at the words spoken directly in his ear, his eyes looking for her and landing on her in her hiding place. Confusion written across his features as Uma attempted to use the wand besides him.

“By the power of the sea, tear it down and set us free!” 

Nothing happened. That’s when the realization came across Harry’s face, she knew a fight was about to break out and was warning him. 

Uma broke the wand over her knee, eyes locked onto Mal who was pushing Ben aside, “You do not get to win every time!” 

Pure chaos had broken out as fights began. A majority of the pirates made their way across the water to the docks. Innocence bystanders ran away with some of their belongings in their hands ran from the clinking of swords.

“You can do this.” (Y/N) whispered the words of encouragement to herself. She focused all her energy on her abilities that hadn’t been used in months. Her concerntration proved worth it as the heat emitted from the markings on her forearms as they were outlined and glowed in a deep reddish purple color. The same color came from her palms as she opened them. The mist followed its own path towards the people (Y/N) had in mind, Evie and Ben, as they were the closest to her. The mist lingered around their feet as it rose to the pirates before them, disorienting them as they clumsily and slowly swung at the two dressed in blue. Her concentration was too focused as she couldn’t even hear as another pirate climbed up to her not-so-great hiding place, it was only when the accented voice of Harry called out to her that she broke.

“(Y/N)! Behind you!” The words were suddenly accompanied by a shadow gripping her forearm and whipping her around to come face to face with a sword being swung down on her.

Without hesitation, the girl used her abilities to stop the sword in its tracks. Her disorienting mist disappearing from around Evie and Ben as she couldn’t focus on it any longer. As the pirate, who was easily twice the girl’s size, forced his weight down on the sword and forced the girl down to one knee. As the pressure got stronger, (Y/N) found the strength to push the sword aside, making the pirate, who she now somewhat recognized and recalled his name as Oliver, stumble and fall forward. It gave the girl enough time to escape, scrambling to her sword and dropping to the deck below the platform.

When she turned back, Oliver had jumped down as well and was raising his sword once again. (Y/N) didn’t hesitate, fighting back immediately. The clanking of swords was loud and fast. Suddenly, he got the upper hand, his force strong as they came to a standstill, toe-to-toe, swords meeting at the hilt. 

Out of desperation, (Y/N) grabbed the blade of his sword, the pain and blood a mere inconvenience as she tried to force Oliver back. She felt her eyes switch to a glowing deep purple as anger flooded her veins. It only seemed to startle the man for a moment before he smirked, the look confused the girl only for a moment before it made sense. Two pairs of hands grabbed her in a bruising grip around her biceps, forcing her to drop her sword. 

“Let me go!” She yelled out, kicking and struggling, “You know me!”

“You’re nothing but a traitor.” Oliver hissed out before punching her with all his might. The pain exploding across her cheekbone and throughout her eye and nose. It was disorienting. 

“Oh Uma.” The girl made out the sing-song tone of Quella, who held her right arm, “What shall we do with her now?”

“Harry!” Uma’s booming voice drew his attention away from his fight with Jay, the two immediately stopping as they took in the scene occurring in front of them.

“This is what you get for loving a traitor.” She smirked, her eyes never leaving Harry’s as she commanded her crew, “Throw her overboard!”

“No! Wait!” (Y/N) tried protesting, Oliver grabbed onto her kicking legs as the three took the girl the few steps towards the edge of the ship, not hesitating to toss the girl up and over the ship.

(Y/N) screamed the only thing that came to her mind, “Harry!”

“(Y/N)!” Several voices yell out in response as she made contact with the water. She tried to swim to the surface but it happened just as another wave came through, knocking her back under the water and spinning her around. The surface was lost to the girl, her lungs began to scream at her for air as she panicked to find the surface. Her mind began to spin as her body slowly gave into the darkness that was enveloping her. 

At the right time, Harry, after having severely injured the three that threw the girl overboard, jumped in and was able to grab the girl. With ease, he swam towards the surface, towards the entrance of the dock.

“Hand her to us!” Evie called to the soaking wet pirate, (Y/N) limp in his left arm. Harry didn’t hesitate, with his free hand he grabbed the dock before using his strength to pull (Y/N) upwards. Evie and Carlos, who knelt besides her, grabbed onto the girl’s arm and pulled her up onto dry land.

“Here.” A hand reached out to Harry who was pulling himself up now. When the pirate looked up, it was Ben. The two shared a look of understanding as Harry took his hand and was helped onto the dock, “I grabbed this for you.” 

Ben unhooked something from his belt loop and showed it to the pirate, it was his hook. Harry looked at him in confusion as he grabbed it from him, “I know how much you mean to her and I see it in the way you look at her. Come back with us.”

