#but we (mercifully) haven’t gotten that far

[moonmoonthecrabking]

“does Jesus have a political agenda” i see the sexist theobros are going to be insufferable this week

[sweetarethediscords]

"Fool Me Once" - Part 1

Pairing: Kacchako, Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako

CW: Cheating, Underage Drinking

~~~~~~~

“What was that about?” Ochako chirped beside him, poking his shoulder.

Katsuki swatted her hand away. “What was what?”

“Don’t forget our study session later,” she mimicked Melissa’s voice, exaggerating the flirtiness. 

“What’d I tell ya about blaring that shitty pop music too loud?” Katsuki said, flicking the tip of her ear in retaliation. “We have a study session later.”

“Well unless you’re helping our TA study, I find that hard to believe,” she countered. “You’d rather give yourself a root canal than ask to be tutored. And the way she said it.” Ochako smiled impishly at him. “You’re swapping spit with Melissa, aren’t you?”

“Swapping spit? What are you? Five?” 

“You’re avoiding the question,” she teased. “Is the Great Bakugou Break Up Drought finally over? Are your golden fields finally wet with—”

Katsuki clamped his hand over her mouth, his ears burning. He glanced around the quad, checking to make sure none of the other students had heard her.

“I ain’t in a drought!” he hissed.

Ochako liked the palm of his hand. Katsuki yanked it away in disgust.

“You and Camie broke up end of last year,” she stated with an attitude. “We’re halfway through second semester and I know for a fact you haven’t held a hand let alone gotten laid in that entire time.” 

“One,” Katsuki stuck his finger in her face and pointed to his palm.“Don’t fucking lick this. It could give you heart problems.”

She blew a raspberry his way. 

“And two, for all you know I’ve been getting laid every night. I don’t tell you everything, Cheeks.” 

Her impish smile turned into a smug smirk as she pulled out her phone. It only took a few seconds of scrolling before she held up her phone, raising its volume loud enough that the entire campus could hear his sad, drunken ramblings. 

“Fuck Cheeks. I’m gonna end up like fucking Endeavor, ain’t I? Pimp out my quirk just to get fucking laid.” The undeniable squeak of his dorm mattress rang out as his past drunken self collapsed onto it. “Jerking it is so boring now! I—”

Katsuki lunged for her phone. 

Ochako pivoted out of the way, her evasion skills second nature at this point. She mercifully paused the voice message, but her smugness only grew.

“You were saying?”

Katsuki groaned. “Just be cool about it, alright?” A blush burned his ears as a cluster of girls giggled as they walked past him. “We ain’t that far into this thing.” 

“A thing?” She lit up. “It’s a thing?”

“Barely a thing,” he clarified. “A little flirting here and there, some mild dirty talk, but nothing confirmed or physical yet.”

Her smile fell. “Booooooo!”

“The hell are you booing me for?!” 

“How long have you been doing this ‘barely a thing’ thing?” she asked, flexing her fingers in air quotes.

“Two weeks now?” he replied, trying to seem nonchalant and unsure when he knew it had been precisely twelve days of them seriously flirting.

“Two weeks?!” Ochako balked. “You should have at least touched a boob by now! Deku and I have already—”

Katsuki covered his ears. “Ugh. Please spare me the details about you and the nerd’s sex life.” 

“Why?” she mocked. “You always do your best work when competing against him. Doesn’t the fact that your rival is getting his fields tended to make you want to try harder to bed our blonde brainiac?”

“Not when I know it’s you doing the watering!” he snapped.

Ochako threw her arms up. “You were very supportive of me and Iida’s escapades last semester!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Tch. That was different.”

“Why?” she huffed, crossing her arms tightly across her chest like a little brat..

Katsuki snickered, the best time to mess with her was when she was bratty.

He leaned down close enough that his breath just brushed across her ear and whispered, “Because the thought of being between the two of you was hot.” 

Ochako flushed so red the telltale pink spots of her cheeks vanished. She shoved him and Katsuki felt his weight vanish as her quirk activated accidentally.

“And the thought of Deku and I isn’t?!” she squawked behind her hands as she tried in vain to hide her flush.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned into the float. 

“Nope. Seen that nerd all snot-nosed and splotchy too many times to find him sexy.” He scowled. “It’s like picturing a sibling at this point.”

Ochako sputtered. “W-well— He is sexy.”

Katsuki nodded doubtfully. “Uh huh.” 

“You should see the shirtless selfies he sends me.”

“I see him shirtless enough in the locker room.” He turned over in the air, well used to the effects of her quirk after Aizawa assigned them as quirk development partners their second year. “Now as much as I love an impromptu training sesh can you put me the fuck down? I don’t think Cementoss is gonna be down for me floating above the entire class during our quiz.”

Ochako uncovered her face and watched him rise higher and higher with a pouty scowl, her blush still burning brilliant crimson. “Only if you promise me you’ll make out with Melissa today.” 

“Oi!” he barked, a blush quickly overtaking him at the thought. “I ain’t trying to rush this shit!”

“Yeah, but you're falling behind instead, slowpoke,” she huffed. “If you don’t seal the deal soon she’s gonna move on!”

Katsuki chewed the inside of his cheek, hating how her words echoed his more anxious thoughts. 

“How about this week?” he offered. “I can maybe make this week happen.”

Ochako rolled her eyes and giggled as she gradually released her quirk. “Fine. This week. Luckily you’ll have Halloween to help.”

“Halloween?” he scoffed, “What’s Halloween got to do with it?”

“The party on Friday? Kaminari and Hanta said that kids with the booze quirk just learned how to make tequila. People love kissing on tequila.”

Katsuki sneered as his feet touched the ground. 

“So she’s gotta be drunk in order for me to have a fucking shot at kissing her?”

“No. You gotta be drunk in order to get out of your head long enough to make a move.”

“Tch. Whatever.” Katsuki turned on his heels and stomped towards Cementoss’ classroom. 

Ochako ran to catch up with him and slipped her arms beneath his.

“Awwww don’t be like that. It’s sweet that you’re so nervous!”

Katsuki sneered, keeping his gaze focused on the encroaching classroom door.

“I ain’t nervous. I’m being respectful.” 

“I ain’t one of those hit it and quit it fuckbois.” He tried to shrug his arm out of her grip. But Ochako only squeezed his arm tighter, nuzzling her cheek up against it.

“I know. I know. That’s what makes you such a catch. Bad boy exterior with a gooey cinnamon roll center.” 

He groaned. “You’re two seconds away from getting a face full of nitroglycerin, Cheeks.”

She gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t do that, to your adorable wingman, would you?”

Katsuki looked down at her against his best interest, finding a pair of honey brown puppy dog eyes shimmering up at him. If he didn’t know her quirk was zero gravity, he would have sworn it was heartbeat manipulation.

How many times had those eyes had him looking up cardiologists? 

His sneer lessened into a pout. “Careful with that wingman shit. You’re gonna give Kirishima a complex.”

She giggled and shrugged. “Guess he’s gotta get good then. You helped him land Mina, how’s he helping you out with Melissa?” 

“By staying far as fuck away, thank god.” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Ochako looked away from him, and lit up with a different glow of excitement. The smile that grew on her face as she let go of his arm could eclipse the sun in brightness.

“Deku!” 

Izuku pulled his attention away from whatever intense conversation he and Icy Hot were having and smiled back at her. Not nearly as bright, more caught off guard and stupidly nervous.

What the fuck did he have to be nervous about? He had Cheeks in the fucking bag. 

Anyone else but then ceased to exist as Ochako ran to his side. The two of them falling into that little bubble of nervous flirty chatter that made it intolerable for anyone to stand too close.

They headed into the room together, leaving Shoto and Katsuki to meet in the hall. 

“The fuck you making that face for?” Katsuki asked. Shoto wasn’t the most expressive bastard, but he knew him well enough by now to tell when something was up.

Especially when he was making that “something is wrong with my soba” face when there was no soba to be found. 

Shoto stared at him blankly for a moment, studying his face.

“I just remembered we have a quiz today,” he answered.

It was an obvious lie, but class was starting soon and Katsuki could give a shit less.

“Well don’t fucking look at my sheet,” he grumbled and stomped off. 

🔍🔍🔍🔍🔍

Were hands an erogenous zone?

They had to fucking be. The half chub in Katsuki’s pants threatening to go full mast every time Melissa grabbed his hands to take another measurement was proof.

They were so fucking sweaty too, but apparently that was a good thing. 

Melissa massaged his palm drawing out more beads of nitroglycerin. “May from Pokémon?” she laughed. “That tracks.”

“What do you mean?”

She ran her finger tip over the length of his palm, gathering a bit if his sweat before rubbing it between two fingers. 

“She’s cute and bubbly on the outside but tough and determined one the inside.” She pulled her fingers apart slightly and studied how the goo glistened in the light. “A girl like that is totally your type.”

“Huh,” he uttered, hoping to set himself up for a clever comeback. 

“Huh, what?”

“Cute and bubbly on the outside, tough and determined on the inside.” He gave her his most charming smirk. “I think I know a girl like that.”

Melissa blushed and started scribbling something down on her notepad, a small smile creeping up her face. 

God she was cute when she was bashful.

“So who was your big childhood crush?” he asked. “It wasn’t All Might, was it?”

She grimaced down at her notepad. “Ew. Gross. No. Uncle Might looks like a rabbit on steroids.”

“I don’t know, maybe you have a furry thing,” he goaded. 

That got her to look at him again.

“I do not!” she squealed.

“Then who was your childhood crush?” he pressed.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, frustratingly returning to her note taking. “Milo.”

“Milo?”

“From Atlantis: The Lost Empire. It’s a Disney movie.” 

“I know it,” he said. The nerdy linguist with an unfortunate middle part coming to mind immediately. “So you’re into scrawny guys, huh?”

She scoffed. “It’s not about his looks. It’s about his mind.”

“So you like them brainy, not brawny.” Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest making sure to flex his biceps a bit. “I don’t know if I can start skipping the gym. Takes a lot of upper body strength to fire off my explosions.”

Melissa leered over the top of her glasses at his arms. “No. Brawny’s good.”

“You sure?” He scratched his chin drawing her attention to his pecs straining against the buttons of his shirt.

“Y-yes but—” she swallowed. “If there’s no brains, what’s the point? I want a partner I can talk to, not just look at.”

“Good thing I’m top of my class then.” He stretched, giving her one last look. 

He pointed down to her notepad. “You try to see how the viscosity impacts the force of my detonations?”

Melissa blinked rapidly, clearing her mind of his muscles to focus back on her paper. “Yes, how did you—”

“Brains and brawn, Specs.” He winked, flushing her face yet again. 

“Ya know,” he drawled, looking over her, delighting in how flustered she was. “You’d make a good Kida.”

She giggled nervously, a little more snorty and sputtering than her usual laugh. “W-what?! No. I—”

“Wouldn’t look good in a white wig and a skimpy blue outfit?” 

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I’d have to disagree. Throw a little bit of that blue face she put on and—” he whistled lowly…

… inadvertently summoning a wild Pikachu.

“What’s going on over here, Kacchan?” Denki cooed, swinging an arm around his neck— 

“Don’t ya know ya gotta be quiet in the library? I’m trying to study over here!”

Katsuki knocked his arm off of him. “Buzz off, Dunceface.”

“You’re not giving him the answers to Power Loader’s homework are ya, Mel?” Denki asked. 

“No. Bakugou’s got to earn his grade just like the rest of you,” Melissa replied, quickly slipping into her TA role. “But he has kindly volunteered to help me with my apprenticeship project.”

“For extra credit?” Denki asked. “Why didn’t you ask, Mel?— 

—I’d let you experiment on me for free. No extra credit required.” He clicked his tongue and winked.

As murderous as Katsuki was growing, he was pleased to see Melissa barely bat an eye at Denki’s shit flirting.

“Well, I will be in a way,” she said. 

Denki leaned forward, stroking his chin like the perfect caricature of a fuckboi. “You will, huh?”

“Yes. Once my universal quirk enhancement tech has moved past the initial prototyping phase, I’ll be working with you all to rig your costumes for closed course testing.” 

“You sure you wanna do that?” he teased. “My quirk’s already… enhanced.”

Melissa barked a laugh. “Not really. You’re completely useless on the battlefield once you hit your max wattage. Which is bad during a fight and for your body.—” 

“—But if you had a piece of tech that could help reroute the excess charge from your attacks, it could keep you in fighting condition and improve the long term quality of your lifespan.”

Denki stared at her with the same dull-eyed gaze he wore during math class. 

Melissa sighed. “Next time you do a big zap, you can keep on zapping.”

The hamster in his head, finally got back on his wheel. “Oh!” Denki said. “Sick!”

“Yeah but she can’t help you keep zapping if you keep bothering her,” Katsuki grumbled. “So—“ 

Katsuki glared daggers at him, willing his quirk to shoot explosions out of his eyes rather than his hands for once.

Denki’s limited sense of self preservation finally kicked in as he blanched and backed away.

“So I’ll catch you at Lats and Lads tonight?” 

“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “See you at the gym.”

“Give me a call if you need a less grumpy lab-rat, Mel,” Denki said, shooting her finger guns. “You know I can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“I’m aware,” she replied, waving him off. “That’s how you failed 3 exams.” 

Denki disappeared into the book stacks, taking the nice flirty atmosphere Katsuki worked so hard to build along with him as Melissa pulled out her graphing calculator and started drafting formulas.

“So, you about the viscosity and denotation correlation—” 

Katsuki sat back in his chair, settling in for what he knew was going to be another long discussion about physics and theory rather than flirting and fooling around in the chemistry section.

Maybe Ochako was right, maybe they both needed booze to finally make a move. 

Halloween couldn’t come fast enough.

Next Part ->

[writeforfandoms]

Were you Blinded by the Stars

Find my masterlist

This is part two of Songbird. There really isn’t a lot plot-wise going on here. A few hints, but nothing major. I just wanted to show a soft night between these two, really. It was fun to explore that side of Fennec. But don’t worry, we’ll be seeing badass Fennec again very soon. 

Warnings: Some kissing. Not much else. 

Your life had changed two weeks ago. Apart from a brief trip back to Mos Eisley to collect your few belongings you couldn’t live without (and another thrilling speeder bike ride behind Fennec), you’d settled into the palace easily. As far as bosses went, Fett was pretty good - you made about the same here, but room and board was included. There was a very strict policy at the bar of “don’t touch the staff”.

You knew exactly how seriously both Fett and Fennec took it. The first time someone had grabbed you, Fennec had appeared practically out of nowhere and bodily thrown the man from the room with a little smirk. 

The room had notably settled after that, and you had notably been unable to look away from her. 

So long as you didn’t ask questions, people by and large left you alone. They seemed to all be… associates of Fett, in one way or another. He could often be seen lounging on the throne, speaking with someone. Sometimes Fennec, sometimes others. Not that you were paying attention, but you noticed faces. You were good at faces. Names, not so much, but faces? You remembered faces. 

Things were… good. You were cautiously optimistic. You actually had some credits stashed away in case you needed it. Nobody harassed you at work anymore.

And, perhaps best of all, Fennec had taken to walking you back to your room every night. And tonight was no different.

Once the lights were down and everyone was out of the throne room, you finally let your smile slip and your shoulders slump. You were tired. It wasn’t hard work, not really, but it was exhausting. You wiped down the last glass for the night, stacked it safely with the others, and then stretched your arms up over your head, trying to get rid of some of the tension that had settled in your shoulders and upper back.

“I’d say you should stretch like that more often, but you’d make more work for me.”

You squeaked and jumped when Fennec spoke from off to your side, just out of your line of sight. “Maker, Fennec, you’re going to kill me,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your chest. 

