#and to add insult to injury the way they spoke about her after was terrible and slanderous

[chloefraazers]

one day i desperately want to write my Hot Take on why fiona gallagher deserved so much goddamn better than the terrible plotlines she was given and the godawful slander after emmy left the show but that also involves watching shameless from the start and i don’t know if i can do the post-season-three downfall again.

[nightowlfandom]

Kanato Sakamaki- I’m Sadistic For You

FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTS DIABOLIK LOVERS CONTENT AAAAHHH THANK YOU BESTIE! I GOT YOUR OTHER ONE AND I’M DOING IT TOO!  

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

So ANON ASKS

For Kanato from DL ( I haven’t seen much done for him and it makes me sad because he’s a favorite ). (: I could Lowkey do some more if you’re not super bogged down I had another idea BUT I ALREADY SUBMITED ANOTHER BEFORE THIS SO IM NOT GONNA OVERWHELM YOU LOL but- anyway Fee free to be as nsfw with my prompts (if you do them) as you want. I dont have any triggers so- writing them super accurate and sadistic won’t bother me :3

Bruh....Jesus is my helmet...but NOT TODAY let’s fucking go! Okay readers, you heard, they aint got no triggers. So if you do...move it along.

52- “You can’t call me cute!”

80- “Shut up! I’m not blushing!”

31-“You need to be taught a lesson…”

81- “You look so...inviting all tied up.”

84- “What’s the word I’m looking for?....Pet!”

Also in this you and Yui are BFFs because she isn’t some cold hearted bitch (homegirl trips over oxygen, plus I love her lol)

I was legit about to have him spit in your mouth....I’m so shameful...maybe next time.

Leggo!

I’m turning into a Yandere account and I am totally okay with that.

...

“You know living here isn’t that bad.” you mused to Yui. “When no one is talking.”

Your friend laughed as she cut up some carrots. Yui turned to look at you as she prepare to peel some potatoes. “So living here is terrible every day other than right now?” she replied.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She wasn’t wrong. 

You and Yui were making dinner for the house. After a ambush that landed everyone injured except you and her (thankfully). You had offered to make soup and stew for everyone. They were all in their respective rooms healing while you had prepared everything.

“They really fought hard today, I thought Kanato was about to rip that vampires jaw off. He’s really protective of you, Y/N.” she winked. “I think he likes you more than he lets on.” 

Kanato and you had a very strange relationship. He hated you, but he didn’t HATE you. No one could lay a finger on you, no one could even look at you, even if he said he didn’t care. Reiji tried to and Kanato almost murdered him.

“He then told me that Teddy said I was ugly.” you reminded her flatly. “Yeah he so cares.” you snorted.

“Maybe he has trouble telling you his feelings”

“I wish everyone was as optimistic as you.” you shook your head. “Looks like the soup is finished.” 

“I’m just saying Y/N, just think about it.”

...

You only had one bowl of soup left to deliver, to Kanato’s room. You grumbled as you stood outside the door. 

“Kanato? It’s me.” you knocked on the door. “I’m coming in okay?” 

Before you could wait for an answer you opened the door and walked in with the cart. 

Kanato was laying on his bed when you entered, groaning in what you assumed was boredom.

“Teddy, tell Y/N that I don’t want whatever she made.” Kanato turned away from you. The scars he had suffered on his back said it all. All for you...

Your recalled the terror in your voice as you had screamed for help as the rogue vampire wrapped his claws around your leg. Kanato’s name was the first to escape your lips as you had tried to crawl away to Yui. You remembered reaching out to Kanato with your strongest hand, begging him to save you.

The look in his eyes was feral as he screamed your name too, grabbing you hand and pulling you to him. You were sobbing into his chest, clutching onto him for dear life for a good ten seconds before Yui replaced him, hugging you tightly in her small arms too. Before you knew it, the rogue’s head had been thrown through a window...

...

“Y/N, Look at me! You’re safe now...you’re safe with me...”

...

“Teddy, could you please tell Kanato that while his pouting is very adorable, it won’t get him out of this?”

“Don’t call me cute! You can’t do that.” Kanato glared at you through hooded eyes. “If I wasn’t so weak I’d-”

“Well let me take care of you.” you cut him off, taking the bowl to him. “For me?”

Kanato paused, his glare softening. 

“You must be in love with me if you’re so insistent on me getting better.” he grumbled, sitting up. “Y/N is in love with me Teddy!”

“Kanato.” you felt your face heat up violently. “Don’t say things like that.” you groaned.

“It’s blushing teddy, how cute!”

Kanato’s use of the word ‘it’ wasn’t new to you. In fact when he wasn’t calling you names, chasing you around with forks pretending to stab you, or worse, it was denoting you to objects.

“H-hey! I am not blushing!” you pouted. “My face just looks that way.” you lied. “S-shut up.” you grumbled.

“And what if I don’t feel like it?” he challenged, knowing you wouldn’t say a word back. You were kind of like Yui. You wouldn’t dare challenge any of the Sakamaki brothers. It was a death sentence in every sense of the word.

“Kanato, I just want you to feel better.” you looked down at your feet. 

“There’s one thing you can do.” Kanato used his strength to stand to his feet. Despite his looks, he was tall, and under that cute exterior was a mean and feral beast. He staggered over to you, a sick smile on his face. That couldn’t be good, not by a long shot. 

“And what exactly would that be?” you asked. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t wanna know what he was planning. You were positive that it wasn’t gonna end well either. 

“Get on your knees.”

“My knees?” you repeated. “Why do you want me to-”

“Now Y/N.” he spoke over you. You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t like repeating myself.” his nails dug into your skin, causing your knees to wobble under the pain. “On. Your. Knees!”

Your feet gave out, practically sending you crashing down to the floor. You looked like a dog, on your hands and knees. You appeared weak and pathetic.

You found it in yourself to look up at Kanato. Teddy was perched on the bed, ‘watching’ you two. You felt his fingertips creep under your chin. 

“Aww...” he smiled. “You’re like a little...What’s the word I’m looking for...PET!. It’s cute.” He caressed the side of your face. “Too bad I kill all my pets...they can’t handle me...can you handle me, Pet?”

“Yes, Kanato.” you found yourself saying. You felt like you didn’t have a choice...

and you loved every second of it.

“Bullying you has made me regain my strength! Isn’t this wonderful?” he wrapped one of his hands around your neck. “You’re so fun to torment” he laughed.

“K-kanato.” you coughed.

“Is it hard to breath. Y/N?” he asked sinisterly, that crazed smile gracing his lips. His words were terrifying although his actions said otherwise. He loosened his grip on your throat, allowing air to flow more freely. It was those small things that made you think he didn’t hate you as much as he loved to preach.

“Y/N...when that vampire came...I thought I was gonna lose you for good this time” he said sadly, allowing his arm to return to his side. “I thought I had-...that you were gonna die.” 

“You saved me though.” you replied. Kanato knelt down to your level, still slightly above you. 

“Yeah...because if anyone is gonna break you, it’s gonna be me.”

“I care about you a lot, Kanato.” you finally said it. “I like you too much.” you exposed yourself. “I want you stay by your side.” you said pathetically. “Even if you hate me.”

Before you could say another word, Kanato claimed your lips in a kiss. He held the sides of your face in his hands. It was the first time he had ever kissed you. He hummed thoughtfully, pushing you down to the floor so you were laying on your back. He crawled over you, not breaking the kiss. 

“K-kanato.” you whimpered.

“You need to be taught a lesson. If your gonna be my girlfri- I mean pet, you’ll have to learn.” he kissed down your neck.

Suddenly, Kanato ripped the seam of your jeans all the way up your left leg, leaving it completely exposed to the air.

“Oh look, your clothes are messed up, guess we’ll have to take them off.” he smirked. In another swift motion, your pants were torn to shreds. The fabric fell in a circle around you both.

“Teddy look! Y/N is wearing such cute panties.” he cackled maniacally. “Her naughty place is leaking.”

You trembled, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was planning.

“I heard blood tastes better when it’s from your naughty place.” he ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth. “Y/N” he moaned, running his index finger along your clothed heat. “You smelled so much better here...I just want to- ungh.”

He suddenly drove his fangs into your right thigh. You gasped, arching your back. He violently grabbed your legs, holding them down. His tongue lashed against your freshly made wound. 

You could hear him whimpering, cursing under his breath. 

Kanato would deny it with his life, but everything about you was like a drug to you. Tasting your blood was even sweeter than every dessert he’s ever tasted. Feeling you whimper and plea for him did things to him that would make a sailor blush. 

Forget Yui, forget his brothers, forget it all.

“Fuh-” Kanato couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stop himself from ripping off your panties and driving his tongue into your most sensitive parts. Hearing you moan for him, cry for him. 

The rumors were right, vampires were godly lovers. It was like Kanato knew what you wanted and where. He lashed his tongue against your heat, grabbing your legs. 

“Wrap your legs around my head,” he demanded. “Not like it’s gonna kill me.” he laughed manically. “

Knock knock

“Y/N, are you in there?” Yui’s small voice caused you to panic a little. As you tried to get up, Kanato pushed you right back down, growling into your pussy,

“FUCK!” you whined, making it very obvious what you two were up to. “Kanato, I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” he grunted, not ceasing his movements. “Cum, cum for me.”

“K-KAANAAA!” you cried as you came. You thrashed and writhed under his touch, but he didn’t stop. His tongue never stopped moving. “fuh- fuck! Kanato, t-too much!”

“I said cum for me, I didn’t say I’d stop.” he thrust his fingers into you to add insult to injury. “You’re so fun to fuck with!” he spat.

“Kanato!” you sobbed. You couldn’t stop moving, you couldn’t stop thrashing. Th epleasure had gotten to you so much, you were drooling.

He finally withdrew his mouth from you, smiling evilly at the mess he left.

Kanato had grabbed one of his ties that had left on the floor and bound your wrists together.

“You look so inviting tied up for me...” he shuddered as he bit his lip. He licked his fingers clean of your blood and juices. “Good thing the night is young...because I’m not done with you.”

...

[knightprincess]

Those Moments (The Bad Batch x Fem Reader)

Words: Just over 3k  Summary: Moments with the Bad Batch from terrible singing to the embarrassing things. The moments they never let you forget. (May add more chapters if requested) Warning: Fluff and Humor ahead .... I think Note: Ask if you wanted to be tagged

Being paired with Clone Force 99 had been unexpected for both (Y/N) and the group to have named themselves the Bad Batch. At first (Y/N) wasn't overly sure about it, she was a Jedi after all, a Knight of the order who had no problems working alone, but working in a team wasn't something she had been thrilled about. She worked best alone but had been given orders to join the Bad Batch. Hunter had been welcoming to the idea although initially unsure, especially when he knew he would have to hand over the reigns, Tech had voiced it would be a good opportunity for all of them to learn and grow, where as Wrecker had just being excited about it. Crosshair, the man of few words on the other hand hadn't been so welcoming to the idea, often being cold and throwing snarky insults and comments (Y/N)'s way, almost surprised when she had responded back, fearless to his glare, instead stubborn and accepting his silent challenge.

Yet their had been times over the years since being paired together, they refused to let her forget. Echo had learnt all about them when he had joined, although only after he himself had caused a little incident by accident. Just like always Tech had recorded it, for safe keeping as he always reasoned. Never once did he admit to watching them during the nights when sleep eluded him. Just as Crosshair would never admit he would often chuckle to himself when remembering the times of sheer unexpected mayhem always in a playful way. Even (Y/N) would laugh when the memories come up. As it reminded her of the family like unit and how each of them had come to accept her as she had accepted them.

Wrecker Wrecker had been the first of the Bad Batch to cause one of the moments or at least experience one of them. (Y/N) had believed she was alone on the ship, having stayed behind on the Havoc Marauder due an nasty injury sustained when the Endurance had been destroyed during the prior mission. Wrecker had returned to the ship, he quickly noticed (Y/N) wasn't on the sleeping rack she'd been placed on by Crosshair. Instead the curtains were open and the rack had been folded back to its ordinary position.

He'd began to worry so searched the areas of the ship, he knew (Y/N) liked to go, the rear gun, the storage beneath the ship and above. Behind the stack of mental containers Crosshair sometimes hid, yet his concern and search had been interrupted by a loud break of wind coming from the cockpit. Within seconds Wrecker had broken out in uncontrollable laughter, alerting (Y/N) to his presence aboard the ship. The doors sliding open moments later to reveal a mortified (Y/N), her cheeks turning several shades of red with embarrassment, her eyes growing larger as the situation dawned on her, her hands finding their way to her face in her effort to disappear from the entire situation.

Wrecker on the other hand continued to laugh, seeing (Y/N) only added to it. He'd heard his brothers break wind on several occasions, none of them ever beat him for it though although Hunter had surprisingly come close to it. Yet this incident had somehow gotten Wrecker to see passed the lady persona he had painted the Jedi with, he'd always seen her as sweet and innocent until that point.

His brothers had returned moments later, only to find Wrecker on the floor outside the cockpit, holding his sides, as he laughed. Red faced with tears streaming down his cheeks as he attempted to catch his breath. (Y/N) on the other hand still looked like she wanted to disappear, holding a holopad in front of her, looking down with intent at it, as if it held the answer to her quest to turn invisible. It took a while for the boys to get to the bottom of what was going on. Wrecker not helping by wheezing and laughing whenever he attempted to explain it, where as (Y/N) had apparently developed selected deafness.

Although she could look back and laugh at it now, she had been embarrassed by it for months. Wrecker could never bring himself to explain what happened, although he would chuckle about it every now and again. Quickly calling it a bounding moment, when the rest did find out they soon joined in with the laughter. Tech explaining it was a natural bodily function, nothing at all to be embarrassed about, Crosshair had cracked a rare grin with Hunter attempting to hold back his laughter while complaining he missed such an event. Echo had chuckled for a while upon being told the story, especially with Wrecker's reaction to burst in to laughter whenever he heard it.

Hunter (Y/N) was known for being clumsy. If there was something to trip over, it was almost a guarantee she would be the one to do so. She could rival Rex with the talent of falling over. Many times had Kix recorded the events, commenting about it on several occasions although still saying Rex held the title of most epic fails. To say the Batch knew about the talent was an understatement. They'd heard about it before but never really took it seriously, after all (Y/N) was brilliant on the battlefield, precise, fierce and graceful all at the same time. Instead they took the stories of her clumsiness as just that, stories.

That was until Hunter experienced it first hand.

The batch had stopped at a refuel station not to far from their assigned location, it was quiet, hidden in an asteroid field so not many knew of it. What looked to be an old base of some sort was hidden in the cliff face, although nothing could be distinguished as to what the base was actually for or had been used for, not even Tech could find that answer. (Y/N) had been walking around the ship, close to where Hunter stood watching the distance, his helmet on, hiding any expression that would have otherwise been visible. Tech was in the cockpit of the Marauder, with Crosshair on the roof of the ship and Wrecker around the opposite side.

Without warning (Y/N) had tripped over something, stumbling forward before smacking into the side of the ship, falling backwards moments later in a daze and slight shock from the incident. Crosshair had turned his attention to her upon hearing the impact, as Hunter turned and went over to her, both quickly figuring what had happened. Without hesitation Hunter checked on her, pulling her to her feet moments later, checking her over moments later, chuckling slightly when (Y/N) made a comments about the impromptu meeting with the side of the ship, another comment about the side of the ship being up to standard.

He soon walked with her around to the ramp of the ship, noticing she was limping from the collision with the side of the ship. The pair just reaching it when (Y/N) tripped over something else, this time tumbling over and taking Hunter down with her, the Sargent being shocked by what happened and thankful for his helmet, especially when he would have face planted the rocky ground. Reality hitting them both when Crosshair could be heard chuckling from above, with Wrecker doing a similar thing from the top of the ramp where he'd been sat.

(Y/N) apologizing as she helped Hunter back to his feet, not even noticing the scraps on her forearms, instead putting her attention on Hunter. Ever since that day Hunter kept a tally onboard the Marauder, adding another strike whenever (Y/N) tripped or fell over something. Echo adding to it when Hunter forgets, just to make sure its up to date. Tech on the other hand, never mentioned he got clumsy moment on camera and watches it during the quiet moments, the video never failing to bring a chuckle from him or get him to smile. He also wouldn't admit he watches the video's of all (Y/N)'s fails, finding it gives her another dynamic besides just be a supposedly perfect Jedi.

Tech The incident with Tech, wasn't actually on (Y/N) but rather on Tech. It being a quiet day on the Marauder, Hunter was in his normal place, spinning the vibroblade as he would do when he was bored. Echo with Tech in the cockpit talking away about a random topic, Crosshair on the other hand sat on the seats opposite Hunter, cleaning his rifle. (Y/N) on the other hand, had taken to the refresher. The last mission being a mess one to say the least, (Y/N)'s clumsiness not doing her any favors.

On this occasion Tech had forgotten (Y/N) was in the refresher, walking along and opening the door as (Y/N) had likely forgotten to lock it again. Crosshair had spoke up in protest as Tech pressed the button on the door, although his words had been drowned out by the surprised scream to escape from the refresher. Tech's cheeks got redder by the second and his honey eyes got wider, his hands shaking as he reached for the button to close the door. The image of (Y/N) quickly covering herself with a towel, all while screaming for him to get out.

Hunter and Crosshair both chuckling to themselves as Wrecker come from the rear gun hold, seemingly confused about what was going on. Seeing two of his brothers laughing to no end, the other coming from the cockpit to investigate the screaming, Tech on the other hand sliding down the now closed refresher door, his legs suddenly weakening at the knees to the point they were unable to support of his weight, by now he had gone deathly pale, his honey eyes still wide in shock.

Tech soon fell backwards through the door when it opened, (Y/N) quickly stepping back when he tumbled through the door, almost surprised by it. Yet soon lent down to help him up and check he was okay with how pale he had become. The laughter soon alerted her to the situation, as it finally dawned on her, her reaction had likely caused the sudden shell shock. It wasn't very often she screamed bloody murder least of all at Tech. Wrecker and Crosshair were normally on the receiving end. Every time Echo found it funny.

Tech would always knock on the refresher door after that, and he'd be sure to remind others if (Y/N) wasn't anywhere to be seen. Although he still laughed about it, reminding (Y/N) about it, when the sleepless night caught them both.

Echo Oiling cybernetic limbs was a must for Echo. At least twice a day, once in the morning and again at night. More often than not he'd do it during the crazy moments when Tech was flying in some fantastical way. As he was doing this time, some tight escape from the latest mission, Wrecker in the rear gun, Crosshair opposite Echo clearing his rifle as if nothing was happening, a normal routine. Hunter in the cockpit with Tech, acting as the co-pilot. (Y/N) on the other hand sat on the chair near to Crosshair and Echo, seemingly minding her own business.

None of them aware of the oil spillage on the floor during on of Tech's spectacular maneuver. Tech soon called for (Y/N), knowing she was the only one small enough to reach something, (Y/N) jumped up at her name being called, heading to the cockpit, as she would normally do, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, as she did so. A bright smile on her lips. At the same time Crosshair had gotten up to stretch, finding his own joints had seized up from the awkward position he'd been sat in.

It had all happened so quickly, (Y/N) had stepped on the puddle of oil, her feet going every which way in a wild manner as she attempted to regain her lost balance. Crosshair having stepped onto the puddle moments later, flying backwards in a epic way, arms and legs flying everywhere. In his haste he had grabbed on to (Y/N), pulling her down with him. Echo had been confused at first, although soon realized and asked if they were okay, chuckling upon getting the confirmation they were. (Y/N) had nodded with Crosshair throwing his normal glare, almost giving up on getting back to his feet, commenting the floor was no longer stable enough.

Hunter had been the one to investigate the noise of several crashes and swearing, only to find Echo and (Y/N) laughing, the latter on the floor with Crosshair. The sniper himself grinning as if trying to hold back laughter, staring straight up at the ceiling, his arms still wrapped around (Y/N) from where he'd tried to cushion her fall with his own armored body.

A comment escaping Crosshair about the two having to stop meeting like that. Echo commenting it looked fun, with Wrecker complaining he'd missed something else, as well as missed his target from the screams and swearing. Tech throwing the comment he'd successfully recorded that as well as congratulating Echo on the happy accident, he caused. Where as Hunter shook his head, no stranger to the antics of his brothers and (Y/N), knowing Echo would likely see it as revenge considering he'd been on the receiving end of pranks from (Y/N) since he'd joined the batch.

"Consider us even" commented Echo with a grin, implying he'd done it on purpose with Crosshair being caught an added bonus.

Crosshair To say (Y/N) and Crosshair had a prank war going was the understatement. Anything that could be imagined into existence had pretty much happened. Switching armor and robes out for something else, voice changers, whoopy cushions, videos, smoke and stink bombs, the occasional air horn, you name it, it had been used. The odd occasion it had caught another unintended target, normally Wrecker whom had mindlessly walked into the war zone. His face always a picture.

The pair of (Y/N) and Crosshair always trading comments when their prank war was on hold. Crosshair always comparing the height difference, with (Y/N) always retorting with something else. The two also giving each other nicknames. With Crosshair being nicknamed the "angry toothpick" and (Y/N) gaining the nickname of "firecracker" in a mocking way. Crosshair would always call her by the name even when the prank war was on a temporary hold. All the moments were Crosshair's favorite. But if he had to choose, his favorite was when (Y/N) had somehow managed to swap out his rifle for a realistic replica, except it was a bubble blasted, although she had thankful switched them after the mission. He'd been none the wiser while cleaning, even with his keen eye. Only when he noticed the scope was off, did he realize it was a bubble blaster, something he happily used on Echo after the oil spill incident and Wrecker for the hell of it.

(Y/N) had woke the entire ship up that night with her next prank which had caught the unsuspecting Tech. (Y/N) having tapped an air horn to the refresher door, cleverly putting it where the lock button was. So when Tech had locked the door he'd set the horn off. Waking everyone including herself up. The rest of the boys had found little surprises waiting for them. Hunter's bandanna had been swapped out for something far more sparkly and floral to what he normal had, in the place of Wrecker's plastoid armor was a bunny onzie, complete with the fluffy tail. Tech's goggles had been adjusted to include a pair of cat ears, he escaped most of the havoc due to the air horn. Echo found every whoopy cushion around the Marauder, seemingly becoming a magnet to them. Where as Crosshair found the paint hidden in different areas, the same paint Hunter, Echo and Tech had avoided. To say Crosshair was several different colors by the end of it was an understatement

He'd promised revenge, something he went through with a week later. Swapping (Y/N)'s Jedi robes with a sexy little outfit he knew she would hate with a vengeance. While also swapping her favorite blanket for a fluffy pink thing. The outfit being a barely there nurses outfit. consisting on a skirt that barely covered anything, a small bikini top and a little hat with white thigh high stockings. He'd taken it upon himself to hide her normal robes, leaving her with no choice but to wear the outfit laid out for her.