Harry didn’t speak, he only nodded his head in agreement. The last few months without the love of his life were the hardest he’s ever experience and this was their chance to get everything they talked about.

“This isn’t over!” Uma yelled out as Mal was running away from her.

“We gotta go now.” Carlos said as they began to head to the exit. Harry picked up (Y/N) with ease, running with her as he could towards the tunnel. 

The loud splash of the bridge hitting the sea felt like a million miles away as Harry came out the other side, immediately setting the unconscious girl on the hard ground. He put one hand at the nape of her neck as he took in her ghoulish appearance. Face had none of its gorgeous color, lips blue, hair soaking, and blood from her hand wound sinking into the cement below her.

“C’mon, doll.” His voice was quiet, the eyes on the two had tears filling their eyes as the girl didn’t move for a moment, “You’ve been through so much worse, please come back to me.”

A long, dread filled moment passed before the girl suddenly woke and turned to the side, throwing up all the water within her. Her coughs were loud and painful. 

When she stopped, she turned back, meeting Harry’s relieved expression, “Harry.”

"(Y/N).” He whispered back, pulling the girl into a tight hug. The world felt like it was only them in that moment.

“I hate to break this up but we’ve gotta go.” Jay was the one to break the moment. The couple understood, Harry helping her to her feet as everyone got into the car. Harry and (Y/N) the last two.

The pirate didn’t hesitate to pull the girl to him, hand back on the base of her neck as they were relieved to be in one another’s arms.

“You’re coming with us?” She asked, the realization suddenly settling in her. Harry only nodded his head before pressing a messy but loving kiss to her lips. They could feel eyes on them, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care at all, they were all that mattered.

When they separated, Harry whipped her cheek of the stray happy tear that was falling. His voice just above a whisper. “It’s our turn to get our happy ever after, darling.”

“It is.” She smiled back at him, her right hand coming up to hold onto his wrist. That’s when his eyes caught glimpse of the ring wrapped around her finger, the one he gave her the night before she left for Auradon. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“You still wear it?”

“I’ve never taken it off.” Her voice was still hoarse, he kissed her forehead mumbling an I love you to her.

“I love you more, Harry.” She looked up to him as he pulled back.

"Not possible, my Queen.”

“You know I am royalty on my grandmother’s side.” She let out a small laugh as she mocked her father’s words.

“I know you are.” He laughed back. The two locked in a kiss once again as they crossed the bridge to their future.

Hello!  I finally got around to proofreading and updating the style. I hope you enjoyed :)

[Edited 9/7/21]

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Confrontation Flop (Gilgamesh, Arthur, Hakuno, Enkidu)

He’d known that the man would try something, he always did, but this?

“This will be great! I love Gil’s holiday parties.” Hakuno held the letter in her hands, grinning as she stood up. “We have to go. It’ll be a great chance for you and Gil to finally get along.”

Get along.

She actually thought that he was going to get along with that selfish, arrogant, stuck up shit of a man. No, looking at the overly elaborate letter with its golden and pressed lettering, done in its overly formal and carefully chosen font script; it was obvious that the man was trying once again to show a difference in their status.

He- who had gotten Hakuno to date him, who roamed around in his ratty shirts and spent his days fixing pipes and fitting plumbing was a far cry from the finely dressed and meticulously coiffed presence that worked alongside Hakuno in design.

If the man realized who he was… If he just had an inkling at his noble heritage and the fact that he was a prince-

“Arthur?”

A glance to Hakuno reminded him why he was keeping that carefully under wraps though. Her honey brown gaze was melting him down to the quick, that smile making his heart do that familiar pitter patter in his chest. She was a goddess. A true lady of tender birth and valiant spirit.

“You will go with me, won’t you?” Hakuno held the invitation, that blasphemous sheet of pure migraine inspiration, to her lips, watching him carefully. “I really love spending time with Gilgamesh. I know he’s an ass, but he has positive qualities too.”

Name one.

But he couldn’t say that aloud. Hakuno was being generous.

He’d made her to go a gathering with Lancelot in attendance and she despised the man for mistakenly kissing her once and grabbing at her intimately. If the woman could deal with seeing Lancelot after that, he could at least deal with Gilgamesh for the occasional outing… so long as, like Lancelot, Gilgamesh kept his distance now.

“Fine, fine.” Arthur shook his head, “I’ll go.”

I’ll go…

He should have turned the invitation down.