“That would be a shame.” Fennec stepped closer to you, carefully moving around to your front. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” You set the rag down under the bar. Fennec held out one hand and, without even thinking about it, you grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. Fennec nodded and the two of you set off.

Tonight, however, instead of turning down the hallway towards your room, Fennec continued on straight.

“Fennec…?” you murmured, uncertain. Not scared. But this was new. You wanted to know what was going on. 

“What’s the rule?” Fennec asked, sounding amused.

You sighed, exasperatedly indulgent. “Hold tight and you’ll keep me safe. But Fen--” 

Fennec just tugged you along, pushing open a door you’d never seen before. This door led to a short hallway, one door on either side, and a staircase at the end. You ascended the stairs, still confused but unwilling to really dig your heels in. You knew Fennec wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. And, honestly, now you were curious. 

Finally, Fennec pushed open another door, and the two of you were outside. On top of the palace, it looked like. You could see for miles in every direction. 

Well. You supposed you could - it was fully dark outside, so you honestly couldn’t see much out into the desert.

The sky, on the other hand. The sky was a very different story. 

An awed gasp passed your lips as you looked up. You felt like you could see everything. Every star, every twinkle. It was beautiful.

“Here.” Fennec tugged on your hand gently to get your attention, leading you over to a blanket. She had you sit and pulled another blanket from a waiting bag, throwing this one around your shoulders. And then she promptly sat next to you, pressed up against your side, sharing the blanket with you. You felt blood rush to your cheeks.

“Fennec…” You breathed, looking at her. You weren’t quite sure exactly what expression you were making, but it made her lips quirk. 

“Relax,” she encouraged, sliding one arm around you under the blanket to tug you in even closer. She tipped her head back to look up at the sky. You meant to follow her example, you really did. You just… took a few moments to admire the stretch of her neck, the soft lighting on her features. And then you looked up at the sky, heart beating wildly in your chest. 

“You been to any of those?” Fennec asked, almost lazily. Except you knew Fennec better now. She didn’t ask pointless questions. So she wanted to know. Why, you weren’t sure exactly. 

“No,” you answered easily. “I was born here. I wanted to travel, when I was younger, but.” You shrugged a little, careful not to dislodge her arm. “Life happened.” Looking up at the stars was easier than looking at her, for this. 

Fennec hummed a considering note. After a moment, she laid back and used her grip on you to bring you down with her. A moment of shuffling had you using her arm as a pillow, which made you smile. “Would you want to?”

“Travel? Now?” You considered the question. It hadn’t been a possibility for most of your adult life. Sure, you weren’t starving, but you certainly weren’t saving up the credits to get an off world transport. “I mean. I guess? I don’t really know. Haven’t thought about it in years, not really.” That was only a little lie. You had thought about it. Daydreamed, really. It was one of the things that had gotten you through years of bar fights and broken glasses. 

“You guess?” Fennec sounded amused. You chanced a quick peek at her to find her still looking up at the sky, more relaxed than you’d ever seen her. A little smile quirked up the corners of her lips. 

“Well.” You felt blood rushing to your cheeks… again. If this kept up, you’d turn a permanently different color. “I would still like to see things and go new places, but…” You trailed off, shrugging again. It wasn’t something you’d put too much thought into, honestly. Not in the last few weeks, certainly. 

"But?" Fennec pushed gently. 

"I don't know. Things are different now." You huffed, almost a laugh. "It's a moot point anyway, no way I'd get enough credits for something like that." 

Fennec huffed a laugh of her own, a secretive smile curling her lips. But she mercifully stopped asking, instead pulling you a little closer to her. It was chilly, sure, with a bit of a breeze, but between Fennec and the blanket you felt nice and warm.

Your eyes were just starting to drop closed when you realized the sky was getting lighter. You blinked a few times and then propped yourself up on your elbows to check, ignoring the faint, disgruntled murmur from Fennec. The sky was lightening. It was nearly sunrise. 

"How long have we been out here?" You asked, looking down at Fennec.

"Couple hours." Fennec shrugged, long fingers curling around your shoulder to try to tug you back down to her side. 

"We should go back in," you muttered, starting to fret.

"Why?" Fennec challenged. "You don't have work tonight, you can sleep in." 

"What about you?" You frowned a little at her. 

Fennec smiled. It wasn't the first smile you'd gotten from her, but it was bigger than usual, more relaxed. "I'll get a few hours," she promised. She knocked one of your elbows out from under you, sending you sprawling down again with a yelp. "Stay a little longer." 

"Pushy." But you snuggled back into her side readily enough. The two of you relaxed there, watching the sky change colors and stars slowly vanish from sight. 

Finally, once the first sun had actually broached the horizon, Fennec sat up. "You should go rest."

"I've been resting." You pouted up at her playfully. 

"Careful," she murmured, smirking down at you. "Or I'll take you back to my room instead." 

You considered it. You actually did. And then you shook your head, just a little. "Not tonight. Or. Well. This morning, I suppose." 

Fennec nodded, accepting that easily, and stood. She whipped the blanket off of you, rolling it up and pushing it into the bag. "Up you get, then, little mouse."

You made a face at her but stood. Much to your mortification and consternation, that nickname had stuck from the first time Fett had used it. 

Fennec led the way back into the palace and back down the stairs, though she kept pace with you. Which you appreciated. You were tired and slower than usual. 

Finally, though, the two of you stopped in front of your door. You could hear people starting to stir to life around you, the day beginning anew. You were honestly disappointed your day finally had to end. 

"Here," Fennec said, pushing a datapad into your hands. "A little homework for you."

"What's this for?" You murmured, frowning down at it briefly.

"I want you to tell me where you'd go, if you could," Fennec said, watching you. "Pick a planet. Any planet. Not now, think about it." 

"What for?" You asked, confused.

"Just pick." One if her hands cupped your cheek, long fingers delicate against your skin. "Can you do that for me?"

"Okay," you agreed easily.

Fennec smiled, pleased, and leaned in to kiss you slow and dirty, her tongue exploring every centimeter of your mouth. When she pulled back, her lips were shiny, and you were panting a little. She smirked and winked at you. "Sweet dreams." 

You watched her turn and leave, touching your still-tingling lips. Then you shook yourself and stepped into your room. The yawn caught you by surprise, and you set the datapad down on your bedside table. You could do research later. For now, it was time to sleep.

--

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[pitviperofdoom]

Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

[love-and-monsters]

Starfaller

Agender tiefling X gn reader. 7,005 words.

You’ve fallen into a strange world. Things are unfamiliar and strange, but at least you’ve got a cute doctor to look out for you.

“Come now, sugar. Open your eyes.” Someone was shaking your shoulder gently, but insistently. You didn’t want to wake up. Pain radiated along your back, growing sharper the closer to wakefulness you got. “Up you get. There you go.”

Your eyelids flickered open. Bright sunlight fille d the room with a blinding yellow-white glow. You were lying on some kind of cushy couch, across the room from a set of large, glass doors. The room looked like some sort of old-fashioned apothecary, with pale wooden walls and a floor. Dried and partially-dried herbs hung from the lofted ceiling. Cabinets with glass doors lined the room, full of plants and vials of liquid and metal devices made for measuring. The smell was sharp and made your nose itch faintly.

“Here. Drink this.” Someone cupped your head in their hand. A cup pressed against your lips. It was cool, and the water that flowed into your desiccated mouth tasted pure and crystalline. You gulped it furiously. Oh, god, it was so good, like someone was pouring a sparkling stream of energy down your throat.

“That’s it. Good.” The cup moved away from your lips. You made a quiet noise of protest. “I know, but you have to go slowly. You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t.”

You turned your head, wincing as the motion pulled your muscles. Every breath hurt, like you’d pulled every muscle in your chest and back. The person who had been allowing you to drink was sitting next to you, hand still resting on the back of your head. “There you are. You’re looking a bit better now, aren’t you?”

They smiled, revealing needle-sharp fangs. You felt something in your stomach drop and twist. This person wasn’t a human. They were pale, with nearly pure white skin and white-blonde hair. Their eyes were pale as well, with pink markings along their cheekbones and forehead. Their hair was tied back into a short braid, carefully woven around their enormous, curving horns. They wore a long, pale robe, a long, thin tail with a thick tuft of white-blond hair at the tip. Their feet ended in short, white fur and white, cloven hooves. Their eyes gleamed oddly in the sunlight, their pupils several shades too pale.

“Oh, dear. Lie back down, you look awfully wan. Might have sat up a bit too quick.” Their voice was soft and accented in a way you couldn’t quite identify. Maybe vaguely southern? “Here. Drink.”

Another cup was pressed to your lips. This one was warm and tasted savory. It made your stomach growl. You were starving, lightheaded with hunger. Your fingers fumbled to cling to the bowl, trying to gulp it faster. “Easy there. Slowly.” The bowl was tugged from your mouth once more. “Though it’s good you have an appetite.”

Your caretaker allowed you to drink slowly, pressing the cup to your lips and taking it back away in intervals. Eventually, you managed to drink all of it, your tongue flicking out to get the last few drops from the bottom. “There you are.” Your caretaker ran a hand over your forehead. “All right. It’s good that you got some food in you.”

You sagged back onto the couch. The longer you remained awake, the worse the pain in your torso was getting. Every breath was a struggle. “You must be in a lot of pain,” your caretaker murmured. “Hold on. I’ll get you something for that.” They moved away to one of their cabinets and returned with a spoon and a tiny vial of a green liquid. “This should help with the pain. It’s quite potent, though, and it won’t taste nice.” They tipped a few drops onto the spoon. “Here.”

A flicker of concern moved through you, but it seemed silly not to trust them. They seemed to be taking care of you, at least. The spoon touched your lips and you sipped the droplets from it.

The effect was immediate. For a moment, your mouth tasted sharp and nasty, then a wave of numbness spread outward from everywhere the drops had touched. You sagged back onto the couch. Your eyelids drooped. “Get some sleep. It’ll help you recover,” your caretaker said. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” The world fuzzed and faded as they stood and started to walk away.

You woke again some time later, this time under your own volition. The sun had set, making the room mercifully dim. You were still in pain, but it seemed distant, less urgent.

Grimacing, you rolled onto your side. The caretaker was nowhere you could see. Across the room, you could see the beautiful night sky through the window.

It was more breathtaking than any night sky you had ever seen before. There were thousands of stars, more than you could ever remember seeing. There were even variations of color across the sky, from dark blue to purple to even a few splashes of green. Sitting high at the apex of the sky were two gently glowing moons.

Your breath caught in your throat. The caretaker had obviously not been human, which had been strange, but this. This confirmed it. You weren’t just in some strange place with nonhuman creatures. You were in some entirely different world.

From behind your head, a door creaked. You twisted around, ignoring the sharp pain in your chest. “Ah, you’re awake again. Good.” Your caretaker placed a basket on the table and swept off their coat. “How are you feeling?”

Your voice cracked as you tried to speak. “Wh- Where…”

“Here. Wet your throat. You’ve been out for a while.” They swept over to you, holding a cup. “There you are. Can you hold it yourself? Good.”

Again, the water was cool and clear and you drank it desperately. “Where,” you sputtered as soon as your mouth was no longer achingly dry, “Where am I?”

“Ah.” The caretaker took the bowl back form your hands. “I take it you realized you’re not home anymore.”

“There’s two moons,” you said. “And… and you’re not… human.”

“Mn. No. I’m not. Your Fall must have been particularly bad if you’ve never even met a tiefling before.” They gave you a sympathetic look. “You’re fortunate you weren’t more injured, really. Only a few cracked ribs and some bad bruising.”

“Then where am I?” you insisted. The caretaker gave you a soft, soothing smile.

“In specific, you’re in my house, the healer’s residence of Torthall. It’s a small town in the kingdom of Ristoranth- though I suppose we haven’t been a proper kingdom in a couple of decades.” They paused. “But that’s not terribly helpful to you, is it? Hm. Well, have you ever heard of the theory of multiple worlds?”

You mulled that over. “Like multiple universes?”

“Mm, yes. Roughly. There are many different worlds, and a lot of them overlap. Some of them overlap rarely, and some of them have many overlaps. We call the ones with many overlaps hub worlds.” They made a vague gesture at the world around you. “This world is a hub world. When two worlds overlap, things have a tendency to slip through the gaps. Sometimes they’re small, but sometimes, people slip through.”

You took a deep, slow breath. “I slipped through the gap between your world and my world?”

“Yes. That’s pretty much the summation of it. There’s some more metaphysical aspects to it, some complicated things that I won’t even pretend to understand, but the basic gist of it all is that people often slip through the cracks between the universes and land here. Usually there are a few dozen Starfallers every year. We call them Starfallers,” they clarified. “Usually they fall from the sky, out of a flash of light. The scars last for a few days, like large stars.” They tilted their head back toward the windows. “We could probably still see it, if we went outside.”

You curled your fingers around the blankets. “How do I get home?”

The caretaker’s face went still. “Ah.” The noise was soft and hesitant and confirmed all of your worst fears. “It’s… I don’t want to say that it’s impossible. There have been a few Starfallers who have gotten back. But… Hm. It’s a bit like we’re at the bottom of a funnel. It’s quite easy to get down here, but it’s difficult to get back up. And yours… well, if your world has no active magic component, then it’s likely quite far away from ours. It’s not impossible, but it’s not likely for you to get back either.”

You swallowed hard. The back of your eyes stung. “So, I’m stuck here.”

They folded their hands in their lap. “I’m afraid it’s the most likely scenario.”

You were trying to keep your face still, but your lips were twitching insistently downward. Your breath kept catching and stuttering in your chest. “Oh, dear. Here, it’s all right.” The caretaker fished something out of their pocket and passed it to you. You buried your face in the handkerchief as the tears started falling. “There, there. I know.”

You snuffled, mopping at your eyes. “I’m s-sorry, I hate crying in front of other people.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t apologize.” They smiled softly. “I could turn my back, if you’d like.” You snorted. “But seriously, I’m a healer. I’ve seen many people cry. It won’t make me think any less of you.”

They stroked along your back as you cried until, finally, you had exhausted your water supply. You slumped back onto your pillows. “Feeling any better?” the caretaker asked. They brushed a hand along the top of your head, then swiped away a few of your tears with a thumb.

“I don’t know.” There was still a knot of emotion in your chest, but it had loosened ever so slightly. “I think so.”

“You should probably get some more sleep,” the caretaker said. They stood up. “We can keep talking in the morning.” They yawned. “Both of us need some sleep, really. I’ll see you in the morning.” They gave you an affectionate pat on the head before striding out of the room.

You had expected to have trouble falling asleep, but crying had apparently taken it out of you. Before you knew it, you were blinking your eyes open in bright sunlight. The room was full of the sound and smell of cooking eggs. The caretaker was wearing a purple and gold robe, bent over a fire. “Good morning,” they said, smiling over their shoulder at you.

“Morning,” you croaked. You pushed yourself upright. Your muscles were still sore, but you felt better than you had the night before. “Do I get breakfast?”

The caretaker laughed. “I’m certainly not going to starve you. Though you should eat slowly. Starfalling can do some strange things to your insides.”

You gratefully accepted your plate of eggs. They looked and tasted pretty much exactly like chicken eggs, which was a relief. The caretaker sat down next to you, chewing idly on their own breakfast.

“I don’t know your name,” you said hesitantly after a few moments of eating in silence.

“Silaris. You can just call me Sil.” They smiled. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better. I think.”

“Mm. That’s good. You’ll probably be able to get out of bed today, though you should take it easy. I don’t want you to do anything that will exacerbate your injuries.”

You took a careful bite of eggs off your fork and chewed it slowly. “What, uh. What happens now? I mean… what happens now that I’m here?”

Sil lowered their fork. “I’ll get you in contact with the Starfaller agency. They’ve got a small fund they set aside for Starfaller relief, so you’ll get an allowance for a few months until you’re adjusted. They’ll probably also interview you about what you did in your world, to see what relevant skills you have.” They patted your hand. “Don’t look so worried, sugar. We’re going to make sure you’re safe here.”