(Y/N) had hidden by the metal crates most of the day, refusing to come out in the outfit despite encouragement. Crosshair had offered the pink fluffy blanket but found himself almost terrified by her response with a deadly glare. He eventually carried her from behind the crates, deeming she needed food and drink, something Tech backed up, although he did need to recruit Wrecker's help to move the crates. Crosshair had made the comment of liking her more in the outfit, receiving a punch to the arm in response. His only response was to chuckle knowing she would sulk about it until she could return to her normal robes. It was no secret she hated dressing up in little outfits, even if certain missions required her to do so.

"Its a good job none of you got injured. My bedside manners would be terrible" commented (Y/N) when placed on Crosshair's bunk, arms crossed over her chest as she scooted over to the far corner, if only so he could join her. His efforts at an apology was to watch holo-films together.

"Princess your bedside manners wouldn't matter when your dressed like" Crosshair would respond, chuckling when (Y/N) stuck her tongue out at him. The two quieting down shortly after to watch a film. Chuckling when Echo found another whoopy cushion and Wrecker burst out laughing because of it. Tech's question of whom had "reorganized" his holopad also ringing out as Hunter finally found a bucket of ice water hidden above something. His swearing ringing out moments later along with the yelled names of both Crosshair and (Y/N).

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[dhwty-writes]

Toss a Coin to your Lover

I finally cracked. After months of reading (who are we kidding, inhaling) Geraskier fanfic, I finally wrote an one-shot. What inspired me to do it was this extremely heartwrenching post by @clown-of-rivia, who kindly gave me permission to write this. And write I did! I typed half of this at 2 AM on my phone because I couldn’t sleep until the words were own and the other half in the last 3 hours. It was a lot of fun, honestly!

Best you read the post mentioned above first to know the context but basically what happened is that Geralt and Jaskier slept together and Geralt (like the absolute idiot he is) put some money on the nightstand the next morning and left (because he couldn’t imagine himself worthy of love that is not bought). Here’s what happens after. It’s angst but with a happy ending, don’t worry. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Jaskier stared at the coins on the nightstand for a very long, probably an embarrassing long time. Alright, definitely an embarrassing long time. But in his defence, the sun had barely risen and he'd frankly had the best sex of his life - and that ought to say something - so he thought he ought to be forgiven.

He'd be very glad to say that, when reality had finally caught up to him, the first thing he'd felt was rage. Alas, that was not the case. Because despite what other people thought, despite his infamous reputation as an exceptional (and intermittent) lover, despite everything, he actually cared about sex. His flings were seldom only a fancy to sate his needs; he was genuinely, truly, deeply in love with his usual bedfellows.

And Geralt? Geralt wasn't his usual bedfellow. He wasn't anything like his usual bedfellows. Jaskier fell for people easily and had been even more prone to do so in his youth. He had been in love with Geralt from the first moment he saw him. And over the years the feelings hadn't subsided in the slightest.

He was not ashamed to say that at this point he loved Geralt with all his being. Melitele's tits, he'd spent the last two decades traipsing after the damned witcher, composing ballad after ballad to his glory and beauty and virtue and finally - finally! - he'd thought Geralt had understood.

And then-

This.

Disbelievingly he stared at the money on the bedside table.

So, naturally, Jaskier felt hurt. He wanted to curl up and cry for days as he'd done after his first heartbreak, a lovely stable hand his father had sent away after catching them in the hay.

But then- resignation. Because he'd always known. 'Death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.' In some way he'd even been prepared for it, as much as one can prepare for such an eventuality. But not like this. This wasn't fair, this wasn't how it had been supposed to go, his heart not only broken but shattered into a million pieces, like the beautiful painted glass vase he had broken all those years ago in the Countess de Stael's manse. Beautiful even in shambles, yet dangerous to everyone who dared touch the shards.

He exhaled forcefully, clinging to the feeling of glass cuts on his hands, clinging to the pain, the sting, the bite. Finally, the rage kicked in. That was better than heartbreak, that was something he could use as a weapon, wielding words as lethal as any sword, as sweet as honey and as beautiful as a field of poisonous buttercups.

He stuffed the coins into his purse and got up to get dressed, seething and too furious to even attempt buttoning up his doublet. It wasn't as if Geralt hadn't seen that before. He had and he had loved it and then he had thrown coins onto Jaskier's nightstand and left. The audacity!

And the audacity to just leave! Jaskier was of half a mind to not go after Geralt after all because wasn't that a pitiful sight? The great poet Jaskier in the role of the scorned lover, running after his witcher with desperate need? But then again, he was just too angry and he needed to have words with Geralt. Oh, and what words they were about to have!

'Errands to run,’ Geralt had said and Jaskier scoffed in disbelief. Because now, apparently, the witcher had gone craven, Roach and her master long gone when he peered into the stable. 'Good,' he thought, 'so he's afraid.' And he ought to be, really. Jaskier wasn't about to just stand idly by and let the love of his life leave - he had been much too persistent over the last two and a half decades for that.

So, he tightened the straps of his lute case and his bag and set out to do what he did best: Not composing or singing or giving exceptional blowjobs (although he certainly excelled at all of those tasks), no, no, no; what Jaskier did best was tracking a certain whitehaired witcher of his, no matter how little he wanted to be found.

A few pointed questions and sweet words later, he was on his way, huffing and puffing while running to match the speed of a horse and trying to compensate the head start Geralt and Roach had gotten – and praying, Melitele, please, that they hadn't galloped away because then would take days to catch up to them – yes, he spoke from experience, one of his not so fond memories from the beginning of their friendship when Geralt had still thought he could shake the bard. He had learned better quickly, though now it seemed he had forgotten the lessons learned half a lifetime ago.

Luckily, though, he hadn’t galloped away, as Jaskier caught up to him half a day's march later while he was watering Roach by a creek. Good. That was good. That meant that his white wolf wasn't completely averse to being found. Still, the sight of the peaceful tranquillity - as if nothing had happened - only fuelled his rage.

'How dare he?', he thought. 'How dare he be calm when I am furious, how dare he find peace while I am aching, how dare he hurt me and not hurt in turn?'

Oh, but that wouldn't last for long. No, Jaskier would see to that.

"Geralt!" he called even though he knew that the witcher had to be long aware of his presence. Still, he hadn't deemed it necessary to acknowledge him, not turning, not even raising his head. The nerve of this! "What errands lead you to the middle of nowhere?"

The witcher flinched and looked up, his brows furrowed. It was a look Jaskier had long learnt to identify with pain. 'Good,' he thought, although he felt a little guilty, 'he shall hurt, too. Just like I do.'

"No answer?" he asked flippantly. "Fine. Then I'll do the talking. As always. You better sit down, witcher, because we will be here for a while. And you will listen." Geralt didn't move. Fine for him.

"What the actual fuck," he began his tirade, "we're you thinking, you cursed witcher?" He flinched but Jaskier didn't care. He was bitter and battered and broken-hearted and it was Geralt’s fault!

"What do you take me for?" He shouted and dug for the coins in his purse. "Some common whore? Some- some common travelling bard who will just as easily fall into bed for some coin as fall into song?" He probably shouldn't care that much but even if he was now famous enough to normally elude such propositions- as well as the need to accept them - it still rubbed him the wrong way decades later.   

"For years I've kept you company, for years I've sung your praises. 'Toss a coin to your witcher', indeed. Here!" One by one he hurled them in Geralt's general direction. "Have some coins! Have plenty of them because trust me, I’m not wanting for money! I’m not wanting for anything, to be precise! I could easily retire to Oxenfurt to teach or to basically any court on the Continent to make a home. Easily, do you hear me? I do not need your pity! I do not need you to pay me!"  

He had run out of Geralt's coins to throw and while he could certainly bombard him with his own money, he was actually quite protective of his earnings. So, he reverted back to verbal assault: "Is that what that was to you last night? Another night of paid company you like to indulge that you could just leave behind come morning? What were you even thinking? That you could finally shake me of after years of travelling with you?"

He gasped as a terrible thought came to his mind. "Is that what it is? You try to insult me so that I finally stop following you? Because then you have succeeded, Geralt. This insult is-"

"Jaskier," Geralt said, the first time he spoke since his arrival. It sounded weak. Broken. Pleading.

"No!" he answered. "No, I'm not finished with you, yet! You humiliate me, Geralt. For years I've endorsed your terrible bedside manner but this is a step too far. Really, I'm at a loss for words! I woke up with a wonderful afterglow to see you leaving and was worried for you. Turns out I shouldn't have been because apparently this night has no impact whatsoever on you. You're as calm as- as- I don't even know! See what you do to me? I'm a poet! A minstrel! A pretty little wordsmith, yet you make my words fail me. My weapons, my craft, my only asset, my-"

"Jaskier, please," Geralt interrupted him and to his shame tears rose to Jaskier’s eyes, "I didn't want to hurt you!"

"Then why did you do it?" he yelled, choking on the tears. "Because guess what, Geralt, I'm hurt! I'm really fucking hurt!"

"I'm sorry. Last night was a mistake."

"Oh, great," he scoffed. "First you add injury to insult. But sure, why not add insult again?"

"I shouldn't have made you do this."

"Made me?" he howled. "You didn't make me do anything! Fuck, I kissed you because Melitele's tits, I've been in love with you for so long and I just couldn't take it anymore!" His voice broke on the last syllables and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to quell the tears. "Shit-!" he croaked weakly. He hadn't meant for it to go this way, he was angry and he wanted him to feel the fury, not to crack down before him, show him his weakness, show him just how helpless he made him feel and-

He gulped down air, in a hope to stifle the violent sobs that shook his body. Oh, how he ached to curl up in a lover's embrace, to be held and comforted and yet Geralt was the one to reduce him to the blubbering mess. It was fucked up. It was so fucked up. Fucked up to run after him, fucked up to yell at him, all so very fucked up.

Still, he calmed down. Slowly. But still, he did.

When he was only sniffling a bit, he lowered his hands and found Geralt staring at him, unmoving, unblinking. Then he said: "No you're not."

"What do you mean, I'm not?"

"You're not in love with me. You can't be."

He scoffed. "Do you now claim to know my heart better than I do? Do you think I cannot judge whom I love? Do you think me an imbecile, Geralt? Incapable? Weak? Whatever it is, tell me! Better tell me now!"

"I think you are insane," he growled and Jaskier gasped, "to think yourself in love with a witcher."

"What, you absolute idiot, do you think have I been doing the last twenty-odd years? It hasn't been a deterrent all that time, so why should it be now?"

"Because you can't love me, Jaskier," he roared, the first time he had actually raised his voice at him since the djinn. "Because I am a witcher and can't love you back and demanding your affection would not be fair!"

"Denying it is equally unfair!"

Geralt growled and turned away, obviously displeased by something though Jaskier couldn't tell what it was.

He was still angry and he wanted to continue yelling, yell how Geralt paying him wasn't fair, how Geralt leaving him wasn't fair, how- But somewhere in his rage-clouded mind a voice of reason spoke up, granting surprising clarity for just a moment.

He clung to that clear thought as if for dear life, letting the fury dissipate until he was thinking again, and not just feeling and hurting. "Geralt," he said cautiously now, "why did you pay me?"

The witcher scoffed and ducked his head. "I had to pay you something, didn't I?" he mumbled almost too quietly for Jaskier to hear. "I mean, you were expecting something. No-one would bed a witcher without- without recompensation."

Jaskier stared at him abhorred. "Why on earth would you think that?" he asked with disgust dripping into his voice.

"Because it's always been like this!" he answered exasperated. "Women love me only for the money and even then, they cannot look at me while taking me to bed. Yen could, but-" He winced. "The djinn- And you, Jaskier. You don't have anything like that. But I had to give you something. I could never ask a sacrifice like that of something without-" Jaskier watched with astonishment as the witcher's voice broke. "What else do I have to offer you?"

"What- what else would do you have to offer me?" Jaskier gasped and spluttered trying - and failing - to find any words.

He just grunted and took Roach by the reins as if he was about to walk away - again.

"No!" He stepped in and ripped the reins out of his hands. "No, you do not get to flee! You stay and listen to what I have to say." He just stared, watching the bard as he started pacing. "What do you have to offer me, Geralt?" He asked bristled. "Why, what indeed? It isn't as if you have made me famous, ensuring my wealth and livelihood. It isn't as if you've saved my life countless of times, putting yourself in harm’s way right from the very beginning when you didn't even know - or like - me. It isn't as if you listen to my endless ramblings, as if you replace my lute strings when I need to, as if you lend me your coat when I'm freezing or carry my bag when I'm tired. It isn't as if you've nursed me back to health after illness and injury alike. It isn't as if you've rendered me completely speechless last night. No, none of that has ever happened."

He ducked his head. "That's nothing."

"That's everything."

His head snapped up. "Well, I'm still a witcher!" he shouted but Jaskier didn't flinch nor waver.

"And when have I ever cared about that?" he shouted back. "My love for your mind and soul and heart has been free for as long as I know you. Why would you think that my love for your body wouldn't be?"

"You mean it," Geralt said his voice full of surprise.

"Of course, I do, you big dumb oaf! That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past half hour. What else am I supposed to do to convince you that you are worthy of love and softness and care? What else am I supposed to do to show you that I've been giving you all of this for half of my life without asking anything in return? I never needed to ask! I've been paid in turn thousandfold. Not in money, Geralt, in actions big and small. I thought-" He choked on his tears, "I thought I've been paid in love, too."

"Witchers can't love. Witchers can't feel at all."

"Stop telling yourself that lie. I've known you for twenty years, Geralt. When you're happy you smile, when you think I'm funny you huff a laugh, when you're angry you shout, when you're sad you shut me out and when you're hurt you lick your wounds. You hide it, of course, but you haven't been able to hide it from me for a long time. And I know you love people. You love your brothers and Vesemir and you love Yennefer in some way and Ciri, too. And I think you love me, too. Don't hide your love, witcher. Not from me. Never from me. You're just scared. A coward. Scared to get hurt and scared to hurt me."

"I'm not craven," he growled.

"No?" Jaskier crossed his arms. "Prove it."

Geralt looked at him quizzically. Jaskier raised an eyebrow. A challenge. An invitation. A plea. And just like that, Jaskier could see the witcher break. It was plain as day, the little crack in the facade, the little gleam in the eyes and then, suddenly, he was being kissed.

There was a desperate sob caught in Geralt's throat when they kissed, the anguish and agony overwhelming Jaskier and making him stumble a few paces back. Geralt kissed as if he'd never kissed before, frantic and fierce and forlorn, as if he feared that Jaskier would pull away, as if he waited for eventual rejection, revulsion, rebuke.

And that broke Jaskier's heart again, maybe even more so than the coin. No, Geralt could have paid him all the coin in the world and it wouldn't have hurt half as much as the onslaught of- of- decades of loneliness and loathing and longing that choked him.

He was still angry - he was sure that he would continue being angry and hurt for quite some time - but that didn't matter right now. Right now, all that mattered what that he loved Geralt. And his beloved witcher, his dear white wolf, his revered companion, friend, lover was hurting, too. Because he hadn't been able to even imagine being worthy of the affection Jaskier gave him so readily, so freely, so effortlessly. Oh, and how much affection he had to give!

He raised his hands gently to cup his cheeks, wiping the tears away with both his thumbs and leaned into the kiss. The desperation faded away, as did the agony, to be replaced with tenderness and love. He reached for Geralt's hands to place them on his hips, whispering quietly between kisses: "It's okay, it's alright. Hold me, embrace me, I've got you." He placed a tender hand on Geralt's chest, manoeuvring them until they reached some rocks beside the creek to sit down on. He cradled his witcher into his lap, carding his fingers through his hair and kissed him, wishing that he never had to stop, hoping to pour all the unsaid words, all the undelivered confessions, all the unsung ballads (that he definitely did not have ready, no) into the slow movements of their lips.

When Geralt pulled away and leaned their foreheads against each other he was almost disappointed. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry, Jaskier, I'm so sorry, I never meant- I never meant for any of this, I never meant to hurt you, to insult you, to- I just don't- I don't know how to- I want to make this good, make this good for you, and-"

"Shhhh," he made soothingly. "I know. I know, my love, my witcher, my dear heart. And I forgive you. You know I always do."

"I don't deserve-"

He pressed a finger to his lips. "No," he declared. "None of this nonsense anymore. I've yelled my throat sore trying to convince you otherwise. What else am I supposed to do to prove it?"

"Kiss me again," he begged, "A thousand times. Maybe I'll start to believe it then."

To his own surprise, Jaskier laughed. "That, my dear, I can do." He pecked him on the lips. "One," he said. "Nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine to go."

To his even bigger astonishment Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, the white wolf, smiled. Widely. "Hmm," he made. "I think I like that. Do it again?"

He did. "Two."

That earned him a quiet chuckle and a quivering sigh. "I love you," Geralt whispered. "I really do."

Jaskier smiled, too. "I know. I love you, too."

He buried his face in the crook of his neck and Jaskier's breath hitched. "I'm not good at showing it yet," Geralt said and Jaskier had to keep himself from squirming at the tickling sensation. "I'm shit at showing it. I can't promise you that I won't hurt you again. I've never done something like this before. But I will try. For you. Anything for you."

"Oh, my love," he sighed, his heart beating quicker. "And what a wonderful adventure that will be. A tale of love and woe, of-"

"-death and destiny?" Geralt interrupted him and looked at him, a sly smile on his lips. "Heroics and heartbreak?"

Jaskier gasped. "You remember!"

"Of course, I do. I never forget anything important." He opened his mouth to protest and Geralt quickly spoke: "Do you think it is a story worthy of a ballad?"

His expression went soft and his heart warmed. "No, Geralt," he said and kissed him again. "This is the stuff of an epos. In a thousand years they will still tell legends of our love. There will be novels and plays and songs, and- oh Geralt, I love you, so much it hurts."

The witcher pulled him close. “I love you, too. I love you even if I don’t show it. I love your singing, your dramatics, your fancies. I love that your hair is soft and that your body is unscarred and that your hands are always gentle. I love that you never smell of fear. And I still can’t believe any of this.”

Jaskier smiled and kissed him again. “Three,” he announced.

“Do it again?”

He laughed. “Always.” And so, he did. A thousand kisses and a thousand more. To make his witcher believe. To make his witcher stay. To love his witcher.

Because he always had. Jaskier, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, strolling minstrel, master poet, bard loved Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken since the moment he had first laid eyes on him. And now he got to show it to. Now he received love in turn. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

[mashounen2003]

Sonic opinions - 2

In large portions of every fandom, it looks like it prevails the idea that you can only take one of two positions: praising the story in every respect, including both the ideas themselves and their execution by the writers, or admitting not to like the story and not to praise any element of it at all. I think my ideas regarding the Archie-Sonic comics and the Sonic franchise in general cannot be pigeonholed into either of these two extremes.

More below the "keep reading" cut.

I loved all the world-building in Archie-Sonic, the elements the comic introduced, their many characters and the potential to tell stories about them; I also really liked much of the art and personal styles of several artists Archie-Sonic has had throughout its history, with very few exceptions (and such exceptions include Ron Lim, of course). That's why, of all the Sonic continuities, I often use the pre-reboot Archie-Sonic comic as the primary source for world-building elements and story ideas.

What really makes me feel bad about that comic, what motivates most of my criticism, is the ideas’ execution by the main writers, as well as aspects that I think are more linked to each writer as a person, the unique way in which each of them has written their stories.

Firstly, Michael Gallagher: the writer for the first few dozen issues of the comic had a terrible sense of humour, and this hurt the comic hugely since those first issues were fundamentally based on that low-quality comedy style. The characterization of the entire cast also suffered greatly from this; in Sally's case, something quite ironic happened too: Gallagher portrayed her as bossy, annoying, temperamental, usually bickering with Sonic, and now that's also how Sally is seen by many fans of the videogames’ continuity (at best). Other than this, not much more could be said about him.

Karl Bollers wrote quite decent stories with some nice comedy, with “Return to Angel Island” being his best work, one of the best stories in the entire comic and perhaps even one of the best in the franchise; but Bollers’s work was "torpedoed" by Ken Penders and then-editor Justin Gabrie, which ruined the stories’ final versions sometimes or led to elements introduced by Bollers being "retconned" and overwritten by whatever Penders smoked and decided to do when taking over. The characterization of Fiona Fox is one of the main examples, with Bollers's Fiona being a quite under-utilized character but with a great potential that would later be wasted by both Penders and Ian Flynn. Another similar case was Sally breaking up with Sonic: Bollers tried to give context to such a drastic decision by Sally and show how she was the one who was suffering the most at that time and also that both she and Sonic were partially right, but Penders and Gabrie didn't let Bollers develop this subplot properly and all we had was a quite infamous scene that unfairly made Sally one of the most hated characters. It’s also known of several plans Bollers had for future stories, and one of them was Antoine being corrupted by the Source of All and turning into a villain; this had the potential to be a good story by subverting the concept of the Source of All and making it an actual threat, but on the other hand, it’d have meant resorting once again to the resource of "this character isn’t doing anything, let's make them evil", something quite disappointing, which later would have disastrous results when Flynn did the same with Fiona a few years later. However, these plans of Bollers were just ideas, and the quality of a story created from them still depends a lot on execution. In the end, I can't say anything about how good or bad Bollers was as a writer, simply because I have no way of knowing what his stories would have been like if he had been given more freedom and had stayed as the writer longer.

There were two writers who influenced Archie-Sonic comics far more than any other writer in its history: Penders and Flynn. The first of them was a retarded pervert with an overly inflated and fragile ego. He became obsessed with the primitive, toxic ideal of "family" North-Americans have. He wrote nonsensical, contradictory stories, having already decided the end down to the last detail long before even thinking about how the story would come to that end (I also made this specific mistake a few times when I was just starting to write fanfiction, I must admit). He increased Fiona's age in order to be able to pair her with the Don Juan that Sonic had become, which also ruined Fiona's characterization forever. The issues 150s -right before being replaced by Flynn- were the worst part of Penders’s run, as Bollers was no longer there to put a stop to his madness in any way, and it was at this time when there was the most egregious case of Penders pouring into the comic his worst perversions and retarded ideas: he hinted at a sex scene in one of the most infamous cases in the history of the entire Sonic franchise, although it wasn’t infamous for the implied sex per se but rather because what happened was technically a rape by deception; to add insult to injury, the writer implicitly blamed the victim some years later when asked about it on Twitter.

I could go on talking about “Ken Perverts”, but I think that's not necessary and would be a waste of time since, as everyone here already knows, he's been the laughingstock of the entire Sonic franchise for years; @ponett even has a whole secondary blog, @thankskenpenders, mainly dedicated to this. On the other hand, there’s still another writer who has also contributed a lot and also made huge mistakes but is not criticized in the least by almost anyone, simply because he was better than Penders.