“Ah! My fool has brought her pup with her,” Gilgamesh cheered, holding a champagne glass in hand and moving around the guests. Arthur couldn’t get passed the shirt, watching him move around in what had to be bondage from whatever round of BDSM he was doing with that weird inhuman like friend of his. The leather straps went around his collar and waist, criss crossing over his chest as though to hold up a chest that wasn’t there.

“Gilgamesh!” Hakuno smiled, holding up a box.

“Is this your homemade sweets?”

“It is!”

Gilgamesh shook his head, glancing to Enkidu and quickly keeping himself between the being and the box. He glanced to the two of them and narrowed his gaze.

“That was very wise of you. The wines you can afford are cheap swill. Still, bringing them at the start of the party before Enkidu as filled their twelve stomachs…” He clicked his tongue at them. “Hakuno, it is like you do not want me to enjoy your liquor infused treats.”

“I would never dream of depriving you of them,” Hakuno told him, her smile brighter than ever. Her hand reached in the box though, stealing a piece.

“Hakuno-“

She slipped the candy between her teeth, smiling a second before Gilgamesh bit the other half of the chocolate.

Just like that-

“Hakuno!”

“It’s nothing,” Hakuno tells him. “He’s teasing-“

“Stay here.”

He hands her the coat as Gilgamesh attempts to flee, taking his box of sweets with him. Enough of this. The man does this far too often. It’s about time this ended. If it doesn’t, he’s going to get mad.

“Do not leave this spot. I’m going to talk to the asshole and then we’re leaving.I don’t want to hang around some guy’s party when all he’s going to do is try to steal you.”

“It’s not like that, Arthur!”

“Stay.”

It won’t take more than a minute. His hands are already balled into fists. His temper is already rising higher and higher as he follows after the direction of the asshole. There’s no missing that golden head of hair dipping into one of the rooms upstairs. He follows after, finding the man setting the box of chocolates down on a table by the bed. His jacket is tossed aside a moment before he is hearing the door close.

“How dare you.”

“Hmm?”

The man glances over, that everpresent smile gracing his lips at the sight of him.

“What are you doing in here, pup? Your mistress should be downstairs, no doubt whistling and patting her leg. Shouldn’t you be doing the noble thing and remaining at her side?”

“We need to talk.”

Gilgamesh turns, his hand brushing back his hair as he moves to sit on the bed. “You don’t look like you want to talk.”

He moves a step closer.

“I will warn, you are in my home, invited only through a guest of mine. Your behavior, should it reach a point of violence, could be taken as an intruder.”

“You think you’re so damn smart,” Arthur growls.

“I am, you no doubt appreciate it often. Smarts increase business. Business means more work for Hakuno and more work for you.” Gilgamesh motions happily, those eyes gleaming. “Isn’t it interesting how this relationship works? I find myself more entertained by this design world by the day.”

“You don’t need the money from the work.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t care about the lives you help.”

Gilgamesh shrugged lightly, adjusting the straps a bit around his collarbone.

“You are truly just doing this to make my life a living hell. Hakuno is dating me. We are serious. She lives with me-“

“You live with her. Hakuno told me.” That red gaze gleams a bit more. “You may feel free to continue. I want to see your complaints through to the end. It is my duty to hear criticism. It’s good for the soul.”

“You’re making my life a hellhole for your own entertainment. Hakuno loves me. She doesn’t care for you like that anymore. Stop kissing her. Stop holding her in your arms. Stop teasing her.” He moves closer, step by step, until he is standing before him. “Don’t harass her. Don’t intimidate her. Stop using your foreignness as an excuse to be in her personal space.”

He has to lean in, pushing for the most threatening expression he can manage.

“You won’t like what happens if I learn you’ve been doing that still.”

Gilgamesh watches him.

He watches the asshole right back.

He can feel the air in the room circulating, the sound of a bubbling water babbling away as though from a fountain. The soft whirr of the heating is going on. For the span of what has to be eternity, he’s staring into those eyes, waiting for the light to dim. He waits for the tremble or the shiver.

“Boring.”

Arthur blinks.

“How incredibly dull.” Gilgamesh shakes his head, breaking eye contact first. “Here I had expected some violence or some good insults, at least a challenge of some sort. The noble knight of a plumber comes all the way after me and does this? Should I be impressed by your constipated expression or the cliché threats? I’m pretty sure Enkidu could teach you better in their sleep.”

The tie around his neck is grabbed. Without thinking, he’s grabbing Gilgamesh back, finding their lips slammed together…

And then they’re on the bed.

He can feel that mouth sealing with his own, the heat of his driving all thoughts from his head. He can feel those hot hands, one holding his tie and the other delving into his hair. The man’s legs are moving to wrap around his waist a second before he finds himself pressed against the bed.