“I don’t know if I have any relevant skills I can use here,” you said. “I worked in tech support back in my world. Unless you need someone who’s good with computers here…” Your breaths were starting to come more shallowly. The edges of panic were creeping into your voice.

“Hey. Hey.” Sil took hold of your hands. “Breathe. You’re all right.” They smiled soothingly at you. “If you don’t have any skills that will work for this world, we can get you apprenticed to someone. I’m sure there’s someone who can take you on.”

You took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“It’s certainly no trouble. Right now, you shouldn’t worry too much. Just try to focus on getting better.” Sil stood. “Your appetite seems healthy, at least.” Your fork scraped against your plate and you looked down. It was empty. You’d been absently shoveling food into your mouth the entire time they’d been speaking. “Ah, don’t look embarrassed. It’s good. If you weren’t hungry, I’d be worried.” They stood, taking your plate. “Give me a moment.”

They left the room. You took their absence as an opportunity to fully assess yourself. Aside from being painfully stiff and needing to breathe shallowly, you felt all right. Your chest was bound in bandages. Bracing yourself against the couch, you pushed yourself to your feet.

Your legs were shaky, but willing to support your weight. You took a few cautious steps. Your side blazed in protest. Every breath made your damaged ribs throb. Grinding your teeth, you took a few cautious steps across the room.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to be walking around so quickly.” You looked over. Sil was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “You must be in better shape than I thought. How do you feel?”

“It hurts,” you admitted. “And-” The wooziness you’d been holding at bay by sheer force of will finally pushed its way into your head. You wobbled on your feet.

“Oh, dear. All right.” Sil half caught you, half propped you back up. “Sit back down.” They pushed you back over to the couch, easing you down. “It’s good that you can be up and about. Any nausea, intensifying pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Here, take some of this.” Sil held out a tiny, thimble-sized glass with a pale, cloudy liquid in it. “It’s an infusion of a few herbs, often referred to as ‘bone-knit’. It’ll help with the pain.”

You tossed the liquid back and grimaced. It was bitter beyond belief. “Ugh!”

“Not pleasant, I know.” Sil took the bottle back from you. “I’m going to need to go out for a little bit, just to get some more supplies. Just rest while I’m gone, all right? I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” you said, leaning back onto the couch. Sil smiled, gave you an affectionate pat on the head, then turned and walked out of the room.

You heard the door open and shut. Your ribs prickled, not just aching, but also itching. It was constant, insistent, and it made it impossible to sleep. After several minutes of trying, you gave up.

Walking was still a little shaky, but you managed to complete a circuit of the room. Most items were fairly uninteresting, or at least not anything you found helpful. One of the cabinets had a series of medical instruments that looked only vaguely familiar, not that you had much experience with medical devices. Another cabinet contained strange herbs and stones, each of them labeled. A leather-bound journal sat on the bottom of the shelf. You picked it up, flicking through the pages. Drawings of leaves and stones and even a few pressed flowers sat on the pages.

On first inspection, you couldn’t read most of the writing and assumed it was in some strange language. After looking a little longer, though, you realized that the handwriting was simply so messy it looked like another language. With some squinting and puzzling, you could decode most of it. It was a handwritten journal, listing the locations, growing seasons, and medical properties of each plant.

When Sil returned home, you were still flipping through their notebook. “Sorry I’m late,” they said. “I got caught up in town. There was a toddler with a bit of a cold and his father was terribly worried. What are you reading?”

You closed the journal, a little embarrassed. “I was just looking through your journal. It’s interesting.”

“It’s not anything truly spectacular. Just my own notes on what sort of plants and stones have what sort of uses. I’m sure you could find a basic medical book that has the exact same information,” Sil said, but they looked faintly pleased. “Speaking of reading, I got you a few things.” They swung their bag off their shoulder and rummaged inside it. “Some books. Basic history, basic science, basic culture.”

You took the books from Sil and flipped through them. They had thick pages and were mostly illustrations. “These are books for children.”

“Well, yes,” Sil said, scratching at the back of their neck. “I’m afraid so. I’ve got a couple more advanced books for you, but I though you should start with those first. You’ll need to learn about our world, and children’s books do give the most basic knowledge.” You grimaced.

“I suppose.” You picked up the book titled The History of Ristoranth. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get these for me.”

“As I keep telling you, it’s really no trouble. Start reading. I’ll get us some lunch.” Sil swept out of the room and you picked up the book and started flipping through it.

It was amazing how quickly you settled into a routine. You spent much of your time trying to understand the world you were suddenly in. Despite some strange similarities, like the languages being identical, there were some massive differences in the basic laws of nature.

“I’m sorry, you can grow new rocks?” you asked. Over the past couple of weeks, you’d taken to confirming your most surprising discoveries with Sil. There had been an embarrassing few days where you’d assumed the kingdom had actually been named after the first Queen’s three pet birds, until Sil had explained that was a metaphor.

“They were her advisors. Or consorts. No one’s sure. But they always were referred to as her birds in fable, because they were each nicknamed after a sort of bird. Anyway, they may have had shape changing abilities, but they weren’t really her pet birds. Didn’t you think it was odd that she went to them for advice?”

Given some of the other things you read about, the idea of the Queen using real birds as her advisors didn’t seem that unusual. “There were mentions of her going to animals for advice before.”

“Those weren’t real animals. Those were spirits.” Sil made it sound like this should be patently obvious. You sighed.

“Anyway. You have… Farm quarries?”

“Specialists grow new gemstones all the time. I mean, you need a seed gemstone, and some quarries just produce metals or certain forms of clay and such, but yes. They do.” Sil looked at you questioningly. “How does your world get new materials?”

“We find them,” you said. “I mean, we can dig them up. And things change form. Eventually you can make coal or graphite or something into diamonds. But you can’t just take a gemstone and make it get bigger.”

“From what I know, it’s a little more complicated than that. It’s about agitating the crystalline structures using the harmonic resonance of magic and transitioning new materials into the same structure as-” Sil trailed off. “Er. This isn’t making any sense to you, is it?”

You shook your head. “And this references weather control?”

“Oh. High level mages manage the weather.” You rubbed your forehead. “How do you ensure that the weather is appropriate in your world?”

“We don’t! We just try to predict it and deal with it as best we can.”

Sil’s brows furrowed. “But crops rely on certain weather patterns. How do you ensure best yield if you don’t have weather management?”

“I just said, we don’t. If something like that happens… food prices go up, I guess, or we do without.”

Sil looked disturbed at the very concept. That was one of the other things you’d noticed. Their world seemed… gentler, in some ways. More forgiving. The weather could be managed, and rare materials could be obtained with little effort. There wasn’t as much scarcity.

“It’s extropic,” you said. Sil gave you a bewildered look. “Er, instead of entropic. It’s extropic.”

“You’ve lost me.” Sil closed their book. “What are we talking about?”

“Your world. My world is entropic, which means it moves away from order and toward chaos. This world’s the opposite, extropic. It moves toward order. Through magic, I would assume. But it means that you aren’t as concerned with… I don’t know, losing resources.” You flipped your book closed. “It’s a lot less cutthroat than my world. I guess because you can always be reassured there will be enough to go around.”

Sil didn’t seem to entirely understand what you were musing about, but they understood that you were melancholy. “Do you miss your home?”

“Yeah. I do.” You pushed yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain in your side. Sil had been giving you some kind of potion that stitched your ribs back together rapidly, but they still ached after a couple of weeks. “Even if it was a hard place to live, it had some advantages. Like the internet.”

“The what?”

“Ah. Never mind.” You stretched and groaned. “Ow.”

“I did tell you that you should rest,” Sil said. They had been growing more insistent on you staying in bed the longer you stayed with them, as you had grown more insistent on getting up and walking around. It felt wrong to be lying around in bed while Sil worked.

“I can’t just lie around forever. I want to help out,” you said. “I can’t keep being a drain on you.”

Sil’s face scrunched up. “People aren’t a drain. I became a healer to help people get better. I’m helping you do that right now.”

“Yeah, but you’re not getting paid to take care of me. I can at least pay you back another way.” Sil stared at you, head tilted slightly to one side. That seemed to be a difference in the worlds. There was some system that at least resembled capitalism, with shops and craftspeople and the like, but Sil never seemed concerned about money, even though they didn’t really charge most of the people who came to see them.

“You don’t need to pay me back,” Sil said, but you glared and they gave up on protesting. “All right, all right, if you’re going to insist on helping me, I suppose I wouldn’t want to turn down the extra help. Come. I’m making salves and antiseptics. It’s fairly easy. Shouldn’t strain you at all.”

Sil took you across the room to a small worktable covered in bundles of herbs. “All right. Take these three herbs and roll them in the binding sap, then mash it all together. It’ll create an antiseptic paste that also has some numbing agents in it. Very useful for bad cuts.”

You sat down across from Sil and started separating herbs and mixing them in the way Sil had instructed. It was slow, soothing work. “And you sell these?”

“Mn. Mostly. I’ve given some away, if the customer can’t pay.” Sil gathered a bundle of herbs together and examined them for a moment before tying them together. “You’re very concerned about money.”

“Oh. I don’t mean to be shallow or anything. It’s just… I was very concerned about money in my own world. I was pretty poor.” You carefully scooped every last bit of the paste you’d made into a jar and set it aside. “I was actually about to lose my apartment because I couldn’t pay rent. It was something I thought about a lot back then. I guess I can’t get rid of the worry even now.”

Sil seemed vaguely disturbed by the concept, but didn’t say anything. You got the idea they were refraining from critiquing your home out of sheer politeness.

“We’ll need to go to market a little later today,” they said, gently changing the subject. “Would you like to come?”

You perked up at that. “You’ll let me?” Sil had been cautious about letting you leave the house, probably out of an overabundance of caution.

“I can tell you’re getting cagey,” Sil said. They gave a small, fond smile. “I know I’ve been trying to keep you from doing very much, and I know that’s frustrating. I assure you, I won’t keep it up forever. I just don’t want you to be injured.” Their smile widened. “It would be a shame if anything happened to a cute thing like you.”

You started, face burning. Sil had a habit of dropping little compliments into conversation. Either they were unaware of how much it flustered you, or they found it amusing. Sil turned back to their bundle of herbs, leaving you to think on that.

Were they flirting with you? It was… well, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. They were cute, certainly. Their little fangs were almost painfully adorable, as was their habit of absently humming to themselves and the way their tail curled around one of their legs when they were nervous. And, well, their personality certainly wasn’t half bad either. Caring, gentle, a good sense of humor.

On the other hand… well, they might not be flirting with you. They seemed generally friendly, so it might just be them being nice, or caring for you because you were their patient. Would they even want to consider dating you after treating you as their ward? Were you even really crushing on them or would the feelings fade once you left them?

Sil cleared their throat. “Something wrong?”

You startled out of your thoughts. “Uh, no. Just thinking.”

Sil lifted an eyebrow. “You were staring at me.” Did they sound amused? Flattered? Pleased? Were you reading too much into this?

“I was just staring off into space,” you said. Sil looked at you for a moment longer, then went back to their work. You breathed a sigh of relief. Your heart fluttered rapidly in your chest.

About half an hour later, you had finished prepping the herbs and Sil was preparing for market. They pulled a coat over their shoulders and held out one for you. “You’re still feeling all right?” they asked as they slid the coat on for you. “The pain isn’t too bad?”

“It’s fine. Honestly, it’s itching more than anything.” The feeling of your ribs stitching themselves together manifested as a nearly constant pricking under your skin. Attempting to scratch only made the pain worse, so you had to grit your teeth and deal with it.

“That’s good,” Sil said. “It means it’s healing.”

You rolled your eyes as Sil opened the door and stepped outside. “You would say that. You’re not the one who has to experience it.”

Sil laughed and made a sympathetic clucking noise with their tongue. “I’ll see if I can’t make you something to soothe it when we get back home. But it is good that you’re healing. You’ll be able to go out on your own soon.”

A flicker of nervousness jumped through your stomach. “Mmhm,” you murmured. Sil didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. They strode down the dirt pathway that led to the proper town, the hand on your back gently steering you along.

Sil had taken you into town a couple of times before, though only for a brief time and always with the maximum amount of concern and fussing. This time, they were actually content to let you walk away from them, though you could feel their eyes on you like a hawk.

“Looks like the little human is up and about again!” You tried not to jump in surprise as a booming voice echoed out from a shop. A tall, muscular woman with a cow’s head stood in the doorway of her shop, arms folded over her chest. She was the town tailor, and stood at least six and a half feet tall. Her calling you little was less about your shortness and more about the fact that everyone was shorter than she was. You’d met her out of necessity, as she was the one who’d gotten you most of your clothes.

“Hi, Matilda,” you said. “Yeah. And thanks for all the clothes, by the way. They fit really well.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased with them. Not my best work. I’ll need to get some more measurements to get you some more fitted stuff.” She nodded at Sil. “As long as they allow it, of course.”

“Not yet. The ribs aren’t fully healed, and I know you don’t mean to, but sometimes you don’t know your own strength,” Sil said. “I’m sure we’ll be back to get some more clothes at another time.” Matilda shrugged and gave you a small wink.

“Come back anytime, dear.” She headed back into the shop. Sil rested a hand on your back and led you further into the town.

“We’re just going to get some supplies,” Sil said, glancing down at the list they were carrying. “I need more bandages. And some more food. Hm, and I suppose it’ll be good, now that you’re feeling better, to show you around town.” They tucked the list back into their pocket. “You are still feeling well, yes?”

“Sil, I’m fine.” They looked concerned, still, but they dropped the subject.

The town Sil was a part of was ridiculously quaint, at least by your standards. According to Sil, it was actually fairly advanced. You were at least glad the place had running water and indoor plumbing. Still, it was a closely knit community where, if you needed something, you were probably going to go to someone in town to get it. There was a potter, a blacksmith, a carpenter. Sil could practically name where every item in his house came from. It was sweet, really. It made every part of the community feel important.

On the other hand, it meant that there were very little openings in the town. Sil had made a casual mention that you might need to move to another city, and the thought of that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. Be on your own? In a world you didn’t quite understand? But you couldn’t impose on Sil anymore than you already had. If they wanted you to move out, how could you say no?

“Sugar.” Sil’s gentle, lilting voice pushed into your consciousness. “Everything all right?”

“Fine. Just thinking.” Sil tilted their head, a crease of worry forming between their brows. “I’m really fine, Sil. I can just drift off sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m in incredible amounts of pain.”

Sil pressed their lips together. “You aren’t, are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m fine. Are you this fussy about everyone?”

“Are you kidding?” You glanced over your shoulder. An enormous naga was slithering toward you, her tail undulating as she approached. “I once broke three of my fingers and this one just tied them together and told me I should be fine to keep working if I really wanted to.”

“They weren’t broken. You sprained them!” Sil sputtered. “And I did not say that. I said you should be able to return to work soon. It wasn’t a bad sprain.”

The naga, Evelyn, rolled her eyes in your direction. “I once got a hand full of splinters and they snapped at me every time I flinched. No bedside manner at all.”

“Really?” That seemed hard to believe. Sil had been nothing but sweet to you since you arrived.

“You were whining! And splinters certainly are not the same thing as broken ribs.” Sil’s face had brightened to an impressive shade of red. “And just because I choose not to exercise it on you doesn’t mean I don’t have bedside manners.”

Evelyn rolled her dark, glittering eyes. “Sure, Sil.” She lounged closer to you, drooping the upper half of her body over your shoulder. “Watch their tail,” she said, lips close to your ear. “If the tip starts going mad when you touch them, make a move.” She shot Sil a grin and dropped off your shoulder. “If you want another storage case, stop by any time,” she said, waving a hand back at you as she slithered off. “I’ll be around.”