Ian Flynn usually reduced the characters to slightly oversimplified portrayals, similar to the personalities of the characters in the most recent videogames. Under his pen, Sonic was more sympathetic but his words sometimes sounded too empty and shallow, his apologies for past mistakes didn’t lead to genuine changes on his part, and sometimes he even seemed plain insensitive to all the tragedies happening around him, especially at the Mecha Sally Arc (I nickname Ian Flynn’s Sonic "Plastic Smile" for this). Admittedly, this had already happened several times with previous writers (Penders portraying Sonic as a Don Juan, as I already mentioned), and this is why I think the original Sonic from Sonic SatAM was always better for feeling more "genuine", less "empty", and more heroic and likeable as a result. Perhaps the only ones to escape the oversimplified portrayal have been Shadow and E-123 Omega, whose characterizations in Archie-Sonic were the best in the whole franchise.

Besides, Flynn had strong favouritism for Amy Rose, which only made things worse because this Amy was much more similar to the one in the videogames from Sonic Heroes onwards. Anyway, this also happened with previous writers, like when Amy wished to be younger at the cost of a chance to save Sally's mother and no one ever berated her for it.

Let’s look at the villains. Unlike the typical Eggman from the videogames, with his follies, eccentricities and other absurd aspects, the Robotnik “inherited” by the comic from Sonic SatAM was explicitly a genocidal bastard and crueller while at the same time being sane enough to realize everything he was doing (@robotnik-mun already spoke in detail about this once); however, Flynn tried to combine the two characters into the pre-reboot Archie-Sonic Eggman, and the result created some severe problems with the stories’ tone. Something derived from this was how Sonic let Eggman live and even felt sorry for his fall into madness, in addition to treating him as if they were the Sonic and Eggman from the videogames, Sonic X or Sonic Boom; it’s worth remembering this Eggman technically is a sort of reincarnation of the SatAM Robotnik (his exact nature is quite complicated and includes parallel universes, but yes, he’s supposed to be exactly the same as the SatAM Robotnik, with memories and everything) and this Sonic is supposed to have fought a bloody decade-long guerilla war against him just like his SatAM counterpart.

Scourge was turned into a massive Mary-Sue who achieved easy victories, as subtle as a huge neon sign saying "the bad guys win"; he was also an abusive manipulator towards Fiona Fox, and Flynn was unable to show that properly for fear of making his pet look no longer cool, which makes you wonder how alike Flynn and Penders might actually be in some ways. To clearly understand the horrible damage this has caused: it not only created a generation of young Sonic fans -mostly boys from the USA- who romanticize abuse either consciously or unconsciously, but also there are even women -including scholars, committed feminists and transgender people who are also activists for social justice- who either sympathize with Scourge or think Fiona made a right, wise, rational or informed decision by joining him in the story (I’ll not give names of those women, I’m not really eager to get into heated fallacious discussions about “the true meaning of Feminism”); to top it off, among the writers who started working with Ian Flynn either on IDW-Sonic or the last years of Archie-Sonic, there’s at least one person who got the job of writing official Sonic comics after gaining quite a bit of fame with a fan-comic where they used the pairing of Scourge & Fiona to inspire its readers to feel sorry... for Scourge. And speaking of Fiona specifically: the subplot of her career as a villain was ill-conceived, was built by using as a cornerstone the A-story of Issue #150 (that quite infamous and widely known story written by Penders where Scourge may or may not have raped Bunnie by deception), and was also seemingly "abandoned" as Fiona ended up merely being Scourge's new abuse victim girlfriend and her status as a traitor didn’t even have a significant emotional effect on the Freedom Fighters.

Flynn also followed something like a pattern of taking tropes from famous works and then using them when writing the comic but not actually understanding why those tropes had worked in the first place. Perhaps the prime example of this was Scourge giving Sonic the Joker's "One Bad Day" speech: it almost felt a bit like giving the same speech to the Batman of Batman vs. Superman, as Sonic had already had a whole "bad decade" and was still a hero despite it; also, Sonic's answer to that speech (telling Scourge it only takes a tiny bit of selflessness and decency for him to be a good person) wasn’t that great, not at all compared to the mildly masterful answer Batman had originally given to the Joker in The Killing Joke, and it even made Sonic look more like a bad judge of character.

Lastly, the entire Mecha Sally Arc was poorly planned, had some contradictions with itself and with previous stories, was stretched through dozens of comic issues no matter if that felt forced, and the main events and plot twists throughout the story arc were heavily based on shock-value without giving any substance to this or making it a bit more sense when putting it under scrutiny; meanwhile, Flynn always seemed to have quite a hard time when writing long story arcs, so these long stories looked like he was trying and outright failing to imitate Toriyama (someone quite known for putting together stories ad-lib according to what seemed most convenient at the time).

Despite this, it looks like those Sonic fans who are still interested in material outside of the videogames will keep buying and reading whatever Ian Flynn or one of his colleagues writes, simply because they’re better than Penders... even though it's been 15 years since Penders wrote something official about Sonic. Seriously, we should have gotten over it by now, instead of continuing to compare all material in the franchise with Penders's work, which sets the bar too low for any official content creator. Now that I think about it, Penders's work is to the North-American Sonic canon what Sonic 2006 is to the videogames: people can criticize the latest games all they want, and rightfully so, but if someone even casually mentions Sonic 2006, any Sonic game from 2010 onwards instantly becomes a masterpiece just for being marginally better than Sonic 2006; the same happens between Penders's work on pre-reboot Archie-Sonic and any other North-American Sonic comic written by Flynn after Penders left.

Right now it looks like it's also forbidden to criticize Flynn as a writer at all just because he's much nicer in his personal life and engages with fans more directly through his podcasts, or because Flynn is truly progressive while Penders claimed to be progressive and a feminist and was affiliated with the USA Democrats but his work showed how misogynistic, perverted, retarded, reactionary and downright sick he was. Also, now saying something about Flynn other than total blind admiration for him and his work, even asking for the Freedom Fighters to return in the IDW comics, has become synonymous with agreeing with those assholes who cry "Rally4Sally" or "Udon4Sonic" on Twitter: "nostalgic" fans of SatAM and Penders's work on Archie, in their 40s or 50s, deeply conservative and absurdly paranoid, who claim that those new inclusive cartoons such as Steven Universe or She-Ra "are ruining their childhood", are mad at Flynn just because he hinted Sally and Nicole may be a lesbian couple (and in a rather platonic way, not even romantic in the traditional sense), and try to justify their own warped ideas and fantasies about SatAM by ignoring any “liberal” political messages SatAM may have had at the subtext level.

[soopersara]

Fuse

Zutara Week 2020: Day 3

AO3 | FFN

@zutaraweek

A rainstorm separates Katara from her friends and when she takes shelter in a nearby barn, she finds Zuko already inside.

Katara liked the rain. Being surrounded by her own element so far from home and so far from a real body of water was nice. She could be perfectly at home anywhere in the world as long as there was water around.

But when it came fast enough that it dislodged her tent stakes from the ground and sent the whole tent, Katara included, rocketing down the slope, she found that she didn't exactly love the rain.

She clambered out of the mangled remains of her tent, aching from her rapid, unceremonious descent into the valley. It hadn't been her idea to pitch her tent so close to the edge. But after Toph had erected an earth tent smack in the middle of the little plateau, there was barely enough space for Sokka's tent on the upper end of the plateau and Katara's on the lower. And then a few minutes of torrential rain had been enough to send her sailing downward like her tent was some sort of flimsy raft.

Scowling, she examined what was left of the tent. The poles were snapped, and the tarp torn straight down the middle. Perfect. It was still raining as hard as ever, and her only shelter was destroyed. Grumbling, she pushed aside the poles. Her sleeping bag was still in one piece, though muddy and wet, and her pack had split down the side, but all its contents appeared to be in one piece. She spread one half of the tarp out flat and dumped her things—the sleeping bag, her clothes, her mending kit, and a few other small packages—into the center. It would be a wet, messy makeshift bag, but with her pack split open, it was the best she had.

Once she had all of her things bundled into a lumpy, dripping mass, she threw it over her shoulder. She'd have to dry everything out once she got back to camp. Sokka's tent wasn't big, but there would be enough room for her to share with him, at least until the rain stopped.

But it seemed that the rain had other plans for her. When she started up the hill, she made it only a few steps before her right foot skidded out from underneath her, and she fell backward, sliding down past the debris that used to be her tent. Ouch. Her whole right side and part of her back felt bruised, and now she was coated in thick, sticky mud to boot.

She pushed herself to her feet again. Climbing clearly wasn't going to work. Even when she tried to freeze a patch of the greasy mud, it was no easier to stand on. She'd never make it all the way back up to the top of the hill while it was raining, and she ached enough already. Even if she healed all of her bruises, it wouldn't do much good if she made it halfway up the hill only to slide back down to the bottom anyway.

Katara bent some of the mud out of her clothes, rain still pelting down on her. Shelter. She had to find shelter somewhere down in the valley to wait out the storm.

And when she looked around, she thought she could make out a distant cluster of buildings through the grayish haze. That would have to do.

Her feet slid through the mud, and thick, slimy clumps of it stuck to the bottoms of her boots, but she slogged on ahead. Cleaning herself up while she was still out in the rain wouldn't help. Nor would bending the rain away from her head. Or mending her bruised and aching limbs. All of that would take energy, and she couldn't afford to spare any until she was inside, out of the rain.

As she drew nearer, the buildings took shape into a farm. She could make out a barn, and a few pens full of moosows and pig deer, and a turkeychicken hutch. She made for the barn. There was probably a house somewhere around here too, a house with people who would be more than willing to let her in—but it was wet and cold, and the rain couldn't last too much longer. There was no use in bothering the people if she would only be here an hour or two. At least she hoped that it would only be an hour or two.

The doors were huge and heavy, and Katara's feet slipped when she tried to pull them open. She grumbled, planted her mud-encrusted boots more firmly, and managed to haul one of them open by a few inches. Good enough. She shoved her makeshift bag through the opening first, then squeezed in after it, wincing when her bruised side bumped against the rough wood. She got wedged in halfway through the opening, and with a grunt of effort, pushed against the wall with all her might until she toppled through the space and the door swung open after her.

Ouch. She hauled herself back to her feet and glared at the now-open door. Perfect. That was typical for today.

But she was inside, finally, and when she bent the water out of her clothes—unfortunately, the mud was so caked into the fabric that she couldn't do much about that—she stayed dry. She crouched to untie her makeshift bag when she heard a footstep behind her, and spun around to see a pair of swords aimed her direction.

"Who are you, and what do you think you're doing here?"

She blinked into the dark interior of the barn. She thought she knew that voice, the harsh, gravelly tone—and then the swords lowered a fraction, and she could make out a pale, pinched face and a huge crimson scar over the left eye.

"Zuko?"

⁂

It took a second for him to recognize the waterbender in the semi-darkness. Though she'd apparently done her best to dry herself off, she was practically coated in mud, her usual braid was—there, but falling apart so badly that it looked more like a disheveled broom than anything else, and she looked much smaller, much less threatening when she was crouched down and not wielding ropes of water.

But then she sprang to her feet, summoning blobs of water to both hands, and recognition landed heavy over him. That was her. That was definitely her.

Of all the rotten luck in the world, Zuko's had to be the worst. It wasn't bad enough that he was crossing an enemy nation alone, practically without supplies and without any way of supporting himself short of stealing. He had no money left, he couldn't convince himself to steal food from families, and to add insult to injury, the Earth Kingdom soldiers had stolen the few meager supplies he'd managed to buy.

Then that little boy had taken Zuko home, and it should have been a bright spot in an otherwise terrible week, but instead, the heaviest rainstorm in months had rolled in overnight, and Zuko was all but stranded in the barn without food, and now—now—

"What are you doing here?" the waterbender demanded.

Zuko let his swords drop a bit. Was he imagining things? He was fairly certain he'd just asked her the same question.

"This is the Earth Kingdom, you don't belong here."

He raised his good eyebrow. "I could say the same for you, waterbender."

She gave an incoherent yell of rage, drawing more water from the deluge outside, encasing her arms with it. "I'm not the enemy. You are. What are you doing here?"

"This is my barn!" Even before the words came out, they felt wrong, and Zuko stopped himself. "I mean, I'm staying here. I don't have a barn."

The waterbender cocked her head to the side, looking just as confused as he felt. "You—you're—" She shook her head and strengthened her stance. "You don't belong here, Zuko. Leave, or I'll find the farmers and tell them that they have a squatter hiding in their barn."

He threw his hands up. The dramatic gesture probably wasn't the best idea with swords still in his hands, he realized when one of the blades smacked into an overhead beam and knocked a cloud of dust down on his head. He coughed and fanned at the air.

"The farmers invited me to stay," he rasped when the dust cleared. "If anyone's a squatter, it's you."

"What?" The waterbender's stance slackened, and Zuko noticed that her right arm moved a little slower, a little stiffer than the left. "Why? Why would they invite you to stay?"

Frankly, Zuko was still wondering the same thing himself. Sure, their son had vouched for him after he'd lied to keep the boy out of trouble, but that was nothing. Certainly not enough to justify giving a ragged drifter like himself a place to sleep. He shrugged. "I helped their kid or something. I don't know. I thought they were going to throw me out last night, but they didn't, so—I'm here."

"How did you help their kid?" She still held her murky globes of water, but her stance looked less fight-ready than before.

Zuko wasn't exactly braced up to fight either, he realized. Aside from the swords in his hands, he was just—standing.

"I saw the kid play a prank on a couple of thugs. I lied to the thugs about what happened."

The waterbender narrowed her eyes at him. For a long moment, he stared back. He didn't owe her any further explanation. He had permission to be here. She didn't. Granted, the family didn't know who he was, but Zuko wouldn't stay long. He couldn't expect more than what they'd already given him, and once the rain passed, he'd leave. But for now, while the storm raged on, he had at least as much right to be here as she did.

Finally, the waterbender spoke again. "Are you going to attack me?"

He huffed. "Depends. Are you going to attack me?"

She didn't quite ease out of her stance, but he watched her waver. She jutted out her chin. "I'm not going back outside in this storm."

He didn't exactly want her to stay—he had enough problems without the waterbender there to rub it in, and he didn't care for company, especially when there was a chance that he'd have to explain her presence to the Earth Kingdom family—but over her shoulder, he could see the rain still coming so hard that the whole world was gray and indistinct. And the waterbender looked miserable. Zuko was many things, but he wasn't a monster.

"I didn't tell you to." He sheathed his swords and crossed his arms.

She shifted, and slowly lowered her hands. "I've got my eye on you," she said, and edged around her pile of supplies, and crouched again, still watching him.

Zuko shook his head. He didn't have the energy to deal with her right now. As miserable as she looked, he didn't feel much better. The rain had started in the night, and since he was staying in the barn, there were no supplies he could find without venturing out into the storm. So he hadn't eaten yet this morning. That made—four days? Almost four days. One bowl of soup in the midafternoon and a scant meal yesterday evening hardly made up for the three days he'd gone without food before, and now his stomach was beginning to cramp again.

He should have moved on already. This family couldn't afford to feed another mouth, and Zuko wouldn't find any better prospects until he left the arid plains behind. Maybe if he'd braved the rain, he could have gotten ahead of the storm and pushed his ostrich horse hard enough to reach richer lands in a few days. Maybe he could already be partway to—wherever he was going. If he knew where that was.

Or maybe he'd just be lost and dripping wet with no more idea of where to go than he had now.

Zuko slumped back into the mound of hay. The waterbender was lucky. At least she had somewhere to go.

He stared up at the rafters, watching from the corner of his eye as the waterbender pulled the moisture out of her supplies and sent it out the door in a smooth, neat wave. She gave a little gasp, and Zuko looked her way again to see her wince and rub her right shoulder.

He shouldn't care. He didn't. He couldn't care about—her.

"What happened?" he asked involuntarily.

She scowled across the barn at him. "I got caught in a rainstorm."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well then you're going to have to be more specific. A lot of things have happened." She tried to kneel and winced again, then settled for resting her weight on her left side.

Zuko sighed and sat up. "Why are you here? Aren't you travelling with the Avatar?"

The waterbender paused in the middle of picking through her things to fix him with a stare. "I am. And I'm not telling you where he is."

That had barely even occurred to him. He was too tired, too hungry, too lost to even consider capturing the Avatar. He wasn't sure he could keep himself alive out here, much less haul the Avatar back to the coast, hire a boat, and—Zuko shook himself. Not now. He couldn't do any of that right now.

"I meant," he amended, "How did you get separated?"

She and her friends had always seemed inseparable, like they actually—actually cared about each other. He swallowed back a pang of envy. Zuko didn't need anyone like that. He was fine on his own.

The waterbender made a face. "An earthbender was a jerk, I set my tent in a bad place, then it rained and my tent tried to find out what it felt like to be a raft." She turned over a small package bound in some type of skin and pulled at the twine holding it shut. "I was at the bottom of the valley before I knew what was happening."

That certainly explained the wincing. The hills around the farm weren't exactly small or gradual. It was a wonder that she wasn't more seriously hurt.

"Uggghhhhhhhh." She let the little package fall open and dropped her head into her hands.

"What?" Zuko pushed himself to his feet again. "What happened?"

She pinched the soggy package by the corner. "My brother didn't close the package after he stole some of my seal jerky."

Oh. Zuko had never eaten seal jerky before, he had no idea what it tasted like, or even if it was worth eating, but his stomach clenched. The thought of food—any food—was almost too much to bear.

The waterbender frowned and passed a hand over her food. A few murky-looking droplets came out, but her expression didn't look any more cheerful than before.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't suppose you have any food?"

Zuko looked away, feeling his own forehead crease. He folded his arms over his empty, complaining stomach. "No."

"Do you want some wet seal jerky before it spoils?"

⁂

Zuko looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. Hey. That was rude. She was offering him some of her extremely limited food supply, and he had the nerve to make faces at her because it wasn't entirely appetizing. She didn't want to eat wet jerky either, but it was the only food either of them had, and she couldn't pull out any more of the moisture. For now, it would be edible, but in another day, it might start to mold or worse. What good would it do to let most of her food spoil when she could share it now?

But if he didn't want it, if he was too proud to share what little food she had, then—then he'd just have to stay hungry.

She scowled at him. "Fine. If it's not good enough for your refined palate, I'll just let the other half go bad. Or maybe the moosows will want a treat when the storm is over."

Zuko's good eyebrow drew downward. He looked—dejected? Almost? Not for the first time, she was struck by how thin his face had become, by the dark rings around his eyes. Or eye. The scarred one looked as normal as it ever did.

"I—" He shook his head and his arms seemed to clamp tighter around his stomach. "If that's what you want to do, fine. See if I care."

Judging by the tension in his voice and the way his shoulders drew up around his ears, he cared a lot. Not that Katara was going to let that change anything. If he was going to be a jerk, she'd be a jerk right back at him.

Zuko stomped back to his pile of hay and slumped into it again, turning his back on her, and curled inward.

Katara poked the soggy mess of jerky and made a face at it. She was hungry, but not that hungry yet. Not hungry enough to eat mushy, soaked jerky. When she found her way back to the others, Sokka was going to get such a lecture about stealing her food and how to close things properly. Maybe if he'd kept his nose out of her stuff or at least closed it when he was through, she wouldn't be here, in a barn, still damp and aching from her unceremonious descent from the top of the hill with no food worth eating and Prince Zuko of all people.

"Why are you even here?" she asked sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be off with your uncle and the rest of your Fire Nation friends?"

Zuko shook his head but didn't turn back toward her.

"What, did they leave you behind?"

That earned her a scowl, but he turned his head away again. "Partly."

Katara stopped. Despite the scowl, he didn't sound particularly angry. "How do you get partly left behind?"

"The Fire Nation tried to take me and my uncle back as prisoners, then left us for dead. Then I left my uncle." He peered back over his shoulder for a second. "It's not complicated."

Easy for him to say. It sounded very complicated to Katara. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing when she put her weight on her bruised leg.

"How long have you been alone?" The question surprised her as it came out, but she decided not to correct herself.

"A week?" His tone was uncertain, and he looked up into the rafters. "Maybe more."

A week. Katara had never been alone that long. Sometimes two or three nights without Sokka when he went hunting back home, but Gran-Gran had always been there. And since leaving home, she'd been surrounded by strangers, but she'd never gone more than one night without Sokka or Aang nearby.

"Do you like being alone?"

Zuko rolled onto his back, his forehead creasing as he stared upward. "I thought I would. But it's—when it's quiet, it's a lot harder to forget that there's nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep." He looked toward the package of ruined jerky by her feet, then dragged his gaze away and set his jaw.

Huh. She watched his fists clench against his stomach. He was hungry. So maybe he wasn't being snobbish about the jerky. Maybe he was just too stubborn to admit that he needed something to eat.

She shifted her weight, and her entire bruised right side protested against the motion. With a pained gasp, she dropped to the ground.

"Waterbender?" Zuko bolted up.

Katara sat clutching her sore leg and glared at him. "Waterbender? Seriously?"

He ignored that and came a little closer, then stopped a few paces away. "Are—uh—are you hurt?"

She grimaced and pulled up the hem of her pants a bit. The bruises on her ankle were impressive. She didn't want to know how the rest looked, especially considering how much worse the ones on her hip and her shoulder felt.

"I think it's safe to say yes." Great. She had really been hoping that she could get away without healing them, without expending the precious energy to mend a few bumps. She summoned fresh rainwater in through the door and held the glowing bulge of water against her shoulder until the ache subsided.

Zuko's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

"Healing myself." She frowned in concentration as she worked her way down her arm, clearing the bruises one after another. Just as she'd feared, she could feel the effort draining her energy. Less sore or not, she'd have a much harder time fighting in this state if he decided to attack her.

"Can you do that?"

She waved her now-healed hand through the air. "What does it look like?" Starting on her ankle, she snuck a look up at Zuko. Waterbender. Was that really how he thought of her? "Can't you remember names?"

He flushed. "I—yes, I can remember names. But I was taught manners, and it's rude to speak on familiar terms without permission."

Katara rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. What's my name, then?"

"You're—" he scratched the back of his neck. "You're Katara. I think."

She snuck another glance at him. He was crimson clear back to his ears, and he wouldn't look directly at her.

"Lucky guess," she said, then pulled the excess water away from her leg and tossed it back out the door. Patches of her back still ached almost worse than her shoulder had, but she couldn't reach that far back, and all the other bruises had stopped hurting. Whether they were healed enough to not be visible, she couldn't tell, and she wasn't about to check, not with Zuko standing there. Besides, she was tired now. Tired and hungry. She looked down at the soggy jerky again. It didn't look any more appetizing than it had before.

"Do you want me to use your name?" Zuko asked.

She considered. It sounded strange on his lips. It felt strange to hear him call her by her name. They weren't close, and they weren't going to be. Still— "It's better than waterbender." She peered up at him. "Do you want me to use your name?"

He started. "I—I don't know." He shifted, looking down at his feet. "I can't really use my name here. I was calling myself 'Lee', but then the kid I helped was named Lee too, and—" he shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know what to call myself, so I didn't."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "You didn't come up with a new name?"

Zuko shook his head. "I'm not very good at lying."

That seemed—not entirely untrue, actually. He'd done plenty of terrible things, and Katara wouldn't trick herself into believing that he'd never lied to her, but lying was the least of her concerns when it came to Zuko.