He doesn’t look to see details. Arthur finds his eyes closing, his hands clinging to the leather straps, finding them staying in place nicely as he holds the man to himself. Their teeth clink together, their mouths are all but fighting one another. The air that had filled his lungs is violated, kidnapped from his own body by the asshole above him. He hardly notices anything before he finds the onslaught of the man over.

Then he’s panting, staring up at the blond over him. The organ in his chest is pounding away like a rabbit.

“That was… different.”

All the bravado has vanished.

Arthur stares at him as Gilgamesh presses a hand to his lips. He can see the other glance in the direction of the door before leaning in.

“Gilgamesh-“

The thought stops the second a cool breeze hits him beneath the belt. His eyes follow Gil’s own attentions. All the blood in his body drains as he sees his own pants unbuckled and his manhood exposed.

There’s no words.

“I-I can vanish for ten minutes.”

Gilgamesh’s eyes lock with his own again.

“After that, someone will come looking. This is truly foolish, however, she is interested in you. That must mean there is some quality that I do not see in you. In all the time that I have known her, she has never found something to interest her that hasn’t been entertaining.”

He should beat the man.

He should threaten him and leave.

No court would ever blame him after that kiss. No judge would rule against him. He has the opportunity to get away with doing exactly as he’d dreamed.

Instead, a hand is wrapping around a hardening length.

The hand he has on Gilgamesh is moving lower, grasping the metal ring connecting those straps on him. Without any intent this evening, he finds himself bringing the man closer to himself willingly, his lips pressing once more to Gil’s own.

He sees the blue shirt gone. He feels the silk beneath his body.

His face is heating up, his chest burning as he finds himself pressed harder into the mattress. He goes to grip the man’s waist, but his legs are spreading.

A chill meets his body as the only warning.

Pain then arrives. His lips open to scream, but he finds the other’s lips sealing his own. He can feel the man pushing in deeper, swallowing each and every second of screaming from him. He holds the straps on Gil harder, bringing him in until their mouths are moving faster, better.

“Tight,” he manages to say, but Arthur steals his air again.

His lips are moving hard against Gilgamesh’s own. The man’s shoving into him harder. There a rising feeling going through him, building up higher and higher. The pain that had been there ebbs away, the pleasure is starting to become too much.

“Y-you’re so damn tight,” Gil breathes.

“M-more.”

“Relax for me. Take more.”

Arthur turns, grabbing the asshole’s hair and slamming their lips against one another. He can feel his hips moving in time to the other’s movements, the two of them both shaking as he tries to hold himself together.

“Gil,” Arthur warns.

“Come on-“

“GIL!”

The feeling of warmth runs through his insides, but not before he feels himself spilling forth. He finds himself staring deep into those red eyes, his body holding onto the man tight.

The sound of the fountains can be heard in the background.

Arthur finds himself staring at the other, waiting.

Gilgamesh stares back, his body pulling back lightly.

“…We s-should talk about this.”

“I have guests…”

“Gilgamesh?”

The man is pulling himself out, slipping out of his hands before he can grab him.

“Gil, come back-“

“Hakuno is waiting,” Gilgamesh throws his way. The man grabs his pants, slipping from the room before he can stop the man.

The shit just ran off, just like that.

He moves to stand up, limping a little as he fixes his pants back into place and opens the door. His eyes land on the being in front of him.

“Ah, you must be Teacup.”

“…You must be Enkidu.”

“My friend complains about you a lot. Hakuno was looking for you,” the woman/man stared at him a second before their eyes drifted down. “Ah, and you were having sex. Can Gil at least keep his pants closed for one get together?”

Enkidu moves closer, helping to zip his pants up a second before herding him to the stairs.

“If Hakuno asks, your head is aching. I had a really strong perfume and it gave you a bad migraine.”

“Why are you help-“

“Next time you and Gil decide to have a twosome, just invite Hakuno in. That’d be really great. Now I have to make excuses for Gil and for you.”

The being shoves him in Hakuno’s direction, moving to where Gilgamesh seems to be forcing out a laugh beside Merlin and Gudako. He can see the man lifting a drink to his lips as their eyes meet.

“Arthur? Are you alright?” Hakuno is pressing a hand to his arm, frowning a little at him. “Please tell me you’re not going to fight with Gilgamesh. He just came downstairs to enjoy the party.”

“I… I think you and I need to talk. At home though.”

His arm wraps around Hakuno as he nods in Gil’s direction.

He’s not sure if Gil is after Hakuno or him anymore.

His ass hurts now.

“You seem so out of it, Arthur.”

“I feel out of it.” He presses his lips to hers. “Let’s go home.”