Sil’s cheeks were still brightly flushed and they spent a moment fussing with their robes before looking aback at you. “She ought to be more careful, throwing herself all over someone who was recently injured.” Their voice was full of indignation, almost as though her presence had genuinely agitated them.

“I told you already, Sil. I’m fine.”

“Oh, all right.” Their hands fluttered tentatively against your side for a moment. “Do you want to stop by the bakery? You didn’t have much for breakfast and you need to keep your strength up.”

“Sure,” you said. Then, just as an experiment, you reached out a hand and placed it on their shoulder. The edge of your hand rested at the hem of their shirt, so there was a flicker of skin-to-skin contact. Their tail shivered, the tip dancing back and forth in the dirt. The flush, which had been slowly fading from their face, returned in full force. “Thank you, Sil.”

They moved their mouth for a moment. “Oh. Uh. You are very welcome.” They squeezed your hand before gently removing it from their shoulder. “Come on.” Their hand lingered against yours for a moment before they released it.

The bakery was run by a pair of fauns. As far as you were aware, they were twins. Evidently, Sil had helped them both on a couple of occasions and now they could get free food almost whenever they wanted. By the time you left the store, your arms were laden with sweets.

The pair of you munched on them casually as you walked around town. There were a few faces that you didn’t recognize, but you knew most of them, and most of them could remember you. The town was so small that new faces were almost immediately recognized. All of them seemed to know Sil, and greeted them with familiarity and reverence.

Still, the longer you spent time in town, the more uncertain you grew about your place there. None of the skills the townspeople had were skills you could really help with, and when you thought through your own abilities, you weren’t sure you had anything to offer. Every person in the town seemed to fit a niche. You weren’t sure what niche you could fill.

“Sugar?” Sil nudged you. “Are you in pain?”

“What?” you said, starting out of your thoughts again. Sil hesitantly extended a hand and cupped your chin in their palm. Their thumb swept along the underside of your eye. Something wet came away with their fingertip.

“Your eyes are watering,” they said. “Is the pain that bad? You should have said something.”

“Oh.” There was pain, a dull ache in your side that radiated along your back. But it wasn’t bad enough to cry over. “No, no, it’s not that.”

You had intended to be reassuring, but Sil’s expression only grew more concerned. They stepped in closer to your side, allowing you to lean on them as you walked. “What’s the matter, then?”

You took a deep breath. Worry jumbled up in your chest and throat, jamming the words from coming. After a moment, you just shook your head. To their credit, Sil didn’t push. They just put an arm over your shoulders and helped you back to their house.

When you were seated back on the couch and Sil had finished putting the materials you’d acquired away, they settled in next to you. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” You fumbled the words once more. There was a lot you were feeling and you weren’t sure how to get it all out in a way that made sense. Sil waited for you, eyes solemn and patient. Finally, the words came out. “Do you want me to leave?” The question that emerged was more pathetic than you’d hoped for. There was a pleading edge to it. Please, I’m scared, don’t make me go!

Sil’s mouth popped open, then snapped shut. They seemed genuinely thrown. “I- No. Where is this coming from?”

You took a deep breath and attempted to sort your thoughts out. “You keep talking about me leaving. Maybe needing to go to the city. And there’s not really any place for me here, nothing necessary. But…” Your voice wavered embarrassingly. Damn. You didn’t want to cry in front of Sil again. They’d seen quite enough of that.

“But?” Sil pressed. Their voice was gentle. One of their hands rested on your knee.

“I don’t want to leave,” you said. “I know it’s selfish, and I really don’t want to impose, but I’d miss you and I’d miss this place. I- I feel like I’m actually starting to make a life here, and I don’t want to leave everything again, but I don’t want to stay here if I’m not wanted-”

Sil hugged you.

Their arms around you were gentle, exerting a reassuring amount of pressure. One of their hands splayed across your back, moving in slow, soothing circles. You hugged them back, pressing your face into their shoulder.

“Shh,” Sil murmured. “Shh. It’s all right.” They pulled back a little, letting their other hand come up to your face. Their thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “You’ve been worrying about this for a while, haven’t you?” Their voice was soft, utterly caring. A swell of tears formed in your eyes again. You blinked rapidly and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you feel like you weren’t wanted here.”

The hand on your face moved back to stroke through your hair. Sil took in a deep, slow breath. “I think I may have overcorrected, slightly,” they said. “I know I’ve been bringing up you potentially going to the city a lot- I was trying to give you an out, you see, if you didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped. I suppose I may have pushed it too hard.”

“Oh,” you said. Relief flooded through you. “Then you do want me to stay? Or, at least, you’re all right with it? I mean, I don’t want to push to stay if you don’t want me here. Is it weird having me in your house? I can start seeing if I can move out-”

“Shh, shh,” Sil said, lifting their voice over yours. “Oh, you really worry too much. No. I don’t want you to leave.” They licked their lips. “There may have been a bit of a selfish reason I’ve not been so keen on you staying. I kept suggesting the city because… Ah, I was trying to work up the courage to ask you something. I didn’t want to make it awkward for you, since you’re staying here. I thought, maybe if you had somewhere to go, it wouldn’t be so bad if you, ah. Turned me down.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat rose to your face. “Something you wanted to ask?”

Sil nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. I don’t want you to think- well, it’s not something I’m jumping into rashly. I’ve considered it. And if you refuse, I certainly won’t hold it against you. I just… I don’t want you to leave, either. Having you around here isn’t a burden. I enjoy it. Ever since I met you. And not just because you’re a human, and a starfaller. You’re… smart and thoughtful and considerate and determined, I-” Sil cut themselves off. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I should come out and say it.” Sil took a deep breath. “I’m attracted to you. Very attracted to you. I have been for a little while. I know that it might not be a good time, and I understand if you don’t want a relationship right now. If you want to leave or stay somewhere else, I understand. But… I want you here. I love every minute you’re here with me. I just thought you should know that.”

Sil fell silent. They fidgeted slightly, barely able to look you in the eyes. You felt slightly stunned. That explained a lot. Their fussiness over your wounds, their insistence that they enjoyed having you around. And, as they had confessed to you, you felt something. A relief, a gratitude. A sort of tremulous oh, thank God. They like me too.

“Sil,” you said in a quiet voice. “I want to kiss you right now.”

Their eyes widened. “I… I think I would like that.”

Your lips met tentatively, then with more passion. Sil pressed their mouth firmly against yours, leaning you back against the couch. Their hands fumbled to cling to your shirt. Behind them, their tail waved furiously, curling and twisting with delight.

One of Sil’s hands pressed against your side and you gave a strangled groan. Sil pulled back immediately. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me see.” They fussed at your side for a moment. “Perhaps we should wait a little longer before we try anything rougher, hm?” They gave you a sheepish grin.

“I suppose,” you said. You leaned up and gave Sil a peck on the cheek. One of your hands trailed casually down their front, prompting their pale skin to flush deep red. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Nine ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3476

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Sorry this was a little late! Happy reading :)

Translations: Mae govannen = well met! // Meleth nîn = my love

Two weeks after I woke in this strange world, we reach Imladris.

When Haldir tells me that the sparkling city in the valley is our destination, I can scarcely believe him. After endless days and nights riding through open country, to finally reach civilization, even if it’s not the civilization I’m used to, is so welcome I nearly cry with relief.

Four men on horseback race up the slope of the mountains to meet us. They wear heavy armor—more than what Haldir and the others wear—and carry tall spears. Their leader, fierce though he seems, takes my breath away. Even from here, I can see his face because it reflects an ethereal glow. His hair, which has to be spun gold, flows long down the back of his horse and glints in the sun. Whoever he is, he is no mere man.

“Elrond’s patrols,” I question, remembering someone mentioning them earlier.

“Yes,” Haldir responds, and I can hear a grin in his voice. “We have reached their outer borders. Congratulations, Cosima.” He twists to offer me a proud smile. “You have completed your first journey.”

I swallow, unable to keep myself from smiling back. Haldir can be so stoic at times that praise from him is completely unexpected. Warmth spreads through my chest.

The riders come to a halt in front of us and the one I assume to be their leader dismounts, striding confidently in our direction. Haldir slides off Faervel, approaching in a similar fashion. I take the horse’s reins in my hands, stroking his back affectionately. The horses’ height doesn’t bother me anymore and I’ve become much more confident in riding them in the past two weeks.

“Mae govannen, Haldir o Lórien!”

“Glorfindel.” Haldir clasps the man’s elbow jubilantly. They converse in that language I haven’t heard since I arrived — the others have been speaking solely in English for my and Alex’s benefit — and it’s jarring to hear the unfamiliar sounds. It serves as a reminder that, though I have allowed myself to become comfortable here, too comfortable, maybe, this is not my world. This is somewhere different.

Haldir turns over his shoulder and extends a hand in my direction. I catch my name and Alexander’s among the strange syllables and offer the man—Glorfindel, Haldir called him—a smile in greeting. He approaches, stunning golden hair shining in the light of the sunset, and bows elegantly. A laugh bubbles from my throat—startled by the action. Vaguely, I remember Rumil bowing to me when we first met. Whereas his motivation had been to make a joke, Glorfindel seems totally genuine, the gesture one of respect and welcome. He performs the same movement for Alex.

“Welcome, lost humans and my elven friends. Come, I shall keep you waiting no longer. Elrond is eager to see you and I am sure you are equally ready for proper food and a full night’s rest.” With that, he strides back to his horse and mounts.

I scoot higher on Faervel’s back to give Haldir room and hand him the reins. The horses must sense how close we are to extended rest, because they race faster than they did the entire journey. Despite my new skill, I have to grip Haldir extra tight to make up for the frantic pace and only being able to use one arm. Though the mountain slope is steep and the city surely has to be miles away, we arrive in less than an hour.

Streams of blue and white cascade above us, falling every way I turn and crashing down below. The air smells impossibly sweet and fresh — perhaps due to the flowers that bloom all around. The rays from the sinking sun, brilliant orange and gold, mingle with the water in the falls and, just as Haldir promised, send gently curving rainbows over our path. I let out a breath, completely stunned.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Haldir’s voice holds a reverence I’ve never heard before, but it is aptly placed. I could not fathom regarding this city with anything less than the utmost respect and admiration.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Even in my homeworld, I—” I blink, unable to comprehend the etherial nature of my surroundings. “I would have remembered it. This…”

“I know.” Theres a soft, almost vulnerable quality to his voice that caresses the phrase. I can imagine his eyes are alight like mine, taking in the splendor of the city even though he’s seen it many times before. I’d wager this is a sight one never gets used to.

Glorfindel pulls his horse to a stop before an arching, narrow bridge.

Oh no.

I suck in a sharp breath, gripping onto Haldir with both my injured and uninjured arm. My wound stings, but it is preferable to suffer this momentary pain than to loosen my grip and go plummeting off the edge.

Haldir chuckles, the vibrations rumbling deep in his chest. “The bridge is only the beginning. Look ahead—part of the main city is suspended on pillars.”

My stomach churns and I feel my heart race. By the way my arms constrict around him, Haldir seems to figure out that he has not employed the wisest strategy. His voice softens and he squeezes my hand like he did earlier, after the attack. “Faervel knows the way. Neither he nor I will let you fall.”

I take a deep breath. It’s either the bridge and the safety of Imladris or the orc-infested mountains. And, I suppose, Haldir has gotten us this far. Minor injuries aside, we survived a heavily out-numbered attack relatively unscathed. I trusted him then and I can trust him now. “Fine.”

He chuckles again but makes a big show of lining Faervel up with what will be the middle of the bridge. I resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs — armor covers them anyway. It would hurt me more than it would him.  

Glorfindel calls out in that language again, then directs his horse onto the bridge. The three other mounted guards follow. Then, so gently I barely register the change, Faervel steps from the lush grass to the stone of the bridge. Water roars and tosses below us, drowning out any words the others might say. And drowning you if Faervel doesn’t keep straight. That is, if the impact doesn’t kill you first. I fight the urge to whimper and keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Almost to the end.

The bridge is mercifully short and soon we are on much surer foundations, having crossed into the city. While the water still cascades around us, its noise has subsided, almost like it’s been muted. In its place, soft, lyrical music fills the air. Harps. Once we are far from the bridge, I look around. The buildings are made of stone yet seem a natural part of the valley. Chains of flowers spill from every archway, peek between small cracks in the stone, weave into the intricate designs in the masonry. Trees, the same ones that welcomed us at the border, make a home in the city, growing where they wish — even if that means rising alongside a fabricated pillar.

Haldir speaks softly, hesitantly, almost like he doesn’t want to interrupt my exploration of the city. “Is it worth the bridge?”

I realize we’ve come to a stop in front of a large dais backed by a constant stream of blue and frothy white. It’s like we’re in the waterfall. “Definitely,” I exhale. Though, I have no desire to cross that bridge again any time soon.

A tall man steps onto the dais. His face is kind and, though the edges of his mouth and forehead are lined with creases, he could be any age. He seems altogether outside of time. His eyes hold wisdom, more than I could ever hope to collect, and I know this must be the Elrond my friends talked about. He could be no other.

He spreads his hands and smiles warmly. “Welcome. Our friends from Lothlórien and the humans who accompany them, welcome to Imladris. We have dinner prepared for you. Leave your horses with the guards — they will be well cared for.”

I believe him. He could probably tell me the sky is green or Faervel is a mouse and I wouldn’t question it.

And if he told you that you’re in a different world?

I gulp and push the weighted thought away.

Haldir swings his left leg to meet his right and slides off Faervel’s back. As always, he keeps a gentle hold on me until my feet are securely on the ground, then clasps his hands behind his back in his most favored stance.

I peek behind me to locate Alexander. He shifts from foot to foot and darts his eyes suspiciously around the room. With his short hair, lanky stature, and clear discomfort, he looks so out of place here. With a start, I realize that I must, too. Though the physical differences are certainly apparent, there’s just something about these men…an otherworldliness I had somehow gotten used to during our journey. But here, in this unreal city surrounded by others who are so clearly not men…For the first time, I truly, honestly consider that they might not be human.

Rumil appears on my right side, practically beaming with excitement. “What do you think?”

I exhale on shaky breath, my recent realization having left me feeling a little lightheaded. “I think it’s a lot to take in. It’s gorgeous, though.”

At my left, Haldir eyes me curiously. He heard my reaction upon reaching Imladris and is probably wondering why I’m downplaying it to Rumil. Truth be told, I just don’t have the energy to take much more this evening. A good meal and sleep will hopefully help.

“Orophin!”

I tilt my head around Rumil to find the source of the delighted shriek and find myself staring at the most enchanting woman I’ve ever seen.

Her hair, coiled and dark, tumbles down her back in tight curls, brushing the back of her legs. Her espresso skin shines in the nearly-faded light, almost as if it has a luminescence of its own — perhaps a result of the joy that radiates from her. She wears a long, ruby-colored gown that sweeps gently over the stairs as she practically throws herself down them, sprinting in our direction.

“Meleth nîn!” Orophin calls back to her, breaking from our informal line and rushing to whom I assume to be his fiancée.

Indulgent chuckles run through our group as the two collide, gripping each other in a fierce hug. They pull back almost immediately, pressing their foreheads together and just staring into each other’s eyes. The action seems much more intimate than if they had fallen to the floor in a passionate embrace, and I avert my eyes, feeling the need to give them privacy.

“Come on,” Haldir whispers, ghosting his fingers over my elbow. “They will join us later.”

Elrond leads us through open-air hallways. Every way we turn seems to offer a view of the waterfalls and brings with it a light, fresh scent. He takes us right, bringing us through one final archway and into what looks to be a dining room. In the center is a long rectangular table surrounded by ten matching chairs. The table is already stacked with food — breads, salads, fruits, and various kinds of meat that smell absolutely mouthwatering.

Elrond smiles invitingly, entering the room and stopping behind the chair at one of the table’s heads. “I expected you would be weary this evening and would wish to dine in private. Please, sit and help yourselves.”