"Then I guess I'll just call you Zuko when no one else is around. Deal?"

He nodded, and Katara gave just a hint of a smile before she looked down again. She heaved a sigh and poked at the jerky. "Any ideas on how to make wet jerky less gross? I doubt you want to eat it like this either."

Zuko froze, and his mouth opened and closed. "Me? Uh—what about me?"

Katara tilted her head a bit to the side. "You're hungry too, aren't you?"

"I—"

"Well, all of my food is going to go bad. I really don't see any reason why I should let that happen when there's enough here for both of us."

Zuko stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

She paused only a second before she nodded. It felt right, somehow. Gran-Gran had always taught her not to waste food and to always feed hungry strangers, and Katara had always done her best to stick to that rule. Zuko wasn't exactly a stranger, and he was hardly a friend, but he was hungry. And if he didn't eat with her, the food would be wasted.

Something told her that Gran-Gran might object to that argument, but Katara pushed the thought aside. They were in the Earth Kingdom, so far from any of Zuko's allies that there was nothing he could really do. He couldn't even use his own name safely, and if he was smart, he had to know that firebending out here would be a death sentence. If anything, he was in more danger than she was. And if less-hungry Zuko was also a bit less moody, the risks of sharing food with him seemed more than worthwhile.

"If you can figure out a way to get rid of the sogginess, I'll even let you pick your share. I can't get any more water out of it with my bending."

He took a small step closer and squinted at the mound of jerky.

Katara pushed it closer so he could see without closing the space between them too much.

Zuko scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe if we cooked it?" he offered doubtfully. "As long as no one's around, I could start a fire—"

"The barn looks a little too flammable for that." Even with rainwater seeping in through some of the cracks in the walls, the wood was old and dry as tinder. The hay was dry too. If a spark caught any of it, the storm would extinguish the blaze, but not before the barn collapsed in on them.

"Right. Uh—" He looked around the barn, then drew a slow breath. "Maybe if I just—" He cupped his hands together and a small flame appeared, hovering just over his palms.

For a while, Katara just stared at the fire. She'd never seen firebending quite like this before, quiet and contained, more warm than dangerous. It was odd. In a way, she almost liked it.

She finally dragged her eyes away and met Zuko's gaze, the angles of his face sharpened by the firelight. "Can you hold that for very long?"

He shrugged. "Probably. I've never had to hold a flame for more than a few minutes, but I'm sure I can. It's like meditating."

⁂

It was unlike anything Zuko had ever attempted before. He could hold a flame in his hands, he could use his bending to heat a pot or to boil water, but he'd never tried to hold a cooking fire steady without fuel, maintaining the perfect amount of heat so as not to burn the food or to cook it too slowly. It wasn't easy, and a part of him wished that he'd paid more attention to how Uncle warmed water for tea. The precision, the concentration, the patience it took tested his limits.

But he sat crossed-legged on the ground across from Katara, holding the fire in his hands while she threaded the bits of jerky onto a stick, then roasted them over the flames until they were hot and crackling. His mouth began watering the moment the scent reached him, but he tried not to pay attention to that. Keeping his breathing steady, he stared at his own flames, channeling just enough energy into them to keep the heat even.

He lost track of time, but finally, finally, Katara touched his wrist.

"That's enough. They're all finished."

Zuko exhaled, the flames dissipating, and he leaned back on his hands. He felt as though he'd just finished a fight or a particularly demanding training session. Though he hadn't used his firebending in days and the pent-up energy had been desperate to claw its way out, sustaining the cooking fire drained him more than he'd expected. If his stomach weren't cramping, desperate for food, he'd crawl back into his pile of hay to sleep.

Katara slid the bits of re-cooked jerky into a little mound on their wrapping, then poked them into two separate steaming piles with her makeshift roasting spit.

"Pick your half."

Zuko straightened and blinked, disbelieving, at the mounds of food. They were almost exactly the same. He'd expected her to eat her fill, then leave whatever she didn't want for him, not—this.

"I thought—" He paused and shook his head. "I thought you were going to do that."

"That's not the fair way to share food," Katara answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The person who divides it up always gets last pick. My Gran-Gran taught me that."

It made sense, in an odd sort of way. In Zuko's experience, people were never that dedicated to fairness—or at all—but in a better world, a nicer world, it would make sense.

Tentatively, he pointed to the mound on the left, and Katara pushed it his way without argument.

He hesitated over the food for a few seconds—he knew better than to accept food, or help of any kind, for that matter, from an enemy—but then his hunger won out against the hesitation. The jerky was tough, and it tasted of salt and smoke, unusual to his tastes, but not entirely unpleasant. Most importantly, it was filling. A few bites took the edge off of his hunger, and by the time he was done, Zuko was really, properly full for the first time in days.

Katara finished her last bite a little behind him and washed it down with a long drink from her waterskin.

"Thank you," Zuko blurted out. "You didn't have to share the rest of your food with me, and I just—thanks."

She shrugged and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Technically, you didn't have to let me stay out of the rain here either. I think we're even."

He looked down. It was true, he supposed. He could have tossed her back out into the storm. He had permission to be here, and he could have easily used that to push her out. But in a storm like this—no, he wouldn't do that. Uncle would be ashamed if he had. Of course, Uncle would be ashamed of him for plenty of other things, but Zuko had to stop somewhere. There had to be a line he wouldn't cross, and this seemed as good a point as any.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "With all of your food gone—"

Katara let out a slow sigh and turned to stare out the door and into the rain. "My friends aren't too far away. When the rain stops, I'll find them. They have plenty of food." She stopped, studying him. "And you?"

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I guess—I'll probably keep going east. It's supposed to be a lot nicer once you get past the desert. Maybe then it'll be easier to find food." He stared down at the darkened patch where the cooked jerky had left a stain on the skin wrapping. Part of him wished that he'd been able to save some of it for later. With no money, no way of finding his own food, spirits only knew when he'd have another meal. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd be able to eat one more time before he left the farm behind, but after that—

She watched him, her blue gaze unusually soft. "Maybe you'll find your uncle."

He met her eyes for a second. He hoped so. He hoped that Uncle would want him back. Travelling alone was nothing like he'd expected, and even with all the annoyance and frustration that came with the old man's quirks and the extra effort it took to keep the two of them fed, he'd rather be with Uncle again.

"Maybe." He looked away again and cleared his throat. "Uh, since the rain isn't stopping, I think I'm going to try to sleep." His hands clenched on the hem of his tunic, then slowly loosened again. He ought to know better than to let his guard down. He ought to know better than to sleep while the enemy was so near, but looking at Katara now, he didn't see an enemy anymore. Not quite. Not the way he used to. Katara was tired and disheveled, and she could probably still fight him—she could probably still win—but she'd shared her food with him. If she meant him any harm, she wouldn't have bothered. And frankly, Zuko didn't have the energy to keep watch anyway.

"The hay is more comfortable than the ground, so—if you want, you can have that spot."

Katara tilted her head, then looked around him toward the mound of hay. "No, that's fine. I have my sleeping bag."

Zuko nodded and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. "Okay."

He could feel Katara's eyes on his back as he retreated to the haystack again and settled into the scratchy makeshift bed. But he couldn't sleep and found himself watching her as she spread out her sleeping bag, made one last attempt to pull out the moisture, and started to climb inside. She winced when her back touched the ground, then rolled onto her side, and met Zuko's eyes.

His face warmed. No point in pretending he hadn't been watching her. "Are you okay?" he rasped.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Fine. I guess I still have some bruises left that I couldn't reach." She started to roll onto her back again, winced, and turned her face back toward Zuko again.

"Heat might help," he offered before he had a chance to think.

Katara blinked at him. "It might," she replied slowly. "Are you just saying that, or—"

His face was flaming. "Depends."

"On what?"

He picked at a particularly pointy bit of hay. "If you trust me enough to let me try to help."

For a long moment, Katara stared at him. She shouldn't trust him. It wouldn't make sense for her to take a chance like that. But finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, she sat up and wiggled her way out of her sleeping bag. Draping it over her arm, she crossed over to the haystack and hovered a few steps away.

"Maybe just this once."

[pansypr3p]

Concept:

(Before season finale (goldifying) but after the big mega bunny-explosion thing)

The Mod Frogs are short on food because of Scarlemange taking food for his coronation. Harris is considered a low-ranking frog due to Jamack’s exile, and others (besides Kwat, of course) don’t care for him because of this and his combined unusual appearance, so he is given a very small, non-sustainable ration amount.

So, Harris eventually gets desperate enough to try and steal food, and gets caught. This gathers a crowd, and eventually Kwat comes out to see what the ruckus is. Kwat sees Harris cornered, without Mrs. Sartori or any other authority figures in sight, and so Kwat backs him up.

Unfortunately, this only gets the both of them exiled. To add injury to insult, the group of frogs, meant to shadow them as they leave in order to make sure they actually leave, end up attacking them to try and steal their meager items. Kwat manages to get out of the fight relatively intact, having had a larger ration amount and as such, being stronger, but Harris is pretty heavily injured, having been mildly dehydrated, and hungry. The bruises littering his unusually pale skin were much larger than they really should have been, his eye was partially swollen, and the large gash on his arm was slightly inflamed, which was concerning.

Tie already cut, and his suit now in tatters, it broke all illusions of still being a Mod Frog. Harris hadn’t even bothered even trying to button his suit back up, he knew it was useless. He just discarded the external suit jacket, and tore his already ravaged sleeves all the way off so they could be used as bandaging for his wounds. His colorful arms were now showing clearly now, which was certainly a shocking act, considering all of his… hang-ups about them.

Kwat did the same, throwing aside her suit jacket and rolling up her sleeves. She looked more intimidating this way- her undershirt showed off her muscular frame well, and she knew it.

They traveled aimlessly for a short while, before deciding, albeit a bit hopelessly, to try and find Jamack. So, they set out to search for clues and information on where Jamack is. It takes a month or so of traveling through Las Vistas and other nearby parts of the wasteland, and way too many deals and… favors, but eventually they figure out he’s in Timbercat Village.

Luckily, since they’re relatively near the Timbercat Forest, it only takes another half month or so of traveling to get there. Unfortunately, they’re in the driest area near Las Vistas, and even less fortunately the half-month they travel is full of small but nonetheless harmful skirmishes, and the two combined work to worsen Harris’ already poor condition.

Kwat grows increasingly worried as Harris seems to get more and more tired, more and more quiet, but whenever she brings it up he simply shrugs it off, until one day, after a particularly harsh battle with some of the Umlaut Snake gang, Kwat suggests they stop and rest for the night, and Harris snaps. “No! We will not stop until we reach Jamack, we cannot afford to! Don’t you dare forget about what we’ve gone through to get here! What I had to do to get us here!” He yelled, throwing his hands up and tossing his spiked bat on the ground. He turns away from her, and crouches on the ground, hands on his face, “We- we need to reach Jamack as soon as possible, Kwat- I… Kwat… I don't think I… I don’t think I- I’ll make it much longer l-ike this,” He drags one hand down his face, voice breaking, and Kwat can see the shine of his tears in the last rays of the yellow-orange sunset.

They had become... closer, in the time they traveled together, and so Kwat felt she could get away with comforting him as he was currently. She approached him, and sat down beside him. She draped her arm across his slim shoulders, and pulled him closer. He leaned into her, and let out a strangled croak of distress. She spoke quietly, “Harris, we need to rest. I’m sorry about… what we had to do get here, I- I’m sorry that was ever necessary. I can’t fix that for you, Harris, hell. I can’t even fix it for- for m-myself,” She let out a strangled laugh, and Harris looked up at her sympathetically, “Just.. know I’m here for you. We’re in this shithole together. And… Look, you need food, and we both need water and sleep. Let’s just set up camp here, and I’ll go see if I can find anything in those stores we saw earlier. Okay?”

Harris takes a deep breath, and nods shakily, “O-okay. I… I can do that. Thanks for.. that. I.. Try not to get into any trouble, Kwat. Just…please stay safe. I.. I need you here with me,” His voice got quieter as he spoke, and remained shaky, but it still brought a small, sad smile to Kwat's face. She nodded to him, and grabbed her bag before getting up to travel back in the direction of the small town they passed earlier.

Harris focused on getting their, albeit limited, supplies out and set up, ready for when Kwat was back, which wasn’t for another hour and a half. When she did finally return, it was thankfully with a day or two's worth of food, a small sum of water, and the metaphorical holy grail, medical supplies.

Not just any medical supplies either, but pain killers and vaseline, which could be mixed and applied to their skin so they could easily absorb it. Kwat helped prepare and apply it, which was… a bit awkward, considering that his injuries were virtually everywhere on his body, but nonetheless it helped, immensely so. After they were done with that, they snacked on some of the food, and Kwat insisted Harris take the majority of the water despite being almost as dehydrated as he was. Kwat took first watch, of course, and Harris slept.. reasonably peacefully, bearing in mind what he’d been through.

After another few days of traveling, they come across their worst fight yet. They had been raiding a small apartment building that turns out to belong to the Humming Bombers. Harris manages to pack up a fair amount of stuff and run while Kwat holds them off, but this results in Kwat obtaining a substantial burn injury on her abdomen from one of the nectar bomb blasts. Now, with both of them having potentially lethal injuries, their only hope is to make it to the Timbercat Village before something terrible happens.

Finally, they make it to Timbercat Village. After weeks of traveling with injuries, having to scavenge for even a little food, they make it to their destination. They manage to limp their way to the entrance of the Main Hall, where Jamack comes out to see what the ruckus is about.

Harris passes out nearly immediately.

He manages to croak out weakly, fallen, hands and knees on the ground, “Jamack…I-I’m sorry for what we did, f-f-for what I did.. but I…I j-just… hnngh,” he groans, arms buckling and giving out, he continues in a raspy whisper, “Help us… a-at least help her… sh-she deserves it… please, Jamack… p-please,” before he completely passes out.

Kwat falls with him, sitting next to his prone body, breath shallow. She presses a hand to her chest wound, and hisses out a strangled “F-fuck,” Trying, and very nearly failing, to contain a pained croak. Jamack is still standing in the entrance, mouth agape, trying to find his words.

“Kwat, what… what happened? I.. I thought…” he trailed off, as Kwat chuckled, and then coughed. She put a hand to her mouth as she coughed, and it came away stained with red. Jamack gave a small gasp, followed by an aborted move to try and put a hand on her.

“There’s a food shortage back ho- back at The Pond. We- Harris needed more food. We got caught, and… and we paid the price for it,” she looks away from him. “We’ve been on the road for about a month and a half, now. Harris.. Harris isn’t doing well, Jamack, I know…” Her breathing stutters and Jamack rushes forwards and sets his hand on her shoulder before jerking it back, as if burned.

She continues, “I know we didn’t help you, when you were… exiled, but, please Jamack. If you really want us gone… well. You know what to do if you- you really want us gone. I.. I wouldn’t blame you. But, please, just let us rest here for a day or two. We haven’t made camp in days, a-and-“ A coughing fit overtakes her for a moment, before she continues, raspier and quieter than before, “I don’t think he’ll make it much longer, Jamack. He.. he’s not good. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll make it much longer,” she looks at her blood stained hand, “I don’t think I will. So, wh-hat do you say, Jamack, for… for old times sake?”

She looks at him, staring right into what feels like the very center of his being.

He shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around this. Misinterpreting this as a ‘No’, Kwat very nearly starts crying, letting out a small croak.

Jamack rushes to correct her, lifting his hands up towards her “No- no, not like that, I- I mean, yes, of course, you can stay- please stay, let me take care of you, let me help you, you- you’ve always been my family, you’re so important to me, Kwat, I- I’ll never stop wanting you and Harris near me, just- just stay with me, please,” his hands relocate themselves, one ending up on his leg, the other on his face.

Kwat lets go, and tears stream down her face silently. She laughs, swears to herself that this is fake, we could never get this lucky- except for this is real, she’s always known Jamack was emotional, she just thought his ability to hold grudges would hold out more.. more than his love for them. She was sure it was love, from the look in his eyes to knowing what he was feeling, she felt the same. They were family. They always had been, since when they were tadpoles.

She hesitantly holds her arms out, and Jamack practically dives in, careful to avoid her injury. Kwat’s hugs are the best.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Insulting a bald man. Word count: 4,137.   Chapter Summary: You’re only allowed to do this one thing and then you’re out of the game. Somehow the case isn’t your top priority though. A/N: This chapter has been the bane of my existence but I HAVE to write it to get to the last two, so, yeah. Enjoy. 

Ao3 if you prefer

The knock at your door interrupts your hand as you apply a muted lipstick. In the office, you’re a lip balm kind of woman but going to the bank today is an outing you put in a little more effort for. Your skirt and blouse are your normal work attire but there’s extra makeup, hair falling over your shoulders instead of wrapped up on your head, and your heels are half an inch higher. This is not new behavior. Going anywhere on company business always gets this kind of effort, in the same way that you’d dress up if you were going out for the evening. The result gets you a little more kindness in the world outside of your office walls.

The effort has absolutely nothing to do with the man on the other side of your front door.

“Y/N? You in there?” The knock comes again while you’re dabbing at the smudge from his first interruption.

“Yes! One second.”

Dean had insisted on coming with you, the trip is completely routine you’re glad to have him. You’re not paranoid, it’s not like the shifter has magic powers to know what you’re going to do, it can’t pop out of the woodwork at the bank to get you. You’re ninety-nine percent sure anyway. It will still be nice to have backup as if you’re doing something important. Even if you’re not, even if you’re doing your job and nothing more.

Dean has returned to his car when you step outside, he’s propped against it and from where he is he looks you up and down while you lock up.

“Well, don’t you look nice for a visit to the bank?” He asks once you’re approaching him.

It’s pointless to try and hide the blush but you look down at the ground anyway, in an attempt to. "I'm going on behalf of work, so, you know?"

He pushes himself up from the Impala and winks, “you sure you haven’t got a will they won’t they thing with some nerdy teller?”

“Why does he have to be nerdy?” you play mock offended.

“Because I bet all the nerds like you.”

You purse your lips. “Whatever, nerd.”

Y/N had worried about many things since opening her eyes that morning. Where was her lost shoe? Why didn't she have milk in the fridge? How long would it take to find the shifter? All of these paled in comparison to the concern she had over how easy things had become with Dean. This man—impossible as he and his brother were—was supposed to be, well, an inconvenience. Or she was supposed to be his inconvenience. Her blood   should boil when she spoke to him and at best they were supposed to work together begrudgingly. Perhaps with Sam wedged between them to referee.

That's how it had started and that's how she had expected their relationship to stay. In that reluctant space between enemies and acquaintances. Yet she slipped into the front seat of his car, a figurative piece of him, and sunk into the soft leather. It wasn’t her first time inside his Baby and that was only further proof that things had become too good. Much better than they should have been. She was comfortable.

Comfortable was not a safe place to be with Dean Winchester. Comfortable led to preposterous behavior like flirting, and flirting begets terrible decisions. For Y/N those end results were, admittedly, looking better and better with each passing minute.

You hate her sometimes. Maybe all the time. She’s trying to kill you after all.

If you weren’t so afraid of 'it' then your biggest worry wouldn’t be flirting with Dean. It would be the death hanging over your head. Unfortunately, it’s all too easy to put that in the back of your mind. Most people don’t think about death on a daily basis, that’s kind of the human condition. Knowing that it’s coming but ignoring it till the bitter end. So, Dean, the shifter, what shade of lipstick you’re going to wear—you make them all so much more urgent than they are.

The writer helps with finding distractions in things. You’re still allowed to hate her. You can hate that she knows you so well and that you don’t know if it’s because she created you, or you’re just unlucky. You can hate that she still hasn‘t told you how you’re going to die.

You’re also pretty sure that you hate her for the slow descent into liking Dean. It’s bad enough in your head. In the story online, it’s an actual love affair. And you still don’t know if it’s you or her that made the choice about him. Does she write it because you feel it, or do you feel it because you hear her? Or both?

“You're quiet over there.”

You’re looking out of the window, seeing the world through Winchester eyes. “Sorry," you grin to yourself, "didn’t realize you were a chatty Kathy while you're on a case.”

He chuckles, “didn’t realize you weren’t.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Dean glancing in her direction. Glance might be too much of a word for the half a second he takes his eyes off of the road. It would hardly warrant a thought were it not for his shoulders tensing when he’d faced forward again. Quiet anxiety settled over him, which doesn't suit him.

Y/N ignored it, wrapped up in her own murky thoughts. She lightly tapped her foot but the sound sinks into the floor mat of the Impala. She couldn’t show Dean that the closer they get to their destination the less at ease she felt. Nerves she hadn’t thought she had. It had been her idea, her assurances to Dean that all she would do was go to the bank and leave. Nothing else to do with the case. Still, she was a civilian and even this much involvement was causing her fingers to tremble against her leg. Out of sight, of course, she wouldn’t want him to know. Dean would pull the rug out from under her if he suspected she might not be able to handle it.

You could handle it fine. You were the queen of handling it. You squeeze your hand into a fist anyway to stop your nervous habit in its tracks.

With the bank finally in sight she resolved herself to take control of the situation. Dean was her backup, not the other way around. This was another Thursday morning visit to an establishment she had been time and again. She would walk into the white stone building and do the same thing she has a hundred times before. And then Dean—plus Sam who is at the motel in case something comes up—would stay. Y/N had already wrestled with the idea that her actions might also cause the shifter to stay, but that felt like a necessary evil. If they killed the shifter now then she was saving a life down the road. Which in her more selfless moments was the motivation that she clung to desperately. In her own infinitesimal way, she was helping to save someone. The path that had brought her here, to this new version of herself, was one that ultimately made her braver. If only at the very last minute.

It’s rare that the voice says exactly what you need to hear. Although in the grand scheme of things the voice has only been around for a few weeks. It just feels longer because you’re not supposed to hear a voice in your head at all. On this occasion though she’s helpful. You step out of the car with a renewed sense of purpose. Once you start going through the motions, that begin with walking the steps up to the entrance, you really did calm down. This is the same old song and dance. And even if it wasn’t, you're brave now, because she'd said so.

The bank is familiar territory. You’ve come here before to stop payments for legitimate reasons, you’ve been here to authorize money orders and verify paperwork. Sometimes you’re here for your personal banking too. It’s like Cheers if the show was about a financial institution; everyone knows your name.

Dean stays hot on your heels but doesn’t say anything at first. He’s silent as he holds the door open for you. Then as you’re walking towards the first teller he bumps your shoulder and nods at the man standing a few desks over, finally breaking the silence, “that your boyfriend?”

You stop dead and turn to him. Shocked by his audacity. Not only because he made a joke while your back is tense and your jaw firm, but for making you smile despite your resistance. Oh and there’s the fact that the teller he’s motioning at is a fifty-nine-year-old man with the largest bald spot you’ve ever seen, short of being actually bald.

“You’d make a cute couple.” He adds with a shrug, somehow resisting grinning, which might add insult to injury.