I follow Rumil and Haldir, hoping I’m not violating any social rules I am unaware of by choosing a random seat in the middle. Before I can pull the chair back, Haldir steps in to complete the task, gesturing for me to take a seat. I have to hold back my amusement at the antiquated gesture — perhaps it’s a custom here. He does seem more formal than Alex and I are.

Haldir and Rumil take the chairs on either side of me and, before long, Alex appears at my opposite. I smile at him. Given our recent arguments and the fact that I don’t really know if we’re friends in this life, I’m not quite sure where we stand. But he returns the gesture which allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. He’s familiar, at least. Baranor sits between Alex and Elrond and immediately the two healers engage in deep discussion.

I distract myself with the food and soon have more piled on my plate than I could possibly hope to eat, but I can certainly try. Before long, Orophin and the woman from earlier join us and are welcomed jovially.

Orophin beams, gesturing to the woman at his side. “Lavandil, these are the humans I was telling you about. Cosima and Alexander, this is my betrothed, Lavandil.”

Lavandil sets her excited gaze on both myself and Alex. “Hello, it’s so nice to meet you. Welcome to Imladris! We are pleased to have you here.” Her voice is warm, welcoming, and I find it impossible not to smile along with her, distressed though I am at Orophin’s clear distinction of me as ‘human’.

Orophin pulls out a chair for Lavandil and sits between her and Alex, who looks ridiculously uncomfortable in the presence of so many of these…humans. Though, I must admit, my resolve to call them that is steadily weakening.

Minutes later, Glorfindel enters the room accompanied by a demure man called Lindir. Haldir and Glorfindel fall into a spirited debate about patrol strategies and border security. Rumil piles something on my plate that he claims I have to try. He’s not wrong — it’s really good!

“So, Cosima, Alexander.” Lavandil props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand, looking at us with interest. “Orophin says they happened upon you both near the river and that you haven’t any memories?”

All eyes converge on me and Alex. I don’t trust him to be polite, so I hurry to answer her question.

“Yes. We remember each other and tiny snippets of our home, but besides that, nothing.”

“How strange,” she muses, looking fascinated. “That must have been so shocking. How are you adjusting?”

I exhale slowly, playing for time. How am I adjusting? The weight of everyone’s eyes feels almost crushing. “It’s definitely a lot to get used to,” I say diplomatically. “But we’re really lucky to have run into good people who were willing to help.”

Despite his feelings towards our companions, Alex wisely remains silent. It would do us no good to offend our hosts.

Lavandil giggles, the sound bright and cheerful. “I’m glad they were helpful and not rude. I know Haldir has a tendency to interrogate first and help later. He’s slow to trust.” She shoots Haldir a teasing grin, to which he merely rolls his eyes, but his cheek twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

I try to suppress a grin. “Well, he wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he calmed down quickly enough.” I purse my lips, contemplating. “But now that I think about it, no one really left me unattended or gave me a weapon even though the trip was dangerous. Hold on, do any of you actually trust me?” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, though I raise an eyebrow at Haldir to let him know I’m only kidding.

He shakes his head, huffing in mock exasperation. “We trust you now but at the start, how was I to know you weren’t some sort of spy?”

“A spy!” I huff. “I’m hurt. But moving on. Later, once you decided I was not a spy, how come no one gave me a knife or anything?”

Rumil chortles. “Have you seen the lines of your mending? You’re more likely to impale yourself than an enemy.”

I grumble indignantly. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell him so.

Haldir quirks an eyebrow. “Would you like to learn? I can teach you.”

I think on this. Hmmm…do I need to learn how to use a weapon? Probably. But do I want to? Surprisingly, I find that the answer is yes. This world is obviously dangerous—I got a very real reminder of that just a few days ago—and I want to be capable in it. Haldir or the others might not always be there to defend me—I should learn how to protect myself.

“Yeah, I would. Thank you!”

Haldir nods, the edges of his mouth pulling into an expression of grim determination. I quickly discover why.

He’s psyching himself up, I realize with a quiet laugh.

He inclines his head towards Alex. “And you, Alexander? I can teach you as well.” By the gravity in his tone, it is clear Haldir’s offer is real, but begrudging.

Alex takes a bite of fruit. “No thank you.”

That’s to be expected. Though Haldir was angry earlier and probably overreacted, he did make a good point when he said that Alex has yet to make an effort to adjust to life here. He’s stayed on the edge of things since the moment we encountered him, always keeping one foot out the door.

A voice warns me that, rather than criticizing Alex, I should have been doing the same.

Elrond motions for an attendant to refill my glass of water. “Baranor says you were attacked in the mountains? That must have been very frightening.”

Flashes of grotesque beasts and shining swords enters my mind and I shrink away from the images. I know we’re safe inside these halls but the fear is still there, lurking at the edges of my thoughts.

Haldir cuts in and I realize I have been silent for longer than is polite. “We were attacked, yes, by about eighteen orcs, wouldn’t you say?”

Rumil and Orophin both nod — I didn’t even know they had a count. I had been focused trying to dodge the blades and arrows. To me, it seemed there was an endless stream of the monsters. Haldir continues. “We killed them all and had no trouble for the rest of our journey. It does make me wander though,” his eyes dart to mine and then quickly away. “Such a large party so close to your borders? Is that common these days?”

“Yes.” Elrond nods gravely. “We have seen an increase in scouting parties and attacks. Just last month, a fully armed company of forty attempted to breach one of our southeastern border stations.”

“No,” Orophin breathes, gripping Lavandil’s hand tightly, a stricken look of horror stretching his face.

She brushes his concerns aside. “Oh, I’m fine. I was up north visiting my mother at the time. I didn’t even know the attack had occurred until I returned home.”

Orophin’s reaction worries me. I lay my fork on my plate, appetite fading as fear gnaws at the edges of my gut. “That’s unusual?”

Haldir shakes his head. “It is not unusual to encounter orcs at the borders, but an armed, prepared, planned attack of such a large number is…telling.” He avoids my gaze.

My body runs cold. “Telling of what?”

“Sauron,” Elrond says simply.

“That name means nothing to them,” Orophin reminds him, still looking at his love. He holds so much concern in his eyes—and a measure of fear—and I wonder just how big of a threat this is. Is Lavandil in danger? Is Elrond? Are we?

Elrond elaborates. “Sauron is a being of great power and even greater evil. He was defeated once before, but whispers of his presence have been heard throughout the realm. I believe he is growing in power again, gathering his armies. He is preparing.”

I drop my hands into my lap, gripping the edges of the chair in an attempt to find an anchor. Across from me, Alex has gone pale.

I don’t have to ask what this being is preparing for. It’s obvious. He’s preparing for war.

If the orcs weren’t bad enough, now we’ve got an evil power looming over us all? I wonder…is my homeworld safer than this?

Glorfindel raises his glass of deep red wine. He holds a steely, almost feral glare in his golden eyes and, suddenly, I am very, very afraid of him. “As quickly as he rises, so shall he fall.”

All aside from Alex and me raise their goblets, a forceful, “hear, hear” resounding through the room of stone. My eyes meet Alex’s. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, what do you want to do?

And I know my answer.

I want to go home.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Let me know if you would like a tag :)

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|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

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[raviotherabbit]

royal pain in the ass - chapter 1

Chapter 1: Era of the Wilds Queen Zelda rebuilds her palace.

[first] - [next] read it on ao3!

  △ ▲△

Three months ago, Link started this time travelling journey. Before he left through that portal, with eight heroes waiting behind him expectantly, he held onto Zelda’s hand and promised he’d tell her everything.

They were a good bunch, by Zelda’s judgement. She was relieved knowing that the Hero of Twilight was looking out for her former knight. And the Hero of Time and Hero of Warriors seemed to have good heads on their shoulders, so she certainly shouldn’t be worried there. And Link was even friendly with the others, like the Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of Winds! She was glad there were at least some people there to indulge him, once in a while.

One of their visits landed on a beautiful day, right on the edge of summer. As a bit of a treat, Zelda let the Hero of the Four Sword and Hero of Legend loose on what remains of her library. She idly watched as her Link—Wild, the others called him—disappeared into Castle Town with Wind in tow, both of them giggling.

“We should probably follow them,” Twilight grimaced.

Zelda startled, caught off guard by Twilight’s suggestion. They were sitting against the wall below the castle’s observation room, comparing and contrasting their respective monarchies when he’d abruptly changed the topic.

“What for?” she questioned. “There’s not much trouble for them to get into. Let them have their fun.”

He sighed. “Wild’s idea of fun usually involves explosives.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. He can be very responsible.”

“You were there when he launched himself halfway across Hyrule, right?”

Zelda paused for a moment, glancing back to the palace gates Wild had disappeared past. Their last visit, he had wanted to show off to Hyrule just how far he could launch himself with his bombs, and, somehow, he’d made it all the way to Hateno.

“Perhaps I’m a bit lenient with him,” she relented. “I suppose I just like seeing him happy.”

Twilight said nothing, but he arched an eyebrow at her. Something about his scrutiny made her heart drop, and for a split second, she wondered how much he knew about her and Wild’s shared past. What happened to him, how she couldn't save him before-

“I mean, he deserves as much, doesn’t he?” she hastily explained. “He’s got a second chance, now.”

  △ ▲△

Queen Zelda Sarya Hyrule awakens for the day, leaning her hands on the balcony as she looks over her kingdom’s sunrise. It’s a bright, fresh morning, the smell of last night’s rain still in the air. This morning marks three months, officially, since Link's last visit.

Zelda sighs. She supposes she ought to be used to this. She’s got a hundred years’ worth of experience waiting for Link, she can survive however long it takes him to finish this mission. She could spend her time worrying over her friend’s safety, but really, eight other heroes from eras past? He couldn’t be in safer hands.

It’s only a shame they had to halt their weapons training, for the time being. Zelda’s getting tired of sparring with dummies.

She steps away from the balcony, stretching her arms out. She’s been using the observation room as her temporary quarters. And it’s not that she wouldn’t rather stay in her old room, if it weren’t for the broken bridge and collapsed roof, it’s just…

Well, Link always referred to his life as a new beginning. Maybe this can be one for her, too.

First thing to do, get dressed. Yesterday was laundry day, so her clothes are nice and clean.

Second, get some breakfast. What she wouldn’t do for some coffee-

Splash!!

“Oh shit!”

“No! The pallets!”

Upon further analysis, it appears Zelda won’t have any time to get dressed before her day begins.

She shows up to the moat wearing an old, plain shirt and shorts, her pajamas since she’s woken up. Her hair is messy and tangled, and she’s still having trouble keeping her eyes open. But when Bolson and Karson notice Zelda, the latter bows to her as though she were the picture of beauty.

She has to resist rolling her eyes. What would her father think of this?

“What’s the issue?” she asks them as Karson rises. “I heard something about palettes?”

“Ah, well-” Karson stammers. “You see, your majesty-”

“Our horses,” Bolson explains, mercifully cutting Karson off. “They were carting pallets of material for our work today, when something spooked ‘em. Knocked the pallets into the water, ‘n Karson and me were trying to figure out how to fish ‘em up.”

Zelda raises an eyebrow, glancing at each side of the bridge. Aside from the rushing water and the slight breeze, all is still.

“What could have possibly scared your horses? There’s nothing up here, and-” She peeks down at the river. “The Zora aren’t supposed to arrive for a few more hours.”

Karson speaks. “I’m sorry, your majesty, I don’t know-”

She holds up a hand. “I’m not blaming you, Karson. I’m simply confused.” She sighs. “Don’t worry about your supplies. Do whatever else you can for now. When Prince Sidon and his guard report to the palace, I’m sure I can convince some of them to scavenge your belongings.”

“Thank you, Queen Zelda,” Bolson responds before Karson can make a fool of himself again. “Hudson went after the horses. Karson, we should see if he needs any help.”

Zelda watches as the two of them leave. Link had personally attested to the quality of work Bolson Construction could do, and truth be told, she’d hired them on his recommendation alone —though the fact that one of their members had built an entire town by hand had been particularly alluring. Her father would have thrown a fit at Bolson’s “manners”, or lack thereof, but that very trait was the reason she enjoyed working with him so much. He understood that she was in the same boat as the rest of them.

But that story about the horses had her worried. On such a calm morning, when most of the kingdom had yet to stir, she couldn’t help but fear that whatever had spooked them so bad had been malicious.

She looks back over the bridge, trying to peer down into the dark water. It wasn’t so long ago that the castle had been teeming with monsters, after all. Sure, they aren’t quiet, but is it possible some of them were missed?

Well, whatever it is, it could at least wait until she’s dressed.

  △ ▲△

“I’m worried about excavating the Great Hall.”

Zelda is enjoying her breakfast (buttered bread, Hylia, how she misses Link’s cooking), when Yunobo approaches her. He, along with several other young Gorons, volunteered to help clear the debris from Hyrule Castle and its adjoining town.

At first, Zelda had been a bit concerned about having not only Vah Rudania’s new pilot, but Daruk’s direct descendant working so closely with her. Daruk had been a dear friend of hers, after all, and she wasn’t sure she could bear having a reminder of him walking around her home.

But right away it had become apparent that Yunobo is nothing like his grandfather. He’s innocent where Daruk had been optimistic, hesitant where Daruk had been a leader. It was easy enough for Zelda to pretend that there was no relation at all.

Wordlessly, she motions for Yunobo to sit beside her, which he does.

“Link got your slate to you, correct?” she asks, pulling out her own.

Zelda had been quite shocked when Purah had presented her with a brand new slate, a replacement for the one she’d given to Link. Apparently one hundred years of research and a now-peaceful world meant technological advancements could happen fast. And with the correct payment, she was willing to make a few more for the rest of the new Champions.

Yunobo nods, shyly taking his slate out. His is much larger than the ones provided to the rest of the Champions, on account of his larger hands.

“Perfect.” Zelda pulls up a file, a diagram of the castle’s interior, and taps their slates together. “Did that transfer work? You should have a copy of the castle’s blueprints now.”

“Oh wow!” Yunobo holds his slate to his face, marvelling at his screen. “This is amazing, your majesty!”

Zelda can’t help but smile along with him. “I thought the same thing when I first started playing with the first one,” she admits. “You can use this to show me what’s troubling you.”

“Right.” He points to the main entryway to the Great Hall. “See, we’re focusing on this part here, because it’s easier for us Gorons to move around. But I’ve been noticing a lot of rocks in the rubble from further up the castle.” He sighs. “It’s unstable. If we keep going as we are now there’s going to be a hole in the rock right up to the Sanctum.”

Zelda frowns, eyes fixed on the blueprints. So far, they haven’t had any issues like this. Most of the ruins have been from the stone lining the hallways, not the mountain itself. And, despite being a researcher, she’s not exactly an engineer. Can something like this even be fixed?

“Well, first of all, we’re stopping construction on that area immediately,” she instructs. “Make sure the rest of the Gorons know that. Then, go to Bolson with your concerns. His work has been temporarily delayed, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you figure out this problem.” She tucks her slate at her side. “Does that work for you?”

“Thank you!” Yunobo beams, and isn’t that a sight? Link told her he used to be very anxious a while ago. “I’ll get on that right away, your majesty.”

What she wants to say is ‘No need for that. Call me Zelda.’ But something about it gets caught in her throat.

“If there are any other issues, let me know,” Queen Zelda says.

  △ ▲△

There have been talks, lately, of turning Castle Town into a trading hub for the rest of Hyrule, and Zelda thought it was a wonderful idea. It was, after all, how the capital had been established many years ago, and returning to its roots would be a good way to build it back up again. She’s already gotten the word from several villages that they’d be willing to send merchants. The only thing left to do is to strike up a deal with the Gerudo.

Lady Riju is wise beyond her years, and Zelda can’t help but see herself in the girl. Forced into a role of importance at such a young age, carrying the burdens of loss and leadership on her shoulders…

“Using Castle Town as an in-between for your trades with the Gorons would make for shorter journeys in the long run.” Zelda and Riju are seated at a table in the dining hall, which the Queen has converted into an office of sorts. Both are flanked by several guards, yet their attention is focused on the slates in their hands, displaying a map of the kingdom.

“We would get our gemstones faster,” Riju reasons.

“Exactly,” Zelda says. “Not to mention, this would also open up opportunities for you with Zora’s Domain. I’m not sure whether you would appreciate their fish, but one of their other major exports is Luminous Stones.”

Hearing this, Riju raises her eyebrows. “Now that is interesting.”

The Gerudo are lucky to have Riju, Zelda decides. She knows there’s only one jeweler in Gerudo Town—aside from a few hobbyists—and yet, the chieftain was clearly interested on her behalf. Now that the Calamity is gone, the Gerudo may as well expand their horizons a bit.

Urbosa would be proud.

Zelda immediately shakes that thought off like a dog out of the water. “Of course, you’ll have to work the details out with the Zora themselves, I’m just offering the venue. But Prince Sidon is supposed to come by later today.”

Riju hums to herself. “Buliara,” she says, turning to the guard by her side. “Make sure we get a meeting with him before either of us leave.”

“Yes, Lady Riju.”

With that assurance, Riju faces Zelda once again, standing. “Well, Queen Zelda, it looks like we have a deal, then.” She offers Zelda a hand.

“Thank you, Lady Riju.” Zelda takes her hand, and the two shake. And that’s where Zelda assumed it would end.

“Actually,” Riju clears her throat, and suddenly it isn’t Riju, Chieftain of the Gerudo standing in front of her. It’s Riju, the thirteen year-old child, eyes wide and pleading, awkwardly holding onto one of her arms. “I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything for a while…”

Zelda winces, and in that instant she sees Riju avert her gaze. “Oh, Riju,” she says. “I’d love to, but…”

Riju holds up her hand. “It’s no matter, your highness,” she claims, displaying strength as if Zelda didn’t just see her put a wall up. “I should discuss the changes to our trade routes with the Gorons, anyway.”

Some other time, Zelda promises herself. She’ll make time for Riju soon. But as Riju beckons her guards and leaves, she can’t find it within herself to say it out loud.

  △ ▲△

Zelda really thought she could do it this time.

Ever since she’d gone through the process of selecting new Champions, new pilots for the Divine Beasts, Zelda has spent quite a bit of time with them. Training, maintenance, everything to help them move along as smoothly as possible. And it’s been fine with all of them!

Well, with the exception of one.

Riju and Yunobo are both generations removed from their ancestors, and if Zelda doesn’t remind herself, she can almost pretend there’s no connection at all. And Teba isn’t even related to any of the former champions. But Sidon…

Zelda storms into the makeshift infirmary, a large tent just outside the castle, to find Sidon having a wound wrapped by a nurse. Noticing her arrival, the nurse offers a bow before sliding out of the tent past the Queen.

“Prince Sidon,” she fights to keep her tone diplomatic. “Please tell me Captain Bazz lied to me.”

Sidon is so Mipha.

“Queen Zelda-”

“Stop,” she commands, and some part of her mind recognizes it as one her father took often. “You-” She points a finger at him. “-the crown prince of the Zora, a race known for their weakness to electricity, decided to take on a Lynel, of all things. Is that correct?”

Somehow, in all her five-foot four-inches worth of glory, Zelda has successfully gotten Prince Sidon, a fish towering over ten feet, to cower under her glare.

“Yes, Queen Zelda.”

Of course, Mipha wouldn’t have been nearly as brash as her brother. She knew her limits, knew the risks of facing a Lynel head on, especially a Silver one. She knew she wasn’t the one to take on that task.

Sidon, for some reason, didn’t.

“Okay,” Zelda sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why?”

“Why?” Sidon echoes back at her. He finally meets her eyes, matching her own harsh gaze. “Your highness, that Lynel was too close to Helmhead Bridge! If I hadn’t stopped it, it could have gone on a rampage throughout Castle Town!”

But he had her passion, that’s for sure. Where Mipha had been drawn to healing the injured, Sidon found himself drawn to battle away every danger that could befall the innocent. In that sense, the two of them were the same.

Sidon, like his sister, is a protector.

“You were under orders to clear out the Military Training Grounds! That’s it!” Zelda counters. “That Lynel was not your responsibility!”

“Hyrule is my responsibility! You made it my responsibility when you gave me Vah Ruta!”

Sidon is Mipha in every way that Mipha wasn’t. And how dare he come to her castle, acting the brasher, braver Mipha?

How dare he, Mipha’s most precious brother, risk himself for her?

“I’ve already led one set of Champions to their deaths, Sidon!” Zelda shouts, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I’m not going to let you die as well!”

Sidon reels back, looking at Zelda with wide eyes.

Zelda covers her mouth, and her spine goes rigid, like ice. She turns on her heel, making a beeline out of the tent.

“Your highness!” Sidon calls after her. “Zelda! Wait!”

But Zelda ignores him. She pushes the flap out of the way, and once she’s finally outside the tent, she runs.

  △ ▲△

Of course it’s her old room. Zelda hadn’t even realized it was her destination until she arrived there, eyes blurry with tears. She slams her door shut behind her and sinks to the floor, finally letting herself cry. Sobs rake through her body, and she’s reminded of the times a hundred years ago, when she would lock herself in this same room after yet another day of failing to unlock her powers.

It’s been a century since then, and she’s right back where she started.

The Champions, all of them, deserve this future much more than Zelda does. She failed them all.

She’s not sure how long she sits there, curled in on herself, crying like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Seriously, what’s wrong with her?

Suddenly, there’s the sound of wings flapping from the literal hole in the room, rattling Zelda out of her sorrow enough to look up.

It’s Teba, because of course it is. Who else would fly all the way up here? His expression is difficult to read, but he’s focused on her.

“There you are,” he says, landing on the ruins of her wall. He hops down. “You scared Sidon, back there.”

Zelda looks back to the floor, head turned away from Teba. Her face and chest burn with shame.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

There’s warmth next to her, Teba sitting by her side. “Now, why are you saying that?” He drapes one of his wings over her shoulders.

It’s disgustingly casual, certainly not the image a distinguished queen should be projecting. But Teba is concerned for her, and Zelda can’t remember the last time she let someone do that. Even Link, her closest friend, she’s kept at a distance. He’s been struggling so much, how was she supposed to burden him with her own issues?

“I keep ruining everything,” she admits, choking back a sob. “His sister is gone because of me. I let Hyrule fall.”

“Zelda-” and how great it is to hear her name. Not your majesty, your highness, the great and wonderful queen who could do no wrong. Just Zelda, the person. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

If only it were that easy.

“I should have,” she retorts. “How stupid were we to believe that pig would fall for the same trick twice?”

“You’re a kid.”

Zelda can’t help but laugh at that, though it isn’t particularly funny. Some of her loose hairs fly away from her face as she does so.

Teba, unamused, sighs. “What are you doing here?”

She rolls her eyes. “I came to my room to cry, obviously.”

“No, I mean-” Teba tries again. “Why are you at the castle?”

“To rebuild Hyrule,” Zelda answers automatically. “To lead my people.”

“Who told you to do that?”

Zelda blinks, and she realizes she doesn’t have an answer for that. Rarely does she ever find herself in this situation.

“Well, no one, but…” she struggles. “It’s what my father would want.”

Teba points at her. “There’s your issue,” he says. “You’re putting yourself in this box, trying to be the person you think everyone wants you to be. And in the process, you’re ignoring yourself.”

“Teba-”

“The reconstruction effort doesn’t necessarily need you, Zelda,” he tells her. “We’re glad to have you, but if you need to go off somewhere on your own, we’d get along just fine.”

Zelda scoffs. “Where would I even go?”

“I don’t know.” Teba shrugs. “Maybe you could check out what Link’s been up to?”

  △ ▲△

Teba’s suggestion rings in Zelda’s mind. She tries to sleep, truly, she does. But she ends up kicking her way out of her bedroll in frustration.

So, just as her day began, Zelda finds herself standing on her balcony, staring out at Hyrule. The night is cloudless, the vast sky full of twinkling stars. Hyrule Field is still, save for the breeze that passes through it. It catches her hair, long and golden, bringing it to sway.

Maybe she should cut it.

Hyrule is large. She’s heard from Link of his journey and saw much of it herself. Their initial tour had been half a year ago, when the Calamity had finally been defeated. Sadly, they’d been limited to the main settlements, focusing on making peace with their leaders and spreading the news that, yes, it was over. They hadn’t had much time to divert from the path, to see the little wonders Link spoke so fondly of.

Zelda knows Link would want to show her these wonders himself, but perhaps she could find some of her own to show him? Do something nice for him, for once.

If he ever comes back, that is.

Once upon a time, Zelda told the Hero of Twilight that she was happy for Link, happy for his second chance. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a second chance of her own.

Behind her, she hears it. The sound of reality tearing, ripping at its seams. It’s a sound she’s heard before, everytime Link and the other heroes dropped in unexpectedly. She turns around, and there it is, the oval portal glowing a soft, golden light.

She leans against her balcony and waits, patiently, for Link. It’s rude of them to show up so late, especially when she’s so underdressed, but she can make an exception for the heroes.

But nothing happens. Instead, Zelda feels a tug in her own chest, an instinctual pull that says ‘Hop in’. And she’s reminded of what Link told her about how the group finds their portals:

They’re drawn to them.

  △ ▲△

When Zelda doesn’t show her face the next morning, they go looking for her. They find the observation room scarce of most of Zelda’s belongings, her bedroll and clothes all missing. The queen herself is also gone, and in her place is a note.

Dear all,

I went to go see Link. Keep up the work without me. I will return sometime soon.

Your friend, Zelda

[themurphyzone]

If I Can’t Love Him Ch 2

AN: Wolf chase scene! Also this Pinky is running for his life while in another universe, Pinky is holding a tea party.

AO3 Link

Ch 2: No Point Anymore

Pinky’s heart pounded out of his chest, the Beast’s roar ringing in his ears. And he did the only thing he could.

He fled.

Papa must be worried. He didn’t know if his son was alive or not. But Pinky would be coming home soon. He’d be at their little cottage by dawn.

And they could put the whole ordeal behind them.

Just him and Papa and Pharfignewton. That was home.  

He tied his mother’s traveling cloak around his neck, nearly tripping over the stairs in his hurry to get to the front door. He almost ran straight into Wakko, who was halfway up the steps. Yakko was just slightly behind his brother, Dot hanging from his brass arm by her handle.

“Where are you going?” Yakko shouted from the stairs. “You never heard my song on Baroque architecture!”

“I wanted to give you a makeover!” Dot added.  

“I haven’t showed you my cobweb collection…” Wakko mumbled.

Any further protests the siblings made were drowned out by the cold wind that blew past Pinky as he squeezed past the ajar front door, which mercifully wasn’t shut all the way. Snow stung his muzzle and eyes, and he lifted the hood of his mother’s cloak, shielding his eyes from the worst of the wintery onslaught.

“I can’t stay,” Pinky whispered. “I’m sorry.”

A pang stabbed at his heart. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot were sweet, energetic kids who’d welcomed him into their home. Chef Flavio had cooked him a feast for a king, and Señora Marita had the loveliest outfits in her wardrobe. He hadn’t gotten the chance to interact with the other servants much, but they all seemed like lovely folks.

But he couldn’t stay. Not when their Master was going to kill him.

It snowed so much in the past few hours. Was Papa okay? Was he lighting a fire right now? Did he make it home safely?

Pharfignewton raced up to him before he put his frozen fingers to his lips and whistled for her. She whinnied upon seeing Pinky’s distress, her hooves frantically clacking against the frozen ground.

“We have to go now, Fig!” Pinky cried, running over to her. His teeth chattered, and he rubbed his hands together in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

His beautiful, trusty horse lowered her head. Pinky latched onto her long muzzle, desperately hugging her white fur.

She started at a brisk trot, allowing Pinky enough time to settle on the base of her neck. Then she poured on the speed until she was galloping faster than she ever had before.

Pinky felt bad for working her so hard when she didn’t have horseshoes to protect her hooves, but Pharfignewton nickered gently and put a stop to that thought.

The wind swirled around them as they fled into the forest, blowing snow into the hood of his cloak. Pinky pressed himself against the gray hairs of Pharfignewton’s mane, but it did little to block out the numbing chill. His fur stood on end, his fingers frozen against the reins.

Pinky spared a glance behind them. Thick fog surrounded the looming castle. The Beast was nowhere in sight.

Unless he came to finish what he started.

Not wanting to find out, Pinky flicked the reins. Pharfignewton was a fast runner, but she could only go so far before she began to tire. And she needed her strength for the entire ride. She plowed through a large pile of snow, scattering flurries everywhere.

Though the trees around them were barren, the gnarled branches blocked out the sky. Pinky gulped, steering Pharfignewton away from a cluster of scary oaks that had screaming faces etched into their bark, their wood-covered hands ready to snatch them up and never let them escape.

The path! Where was the path?

The world was going by too fast. He couldn’t see the path under all the snow. Couldn’t tell if there was a signpost somewhere that would kindly point them in the direction of the village.

He turned Pharfignewton around, hoping to retrace their path. Too late, he realized he could be driving them straight into the claws of the Beast. But hope of finding their way was stronger than his fear.

But there was too much snow. No hoofprints to trace, no landmarks to point them in the right direction. All scary trees and howling wind and dead leaves and a low growl from the darkness…

Suddenly, Pharfignewton reared up in alarm, neighing in panic. Pinky latched onto her mane to avoid getting thrown off.

Then everything was still. Even the wind died down.

The growling became louder.

Pharfignewton’s front legs hit the ground, crunching several fallen twigs under her hooves. Pinky peered at the treeline, unable to see much beyond vague outlines in the darkness.

He lifted the reins, trying to calm himself down enough to spur Pharfignewton away from the Beast. But his breath came out in misty puffs, his heart threatening to leap out from his body.

A gray, ragged wolf stepped out from behind a half-grown elm. There were ribs were visible beneath his pelt, his thin, starving body slinking against the ground as he sized up Pharfignewton. One yellow eye fixed them with a predatory glare, the other was missing entirely. His scarred muzzle was pulled back in a snarl, sharp fangs gleaming.

He was smaller than Pharfignewton, but not as large as some of the wolf pelts Pinky had seen in his village. And from the snatches of conversation he heard from the hunters, wolves in the winter were very, very big and very, very hungry.

They stared each other down.

And Pharfignewton bolted.

The wolf pursued.

Despite his famished appearance, he was keeping pace with Pharfignewton.

Go back to the castle. Go to the village.

Keep running. Find a hiding spot.

Go this way. No, the other way!

“Zort!” Pinky cried. His thoughts were too jumbly, his fingers unable to move the reins. He didn’t know what to do, and Pharfignewton was forced to do most of the legwork.

Pharfignewton swerved to the left sharply, and the wolf crashed into a tree. There wasn’t much room to run on this path, if this was even a path at all.

Pinky cheered, but his joy was short-lived.

The wolf shook himself off and continued the pursuit. Pharfignewton ran straight into a thick snowbank, and though her muscles and legs pumped as hard as they could, she was slowed down enough that the wolf caught up to them quickly.

The wolf snapped at Pharfignewton’s rear legs, and she kicked in his direction. He jumped back, which gave them enough time to break free.

The trees thinned out, the snow not as clumped. No twisted branches threatening to block out the sky.

“We’re almost there!” Pinky shouted. Hope swelled in his chest.

Pharfignewton whinnied in delight, only for the joyous sound to end in a startled cry as the icy ground broke under her hooves, plunging them into freezing water.