You feel your shoulders sink, the tension rolling away, and you try to bite back your laughter, and fail. “I’m not his type, but hey, you might be. Go and introduce yourself.”

“I would but I’ve got to stay here and keep an eye on you.”

She doesn’t miss the emphasis, exactly as she hadn’t missed the way he’d complimented her when he picked her up. Or the way he’s looking at her now. As if they’re not in the middle of a bank, in the middle of the day, but in a bar somewhere about to make some bad decisions. She found it easy to push away her own feelings and refocus when there’s work to be done. However it was becoming more difficult to ignore Dean’s potential feelings. Not only did she not know if she was misreading the situation, but even if she wasn’t; what could she possibly do about it now?

“Next.” The sandy-haired woman you haven’t seen before calls, making it easy to ignore him, and the voice.

“Hi. I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Jones to submit some financial reports on behalf of First National.”

She nods, “his receptionist is out sick today. Give me a second and I’ll go check if he’s ready to see you yet.”

She wanders off and you turn to Dean and the curiosity he's wearing on his face. He leans in closer than he needs to and whispers to you, “we have an appointment?”

“Yeah, in real life you usually need an appointment for these kinds of things. Plus I told my boss I was coming so he asked me to bring in last month's report backups to save someone else a trip.”

He ignores your reference to real-life versus his life as if he's not standing there; existing. “You told your boss?”

They get away with so much in the books that clearly they have no idea how things work for normal people. “I told you this needed approval, I made up some anomaly and he signed it off.”

Dean looks at you like he’s thinking the exact same thing you were. That life is much simpler when you lie through your teeth.

The teller that you don’t know returns and he steps back freeing up your personal space. Truthfully you hadn't realized he was still that close. She leads you to a small office with ‘Mr. Jones’ painted on the door before knocking and leaving.

“Y/N, always a pleasure to see you. Sorry about the wait.” Ben beams as he opens the office door, hiding his surprise to see Dean trailing behind you. “You haven’t been by in a while?”

You shake the hand he’s offering you with a smile, “they've been keeping me busy. Luckily I had something I needed to  be rushed through so I jumped on the opportunity to come by.”

Dean closes the office door behind him and clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry. Ben, this is my colleague Dean.” You only comprehend that you’re supposed to use an alias for him after his name slips out. It’s only a first name though, that doesn’t count, hopefully. You tuck your hair behind your ear in an attempt to throw him a quick, apologetic look. “He’s new. I’m showing him the ropes.”

Ben shakes Dean's hand and does an excellent job hiding how tight Dean’s grip is. Something you see evidence in when his knuckles pop white.

You all take a seat and then everything becomes simple, routine. You hand over the financial reports and Ben takes a cursory look at them. He promises to dedicate proper time to them later.  There’s small talk over mutual acquaintances from your office and some disputes from the month before last. This is something many of your colleagues have done before you. Someone always has business here and paper backups need to  be brought in. So, over the years, it became a standing catch-all appointment. Reports and insurance and some chit chat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“There is one more thing.” You begin in a charming tone.

Ben lets out a small business like chuckle from behind his desk, “of course there is. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

You pull out a few sheets of stapled forms that Mark signed off yesterday afternoon. “It’s nothing really. We submitted this claim for payment but have since found some irregularities. I was hoping you could stop the transfer until we straighten everything out.”

“You wouldn’t ask unless we still had time, so I don’t see why not.” He takes the papers and checks if everything is in order before he starts typing on the screen in front of him.

For the first time since you walked into the office, your attention isn’t required on the banker in front of you, so you check in on Dean. He’s staring intently at Ben, hard eyes that are trying to bore a hole in the man’s skull. It's a good thing Ben has been focused on you and not noticed.

“All done. Don’t tell me that’s all you came in for?” Ben calls your attention back.

You shrug, “you know me. I like to do these things myself.”

He nods, understanding, and stands up at the same time you do.  He holds out his hand again, bending towards you a little as he takes yours, “that’s because you’re nothing if not thorough.”

There’s a scoff from behind you that you ignore because you are indeed   thorough, and whatever Dean wants to say can wait until you’re outside.

“I could say the same for you. Thanks for your help, Ben.”

You make a hasty exit and get halfway across the tiled floors outside of Ben's office before Dean speaks again. “That’s the guy then, huh? Think you'd do better with Danny DeVito over there.”

There’s none of his playfulness this time. Nothing inappropriate or light about his mood. Even with his callback to something that had been a joke earlier, his words are as steely and hard as he’d been staring at Ben.

Something familiar brews in your gut. It’s stormy and turbulent. It’s the hint of an argument on the tip of your tongue. Dean has turned serious for some reason and he's sending you hurtling towards angry.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” you’re grinding the words out through your teeth at a volume only he will hear, “but no. Ben is married. Besides you’re the one who started this joke, I never said anything about having a boyfriend.” You’re storming towards the doors because you’re not prone to making a scene and you don't intend to start now.

Infuriatingly he says nothing. No smart-mouthed comeback that forces her to be equal parts furious and infatuated, which means that each step until she hits the fresh air outside is like another twist on a wind-up toy. Eventually, she’s going to snap.

Y/N hadn’t felt like this since they’d broken into her office. She’d found herself falling in other ways since then, but the anger had dissipated since that night until it faded away altogether. In an instant, his irrational reaction has sparked the flame again. She had done exactly what she was supposed to have done, and she had done it well. No suspicion or fumbling over her words. Before he’d opened his mouth she might have even been proud of herself.

You had indeed been proud of yourself. Ben had no clue and he’dstopped the payment like needed him to do. You pace on the sidewalk. A few steps on the spot wondering what in the hell is going on. He is supposed to be giving you a ride home so you can work. Both the Winchesters insisted that the office might not be safe until the shifter was dead. Since all roads lead back to you and all google searches lead back to your office building.

That all would be well and good if you weren't so livid you can’t even see straight. Worse than that, you have no idea why you're quite as angry as you are.

She'd left him standing inside, feet planted in the same spot he'd been in when she told him off. She'd gone without him or his permission to leave, and she hoped her act of defiance annoyed him half as much as she was. Y/N considered walking away, there was a bus stop around the corner and she could get most of the way home. Public transport would give her a chance to rest outside of his car that smells of worn leather mingled with his scent. She inhales until fresh air fills her stomach, then her chest and then she holds it. A borrowed breathing technique from the week of yoga she took years ago. Her lips shake with her exhale and it helps. Not to explain anything, not his reaction nor hers, but her heart rate steadies. She'd be mad about calming herself down so immediately if she hadn't just calmed herself down.

You don't turn around when you hear his footsteps catching up behind you  however you do stop pacing. You're a fair woman and you'll give him the chance to apologize.

"Get in, I'll take you home."

His hand is on the Impala when you spin to face him, he's about to get in and expects you to follow him. He tosses his head in the direction of the car telling you as much.

"No."

"Y/N, get in." One foot moves in your direction and before he can take a full step you tell him again.

"Didn't you hear the first time? No."

In that crystalizing moment, Y/N decided that she did, in fact...

"Oh, you can shut up too!"  You spit out, eyes flicking to the sky because, where else do you look when you're shouting at a writer's voice in your head?

You're not concerned about your outburst towards the voice in front of Dean. Instead of worrying you turn before he can stop you, and you know immediately that you are making the right decision. How? Because the voice does shut up, which meant whatever she wanted involved you staying there and talking to Dean, not striding away to the bus stop.

You can see the bus shelter in a few minutes. There's a woman there, along with her son, waiting not so  patiently. It's surprising to see anybody there in the middle of the day. The bus stop hadn't been far from the bank but you suppose it took him a moment to get in his car and debate leaving you, so that's why you make it this far before you hear him pull up.

He slows to a crawl in the road beside you, engine low but still rumbling away and burning fuel. "Would you stop being so stubborn and let me take you home?"

That doesn't sound like much of an apology. Or any apology at all.

"Come on sweetheart, please? I need to get you safe."

If he wasn't Dean Winchester then that line would sound like macho bullshit. Except, he is Dean Winchester. It had only been an hour ago you were scared to even go to the bank. And he might not have said sorry but he did, at long last, say please.

You're not giving up, you're heels are a little higher than normal is all and a ride home would save your feet.

You don't say anything as you step to the passenger side door, he doesn't say anything as he stops the car completely. You're both good at that. Silence.

The seat is as soft as it had been at the start of her day. The music is at the same volume he'd set it at when he realized she wasn't looking for a conversation. The difference was, she wasn't tapping her foot to fight the nerves now. Y/N was too busy cycling through the last hour of her life like each minute was an index card in a library catalog. Or, say, a folder in an insurance filing cabinet. She was, mostly, confused. Everything had been smooth sailing, in a way her life hadn't been since she found out that monsters existed. And then things changed. Flip flopped. Again. Until she's back in his car, unable to escape him. Realizing that she never had a chance to.

You sigh. It was your own fault for thinking you could step off of this insane rollercoaster that was your life. The voice was never going to leave, Dean would, and in a year's time you'd be rocking yourself to sleep inside the asylum you'll be living in by then. Assuming you weren't dead.

When he pulls up outside your house you're up and out before Baby has stopped, "bye Dean."

You don't dream that he's going to follow you.

You don't imagine he's going to walk you to your door and stop the key in the lock with his hand on his shoulder.

You don't ever expect him to kiss you.

Dean has a hundred rules, though he only ever cites one or two at a time. One he's quoted time and again to Sam, "you don't kiss the girl till the fat lady sings." Or till the monster is dead, as the case may be. He has broken this rule a hundred times before, since a rolling Dean gathers no moss.

Y/N doesn't know that, even if she did, she wouldn't care. She has her hand wrapped around his tie, using it to pull him closer, tasting him and moaning into his mouth. Grateful for the extra height of her heels today. Thankful for a chance to feel his full lips against her own. She kisses him back until she's lightheaded and a little longer still.  Y/N had found the new life that was worth dying for and it resided in the space between their mouths, it was wrapped up in kissing him.

You laugh breathlessly as he pulls back, "so, I did a good job today?"

Dean hooks a finger under your chin and presses another chaste, brief kiss to your bruised lips. "Such a good job, sweetheart."

And then he says his goodbyes because he has a job to do and it’s still the middle of the day. He leaves you after making you promise to stay at home and safe. He tells you he's going to call when everything has 'blown over'.

You're still giddy when you get inside and lock the door. Smiling as you start up your work laptop and turn on your tea kettle. Cheeks flushed pink when you hear the ping of new emails on your computer.

Hi Y/N,      

I'd say sorry that this took so long except you said it yourself, you didn't have a lot to go on. Guess you're lucky that I'm the best. The names Emma Eiffel. Couldn't get you a phone number but I did manage to get you an address out in Des Moines. Details below.      

Normal fees are fine.      

Stan      

Continue to Chapter 9.

5eva tags: @divadinag​​ @darthdeziewok​​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​ @jesseswartzwelder​​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer​ StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue​​ @ceisbill​​

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Okay, so after maybe like three months, or more, I can’t remember, this one is coming to a close. There are only three more chapters left.) Chapter Summary- Y/n and Keanu’s relationship is faced with backlash and consequences. Y/n’s parents take action.

Warnings- Angst

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  

Chapter 14

"What the hell is this?" Heather produced a magazine from her handbag, tossing it to the counter. Y.n’s mother had stormed into her house late in the afternoon, a few hours after Y/n had returned from a late lunch at the country club with Jillian and Catherine, obviously too enraged for small talk. 

Y/n gasped, quickly trying to blink shock out of her eyes. Of course, she had seen a pictures on social media that morning, but she didn't think her parents would find out about it, at least not that quickly, but there they were, with her mother pointing to cheap magazine, the cover boasting an enlarged picture of her and Keanu getting cozy at a corner table, in the small restaurant at the night market, taken just the night before. The headline only served to add insult to injury; written in big bold letters, nearly dominating the entire thing were the words; “Hollywood Mega-Star and Heiress: A Whirlwind Romance for the Ages.”  Clearing her throat, Y/n tried to hide her shock with cheeky humor, “I don’t know mom, kind of looks like a magazine.”

“Don’t get funny with me Y/n. You’re lucky you’re father hasn’t seen this yet,” Heather shook her head, brushing loose strands of dyed red hair out of her face with the tips of her French manicure, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I was grabbing dinner with a friend,” Y/n shrugged, still playing the whole thing off.

Her mother scoffed, rolling her eyes, before laying an accusing finger on the picture, “This is what you do with your friends?” In actuality, the picture suggested that Keanu and Y/n had long past a friendship, which was definitely true. It had captured the moment where she was half on his lap, but between their positioning coupled with the poor lighting made it hard to tell what they were doing, but Y/n recalled the moment easily. It was no doubt taken right before they’d escaped to the bathroom.

“You need to stop seeing him,” Heather finally determined, and by her tone, Y/n could tell that the matter wasn’t up for discussion.

“No,” Y/n determined firmly, desperately trying to control her heavy breathing. She wasn’t ready to back down that easily, all her life she’d done what they wanted, been who they wanted her to be. No one ever asked if she wanted to inherit a company or get set up by her parents, yet Y/n had always gone along with it. But for the first time, she was doing something she wanted, she wanted to be with Keanu, she loved him. 

“No?” Her mother mirrored incredulously, folding her arms across her chest, tilting her head, deep, red stained lips set into a hard line after the word. Heather stood, separated from her daughter by a dark veined, marble kitchen island. The toe of her heeled pump tapping the hardwood floor softly, impatience in the motion. She always got her way.

“No.” Y/n finalized, “I’m not going to stop seeing Keanu, although-”

“Although what? You could stop seeing Daniel? Is that what you were going to suggest? Because it’s not an option,” Heather pressed two fingers to her temple, something she did when she was exasperated, and shut her eyes tightly before continuing, that time slower, as if Y/n were a child who couldn’t quite understand what she was being taught, “Daniel comes from a good family, he a good man who’s the right age. Marrying him will be good for us, and for them.”

Y/n exhaled loudly, shaking her head as a dry chuckle escaped her lips, “Us? Them? What about me mom? What about what’s good for me? Do you ever think about that, or has it not occurred to you that I’m capable of wanting something for myself, something that isn’t tied in with your old world, bullshit politics.”

“I suggest you watch your tone with me young lady,” anger flared in her eyes, and Heather looked the same way Y/n did when she was angry, the only difference being the twenty-five years between them showing up as little lines here and there on her face, “How the hell would you know about what's good for you? God,” she sighed loudly, laughing humorlessly, “You’re a child! You think twenty-four means your so grown up, but the truth is you don’t know a damn thing about what you need.”

A wave of heat rose up in Y/n and she was sure that if it were possible, her face would turn hot red with anger. She hated yelling at her mother, so in an effort to not do just that, she spoke through clenched teeth, “And you do? This is the first time that you’ve been since I moved and this is the most personal conversation that we’ve had since I was eighteen,” Y/n scoffed, “We barely spend any time together, unless its at one of those stupid events and even then-”

“So this is my fault now?” As the minutes ticked by, after every word, there seemed to be more and more malice and anger in her mother’s voice.

“I’m not saying that this is your fault,” finally, Y/n’s words took on a new edge, “I’m saying that you don’t know me well enough to make this kind of decision for me. What the hell even happened to ‘you’re an adult, make your own decisions’? Or am I only an adult when it suits your agenda?”

“I am your mother,” Heather pointed in an enraged warning, “And if anyone knows what’s best for you, it’s me.”

Y/n chuckled dryly, “You’re gonna play the mom card? Wow! Newsflash mother, I’m an adult, and I’ll love whoever the hell I want to,” the words just tumbled out of her mouth, even if Y/n wasn't exactly expecting to admit that to her mother. 

“Love?” Her mother clapped her hands together, “You think you love him? This is exactly why you have no place making decisions like this,” chuckling quietly, Heather continued, shaking her head, her voice growing softer, “You think he loves you back?” When Y/n got quiet, opting to reel back from fanning the flame, she went on, “Y/n, he’s more than thirty years older than you; he’s having a good time and when he’s finished with you; you’ll wish you had someone more like Daniel.”

She had never been a crier, but in that moment, tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes and she struggled to contain them. “You don’t know him,” Y/n eventually managed, though, her confidence in her relationship with Keanu was quickly wavering. What if her mother was right? What if Keanu’s love for her was frivolous, and after a while, was bound to fade. Y/n knew that it was irrational to doubt him when he’d given her no reason to, but she couldn’t help the nagging voice that said her mother could be right.

“But I know men. And if you don’t believe me, why don’t you give it a read?” Baffled, Y/n watched as her mother hastily shoved the tabloid  to her before turning on her heel and stalking down the hall and out of her house

After that, Y/n hadn’t left the kitchen, and instead, she had just shifted to a bar-stool at the counter, quickly flipping through the glossy, high definition pages, stopping when she reached the article on her and Keanu. Worrying on her lip while toying with the flimsy paper at the edges as she read. 

At first, most of it appeared to just be inferences from the pictures scattered in between paragraphs of the article; that they were dating, obviously for longer than realized, that Y/n was clearly seeing someone else based on everything else they knew and finally, how out of character it was for Keanu to so readily be seen with a woman romantically. Y/n rolled her eyes at the last bit; a lot of people didn’t know it about him, but she had found that Keanu actually wasn’t opposed to a little PDA now and then, as long as it wasn’t going to get them into too much trouble.

Most of it was fine, and Y/n doubts had even started to melt away, up until they started talking about Keanu’s dating history, pegging her against his former girlfriends and going as far as implying that they weren’t meant to be anything more than a fling; between their age gap and the fact that Keanu never seemed interested in settling down, their relationship clearly wasn’t meant to have a happy ending. 

It stung, thinking that she might not mean more to Keanu than a couple months of fun. In a haste, Y/n got up, hurrying to her bedroom to change out of her shorts and tank top into jeans and a simple shirt, throwing on some shoes while she was at it. On her way out, Y/n swiped up the magazine from the counter, stuffing it into her handbag. She had to know, from him, once and for all.

There was merely thirty minutes between Y/n’s and Keanu’s house. When she’d gotten there, it wasn’t long after before she was yanking the crumpled pages out of her bag, shoving them to Keanu’s chest, earning herself a bewildered look and a surprised ‘ompf’. “What is this?”

Keanu eased the thing from her assaulting grip, his words resembling Y/n’s from earlier, “I donno babe, it looks like a magazine.”

Okay, maybe that was annoying. Rolling her eyes, Y/n scoffed, irritated, “No shit genius, look at page 8.”

With her hands on her hips, Y/n studied Keanu’s range of expressions as he read; going from shock, to intrigue to a flat out cringe. After he was finished, Keanu sighed heavily, rolling it up in his hand and absently slapping his palm, “This is….bad?”

“Bad?” Y/n’s chuckle was dry and in no way suggested humor, “Ke, this is terrible. My mom knows about us. And….” She wanted to bring it up, Y/n really didn’t, but she couldn’t. How was she supposed to ask him that anyway? In her hurry to get there, she hadn’t even thought it through and now that the moment had arrived, Y/n wasn’t sure if she could follow through, because the truth was, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to think that she could mean less to Keanu than he did to her or that one day he’d just decide that he’d had his fill and move on with his life. 

Sighing again, Keanu moistened his lips, tentatively, Keanu tossed the tabloid to the top of the hall chest, pulling Y/n to him, trying to lead her to the living room. After some hesitance, she responded and they slowly made their way, eventually plopping into the grey cushions. Y/n discarded her bag on his coffee table and took a minute to clear her cheeks of escaped tears before taking a deep breath. “Are you sure that your mom knowing is all that’s bothering you?” He finally asked. Keanu had read the same article she had and he knew for certain that the last few lines weren’t ones that anyone would take lightly.  

“I….” Y/n’s breath caught, “No,” Y/n shifted to face him, pulling one leg under herself, brushing some hair behind her ear, “I want to know the truth, am I just a fling to you? I mean,” she huffed, sniffling, not wanting her tears to cloud Keanu’s judgement, “Am I gonna end up like them?”

“No, of course not,” Keanu racked his brain for the right thing to say. He knew what it looked like. It looked like he was a womanizer. It looked like he kept women around until he got bored. It looked like he was the kind of person that was going to break her heart, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. “You know that I would never do that to you.”

“Do I?” Rolling her glassy eyes, Y/n pulled away from him, standing again. Her head felt full and all Y/n wanted to do was go back in time and find a way to uncomplicate things. Fighting more tears, she folded her arms, she loved Keanu, she did, but her life was already a complicated mess, did she really want to add a potential heartbreak into the mix?

For him, maybe.

“You should,” he stood too, scrubbing his palms over the things of his faded, worn jeans, “You know I love you. Y/n,” Keanu reached out as he closed the short space between them, sighing in relief when she let him gently grip her arm, “I’ve never felt this way.”

Mulling on his words, Y/n glanced at his fingers loosely closed in just below her shoulder. When their eyes met, he squeezed affectionately, as if to ask her to believe his words. Y/n wanted to believe him, but with everything she’d read and all that her mom had said, Y/n didn’t know what to think. “Neither have I,” a lone tear trickled down her already stained cheek, “It’s just…...I don’t-”

Y/n’s phone, practically shrieking in her bag cut her off, breaking her thoughts. In a frenzy, she rummaged through its contents, cringing when she finally pulled it out. Her dad, and she was sure he wasn’t calling to congratulate Y/n on her latest media appearance. “Dad?” She swallowed tightly. On his end, he didn’t say much and his tone was abrasive and his words few, all in all, ordering that she return home- and not to her place, to theirs.

As the line disconnected, Y/n shuddered, a foreboding chill running down her spine, everything that she’d wanted to say to Keanu forgotten. “I have to go,” she breathed, shaking her head, not even wanting to imagine what was coming next, “My parents, they um…”

“Yeah,” Keanu nodded stiffly, understanding without her having to say it, “Come on,” he snaked an arm around her waist. He didn’t want Y/n to go, especially when she was that upset, but he’d already gotten her into enough trouble, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Y/n’s forced smile faltered as she tried to quell her nerves. By the time they reached her car, Keanu was holding the door open for her and letting his hand slip to her hip as he pulled her into a loving kiss, their lips moving together slowly. When they broke, he kept his forehead pressed to his, their lips still almost touching, “Thank you,” she whispered.

“No problem,” Keanu let his thumb slip beneath the curved hem of her white button up, the pad of his finger rubbing circles into her skin, “Just remember what I told you, please? I love you and I mean it.”

“I know,” she nodded against him, dragging her lip through her teeth, “I love you too.”

“We can talk about this later, just call me when you get home.”

“Okay,” Y/n agreed breathily, “I should go now.” Not too long after, Keanu reluctantly let her leave, standing at the curb watching as her car grew smaller with distance.

When Y/n pulled up in the driveway of her childhood home, there were two more cars than she was expecting. On one of them was familiar though; Daniel’s Rolls-Royce, parked just ahead of the cobble stone porch steps. Putting her convertible in park, turning off the ignition and putting up the top, Y/n inhaled deeply before getting out. 

The sun had already started to set and on her walk to the grand front door, the glare stung her puffy eyes. As her hand closed in around the knob, dread set in and all Y/n wanted to do was get back in her car and drive home. But alas, that wasn’t on the list of options. She only had one really; go in and see what they wanted. 

Finding everyone didn’t take as long as she preferred as they- they being Y/n’s parents, Daniel’s parents and Daniel himself, were all gathered right in the living room. A combination of delicate tea china, a silver platter and a few wine glasses peppered the imported coffee table and quite chatter that dominated the room stopped suddenly upon Y/n’s entrance. Heather sat next to Micheal in the love-seat nearest to the unlit fireplace while Daniel’s parents were perched similarly on another sofa for two not too far off and finally, Daniel himself was the only one seated on the longest sofa. He looked uncomfortable and upon her entrance, he avoided her gaze swallowing tightly. 

“You called?” Folding her arms definitely, Y/n didn’t move an inch further into the room, and she wasn’t going to unless someone gave her a reasonable reason to.

“I did,” Micheal nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his black slacks as he stood. His head was held high and his expression suggested that her mother had ousted her not too long ago, stern and a little angry, “We need to talk Y/n.”

Quickly, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, “Yeah,” she agreed, cocking her head to the side, “We do.”

Humorlessly, Micheal chuckled, “Let me rephrase, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Now sit,” he gestured to the spot next to Daniel.

“I don’t have to listen to you. I’m-”

“You’re an adult who still uses my money!” It was rare, very, very rare, but when Micheal did raise his voice, it was always enough to shock fear into those around him. Keeping tears at bay, Y/n clenched her jaw. The vein at her father’s forehead bulged as if to prove his anger and she could see his hidden fist was clenched in his pocket. “I am your father. I bought your house, your car, I pay you and as long as I have to do that, you will listen to me. So sit.”

Begrudged and rolling her eyes, like a teenager who had just been scolded for swiping vodka out of the liquor cabinet, Y/n stomped over to the sofa, huffing as the patterned cream cushions embraced her. Still, Daniel refused to look her in the eye, and he even seemed a bit fidgety. They sat with about a foot between them and feeling more awkward than anyone preferred, she shuffled further to the other side, though still keeping away from where Micheal stood.

“Good,” he finally managed, “Now first things first, you owe the Wangs an apology for your recent…..behavior,” the word left his lips with such disgust that it almost made her feel dirty, “Now, Y/n.”

Y/n hated it, every single painstaking second of it. Being humiliated? And made to apologize like a child? Still, there was no use in embarrassing herself even more, “Mrs and Mrs. Wang,” Y/n powered through the stinging in her eyes and the thickness in her throat, “I am so sorry.” They eyed her suspiciously, but eventually nodded stiffly. “And Daniel,” Y/n turned to him, tentatively reaching out, surprised when he didn’t pull his hand way and looked at her directly for the first time, his features etched with the twinge of betrayal, “I can not begin to explain how sorry I am,” not for being with Keanu, but for hurting him, “I never, ever meant to hurt you. And I know that I can’t say anything that will make it up to you, but I hope you can forgive me.”

Daniel’s words were choked when they left his lips, “It’s not your fault,” he reassured, squeezing her hand lightly. 

“It is her fault,” Micheal interjected angrily and Y/n could feel his stare burning into her, “She was careless and absolutely selfish,” once again addressing her, Micheal carried on, “This family has given you everything Y/n, and all we ask is that you secure your future.”

How dare he? The will to argue burned like hot coals, but Y/n bit her tongue, knowing full and well that no good would come from it anyway. “I know dad.”

If Micheal heard her, he didn’t seem to care, “But all you still ran after some actor who can’t do a damn thing for you,” he let his words sink in. Y/n desperately wished she could defend Keanu. He wasn’t just ‘some actor’, he was the man she loved, a good, kind man who she didn’t want to see a life without. “But thankfully,” Micheal continued, breaking her thoughts, “Li Jian and Alice have decided to forgive your stupidity and give you a second chance.”

Baffled, Y/n looked to Daniel’s parents, who in turn looked to Daniel. The next five minutes seemed to unfold in slow motion; Daniel gently freeing his hand from her loose grip, pushing himself off the sofa, only to sink down on one knee- right in front of her. As he reached into the inner breast pocket of his beige suit coat, Y/n sucked in a sharp breath and her heart quickened, and not in a good way. 

“Y/n,” he began as sweetly as possible, his hands visibly shaking, as he flipped open the velvet ring box, “I know this probably isn’t how you imagined getting engaged- to me or anyone else, but I would be honored to be your husband, if you’d have me of course. Will you marry me?”

They hadn’t even exchanged ‘I love yous’ yet.

Y/n wasn’t even sure that she wanted to. Far less marry him.

But by the looks everyone was giving her, Y/n didn’t think that rejecting Daniel’s proposal was something she was allowed to do. She had to accept, for her family. It was who she was and it was bound to happen one day. The sooner she learned to accept that, the easier her life would be. And, besides, at least Daniel wasn’t a jerk like Jillian's husband. 

Forcing a smile, Y/n hoped that Daniel would think her tears were those of happiness, “Yes,” she croaked, morphing into a mere onlooker as Daniel sighed in relief, proceeding to slip an engagement ring onto her finger. It was gorgeous; a large, emerald cut diamond sat in a micropavé setting, the expensive stones glittering in the yellow chandelier light, and Y/n really wished she could enjoy the moment, but between the haste in which it had happened and the triumphant looks of her parents, all it did was make Y/n’s heart sink.

That was not what she was expecting. 

*********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited  @paanchu786  @a-really-bi-girl  @baphometwolf666 @sdaff2 @green-forest-dreams @weird-civilian​

[tomahawk-swing]

Dingo was on edge. He glanced above his shoulder every ten seconds, and checked the street twice before he made a turn. He kept a firm hold on his delivery box, as if it might try to slip away from his grasp. As he looked down at his tomahawk, ready to throw it again for directions, Dingo couldn’t help letting his thoughts drift away.

He had to keep his guard up. His body already ached in too many places - not to mention, his pride was wounded too. 

Dingo knew that couldn’t keep this charade going forever. Every time he returned to the restaurant empty-handed, he could feel Maha’s patience grow thinner. Maha was the only one who still believed in him - Hinoken and the others surely believed that he just kept the curry for himself, and dumped the delivery boxes in a dumpster.

The first time, he had claimed to have fallen into the canal, and hit his face on a pillar underwater. The second time, he had gotten lost outside of town, and fought with a fight with a wild animal. The third, fourth, fifth times ... He had run out of excuses.

He couldn’t tell anyone who the real culprit was. Tomahawkman had agreed to stay silent, but Dingo doubted that he could trust his Navi with the truth much longer. If they couldn’t do something about Netto by themselves, they would have to let the adults know. Each of Dingo’s attempts had resulted in pathetic failure, and insult added to injuries. Netto’s punches had left bruises worse than any adult had ever inflicted him in a fight.

As Dingo looked down at the weapon in his hand, he spotted a long shadow rising behind him. Dingo swiftly turned on his heels, and brandished his tomahawk at his opponent. 

It wasn’t Netto. His aggressor was a tall, bald bloke, dressed in a black suit, and equipped with sunglasses. A second man stood behind him, equally intimidating.

“Are you Dingo-kun ?” The man questioned, his deep voice matching his looks. He didn’t seem impressed by the blade in the kid’s hands. “We are the NetPolice.”

Dingo stood motionless for a moment, his weapon still turned towards the man. The realization struck him after a few seconds - he was pointing a weapon at a police officer.

I’m gonna get arrested. Dingo thought to himself. He couldn’t get his arm to lower.

“Apologize now, Dingo !” Tomahawkman hissed from Dingo’s sweater pocket. It was already bad enough that Dingo carried that weapon on his person, but now he had almost attacked a policeman with it. 

Finally, Dingo found the strength to move his arm, all while ignoring his Navi’s words. He quickly tucked the tomahawk behind his back, and stared the man up and down. He looked like a secret agent right out of a spy movie.

“Y-yeah. That’s me.” Dingo stuttered. 

“Please come with us. Your presence is required at the NetPolice headquarters.”

Dingo spotted the second man tucking a piece of paper into his suit’s pocket - probably a picture of his face. Was it already too late ? Was Dingo getting arrested for a crime he didn’t even know he’d committed ?

He followed the two men back to their vehicle, trying to ignore the glances they were getting from the crowd. Two tall men dressed in black, and a young kid with a hood covering his face, clutching a delivery box to his chest ... Dingo wanted nothing more but to prove all these judging glances wrong, but he couldn’t risk making his situation even worse.

He climbed up at the back of the car, while the two men sat at the front, not even exchanging a glance. The silence weighed heavily on Dingo’s shoulders. He could already picture himself being shipped back to Ameroupa, and forbidden to return to Japan. What if he was thrown in jail for good, this time ?

“From now on, everything you will see and hear will be stricly confidential.” One of the men spoke. “As such, you must let your family know that you will be absent for the upcoming two days. You will not be able to go home tonight.” 

Dingo almost retorted that he had no such thing as a family, but the image of Maha popped up in his mind. For a second, his panic washed away. Surely, Maha could get him out of this mess ... No, he couldn’t rely on anyone right now. 

“Do you understand ?” The man insisted. “Officially, you have left for two days of vacation. You may give a single call to the authority figure of your choice. Now.”

It took Dingo a moment to figure out what the man meant. Was he going to jail after all ? Why just for two days ?

“Dingo, you should call Maha.” Tomahawkman’s voice tore Dingo from his thoughts. “We’ll ask questions later. Don’t get yourself in even more trouble ...”

For once, Dingo listened to his Navi’s advice. He initiated a call with Maha, aware that no matter what he said, the man would find it suspicious.

Maha picked up the call after just a few rings. His expression was never easy to read, but for once, Dingo could immediately see the concern in his boss’ eyes.

“Dingo ? Is everything all right ?” Maha questioned. If Dingo was calling to get himself out of trouble, it meant that he had already exhausted every other option. Dingo was usually too proud to ask for help.

“No, no, I’m alright ! I’m just calling ‘cause, uh ... I need some time off. Right now.” He glanced at the policemen, and thought that he should try and add more details. “It’s just for two days. Remember my friend Shanka ? She’s in town, and she wants to see other parts of Japan, like the mountains and stuff ... So imma take her around the place. I’m already in a taxi to meet up with her.” 

For a long moment, Maha remained perfectly silent. Dingo was a fool, but he wasn’t stupid - he could tell that Maha had bought none of his lies. For some reason, though, Maha eventually nodded.

“That is fine. I will call Hinoken in to replace you in the meantime.” Maha announced. “Have a nice vacation, Dingo.”

Maha ended the call, and Dingo could finally breathe again. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” Tomahawkman commented. “Shanka was here a couple weeks ago. They’ll never believe she came back all of a sudden-”

“I know !” Dingo hissed. He slammed his PET onto the car seat, screen down, to let Tomahawkman know that this conversation was over. He already felt enough guilt as it was.

By the time the car stopped again, Dingo had time to imagine all kinds of scenarios. He mostly wondered why he hadn’t been handcuffed yet. He was invited to climb out of the vehicle, and for a split second, he considered running away as fast as his legs would allow.

“Follow us.” The bald man announced, bringing Dingo’s focus back to reality. It was already too late to run.

Dingo followed the men into the police building. The group earned a few curious glances again, pushing Dingo to giving a tug at the brim of his hood. They climbed up a short series of stairs, and walked inside the elevator. Dingo took a deep breath, and fought a short outburst of claustrophobia. 

One of the men pushed the button to the highest floor. Dingo knew what it meant - they were going to meet with someone of importance. Surely, this wasn’t the way to the prison cells.

As glad as he was to get out of the elevator, Dingo found his nervousness skyrocketing again. He was led to an office door, and didn’t have time to try and decipher what the nameplate said. 

A round-faced man sat behind a large desk, right across the door. Behind him, a wall-wide window revealed the landscape below, and allowed light to pour inside the office. The man looked up from papers scattered across his desk, and had a kind smile for his visitors.

“Ah, you must be Dingo-kun. Thank you for taking him here, officers.” The man had a nod of gratitude. “You may dispose. I will take things over from here on.”

The two men gave a deep bow, their heads sinking below Dingo’s eyeline. He watched them make their exit and close the door behind them, leaving Dingo alone with the affable-looking man. 

“Please, take a seat.” The policeman gestured at the seats by his desk. “I hope that my subordinates did not scare you too much. They tend to take their job quite seriously ...”

“I wasn’t scared !” Dingo proclaimed. Shame immediately stung at his cheeks, and as he searched for an anchor, he realized that he had left his delivery box in the police car. With no other choice left, Dingo finally sat down.

“I am Commissioner Kifune, head of the NetPolice. It’s my pleasure to meet you, Dingo-kun.” The man had a warm smile. “I’m very glad that your village’s heritage could be taken back from its thieves, and returned to its rightful owners.”

Dingo blinked a few times. “Why do you know about this ?”

“I was alerted of the totem pole’s theft by the museum. The theft of an exhibition’s central piece is no trifle matter.” Kifune had a long glance for Dingo. “I’m afraid that for a moment, you were on our list of suspects, along with Neo WWW’s Yamashita Hidenosuke.”

“What ? I’d never team up with those guys !” Dingo protested. It was already the second time he yelled at the police chief, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. “I was only tryna take back my village’s pride !”

“Yes, of course. Your name was immediately cleared by Hikari Netto.” Kifune’s smile faltered. “Which brings us to the reason why you were brought here.”

Dingo’s anger faded in a second. He recalled his last encounters with Netto, and felt his face sting with a dull ache. His black eye still hadn’t faded.

“I suppose that his ... disappearance may have reached your ears already. You may also be familiar with the NetSavior initiative, in which Netto was taking part.” 

“Netto’s not disappeared. I saw him.” Dingo blurted out, unconsciously reaching for his sore face. “He’s just ... he’s gone crazy. It’s like all the goodness’ gone from him. Like he’s just causing evil for fun.”

“That is a correct guess.” Kifune replied. He watched Dingo’s eyes widen in shock, and went on : “The circumstances are still unclear, but it appears that Netto-kun has fallen into the hands of the Darkloids, and has been corrupted to join their ranks.”

"I’ve heard about those.” Tomahawkman spoke up, prompting Dingo to set his PET on the commissioner’s desk. “There’s a lot of rumors about them ‘round the Net. They’re kinda like Navis, except they’ve been corrupted with Dark something ... evil energy. I heard they were a big thing a moment ago, but everyone kinda forgot about them, with the Asteroids and whatnot ...”

“You are correct. Darkloids feed on the energy provided by DarkChips, which typically offer a Navi with a tremendous boost in strength, but leave their program badly corrupted. The Navi will lose sight of their moral compass, and even turn against their friends. We believe that Netto-kun was tricked into taking in some of that dark energy.”

“But Netto’s not a Navi !” Dingo protested. “How can he get corrupted by a Chip ?”

“With the use of CrossFusion, most likely. You have already seen it in action, haven’t you ?”

Dingo nodded. That explanation did nothing to make his insides stop squirming. “So that’s why everything about him felt so ... wrong. It wasn’t really Netto."

“Possibly.” Kifune agreed. “Unfortunately, his absence leaves a large dent in our defences. With its other two members stationed abroad, the NetSavior initiative no longer has a member in Japan. After discussing it with Dr. Hikari, and revewing a list of potential candidates, we wanted to offer you the position.”

Once again, Dingo found himself lacking words. His brain struggled to process the implications of Kifune’s offer.

“You want me to replace him.” Dingo repeated. “I’m gonna be in charge of protecting this whole city.” 

“You and your Navi both, if you accept. Given your prowess against the Neo WWW, you seemed to me like a very solid choice. If you were to accept, you will be trained to master CrossFusion under Dr. Hikari’s guidance. And if the opportunity were to present itself ... You would be called to help us capture Netto-kun.”

Dingo’s brains were about to explode. With CrossFusion, surely, he could stand a chance against Netto - even with the freakish strength and speed his former friend had displayed. With CrossFusion, he would have the strength to protect all the people he cared about. Everyone would have to take him seriously.

“I’ll do it.” Dingo stated. He didn’t need to consult Tomahawkman - he knew for sure that they share the same sentiment. “I’ll become a NetSavior.”

“Very well.” Kifune nodded. “To be perfectly honest, we had expected a positive reply, and have already prepared the terrain for your training. Arrangements have been made for you to spend the next two days at the Ministry of Science’s facilities. Given the circumstances, we will have to speed up your training, but you have the option to opt out at any moment.”

Dingo shook his head. He wasn’t going to give up halfway through - not when he was the only one who could rescue Netto. He could feel the weight of everyone’s expectations pushing down on his shoulders.

“I don’t mind. I ... “ Dingo glanced at his PET. “We can handle it.”

“Good. Very good.” Kifune nodded, obviously relieved. “May I take your PET ? I will grant you the NetSaviors’ authorizations right now.”

Dingo pushed his PET towards the commissioner, his heart pounding under his ribs. He already imagined himself clad in a cool armor, wielding Tomahawkman’s axe, and slashing through his enemies with his own hands.

He’d finally be able to pay Netto back for all the punches. 

“There. You’re good to go.” Kifune announced, and handed Dingo’s PET back to him. “My subordinates will drive you to the labs. Dr. Hikari is waiting for you there.”

Dingo pocketed his PET, and stood up from his chair. He took the hand that Kifune offered him, ahd shook it with vigor. His eyes met with the commissioner, letting Kifune read his determination.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Dingo-kun. And welcome to the NetPolice.”

“I won’t disappoint.” Dingo promised. He wouldn’t be ridiculed anymore. Dingo felt his skin itch at the thought that he was now part of the police, but he was only using this chance to accomplish his goals. They were his stepping stone.

With Tomahawkman’s strength added to his own, Dingo would protect the city, and prove his worth to everyone who doubted it.

And at long last, Netto would have to pay for all the curry he had stolen.

[edencantstopfallininlove]

Consolation (Lee Scoresby X Autistic!Reader)

Content Warnings: very mild bad language, anxiety references, sensory overload, implied/referenced ableist harassment in your past, hurt/comfort, acceptance, HUGGING, WAFFs galore, Lee generally being precious

A/N: This is a really self-indulgent little thing that I thought about at 1AM once and just had to put down somewhere. After roughly 8 nights of work, it's finally done in time for the HDM season finale! Both you and your dæmon (which was visualised as a disk-winged bat, but it’s ambiguous enough to be any terrestrial animal) are gender-neutral and referred to with they/them pronouns.

Without further ado, here it is under the cut! Enjoy!

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A sunset’s glow always looked stunning from the comfort of the balloon. The ceaseless breeze in your face finally died down as the balloon began to make her descent towards the ground below. While you weren't 100% sure what was happening, you sussed that your partner, Lee, had arranged to meet his potential contractors in the next town due west. It was an area that had a reputation for not being the safest of places to live, and for good reason; thievery ran amok. 

And it was pure bad timing that meant that the only place you two could think to land the balloon was just on the fringe of the town's market district.

Before Lee set off to (hopefully) get something sorted as to the pay and terms, he left you in charge of keeping the balloon and her contents safe. He reminded you of where the valuables where and to keep as low a profile as possible.

“Stay here, alright?” He said as he disembarked onto the faded cobblestone below. He took one last glance at your weapons store. “And if you get into trouble, you know what to do.”

You nodded in affirmation. You hoped that your little visit wouldn't end in a fight, but conceded that it was better to be over-prepared than caught out.

“Good luck, Lee!” you called as he strode away, Hester following close behind. “Don't do anything stupid!” Terrible advice knowing him, you thought. Your dæmon, [D/N], waved goodbye to them as best they could.

But as soon as the two left your field of vision, something sounded off. Well, everything, really. At first your ears were drawn unwillingly to a conversation that tried to be hushed, and failed. After that, it was as if you could hear an uncensored compendium of life in this place. Drunks with their speech slurred. The hubbub of vendors trying to get their wares sold. Raised voices fighting over nothing. Every word you picked up was physically painful for you, and you couldn't even process them all. Still the mental pressure continued to build.

Then, to add insult to injury, you heard from within your basket fence a grating tick that lasted all but a second from an instrument you didn't care to identify; the only thing that mattered in the moment was that it broke your last atom of resilience and forced you downwards with a wail, hands clasped futilely around your ears. Your dæmon trembled as you fell, drawing back a cloth wall and agitatedly scouring the area for someone or something to ease your anguish. You couldn't tell how much time passed before you heard someone humming...

As Lee was trying not to brood his way back to the balloon after an unsuccessful confrontation, he expected to either find the balloon and her guardian exactly as he left them, or to hear you running up to him to tell him that something had gone horribly wrong. What he didn't expect to come back to was hearing you screaming and crying from within the basket. Lee's blood ran freezing. Fearing the worst, his eyes immediately darted to the one wall of the balloon not covered by cloth. It must've been how your assailant got in. He dashed towards the basket, one hand hovering over the holster where his pistol resided...

Only to find that there was no need to use it.

No sign of a fight, none of the cuts and bruises that he feared, but there was still the matter of you curling in on yourself, quivering and whimpering like an abandoned kitten. The sight of you reduced to such a mess capsized his already sinking heart.

“You've got to be kidding me…” he muttered, wasting no time in intervening. Your dæmon looked a little lost before they spotted him climbing through the opening (he didn't think it fair to ask you or your dæmon to lower the ramp) and gently approaching you. They protested with quiet “No!”s as Lee tentatively placed a hand on your shoulder, only for you to jerk your entire body away.

“Do NOT touch me!” you practically hissed, recoiling once again as Hester landed aboard and narrowly missed your legs. Lee leaned down so that he was at eye level with you.

“[Y/N], listen,” he said, trying to stay cool-headed for your sake, "It's Lee. Look at me and take deep breaths!"

You responded by turning away and continuing to sob. Lee cursed under his breath; you'd had panic attacks before but you'd never been this bad and, so far, you weren't responding well to his attempts to calm you down…

“You're better off giving them some space,” said your dæmon, giving Lee their species' equivalent of a glare. Their voice was more hushed than usual, with a pained quality to it. “This isn't a panic attack, if that's what you think. What you're seeing is a meltdown caused by a sensory overload. It will pass in a short while, so [Y/N] would rather you didn't speak to them until they've calmed down.”

Eventually, your ragged breathing steadied and the tears slowed down enough for you to make out your partner stood opposite you. The moment your eyes locked with his, Lee took a step backwards, perhaps concerned that it would set you off again. All you could do was shake your head when you realised the state you had gotten yourself into.

“I'm so sorry about this,” you began. “[D/N] probably said what was happening to me, but I feel I need to explain exactly what caused it. There's something neither of us have told you.” As you spoke, you grabbed the balloon's ledge and used it to help yourself, slowly but surely, back upright. Not necessarily onto your feet, though, since your legs were shaking too much for you to stand. “This might sound silly but, sometimes, I can hear conversations from far away. I can't filter them out and it all just gets louder and louder… It makes me feel sick. So, all the rabble from further into town was becoming too much for me. Then I heard an instrument on the balloon going off or something, and that was…” You took a deep breath in and out. “That was what caused me to get like this.”