The icy river swirled around them, and Pharfignewton struggled to keep herself afloat against the current. Pinky held his breath as cold water surrounded his entire body, his dress and cloak sodden. His head went under, and the chill seeped into his ears. He clung tightly to Pharfignewton’s neck, praying the current wouldn’t sweep his body away.

Then they resurfaced. A cold wind blew, chilling Pinky to the bone. He trembled from head to toe, his voice completely gone.

Pharfignewton soldiered on, but she was tiring fast. They couldn’t keep this up much longer.

The wolf crossed the river and caught up so fast that Pharfignewton didn’t have time to aim a kick in his direction. He howled triumphantly and blocked their path, slinking towards them and ready for the kill.

He sprung.

Pharfignewton whipped around to protect herself. Pinky had no time to prepare for the sudden motion. He was thrown into the mercy of the cold wind, the sky and ground blurring together that Pinky couldn’t tell what was up or down. Then his cloak snagged on something sharp, halting his chaotic tumble.

Disoriented, Pinky looked up. At least, in the direction he thought was up.

His mother’s cloak was caught on a low-hanging branch, a twig protruding from a long tear down the middle of the fabric.

“No!” Pinky screamed, reaching for the tear. If he touched it, would it mend itself?

His numb fingers brushed the hole, which only grew wider with every passing second.

He’d been too careless with one of the few belongings he had left of his mother. The cloak was old and worn, but it was beloved all the same.

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. If he’d just talked Papa out of going to the fair, gone with him to make sure he took the right route, or never stumbled across the castle and that scary Beast at all, none of this would’ve ever happened!

Although…

The castle wasn’t completely horrible. The servants had put on such a lovely dinner and show to welcome him.

His cloak ripped further. The brittle twig bent further.  

Panicked whinnies and scary growls filled the air. Pharfignewton’s reins were caught around a branch, and she was trying to tug herself free and fend off the wolf at the same time. Her hooves lashed out blindly, and Pinky knew it wasn’t safe to get close to her if she wasn’t careful where her hooves landed. He shouted, trying to let her know that he was okay, but his voice wasn’t working, and not even a narf or poit could escape.

The twig snapped, and Pinky tumbled to the ground. He was cushioned by a layer of snow, so his fall didn’t hurt much. It was very cold though.

Pinky didn’t know if he would ever be warm again.

Pharfignewton kicked out with her front hooves, and a lucky strike caught the wolf on his flank. He stumbled away from her, yelping from pain.

Pinky tried to pull himself up.

Wrong move.

The wolf’s remaining yellow eye fixated on Pinky. Scarred muzzle pulled back, sharp black claws contrasting with the white snow, ragged pelt heaving with desperation…

Pinky had no weapons, no means to defend himself.

Pharfignewton’s reins were still tangled. She neighed for him, begging him to get up and come help so they could escape together.

But if he ran to her, the wolf would get him.  

He was on his own.

There was a snapped twig lying next to him, half-buried in the snow. He held it out as a makeshift club, though the twig wasn’t much bigger than him.

The wolf lunged. Pinky swung his weapon, but the brittle twig broke as soon as it hit the wolf’s leg.

It didn’t leave a scratch.

The wolf’s jaws snapped above his head, and he was once again dangling in the air by his cloak. He was nothing more than a floppy ragdoll, his body flying in every direction as the wolf mercilessly shook him. He tried to pry the cloth away from his neck, but his numb fingers couldn’t get a grip.

He couldn’t breathe—he was going to die—was Papa going to be okay?

The snow had turned black, or maybe his vision was just going dark…

A roar pierced the air.

More wolves? Had the entire pack come to finish him off?

The wolf yelped and lost his balance, dropping Pinky into the snow. A chill seeped into every pore on Pinky’s face, startling him awake. The black spots in his vision were gone.

White fangs gleamed in the corner of his eye, coarse gray fur brushing against his arm.

But they didn’t belong to wolves.

They were the Beast’s.

Pinky’s voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t scream.

The Beast’s fangs were bared, his claws splayed out. Pinky was pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. Hot breath tickled his face. A large, purple cape billowed around them.

Except the Beast was locked in a staredown with the wolf, who stumbled as he got up. The Beast growled, a thick, long arm thudding down into the snow in front of Pinky. His pink eyes narrowed, focusing entirely on the wolf.

There was a shallow gash in the wolf’s side.

The Beast crouched low. If he planned to kill Pinky himself after dealing with the wolf, then he was just glad he’d die warm.  

And yet…that seemed unlikely to happen.

Then the Beast charged, sinking his fangs into the wolf’s front leg.

The wolf howled, his jaws sinking into the Beast’s cape and thrashing around to throw him off. But the Beast held firm, and only let go when the wolf’s fangs grazed the back of one large ear.

But that didn’t stop the Beast for long. He lunged for the wolf’s side, raking his claws down the ragged pelt. The wolf yelped, and his flailing claws caught the Beast’s right arm, leaving three long clawmarks behind. The wound instantly welled up with blood, and the Beast recklessly swung out with his injured arm, roaring in agony.

The Beast didn’t seem aware of anything besides his injury and the wolf.

Nor was he as massive as Pinky had originally thought.

He was small next to the wolf, but fighting with all the strength of a large predator. And the wolf only came halfway up Pharfignewton’s long legs.

The Beast sprung onto the wolf’s back, clawing at his ears and remaining eye. The lower half of the Beast’s cape was shredded beyond repair, exposing his bare back. The wolf flailed and yelped and snarled, finally bucking the Beast off. He crashed into a tree, taking a moment to catch his breath before standing up on his oddly-shaped feet. His breath came out in misty puffs as he dug his claws into the tree bark to pull himself up.

The wolf ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. He wouldn’t be making a meal out of them tonight.

But even so, Pinky felt sorry for the wolf. He hoped the poor thing would find an easy meal somewhere else.

Slowly, Pinky sat up. Someone nudged him on the back of his head. He turned around, and his nose hit warm fur.

Pharfignewton’s reins had finally come untangled.

“Poit. I’m okay, Pharfignewton,” Pinky whispered, gently taking her face in his hands and planting a kiss on her muzzle. Her blue eyes were downcast, and she whinnied sadly. “It’s okay. You did plenty. I’m sorry I worked you so hard.”

She nuzzled him on the cheek, and Pinky knew all was forgiven.

Then he heard a sharp, ragged breath.

He and Pharfignewton glanced at the Beast. He was having trouble staying upright, blood trickling from the clawmarks on his right arm.

The Beast’s pink eyes met Pinky’s.  

There was no anger. Only remorse and a pain that was far deeper than his current injuries.  

The Beast collapsed on a pile of snow.

Pinky took a step forward, but Pharfignewton pushed him back, nickering anxiously.

“We can’t just leave him, Fig,” Pinky said quietly. “I know what he did, but…he needs help. And he saved us.”

Pharfignewton nuzzled the back of his ear and gently nudged him in the direction of the Beast.

Pinky smiled at her, then approached the fallen mons-well, he didn’t seem like much of a monster now. Though he had fangs, claws, horns, and a temper, he just seemed so…tiny.

True, he was twice Pinky’s height and girth. But as Pinky knelt in the snow beside the Beast, there was no scary monster to be feared. Only someone who needed help.

“It’s just me. Just Pinky,” Pinky whispered gently. “Fig and I’ll get you back to the castle safe and sound, okay?”

The Beast wasn’t fully unconscious, but he wasn’t fully aware either. His limbs twitched restlessly, chest heaving with exertion. He tried to curl into a ball, like he was hiding away from the world, but his injured arm made comfort impossible.

It was the most serious injury on him. He’d gotten lucky.

At least he wasn’t laying on it.

They didn’t have medical supplies. Pinky would just have to improvise. And thanks to the injuries Papa sometimes got while working on his machines, he’d become skilled at improvisation.

So he took off his mother’s cloak. It was worn, wet, and torn down the middle. It was one of his most treasured possessions. Mama had worn it until the day she died, then it was suddenly Pinky’s.

She’d be okay with this. Mama loved helping others, and she believed that’s why the world turned. She wouldn’t mind her cloak being used as a makeshift bandage, even if it could never be mended again.

Carefully, Pinky tore the cloak down its seams until he had two separate halves.

“I’m gonna put this around your arm ‘til we get some proper bandages,” Pinky said. The Beast tensed as Pinky gently took hold of his right arm, using one half of the cloak to sponge away the trickles of blood. He squeezed the Beast’s pinky finger to reassure him. “You’re okay. Just relax. I pinky promise I wanna help. Those promises are forever, you know.”

The Beast didn’t tense up again, but he didn’t move away either. Pinky wrapped the other half of the cloak around the Beast’s arm, winding it around until it was nice and tight.

It wasn’t as good as real bandages, but it would do for now.

His work finished, Pinky hopped up and signaled for Pharfignewton to come over. She faithfully trotted to Pinky’s side, lowering herself so that Pinky could place the Beast on her back. He wasn’t that heavy. It just took a few minutes for Pinky to place the Beast in a comfortable position where his claws wouldn’t accidentally scratch Pharfignewton.

“Pin…ky?” the Beast murmured. His pink eyes were open, but half-lidded from exhaustion.

“Yeah. My name’s Pinky,” he said softly. “Let’s go, Pharfignewton.”

With the snow blowing around them, Pharfignewton began a steady trot back to the castle.

AN: I opted to change the pack of wolves to just a lone wolf, because while Disney’s Beast can take on an entire pack, I have to account for mouse size here. Sorry if the action scene isn’t very good, but the bit where Beast first appears to defend Belle from wolves up until the wolves run off is less than a minute, so I think it’s fine to keep it short.

Pinky is too sweet for his own good, even when he’s on the verge of getting killed.

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- Floral Shoppe

Haha why do y’all let me do this.

It’s been almost a decade since Macintosh Plus (aka Vektroid, aka Ramona Xavier) popularised and codified vapourwave as a genre with its first actually popular release in Floral Shoppe. Since then this sub-sub-genre has developed its own subgenres and become its own flourishing marvel of internet music culture. But Floral Shoppe itself is worth examining- not to see where it all began (I haven’t even listened to Chuck Person’s Eccojams or Far Side Virtual yet), but where most people got into the genre. The lifting off point, as it were.

So grab your Arizona ice tea (don’t, it’s fucking awful) and lets dive in.

The first track, ブート(Boot), opens with a buttery smooth cymbal and saxophone line, obviously slowed down, but evoking a level of chill few songs manage to get to for their whole duration, in a total of approximately a minute. It’s a genuinely masterful piece of music. As the vocals come in, you hear them get twisted and chopped, distorted and looped, almost jolting you out of that trance, until it’s clear that the lyrics aren’t lyrics but another instrument, you get used to the nonsense, and you’re back in the zone. The looping with some of the instrumentation makes parts of it feel almost clockwork-like, in a very satisfying manner- especially as the majority of it gets muffled and you realise that opening bass/sax line has been running through the entire time. While the next track on this album tends to get most of the attention, I genuinely think Boot deserves just as much praise.

リサフランク420 / 現代のコンピュー (Lisa Frank 420/Modern Computing) is another one of those tracks where it’s just like, what could I possibly say about this that hasn’t been said. If you’re reading this, there’s basically no way you haven’t heard this song, so you know what I’m on about. It’s the quintessential vapourwave track, even if it’s showing its age a bit. It’s just so perfect. When I decided to write about Floral Shoppe, I didn’t really want to spend too much time here- me saying “hey I like this song everyone knows” isn’t the most interesting thing on the planet, I guess. I will say, it’s one of the few vapourwave songs you can actually sing along to, and that’s fun as heck.

Also, the lyric is “it’s all in your hands”, not “it’s all in your head”. To be fair, though, the distortion doesn’t help.

The album’s next track is 花の専門店 (Floral Shoppe, hey I didn’t know this album had a title song), a track that heavily relies on this really panned synth (you can’t even hear that on the left ear) and a lot of looping the same bit over and over again. Honestly, the first minute of this song gets a little grating, but it really picks up after that. It’s really fun and jazzy for a solid minute there, a lovely instrumental you can just groove to in your head. The fade out on this piece lasts wayyy too long for my liking, though- a full half minute of outro feels a little indulgent for this one.

Track four, ライブラリ (Library) is lowkey one of my favourites on the album- The slowed vocals work really well, and the instrumentation feels extremely deliberate and methodical. I think my biggest complaint with this song is just that it’s too short, considering Lisa Frank 420 is literally triple it’s length. But I suppose part of this project is how variable the track lengths are- it seems Vektroid was keen to work with these until she was out of ideas, and no longer, and I can’t help but respect that.

地理 (Geography) sounds substantially darker than the previous tracks, with incredibly low drones and a main line that… I mean I dunno how low it is but that shit is definitely in a minor key, you know. It’s also the sparsest track so far, with much more restraint in layering than anything else I can think of on the album. The atmosphere of this is heavy- I don’t know why, but it reminds me of that really creepy loading screen on the fuckin Magic School Bus goes inside the body Edutainment game. That’s probably a bit of a weird connection, but if you played that shit, you know how fucking eerie it’s soundtrack was, and that’s a bit of the vibe I’m getting from this track.

Our next track is a direct nod to Floral Shoppe’s predecessors in ECCOと悪寒ダイビング (Chill diving with ECCO), a reference to the aforementioned Chuck Person’s Eccojams Vol. 1 (itself a reference to the Sega Genesis/Mega Drive game Ecco the Dolphin), and Chill is absolutely right. While many vapour/synthwave pieces are more about entering an aesthetic or a vibe than actually listening to the music, as far as Floral Shoppe goes, that’s most true with this track. It’s also the third longest track here (behind Lisa Frank 420 and the next song), and while it doesn’t develop as much as one would hope based on that (or much at all), spending so long vibing out in a track like this is completely appropriate.

I’m going to be honest, I don’t care too much for the next track, 数学 (Mathematics). It might just be because it comes on the heels of ECCO, but the meandering in this doesn’t hit the same chord as that does. While I enjoy the saxophone on this song, all the shit going on in the background just kinda gets my anxiety going eventually. And by eventually, I mean about halfway through this near 7-minute monster. You’ve got these very chill elements that slowly get drowned out by the steadily rising and accelerating chaotic parts of the instrumentation that just take over eventually, and while it does chill back down again, that’s still a long time focussed on the worst parts of the song. This also really didn’t need to be as long as it is, considering the second half of the track is just, like, the same thing again…

We’re at track 8, and at this point I started looking at the Wikipedia page for the name translation and realising that I have no idea which song this is supposed to be. Like, the track lengths on the bandcamp suggest that this is the 2011 release and therefore this is 待機 (Standby), but it has the name of track 8 from the 2017 release, 外ギン Aviation (Foreign Banks Aviation)? This is confusing as fuck, but since this is the only track here with that issue, I’m assuming it’s actually Standby and someone fucked up somewhere. Oh right, the song itself. Well it’s fucking short, barely past a minute long, and doesn’t have too much going on. I’d call it short but sweet, it doesn’t overstay its welcome. Jazzy, loungy, kinda chill. I dunno.

て(Te) feels almost out of place on this album. I mean, the vibe is similar, but the birdsongs really come out of left field. This sounds like the track you’d hear in a video game after you’re finally out of a cave you spent hours in. If the build in this weren’t so intense, I think it’d fit right in on the Minecraft OST. That’s a compliment, for what it’s worth. It’s also worth noting this light at the end of the tunnel bit was absolutely intentional, because this used to be the final track of the album. However, there’s two more here, added in a 2012 reissue (originally they were unnamed bonus tracks), so we might as well check them out.

…under no circumstances should you check out track 10, 月 (Moon). I don’t know what vocal sample that is, but it is loud, and grating, and obnoxious, and the instrumentation is not doing enough to carry the repetition through. Holy shit, this is 6 minutes long. I’m going to be honest, I skimmed through this one, and it never changes what it’s doing. This is… a bold play, I’ll give her that, but it absolutely does not pay off. This has gotta be one of the worst songs I’ve heard in a very long time. What the fuck, Ramona?