“Look, [Y/N],” said Lee, deciding to give you and your dæmon a little more space, “You've clearly been through a lot since we left. But if you want to tell me something, just tell me. I swear on my life, and on Hester's life, that we won't judge you for it.” He spoke to you softly, a sign that he understood the nature of your ordeal. That little change reassured you that telling him was for the best, even if it was in distressing circumstances.

“Alright. I didn't really want you to find out like this, but…” You swallowed hard. No going back now. 

“I'm on the autism spectrum.”

There was a long silence. Lee stayed put and didn't turn away in disgust, instead kneeling down to face you again. It was a good start, but still your gaze refused to meet with his. Instead, you stared at the roof of the balloon as you continued.

“You probably have loads of questions. I don't know if I can answer them all, or if [D/N] can help me, but I-”

“Why didn't you mention it before?” It was Hester who spoke that time. Your dæmon looked at you with face that said, ‘Aye, there's the rub.’

“I just thought it would be better to mask it and hope for the best than for you to know and think less of me because of it. Like I was a lesser being. I was made to feel that way countless times growing up, so I didn't want to tell you in case you became just another person who left me to my own devices because of something I can't help.” Before you knew it, the waterworks had turned on once again. You couldn't help but feel a crushing guilt over the way you spoke to Lee when he tried to help.

“I'm sorry for shouting at you. I know I need to do better. And I hope you don't hate me for not saying anything until now.”

You could've sworn you heard Lee's breath hitch at your words. Glimpsing at his face, you noticed his brows knitted in a frown and his lips quivering. Oh God, no. You've said something wrong, he's turned against you, you've scared him away and it's all-

“Hate you?” he said at last, disturbing you from your spiralling thoughts. His voice faltered on that first word, to your shock. “[Y/N], no! How could I hate you? You're not at fault here; something just happened that was hard for you to cope with.”

“That doesn't make how I spoke to you okay!” you replied with a shake of your head.

“I know. But you're acknowledging that, which is more than can be said for some people... To tell you the truth, I probably would've done the same had that been me. But it's fine, we'll move on from this. Still, if there's anything for me to hate right now, it's the way people have been treating you all this time. Who the hell would think it's okay to make someone feel worthless just because of how their mind works?”

“Wait - you mean you don't see me as less, Lee?”

“Of course I don't. And let me tell you why. You're handy with a weapon, we know that, but you have such a strength that goes beyond combat. It helps you to see the good in every person, every situation that comes our way. And not everyone has the strength to love as fiercely as you do. Your resilience and compassion are things I've always admired about you, in all honesty.” 

“He's right, you know,” added Hester, joining your dæmon in front of you. “Lee wishes he was as trusting of others as you. I'm just a tiny bit concerned that it's bordering on jealousy!”

You sniggered at her attempt at lightening the mood. Sensing that you were feeling a little more comfortable now, Lee shuffled over to sit at your left-hand side and, as you looked at the bridge of his nose, you could just about see a wetness threatening to escape his eyes. 

“I'm honoured to share my adventures with you. You're an amazing person, with or without autism. And I love you. I know I'm not always the best at expressing it, but it's true.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you noticed Lee had placed a hand next to yours as Hester silently egged him on. He smiled faintly.

“You want me to hold you now? If you'd rather I didn't, you can say no.”

“Please do. Honestly, I could use a hug.”

And with that, he leaned in and enveloped his arms around your waist, holding you as if you were made of glass. You returned in earnest, crying into his shoulder - only this time, they were tears of happiness over the fact that this man, the love of your life, accepted and cherished you exactly as you were. Your last traces of doubt disintegrated. In that moment, Lee's touch felt like home. Out of the corner of your eye, you could spot Hester and your dæmon nuzzling each other; if your heart hadn't melted already, such a sight would've softened it completely.

“If you're ever worried about something like this happening again,” said Lee, “Please tell me, okay? And I'll do my best to help you. Like, from now on, if I have to leave you with the balloon, I'll make sure we land somewhere we know will be quiet. That alright with you?”

You decided to answer his question with a nod and a swift peck to his cheek.

“Lee. Thank you for this.”

His eyes narrowed. “Anytime.”

A small part of you was tempted to tackle Lee to the floor and pepper his form with kisses. But given the circumstances of where you two were, that wasn't an option. For now, you were more than perfectly content with the feeling of deep, heartfelt unity between your lips and his.

“You don't know what any of it means to me,” you sighed with a grin, breaking the kiss before tightening your grip around his midriff. “I love you so much…”

“I love you too, [Y/N]. I'm a lucky man.” With a grunt of effort, Lee stood back up (leaving you to wobble forward before catching yourself) and began to inspect the metalwork and various dials. “Now, are we ready to get out of this joint?”

“We're leaving already? But what about the contractors?”

“Yeah, turns out they're jerks, the whole bunch of them. I didn't want them around you before, and I certainly don't after all that, I swear to God. Pay would've been terrible anyways…”

“There's always next time, I guess,” you said to no one in particular.

All that was left now was to start the fire and take to the skies once more, heading for a place where you all hoped you'd be safer. Floating away from the quietening streets, you turned your gaze to the radiant stars above and allowed your thoughts to wander.

You felt, for the first time in your life, safe.

[bgn846]

Worthy Chapter 6: Trapped FFXV A/B/O Promnis

<Previous Chapter 5

A faint buzzing noise drifted in and out of Noct’s dream. His brain finally latched onto what it meant and woke him up.  His phone was vibrating with an incoming call, and it was three in the morning. A quick glance indicated it was Prompto, and Noct scrambled to pick up the phone.

 “Hey! Are you alright? What happened? I’ve been trying to call you all night,” the prince admitted.

 “Um – I might have to hide in my room for the rest of my life,” Prompto admitted in a small voice.

 “What the hell happened?” he asked, concerned.

 “That lady, um – Saeva. She tried to get me.”

 “What do you mean get you?  Are you hurt?” Noct asked, sitting upright in his bed with alarm.

 “She cornered me, and she had a knife.”

 “I’m waking Ignis up, and we are coming to get you right now!”

 “I can’t leave my mum, Noct. She doesn’t think anything’s wrong.”

 “Did you tell her snaky threatened your fucking life?!” Noct yelled into the phone.  “That’s gotta mean something.”

 “Hey, calm down, buddy. I can’t tell her. She wouldn’t believe me, anyway,” Prompto lamented.  “I can hide at home for a little while, but I’ll have to eventually leave the house. I don’t know what to do!”

 “So what do we need to do to get your mother to leave?”

 “I don’t know that either!” he wailed.

 “It’s okay, we are going to figure this out.  I gotta talk to Ignis, though, and see what he can do.  We need to get you outta there, like, yesterday.”

 Noct listened as Prompto recounted his whole ordeal.  It sounded terrible, and thank the six something had distracted her when they were alone together.  It took some convincing, but Noct finally agreed to not come and get him right then and there. The omega wasn’t going to leave his mother, so Noct needed to figure that out first.   Unfortunately, he had no time if this nasty woman was after him.

 After forty minutes, Noct could barely stay awake, and Prompto kept yawning.  He made the omega promise to call him when he woke up the next morning. He needed to be sure his friend was safe.

 Sleep was fitful at best, but morning finally came, and Noct exchanged text messages with Prompto.  He was still in his room with the door locked. Good. He was safe for the day, hopefully. Now to get Ignis updated and on the case.

    --

   “Are you sure he’s up for the task, dearest? I mean he’s not exactly – bright,” Saeva pondered in a hushed tone from behind a large column.

 “I’m telling you he’s perfect. Besides, I can’t really ask Alban, now can I?” Otho frowned.  He really was desperate to make the dark-haired woman happy. She’d unexpectedly visited Otho last night, and he was still feeling the effects of their activities.  A very small part of his brain recognized his actions as a betrayal to his older brother Alban. However, this opportunity was too good to pass up.

 Saeva had begged his help in a certain matter regarding his omegan step brother Prompto.  Turns out the little stinker was trying to work his way to the top of the line. Otho rarely spoke with Prompto, but according to Saeva he was plotting something nasty.

 Apparently, Prompto’s whole painfully shy routine was a façade. Saeva recounted how the blond had cornered her at the banquet and threatened her life.  The little bastard wanted her to leave and drop the engagement.

 Saeva had stopped several times during the retelling of the incident to cry.  Otho had made sure he was nearby to provide a shoulder to cry on. The most shocking part of the story was Alban’s reaction.   His older brother had supposedly dismissed the whole thing and claimed she was drunk. Then, to add insult to injury, he’d tried to force himself on her, but Saeva had managed to get away.  It was amazing that even as a rare alpha female, she still had trouble with this sort of thing.

 This beautifully delicate woman was in fear for her life, and Otho was determined to save her.  Otho had consoled her most of the night, offering to help in any way he could. Saeva had tearfully admitted the only way she would feel truly safe was if both Prompto and Alban were gone.   Without hesitation, Otho had pledged his assistance. He had to save her. His first task was to get Prompto out of the way; the wiry blond seemed like an easy target. Alban was another matter.

 Currently, they were both hiding behind a column waiting for Amet, one of his other brothers.  Otho knew he would be a perfect match for the job he had in mind. As Saeva had so pointedly noticed, Amet wasn’t the brightest.  However, his lack of basic life skills was essential if he got caught. Amet would most likely forget all important details pertaining to his given task.

 “Wait here, dove. I’ll be right back.” Otho offered as he slipped out to speak with Amet.  Saeva nodded and stayed out of sight.

 Sauntering over, Otho greeted his brother.  “Amet, I appreciate you meeting me away from the palace.”

 “Anytime, brother. You seemed stressed over the phone.”

 “Oh, very. Some information has come to light that indicates Alban’s life may be in danger.”

 Amet blinked stupidly for a few seconds before he could answer.  “How?”

 “This will sound crazy, but it appears our step-brother may be plotting against us all.”

 “Who?” he asked with an equally dazed expression.

 Sighing through his nose, Otho worked to control his temper.   Dealing with Amet came with certain challenges. “Our step brother, the omega,” he tried again, unwilling to actually say Prompto’s name.

 “Huh, which one?”  

 Otho was working hard to not yell.  “Not our half-brothers, Amet. Our step-brother.”

 “Oh right, Cirus.  He seemed fine when I saw him yeste--.”

 “Prompto!” Otho hissed, cutting his younger brother off.  “Our fucking step-brother, you nitwit!”

 “Oh, right, that one. I get them all confused.  Do you need me to deliver a message or something?” Amet asked innocently.  

 “What do you mean that one?” Otho sputtered. “We only have the one step-brother! Astrals, never mind. I need you to hire someone to make him leave the city.”

 “Cirus?”

 “No.” Otho growled, “Prompto.”

 “Oh, yeah. Right, the omega.”

 “Yes. Now can you handle that?”

 “Yeah, for sure. I can deliver a message to Cirus, no problem.”  Amet smiled.

 “No. Not Cirus. Please forget you ever mentioned his name.”

 “Of course, brother. Now what did you want again?”

 Otho balled his fits up and took a deep breath. He tried to control his scent. The last thing he needed was to set off Amet’s alpha rage inadvertently.   “I need you to hire someone to make Prompto leave the city.”

 “Who?”

 “Preferably someone that knows how to use force.”      

 “Right, that makes sense.  You know I could do it myself. I work out.” Amet beamed as he flexed his right arm.

 “I know you do, but hire someone.  I need Prompto to be gone by the end of the week.”

 “Consider it done, I’ll make Cir — I mean Prompto — leave right away.”

 “Good. Be sure to use the private account if you need to pay the person you hire.”

 “Uh, how do I find this person, anyway -  the one I need to hire?” Amet questioned with a furrowed brow.

 “Go to the shitty part of town with some cash and start asking people to help you get rid of someone.  They’ll want a name and money.”

 “Huh – that easy, eh.  Great, I’ll go get some money now.  Do you want to do dinner later?” Amet asked eagerly.

 “Forgive me, brother, but I’m otherwise engaged. Perhaps another time,” Otho offered as he backed away.  Amet waved goodbye and smiled as he turned to leave the empty corridor. Phase one had been set in motion.  Otho knew Amet would draw far too much attention during his mission, and once things were said and done, he’d probably go to prison for his role.  However, that would mean there was one less person to threaten his claim to the throne.

 Saeva was still waiting for him behind the column.  “Dear heart, I must go run an errand. Will you be free for dinner?”

 “Where are you going? What if Alban sees you?”

 “I’ll be alright; this is something I must attend to privately.  Women’s matters. You understand, don’t you?” She crooned.

 “Of course, dove. I’ll be waiting.”  Otho smiled. He watched as his dark-haired beauty quietly slipped away into the shadows.  Things had been set in motion. Now he just had to sit back and wait.

    --

     Ignis had been on edge all morning.  The prince had actually called him before Ignis had left his apartment.

 That never happened.

 Ever.

 Noct had been in a panic about Lady Saeva and how she was out to get Prompto.  The advisor listened dutifully and tried to calm his charge, but Noct was truly fearful over what might happen if they didn’t intervene.

 Thankfully, Ignis had enough foresight to send Nyx back to keep tabs on Saeva and Prince Prompto.  His nervousness at the moment stemmed from not having received a check in from Nyx. The soldier had arrived in Niflheim sometime in the middle of the night. Aside from a short text indicating he’d landed, Ignis had heard nothing else.  He knew he was riding a fine line sending a glaive into another kingdom to spy, but someone’s life was in danger.

 The person who      had     managed to clog his inbox was Noct. The prince had been texting him nearly every fifteen minutes wanting an update.  Ignis almost regretted telling him that he’d sent Nyx. However, the advisor knew if he hadn’t said anything, Noct would have been a total wreck.  This was a lesser of two evils.

 Finally, at around one thirty in the afternoon, Ignis received a text that wasn’t from Noct.

Nyx Ulric 1:32pm: This shit is real… o-o  sunshine still beaming, snaky is scary af.  Got job interview to go to now.

 Ignis stared at his phone. What in Titan’s name was Nyx up to in Niflheim?  Opting to keep it simple, he replied      good luck     and pocketed his phone.  He knew they couldn’t text exact details, but Nyx definitely had a way with words - or the lack thereof, Ignis wasn’t sure.

 Taking a deep breath, he continued on in his day, clinging to the small bit of Nyx’s text that read,      sunshine still beaming    .  Prompto was safe for now.  That’s what mattered.

     --

     Nyx had been following Amet Clavus, the third in line to the Niflheim throne, for an hour.  He’d been trailing Saeva Pravus all morning after she’d left Otho Calvus quarters. Nyx was too far away to hear what had transpired between Otho and Amet during their meeting, but he was sure it was important.

 Hoping his hunch was correct; Nyx chose to follow Amet for the afternoon.   His efforts were about to pay off big time. The hulking form of the alpha strolled ahead at a leisurely pace in the most disgusting part of town Nyx had ever seen.  If it weren’t for the fact that the man was clearly a body-builder and stood damn near close to Gladio’s height, he would have been robbed ages ago.

 Finally, Nyx was able to overhear what Amet had been asking people.  He needed a hired gun to run someone out of town. Putting on his best smile, Nyx wandered up to Amet and slapped him on the arm.   “Oi, I hear you’re in the market for some hired muscle. Can’t imagine why, though. You’ve got plenty to go around.”

 Amet stared at him for a moment and then smiled back.  “I do work out quite a bit. Every day, in fact,” he announced proudly. A burst of pheromones soon followed, confirming his happiness regarding the topic.

 “That’s excellent, gotta keep those muscles in peak condition.  So, I hear you need help with something?” Nyx tried again.

 “Oh!  Yes, I need someone to leave town by the end of the week.”

  “Uh – sure, I can help out with that,” Nyx replied, suddenly realizing that Amet was a few players short of a full team.

 “Great!” Amet breathed in relief.  “I really want to get back so I can work out again, and it was taking too long to find someone.”

 “Right, well, I’m your man.” Nyx grinned as he smoothed out his black denim jacket.  Ignis had instructed him to go undercover and not wear anything that could tie him back to the crown.

 “Ok, then, if you could swing by later and let me know when you’re done, that’d be great. I have to tell my brother.”

 “I can do that, no problem.” Nyx answered slowly even though the large alpha hadn’t given him a location.  Amet made to walk away, and Nyx scooted around in front of him again. “I just need a name and a deposit.”

 “Yeah! So it’s my half – no wait!” Amet paused dramatically holding his hands out. “It’s my step-brother, Cirus! Oh no, that’s not right, either!”  The man sighed and furrowed his brow clearly deep in thought.

 “Would it help if I tired guessing?” Nyx offered dryly.

 “It’s on the tip of my brain.”

 Nyx figured a lot of things were on the tip of Amet’s brain, but they’d been ignored for so long they’d turned to dust ages ago.  The glaive was about to start throwing letters out to help when Amet sprang back to life.

 “The omega!  His name begins with a P.  That’s all I remember.”

 “Where does this omega live?” Nyx questioned further.

 “With me.”

 “Oh – like, um, in the same house?”

 “No, a different one.”

 Nyx decided to take a different direction even though he knew who Amet was talking about and where Prompto lived. “So where do you live?” he asked gleefully.

 “Under the old keep. You know, in the government compound where the royals live,” Amet whispered as if it mattered.

 “Gotcha, I know where that is.  So I just need a deposit, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

 “Perfect. I really gotta go,” agreed Amet as he dug around in his pocket and handed over a wad of cash.

 Nyx nearly busted a blood vessel when Amet gave it to him.  The glaive pocketed it as fast as he could and hoped no one would come after him for it next.  

 “Bye!” Amet cheered as he turned and left.

 Nyx literally ran back to the airfield where he’d been hiding out.  The shed Prompto had hid his clothes in proved to be a perfect base of operations. Thankfully, no one followed him, and he hid the money after wiping off his prints.   Now to find out what Saeva was up to. But before he left again, Nyx texted Ignis once more.

 Nyx Ulric 3:48pm:          Got the job but it's night shift, boss doesn’t mind if it’s dark all day long.  I might have to take my work home with me if it gets difficult.  

     --

   Prompto flinched when his phone chimed.  He’d been on edge all day wondering if Saeva would try something again.  Prompto wouldn’t put it past her to visit his house; she truly was a snake.  Grabbing his phone revealed a message from Ignis.

Ignis Scientia 3:55pm: Are you doing alright?

 The blond blinked a few times.  Ignis was checking on him, but why?  He knew the advisor was aware of his predicament, but he didn’t think he’d text him directly.

Prompto Argentum 3:58pm: I’m okay, just nervous about seeing Saeva again.

 Ignis Scientia 4:00pm      :          I would advise you to stay in your room for as long as you can.  Do you still have Nyx’s phone number?  

 He thought about the nice beta soldier that they’d stationed outside Noct’s suite in Insomnia.  He still had the number, but he’d never used it.

Prompto Argentum 4:02pm: Yeah I still have it.

 Ignis Scientia 4:03pm:          Excellent. Keep it and call or text that number if you need immediate assistance.  Is that understood?  

 Prompto stared at his phone. Did that mean that soldier was here?  Was Nyx in Niflheim? That meant he could leave, if he had an escort.  However, he remembered he still had to convince his mother to leave.    

 Prompto Argentum 4:05pm:          Ok I will.  Thanks for checking on me.  

Ignis Scientia 4:05pm: Of course, anything to help.

 Waiting a few minutes produced no more messages, and Prompto focused on taking deep breaths.  He was going to survive this. He had people who wanted to help and who wanted to be friends with him.

    --

     Checking her phone once more, Saeva looked up and smiled sweetly at Alban.  The dolt was clueless about everything. He’d already completely forgotten about her issue with Prompto.  He was prattling on about the latest model car that had been released in Altissia and showed no signs of stopping.  “Darling, I feel a headache coming on. I’m going to retire to my rooms for a nap.”

 This comment seemed to shut Alban up.  “Oh, can I come?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  

 Working to hide her disdain, Saeva smiled again. “Oh, I would love to have you, but I fear my headache is too great.  Rain check?”

 The slightly balding alpha seemed upset, but he backed off.  “Of course. Perhaps we could do dinner together?”

 “Wasn’t this lovely lunch enough? Besides, I fear I may still be sleeping later. Tomorrow?”

 Alban agreed, and Saeva finally stood to leave the stuffy room they’d been confined to for over an hour.  She had her own meeting to attend. Smiling, she quickly left the suites and went outside the royal compound.

 Things were going well.  The groundwork had been laid linking Otho and Amet with the plot to harm Prompto.  However, she still needed to arrange his actual death. She didn’t trust either of them to accomplish the task.  Amet was a good looking lump of muscle and nothing more. Otho was blinded by her kisses and promises. He didn’t stand a chance.  Now when the lowly boy turned up dead, they would go down for his murder.

  Alban, on the other hand, was moldable; she could work with that later.

 Meeting with an assassin for hire in the late afternoon wasn’t normal, but nothing Saeva did followed the rules.  Ducking into a side street, she huddled into her fur lined coat and waited.

 “I didn’t think you’d show up,” a sultry voice nearby called out.

 “I have a tight schedule to keep, so this was my only availability,” Saeva replied.

 “Hmmm, I see.  Details please?” the voice asked as the figure came out from an overhang.

 Saeva pulled a small envelope out of her inside coat pocket and handed it over to the woman approaching.  She was wearing a long fitted trench coat and military grade boots. After pocketing the item, the light haired woman smiled ever so slightly and stared at Saeva.  She made no move to say anything else, and appeared to be studying her.

 Taking a deep breath Saeva nodded curtly.  She was done with this transaction and needed to return to the government compound.   Suddenly, the other woman shifted and was directly in front of her. Saeva was unable to fight back when the assassin roughly shoved her into the wall.

 “Something about you doesn’t sit well with me,” she offered in a hushed tone.

 Saeva went to push her away, but something sharp poked her in the side.  This fucking bitch had pulled a knife on her. “If you want the rest of your fucking money, whore, I suggest you back off,” Saeva spit.

 “Oh no, how scary --” The woman drawled coolly.  “Listen up, gold digger. If you want to stay pretty, I suggest you keep your end of the bargain.  Also, my price just went up for your brass assumption regarding my sexual habits. Now, off you go. Run back to your big, strong, stupid alphas and play with them.”

 The anger bubbling up in Saeva’s veins was causing her to shake.  How dare this woman talk to her in such a manner. “Fuck off!” she hissed.

 The woman shrugged slightly and tilted her head. “If that’s what you want.”

 Biting back a yelp, Saeva felt the woman get      even     closer, as she leaned in with her full weight.  What in Shiva’s name was happening? The knife was a steady presence in her side, so she couldn’t move away.

 Saeva then felt a pair of sharp teeth near her neck.  “Stop it. I’ll pay the extra,” she relented unhappily.  She couldn’t risk getting bitten. The other woman was an alpha and knew what she was doing.  If Saeva had gotten marked, then she couldn’t marry the king. This fucking bitch was such a hassle.  She hoped that when she found Prompto, she’d make him hurt. The blade went away, and Saeva finally pushed the woman away and walked out of the alley. 

>Next Chapter 7 

[michiigii-writes]

Of Shadows and Tyr (1.5/??)

A continuation of our DnD campaign’s first session right here.  Because there is a limit to text on text posts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the beginning:  There was a city (2/2)

We spent about a week living in the Church of Tyr.  Elyssia provided us with a constant stream of free food, and it was a safe, dry place to stay.  Craven and Valzan were also always around, but I spent the most of my time with the Tiefling girl.

She never spoke.  I was pretty sure she could understand common, from the way that she listened to the rest of us speak, but the most she ever said was during that first fight with the slavers.  I wondered if she knew how to write or draw, but she tended to keep herself otherwise occupied, so I never got much of a chance to ask.

She had scars all over her arm and neck, like she had been shackled for a long time and the bonds had chafed.  I tried touching her to cure her wounds, the first evening at the church.  She looked so small and guarded, and had clearly had a rough life; I was worried that there was some kind of wound that she was keeping to herself.

I was promptly bitten for my efforts.

I had hoped that clearly being an ally would have warmed me up to her even a little, but she definitely did not like to be touched ever.  I drew back with a grimace.

“I’m only trying to help you,” I grumbled, keeping my low but feeling annoyance bubble into my tone.

For a reply, she bared her teeth at me in warning.  I frowned, then recalled a different spell that might work.

[May you find sweet grass and gentle water,] I murmured, sending healing words her way.

The spell wasn’t as strong as if I had touched her, but I saw her sit up a bit straighter in shock as she felt the healing take effect.  I couldn’t see or feel if what I had done was enough, but seeing her surprised yet calm was enough to satisfy my efforts.  At the very least, she was well, and I had to be content with that.

For the rest of the week, she remained in my sights, not necessarily beside me, but always nearby.  I’m not sure who thought of her name first.  It might of been me, joking referring to her as “my shadow” whenever I spoke about her.  It might have been Elyssia, nodding to how the young Tiefling always managed to find the darkest, most secret corners of a room.

It was definitely not Craven.  The giant somehow found out that she liked all things that glittered in the light, and from then on, he called her, “Shiny.”

But by the time our company decided to go out and explore Kendrith as a group, we had somehow all elected to refer to call her, “Shadow.”  And she seemed to like it just fine.

Craven and Valzan had a few errands they wanted to run, before investigating about the slavers we had come across.  I heard mention of “books,” so I wanted to go, and wherever I went, Shadow tended to follow.

It was another bright day; I found the weather rather pleasant in comparison to the humid, warm days we had in the swamp.  Shadow walked to and fro behind us, while Valzan and Craven walked ahead.  As usual, I kept my distance from Valzan, but I had to admit he was growing on me.  He treated Shadow and I with the same courtesy he paid Craven.  I still kept my horns tucked away in his presence, whipping my hood up when he approached, but more than once, I had accidentally let my tail peek out while talking to him.  I was getting comfortable around the human, and that troubled me, a little.  Was Valzan the exception, or had it been the humans in my past?

Time and experience would have to tell.  Maybe there was a reason Master didn’t want me to return until a good year had passed.

Not too far from the church, Shadow ended up distracted by sparkling glass shards by the side of the road.  Tail swishing back and forth under the cloak that Elyssia had provided her, she crouched low and fixated on the twinkling remains of what might have been a bottle.

Our party ended up right within reach of a nearby game stall.  There were targets set up, and according to the hawker, if we hit a bulls-eye with a throwing axe, we would get a voucher for a free drink at a local tavern.

I heard “free.”  Considering I had about two silver pieces to my name, that was enough to get my attention.

I waited for Valzan and Craven to play, first.  Craven managed to snag three free drinks!  I was impressed, but not too surprised; the Kalashtar barbarian was huge.

I was, however, surprised when he gave his prizes to Valzan.  Who turned down something that was free?  And Craven didn’t seem particularly wealthy, to me.

When it came to my turn, I did my best, but I clearly had never used a throwing axe, before.  I could hit the targets, but not well enough to win anything.  For my last throw, I could see that it was about to fall just a little too low.  Wanting that stupid coupon, I drew on my Druidcraft and encouraged a light puff of wind to boost the axe up, a little.

I was too encouraging.  The axe ended up blown too high above the target.

"You better not be trying to pull any funny business,” the stall-keeper said suspiciously, looking between the target and I.

Feeling cornered, I forced a laugh.

“Well, if I were going to cheat, you would think I’d be more successful,” I joked, mentally kicking myself for being so eager about a free drink.

The stall-keeper seemed to agree, but I don’t think he completely bought it.  He offered me another try, but I declined; only the first round was free, and it would probably be cheaper to just buy myself my own drink.  Valzan asked the man where we could get information, and he was told that a woman who worked at the tavern where our coupons applied might help us.  Convenient, but good enough for me!

Our next stop was to the library.  I’d never seen so many books in one place, before; I had thought Master had a grand collection, but even all of his tomes would barely take up a shelf.  I was also relieved to see that the librarian was half orc(?).  I hoped humans like Valzan were the rule and not the exception, but I really didn’t want to test it in the library.

Craven walked off in search of books on plagues and blights, of all things.  I opted for herbs.  I was only familiar with swampy things, and it would be nice to see what could be used for healing or poison from local flora.  Shadow followed suit, even finding me a couple books with some excellent diagrams.  Nothing with words, though...I was becoming more certain that she didn’t know how to read or write.  I considered teaching her for a moment, before throwing the idea away.  I wasn’t patient enough to teach, and if she wanted to learn, she was clearly determined enough that she would have made some signs of it.

Still, I wanted her to have something to take from the library.  The books were free.  Everyone should take advantage of free.  I knew she liked shiny things, and Valzan had recently given her a brass bell that she liked, but I asked her what kind of books she wanted.  However, she either didn’t hear or didn’t have time to answer, because Craven took that moment to materialize.

He wanted to know if I knew anything about creeping blights; according to him, the land of his home was slowly dying by some unknown evil.  He said he realized that I was in-tune with nature, and knew about growing things, so he felt that I was his key, or destined to meet him, or something?

He got a bit fuzzy, after that, turning red and tripping over his words.  I thought he was being silly, in an endearing sort of way, and couldn’t help but smile a little.  Shadow, on the other hand, seemed irritated with him, hissing her displeasure.  That seemed to cool Craven off, and rather than let me really respond in any way, the giant lumbered off, muttering to himself as he was wont to do.

I looked at Shadow, and saw that she looked ready to leave the library.  I grabbed a book on healing herbs, and one on poisons, and when the librarian said I could take a third, and snagged a book with a lot of rather beautifully illustrated gemstones.  With my hand, the librarian set some kind of enchantment that would return the books automatically, once a week was up.  I liked it; that would prevent me from accidentally paying late fees, and I wouldn’t need to worry about losing the books.

When we left the library, I handed the book on gems to Shadow.  I had meant well, but from the way she looked at me, she was very clearly offended that I thought she would enjoy a children’s book.

“She’s probably older than she looks,” Valzan pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to groan, while Shadow moved to the side of the group furthest from me.  It’s not like she mentioned what she did want to check out!  How was I supposed to know!?

I clearly wasn’t doing a good job getting on Shadow’s good side.

And, to add insult to injury, she excepted a shiny marble from Valzan.

“How is that not condescending?!” I exclaimed, while Shadow contentedly added the bauble to a pocket of what I was certain contained a growing collection of shiny things.

Instead of answering, Valzan shrugged dismissively.  The desire to grab a less shiny rock and throw it at his head occurred to me, but instead, we continued to our second stop:  A pet store.

Craven was under the impression that he could find a bear for a pet.  The shopkeeper was surprised, most likely because that seemed more like an exotic/black market kind of pet.  However, when he offered up hedgehogs as an adequate alternative, I was on Craven’s side:  bears are to hedgehogs as falcons are to finches.  They are not equal.

Naturally, Craven got even more upset when the shopkeeper suggested a squirrel, instead. 

To use as bait.

None of us were pleased!  Craven began roaring about what a terrible person the shopkeeper was, and I’m pretty sure when Shadow called him a squirrel murderer, his nose started bleeding.  Valzan ushered us out, but when Craven suggested we return after dark to Free the Enslaved, I readily agreed.  I wanted to Speak to the animals, to see if they were all in danger or just the squirrels, but there wasn’t enough time; already, we were out the door.

It didn’t take us long to reach the top of the hill, finding the tavern where we could redeem Craven’s vouchers was situated.  A creaky sign with the words “Scout’s Mug Bar and Inn” hung over the doorway that we entered, Craven stooping slightly to fit through.  I braced myself for noise, but it was early enough in the day that there weren’t too many patrons.

Shadow moved straight to a table in a secluded corner, dark but safe; I and the rest followed suit.  Craven, of course, immediately ordered every dessert on the menu.  I tried not to let my eyes pop out of my head as plate after plate of confection and pastry were brought by the waitress and placed before him.  I was about to ask how he could possibly eat all of those desserts by himself, when I saw him push all the plates to Shadow.  

...Of course they weren’t just for himself.  I made a note to myself to be a little less snide toward Craven.

Eyeing all the desserts, I surreptitiously slid what looked like a slice of apple pie towards myself.  Shadow didn’t seem to notice.  And while she did have a good appetite, I doubted she could finish everything.  Besides, the pie was warm and smelled heavenly.  I never got to eat anything like this, in the swamp.

Valzan, ever dutiful, was already in the process of asking for Mildred, the woman who would most likely have information for us.  By some stroke of luck, our waitress was Mildred.

Things were coming together smoothly!  Perhaps things would be simple from now on, I thought.

Suddenly, a bang came at the bar’s entrance; someone had slammed open the door.  A dishevelled man rushed in, eyes wild, hands wringing in worry.

...of course it wouldn’t be that easy, I sighed inwardly.

“My daughter!  They took my daughter!” he exclaimed.

I sat up straight, head whipping around to look at the man in surprise.  His daughter?  Taken?  That was awful!  The very idea made me sick.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, all the patrons of the bar started laughing at the man.

What on earth is going on?

---tbc--

Continuation here!

[simplynotaneggworks]

Request by @gogogoats

Fandom: Jane and the Dragon Ship: Jane x Gunther Rating: All Audiences Category: Fluff/Angst Word Count: 1062 words Request: “Jane and Gunther stopping at a beach on their way home from a mission. Maybe they go swimming, or just talk. I don’t mind what rating.”

The beach down by the quarry was an almost mystical place to be, especially when the setting sun illuminated the strains of blue quartz running through the giant boulder-like stones as if they were rivers. To add to its mystery, it was hidden quite well. One would have to manoeuvre their way through cracks and crevices, eventually leading to a small cave that led out to the sea. Only three people in the castle knew of such a place existing; the Queen and the two most proclaimed knights in the kingdom of Kippernia, Sir Gunther and Lady Jane.

Once upon a time, when Jane was having one of the most terrible days, she discovered the elusive beach by the quarry. Queen Gwendolyn had seen her struggle and had decided to indulge her by teaching her how to reach the location she once used to go to, to get away from the world and its troubles.

Ever since that day, a few years earlier, Jane had visited this mysterious place. Whenever she was feeling great bouts of stress or anger or sadness, listening to the rolling of the waves and feeling the soft, cool sand under her feet would always take those feelings away and magically transform them into those of peace, calm and serenity.

This evening, she was doing just that. The traverse to the beach was made a little more difficult, with her wounded but bandaged arm, but she made it in time to see the sunset, nonetheless.

Carefully, she sat and leaned herself against one of the large rocks in the middle of the beach, closing her eyes and letting her troubles drift away as the smell of the salty sea air filled her nostrils and the warm evening breeze whipped across her face. If she had things her way, she would be here all day and night, doing nothing but feeling permanently at peace. Unfortunately, there was a potential war on the way and soon enough there would be no time at all to have such liberties.

"Jane?" The voice had been distant, almost like an echo in her imagination. Alas, the voice had been far too recognisable to be such a thing, so, with a sigh, she stood and turned to see who had been calling her. At once, a wave of instantaneous anger rose in her, fury rushing through her veins as the person continued to walk closer. She didn’t want to see him, especially after what he had done to her today.

"What?" Jane snarled, storming through the sand to face him. It was obvious to her that he had gone straight away to try and find her; he still had dirt all over him from the faux battle that Sir Theodore had made the two participate in, to represent what a real battle would be like, albeit much more controlled. He was probably there to berate her, most likely; tell her all the things she had done wrong and inform her of how stupid it was for her to be injured, even though it was his fault.

"I came to apologise, for what happened today," he spoke quietly with a tinge of fear in his voice before turning around to take his leave. He could see Jane's rising anger at his presence, and he hoped that maybe if he were to go, he wouldn’t have to face whatever was to come next. He had only ever seen her genuinely angry with someone once before, and it had been a terrifying sight to witness, something that he never wanted to see nor deal with ever again. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side today.

"What good's an apology?" Jane asked sternly, grabbing a tight hold of Gunther's arm with her uninjured one, preventing him from walking away. She wanted him to see her anger and she wanted to shout at him and tell him all the things he did wrong for once. He did deserve it after all. At least, that's what she thought.

"There's a war coming, Gunther! You can't make mistakes anymore! Imagine what would happen if we were in that situation, in a proper battle where there's no one to control damage or injuries or-"

"I know what it would be like!" Jane stopped. She was caught by surprise. Gunther never shouted. He would raise his voice sometimes, especially when berating Jane or slinging insults at her as they sparred in the castle courtyard, but he had never once, in the ten years that they had known one another, shouted at her, or anyone for that matter. She had hurt him somehow, most likely, but how exactly she didn’t know.

"I'm sorry," Gunther apologised, seeing the pained expression on Jane's face, "I shouldn’t have shouted." "No, it's my fault," Jane admitted, finally letting go of Gunther's arm. "Sit with me," she offered, before making her way back down towards the large rock she had been sitting by before Gunther had come along.

He did take up her offer, cautiously sitting beside her on the sand to watch the rest of the sunset with her.

"I am sorry," Gunther said after many minutes of silence, "I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I never do." Jane turned to face Gunther. He looked as if he was about to cry, which was very odd coming from him. Usually, he never showed a hint of emotion, even when the two had moments like this. Every now and then he would let a smile or small laugh slip out, but nothing more. He always looked sombre and emotionless. Something was very wrong.

"I don’t ever want to lose you, Jane, and I know I shouldn’t make mistakes anymore, like you said, because if I do, well, it could cost you your life," Gunther explained, his voice almost completely disappearing as he said those last words, "I've only ever loved someone once before and that was my mother, and I saw her being ripped away from me permanently when I was younger. I don’t want that to happen to you, but with this war-"

"It's okay, Gunther," Jane assured, resting one of her hands on one of his for comfort. Gunther smiled at her touch, something Jane hadn't seen from him in weeks. "No matter what happens," she added, entwining her fingers with Gunther's, "We'll be okay."

[fracturedmotivationwriting]

Datura had never felt more exhausted in her life. Even after she pulled that all-nighter after raising Mormo from Hell, she hadn't been this tired. It probably didn't help that she helped perform a banishing spell after being thrown into a tree and cut open hundreds of times by magic. While Ambrose had healed the deeper cuts, her back was still aching and she was almost certainly concussed.

As the adrenaline from the fight, banishing spell, and reanimating Grisha's body with Prometheus I's soul, Datura slumped into Ambrose. Thankfully, the demon was willing to wrap an arm around her and help her walk through the forest towards the cars.

The coven was silent as they walked through the forest. Prom kept glancing over her shoulder at her brother as if to remind herself that he was really there in Grisha's body. Pollux was walking beside her, his hand occasionally grazing hers. Datura didn't understand why he didn't just hold her hand. It was so obvious he wanted to comfort her at this time. Herself and the demon brung up the back. Their coven had been through a lot in one evening. Things were forever changed without Grisha. Even more so now that his body was being occupied by Prometheus' brother. Datura still couldn't get over it. Just as Prom kept looking at the boy, Datura couldn't help her gaze from lingering on him. It felt so weird that someone else was walking around in Grisha's body. As much as she may have hated the warlock, he hadn't deserved to die. And she wasn't sure how he'd feel knowing some other warlock was now walking around in his body.

"What do you say we all come back to our place for some pizza?" Pollux broke the silence, turning back to glance at the trio behind him and Prom. "We'll need to get Prometheus I situated in the apartment, and we could all use some food after the night we've had."

Datura didn't miss the shock on Prometheus II's face. Pollux was referring to her apartment as their apartment once again. While it was unlikely he'd completely move back in right away, it was a step in the right direction. Datura had a feeling that at least for the night, Pollux wasn't going to leave Prom's side. She would need comfort after the events that conspired in the woods. She would need someone to lean on as she worked through the emotions of her dead brother being alive again. The kind of support only Pollux could give her. And even if he wasn't ready to date again, he wouldn't abandon her during this. He loved her too much to let her go through this alone.

"Pizza sounds amazing," Datura moaned, closing her eyes as she pictured the cheesy goodness. She hadn't realized just how starving she was. When was the last time she ate?

"Sounds fantastic," Ambrose added with a chuckle. "Why don't you drive Prom's car, take the siblings with you, and I'll drive Datura and me?"

"I can drive," Datura and Prom both interjected, giving Ambrose offended looks. Their indignation was met with hard stares from both Ambrose and Pollux.

"Both of you suffered injuries," Pollux pointed out.

"Both of you are, rightfully, exhausted," Ambrose added.

"Therefore, neither of you are driving," Pollux finalized.

Prom and Datura both rolled their eyes, grumbling arguments under their breathes. But neither fought the issue. The boys had a point. It was probably much safer for them to drive.

"I can drive!" Prometheus I interjected. Everyone shook their heads no immediately.

"You were barely sixteen when you died. You are not driving," Prom argued with a sigh. "I don't care if you're in a twenty-one-year-old body now. You've been dead for twenty-two years, and therefore haven't driven in twenty-two years. You aren't driving."

Prometheus I opened his mouth to start to argue, but one look at his sister's face and he closed his mouth. He wasn't going to win this fight.

"Okay, so we'll all meet at your place," Datura told Prom and Pollux, following Ambrose towards her car as they broke out of the forest. The trio nodded, Pollux waving as he helped Prom into the passenger side of her car.

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

After devouring several large pizzas, the coven found themselves lounging throughout Prom's living room. Prom and Pollux were sitting on the couch. They weren't exactly cuddling, but they were sitting closer together than Datura had seen them in a while. Prometheus II had claimed an armchair on the other side of his sister, but he had looked mildly uncomfortable the entire night. Datura could hardly imagine what he was going through. She hoped that once he and Prom were left alone that maybe they could work things out together.

Datura had taken to sitting on the floor by the coffee table, and Ambrose had joined her. But now that she'd eaten more pizza than her stomach could handle, she was lying across the floor with her head in his lap. He had grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch for her a while ago, and now Datura was finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake. Between her full belly, the warmth of the blanket, and Ambrose's fingers running through her hair, Datura felt like she could fall asleep at any moment.

"I think maybe it's time to get Datura back to her own apartment," Ambrose murmured, glancing down at the sleepy witch. "Unless you want all of us crashing on your floor tonight, Prom."

"No, you should drive her home," Prom chuckled. "We could all use some sleep, and my floor probably isn't the most comfortable."

Datura chuckled, slowly lifting herself from the floor. Ambrose offered her his hand for help, but Datura brushed it off. She couldn't help but feel a little weird about how kind the demon was being to her. It had to be the guilt eating at him. And while Datura was thoroughly grateful he'd saved her life and done the right thing in the end, she wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to forgive him.

Stretching as she stood, Datura offered her friends a small smile. She tucked the blanket she'd been using around Prom's shoulders before following Ambrose towards the door.

"Prom, I'm really glad you came when you did," she spoke up softly, stopping at the doorway to turn to the witch. "And I'm glad you've got your brother back. If you need anything, just call me."

Prom simply offered Datura a small smile. Prom didn't smile much, but Datura knew that this was a sincere one.

"Goodnight, everyone," she called out before closing the door behind her.

As Datura and Ambrose left, Prom shrugged the blanket off her shoulders. Pollux immediately wrapped it back around her, however, earning a confused look from the witch.

"Why do people keep trying to put this blanket around me?"

"Because you're in shock," Pollux deadpanned. "It's meant to comfort you."

"That doesn't mean I need a blanket. It means I need booze," Prom argued, earning a small smile from her ex-boyfriend. He didn't even try to argue as he stood to grab the vodka.

"Do I get some?" Prometheus II spoke up, a hopeful look on his face.

"No!"

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

Datura sighed as she and Ambrose climbed the steps of her apartment building. She couldn't help but stop in front of her door. She glanced back across the hall at Fiona's apartment door. Well, Fiona's old apartment door. Datura guessed that she wouldn't be living there anytime soon.

Ambrose placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts.

"You okay?"

Datura forced a smile onto her face as she nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, opening the door and making her way into her apartment. She scooped down to gather Hecate into her arms. She nuzzled the kitten as she made her way through the apartment towards her kitchen.

"Liar," Ambrose called out, closing and locking the door behind him.

Datura sighed, placing the cat onto the counter. She got to work fixing herself a cup of bedtime tea, refusing to look up at Ambrose as he followed her into the kitchen. Of course, the demon knew when she was lying. She'd just hoped he wouldn't call her out on it. She didn't exactly want to talk about what happened tonight.

"It's okay to not be okay, you know?" Ambrose said softly, placing a hand over hers. He took the kettle and herbs from her. He worked on fixing the tea, motioning for Datura to take a seat at the counter. He rustled through her cabinets, looking for some ingredients to add to help with her healing and the pain she was likely feeling.

"No one would expect you to be okay after what happened tonight," he added.

"I don't want to talk about it," Datura spoke up, wrapping her arms around herself.

"That's okay too," Ambrose assured her, warming up her tea instantly with some magic instead of waiting for the water to boil. He placed the cup down in front of her.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to process this alone. I know I haven't earned your trust or forgiveness yet, and I know it's going to take some time, but I'm here for you, Datura."

"You're right," she whispered, lowering her gaze from his. "I'm not ready to forgive you yet. But... Thank you. For everything tonight. And for being here for me. You're most definitely not a monster."

Ambrose felt his heart clench at her words. He wasn't sure if she was right about that. He'd done some pretty terrible things to her. He had deserved her calling him a monster. He wasn't sure he deserved that insult being taken back. Not yet.

Datura nodded, offering the demon a small, grateful smile. She stood up, her cup of tea in her hands, and started making her way towards her bedroom.

"You're welcome to take Pollux's room or the couch for the night," she spoke up. "I may not be ready to forgive you, but I'm not cruel enough to kick you out after what we've been through."

Ambrose chuckled. It may not have been much, but the fact that Datura was letting him stay (and even teasing him) made him feel a bit better. She was going to give him a chance to make it up to her. She'd forgive him someday. Ambrose just needed to earn it. He could do that.

"Goodnight, Tura."

"Goodnight, Mormo."