Finally, 海底 (Seabed). This… is just like Moon, in that it’s a fucked up vocal sample that is looped over and over with little changing instrumental. The key difference is this one is less bad- the vocals aren’t as jilting, the instrumentation is chiller, and it is mercifully only 2 and a bit minutes. It’s far from good, but it’s not as immediately awful. Okay, it is pretty bad. These should probably have stayed as extras- and seeing as they apparently weren’t on the physical versions of the album (in fact a bunch of these songs changed for that), Vektroid appears to agree.

So that’s Floral Shoppe, and it’s really one of those albums that kinda drags on at the end. Frontloaded with the good shit, I suppose. Moon and Seabed aside, it’s not like anything is completely awful, but after 25 or so minutes you’ve kinda gotten the point. With that said, the album is as influential as it is for good reason- the first couple tracks are phenomenal, and once you’re drawn in by those, you’re probably going to appreciate the rest of it at least a little.

Modern vapourwave basically sounds nothing like Lisa Frank 420/Modern Computing, or Floral Shoppe at all- the genre has moved past plunderphonics almost entirely at this point, and the aesthetic has shifted to a more consistent, less memeable tone. Even Macintosh Plus is going new directions- the single released in December 2019 as a teaser for Vektroid’s next project under the name sounds nothing like this album, though it is completely fucking awesome (and completely fucking batshit). While it seems like the genre itself has moved past Floral Shoppe, though, it’s still the touchstone the majority of people, especially those unfamiliar with the genre, recognize as the herald of Vapourwave. I’m pretty sure this was the first album to do the whole pink aesthetic, marble bust, computer graphics style, and clearly that’s the style everyone thinks of when they make bad vapourwave art. That’s the aesthetic this album inspired. Long may it reign.

(Ok seriously though guys go listen to VAPERROR or George Clanton or something)

[knuffled]

discipline & punish - chapter four

here it is and it is literally a wall of very explicit smut so please don’t read if that’s not your thing. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy it! 

chapter four - virginal delights

Annabeth looked up from her blueprints when she heard the sound of the bell tolling, signalling it was time for dinner. It was dark outside her office window now, even though it had been early in the afternoon when she’d initially sat down to work. With a sigh, she made some final notes on a scrap piece of paper before standing up and leaving her office.

The wound in her abdomen throbbed with pain as she did, just like it had for the past two weeks since she’d been discharged from the hospital. It wasn’t as excruciating as it once was, but she still hissed and gingerly ran her fingers along the top of the gauze pad taped over her stitches in a vain attempt to soothe the pain.

Annabeth had had her fair share of injuries over the years – it came with the territory of being a demigod, after all – but it was still frustrating to live in constant pain from the moment she woke in the morning till she mercifully fell asleep at night. The only moments of reprieve during her day came as she worked when her sheer focus kept the pain at bay.

Her boots clacked against the cobblestone road as she made her towards the dining pavilion. The path took her through the plaza at the heart of New Athens, and she took a moment to stop and appreciate the fountain, now that it was fully functional. It was made from marble, depicting three dryads standing in the center as water poured out of the vases they carried. The rush of falling water was music to her ears, and she felt a swell of pride course through her.

There was a familiar face sitting on a bench, looking at the fountain. Annabeth made her way over with a big grin on her face.

“Dominick!” she called.

The son of Hephaestus looked up and smiled when he saw Annabeth approaching. “Look who’s back from the dead,” he said.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic. It was only a flesh wound.”

“A damn foolish thing is what it was,” Dominick said, snorting. “I’m glad you’re recovering.”

“Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean I’m not working on new blue prints to terrorize you with,” Annabeth teased, sitting beside him.

Dominick rubbed his beard, a disgruntled expression on his face, and grumbled, “You should be resting.”

“But that would be boring.”

He huffed a laugh and said, “Well, it’s good to know that near death experiences haven’t changed you.”

Annabeth shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”

The look in Dominick’s eyes softened. “I know you have.”

Annabeth cleared her throat and shot him a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks for taking over while I was out with the fountain and everything. I appreciate it.”

Dominick waved his hand dismissively.

“It was nothing. If anything, I’m hoping this experience shows you the value of delegating. It’s foolish to try and build Rome on your own,” he said. “You should rely on us more. We all want New Athens to succeed as much as you do.”

Annabeth laughed and said, “You’ve gotten far more eloquent than I remember. What ever happened to being the strong and silent type?”

He shrugged and said, “This isn’t the time to be silent.”

There was a pause before Annabeth said, “Thank you for what you said. I’ll try to make a more conscious effort to not micromanage everything from now on.”

The bench squeaked once Dominick stood up with a grin on his face. “That’s all I ask for,” he said. “I know you have to head to the dining pavilion, so I don’t want to keep you any longer. Keep me posted on how you’re doing and if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Annabeth nodded and waited a few minutes after Dominick’s departure before continuing on her way, but the warm glow in her stomach faded rapidly the closer she got to the pavilion. She found herself clenching and unclenching her fists, dread welling up inside her, and by the time she arrived at the pavilion her heart was almost jack-hammering in her chest. Immediately, her eyes scanned all the tables in search of him without her consent until she spotted Percy sitting alone, like always, at one of the tables at the edges of the pavilion, much to her dismay.

Not for the first time, she cursed herself for taking on the mantle of Camp Director. Her position made her presence at the pavilion necessary during lunch and dinner times. Honestly, Annabeth wanted nothing more than to retreat to the confines of her apartment so she could whip up a salad, maybe pour herself a glass of bourbon, and plop down on her favorite armchair, swaddled in blankets, so she could watch something mindless on Netflix.

Although she would never admit it aloud, Annabeth had done her damndest to stay the fuck away from Percy after her discharge from the hospital. The night he had snuck into her hospital room had only cemented the truth that she could not be around him if she didn’t want to do something stupid, something she would regret.

In fact, since her discharge, Annabeth had only spoken to him once directly to discuss his living arrangements. She briefly toyed with the idea of letting him stay in the Hermes cabin until he was claimed before realizing that was a recipe for disaster, so she had instead instructed him to stay at the Big House until then.

However, because of her position as director she was forced to see Percy twice a day for lunch and dinner, and of course that meant that obscene scent of his would unerringly find a way to waft over to her like the world’s slowest heat seeking missile. Every single day was a battle as her willpower wrestled her growing urges, and each day her willpower grew closer to losing. It had gotten to the point where Annabeth could no longer recall what she had had for lunch, let alone what it tasted like, even earlier that same day because every ounce of her focus was on repressing her growing obsession with Percy.

There was something about him that she found irresistible, something that eroded her self-control. On more than one occasion, she found herself staring out her office window, observing him as he sat at the beach and watched the waves lick the shore for hours at a time. He rarely spent time around other campers, but, once or twice, she had seen Percy coaxing the Naiads in the canoe lake into conversing with him.

Every time she caught herself staring, frustration and shame would bubble in the pit of her stomach, and it just got worse with each passing day. Percy, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of Annabeth’s growing anguish. He would just sit alone and finish his meal quickly before disappearing again while Annabeth was forced to give herself mental pep talks to keep from fucking his brains out in front of everyone in the dining pavilion.

Tonight was no different unfortunately. After Annabeth took her seat, she had to push all thoughts of him out of her mind so she could nod politely when the other campers spoke to her, a terse smile on her face. A son of Ares asked her about organizing a game of capture the flag for that weekend after a daughter of Demeter inquired about the logistics of opening a city garden.

Somehow, in the midst of that bombardment, Annabeth noticed a daughter of Hermes walking towards Percy’s table with a determined expression on her face. Annabeth ground her teeth together and fought the urge to intercept her and turn her away. Recently, she had begun to notice the wayward glances and hushed conversations the female campers had amongst themselves as they stared at Percy, like wolves looking at a piece of meat.

It was the scent, Annabeth assumed. If it was strong enough to threaten her self-control, none of the other girls in camp stood a chance.

Annabeth tuned out whoever was talking to her and watched Percy turn to the girl after she tapped his shoulder, a look of mild bemusement on his face. She couldn’t hear what they said to each other, not this far away, but Annabeth found herself digging her nails into her palm as she watched them.

Percy was hers. No one else was allowed to have him.

Eventually, the girl bowed her head before returning to her table with a somewhat dejected look on her face, much to Annabeth’s satisfaction, but the feeling faded when Annabeth noticed Percy staring at her. When their eyes met, Percy raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips, which made Annabeth’s skin heat up and prickle, knowing she’d been caught red-handed.

The rest of dinner passed by in a blur. Percy vanished at some indeterminate point in the night, but Annabeth wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful for that. On her way back to her apartment, Annabeth wracked her brain for solutions to neutralize that ridiculous scent of his – it was what threatened her most of all. Without it, she stood a much better chance of maintaining her self-control.

With a sigh, Annabeth checked her mailbox before taking the elevator up to her floor. Perhaps a child of Hecate could cast a spell on her to make her immune to the scent or maybe a child of Hephaestus could build a contraption that dispelled it. The method was irrelevant as long as it achieved its intended effect.

Once she arrived at her floor, Annabeth was about to make her way down the hallway to her room when she froze at the sight of Percy leaning against her front door. How did he know where she lived? One hand immediately curled around the hilt of her dagger as she stared at him, heart racing in her chest. At the very least, with this much distance between them she would have enough time to react if he chose to attack.

“What’re you doing here, Percy?” she asked carefully.

Percy pushed off the door and stepped towards her. Annabeth had to quell her instinct to step away from him and forced herself to hold her ground instead.

“I think you know exactly why I’m here, Annabeth,” Percy said softly.

Annabeth licked her lips and tried frantically to formulate a response, but nothing was coming to mind. At this proximity, she was exposed to the full brunt of that maddening scent of his, and it was rapidly eroding what little was left of her self-control.

“Do you want to explain why you’re trying so hard to avoid me? You’re doing a very bad job of it though by the way. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all those times you’ve stolen glances at me during dinner,” Percy said.

“You know why. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

Percy smirked and said, “I still want to hear you say it.”

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “There’s no point – nothing can happen between us.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is stopping you?”

“Common fucking sense for one thing,” Annabeth snorted. “Also, I don’t fucking trust you. In case you don’t remember, you nearly killed me, for Christ’s sake!”

“I gave you my word-”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Annabeth hissed. “All because you gave your word?”

“Yes, that’s the whole point of making a promise,” Percy said slowly, like she had said something incredibly stupid.

Annabeth resisted the urge to scream. “Look, I’m twenty four years old – to me, you’re practically a child, so there’s nothing to discuss here. You need to leave. Now.”

Percy met her gaze for a few seconds before shrugging. “If that’s what you want.”

For a few seconds, Percy stood unmoving and matched her gaze. He wasn’t backing down. The harsh fluorescent light in the hall hummed like a droning bee, adding to the tension between them. Annabeth desperately hoped he wouldn’t continue to argue with her – she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to refuse him again, a realization that only served to inspire more self-disgust.

He’s only 18. He’s the same age as Bobby and Matthew. Send him away. Why the fuck are you still considering this? What the fuck is wrong with you?

It was hard to say how long they both stood there, holding their ground, but eventually Percy shrugged and turned to leave. In the next instant, Annabeth’s body moved faster than her brain could think. There was thud as she pressed Percy against her front door and she surged up to kiss him. His lips were softer than she would have expected, his inexperience showing in the awkward way he kissed her back, but that only served to inflame Annabeth’s lust.

She would be his first and she was going to ruin him.

The thought sent a wave of heat rushing through her. Annabeth pressed her knee in between his legs and tangled her fingers in his hair possessively. She jerked his head to the side, harder than she should have, and sucked bruises along the column of his neck, coaxing a strangled groan out of him.

“Shhh,” Annabeth murmured, voice slurring as she covered his mouth with her hand.

Percy’s hand scrabbled for purchase against the door but found none, making Annabeth grin. Served him right, flaunting that intolerable scent of his at every opportunity, tormenting her for weeks.

Annabeth slid a hand beneath the hem of his jeans and palmed his cock roughly, which was already straining against his boxers, and delighted in the way his legs trembled from the effort of keeping him upright.

Jesus, she was already so wet, and they’d barely even started.

They both stumbled into her dark apartment when she somehow managed to prize the door open, kicking it shut behind her. Her fumbling fingers scrambled to find the light switch just in time for her to crowd Percy against the door and claim his lips again. Annabeth tangled her fingers in his hair and cradled to the back of his head, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.

She was fortunate that Percy was such a quick learner. Within minutes, he found the sensitive spot behind her left ear that always made her go crazy as well as how much her body responded when he softly traced the curve of her spine with his fingers. Annabeth had armed herself with a better idea of Percy’s preferences as well, noting how he liked having his hair pulled and when she clawed at his upper back, between his shoulder blades.

It’s hard to say how long they stayed there, exploring with their lips and tongue, trying to coax reactions out of the other like they were sparring again. Percy was already beginning to resist the control Annabeth had initially claimed, but she’d expected as much. She’d known from the moment they’d traded blows in the hospital that Percy would not be tamed so easily, but that was exactly what Annabeth craved. To her, there was nothing better than forcing a strong will to submit.

They stepped away from each other for a moment in an effort to steady their heavy breathing. A grin split across Annabeth’s face once she saw how debauched Percy looked. He was gorgeous like this: hair mussed, pupils blown wide with desire, lips swollen, neck littered with red bites. His body was so responsive, more so than anyone Annabeth had ever been with.

Annabeth pulled him by the hand towards the living room, knowing they wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, and watched hungrily as Percy desperately shucked his shirt. She got rid of hers as well, leaving her in a bra and jeans, while Percy threw his jeans into some dark corner of her living room. Annabeth pushed him onto the sofa and climbed atop his lap, her hands slowly smoothing down his chest. The hunger in Percy’s gaze as he looked up at her while pressing a kiss to the valley of her breasts, his pupils completely dilated, sent a shiver down her spine.

“This is your last chance,” Annabeth said, breathing heavily. “If you want to stop, now is the time.”

Annabeth could feel the low rumble of Percy’s laughter through his chest. “What in the world makes you think I want to stop?” he asked, lips brushing against her breasts.

Annabeth framed his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. “I have to hear you say it. Tell me you want this.”

Instead of answering, Percy teased one of her breasts out from under her bra and sucked, making Annabeth bite her lip in an effort to keep from crying out.

“Percy,” she groaned, unable to mask her exasperation.

“Fine, I want this,” he said, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Happy?”

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. She would get rid of that arrogant attitude in due time.

She rutted against him and smirked when she felt him harden under her. Percy stared at her, slack-jawed, as she continued mercilessly rolling her hips against him. As desperate as she was to get rid of her pants, she wanted to make Percy suffer more.

His hands reached for her hips in an attempt to stop her, but Annabeth swatted his hands away. If she wasn’t so drunk with lust, she might’ve punished him for even trying to stop her, but tonight she was too far gone to bother with dominance. That could wait for next time.

Annabeth bit and tugged at Percy’s earlobe, eliciting a broken moan that went straight to her cunt. The little noises and whimpers he made stoked her lust for him to a feverish degree.

She stood up and desperately stripped out of her pants, unable to delay it any longer. Her bra and underwear were next to go. Percy discarded his own boxers, and Annabeth took the chance to study him, now that he was fully naked, visually tracing the beautiful lines of his body and the lean muscle he’d formed.

Annabeth pushed him down onto the sofa and climbed over his face, smirking when Percy’s hands instantly went to support her hips.

She tangled her fingers in his hair again. “Lick,” she commanded.

A broken moan escaped her lips as Percy dragged the flat of his tongue along the outside of her cunt. Fuck, that felt good. He repeated the motion a few more times, stoking the fire inside her higher and higher, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Use your tongue inside too,” Annabeth instructed.

When Percy obeyed, Annabeth’s eyelids fluttered shut, and her grip on his hair tightened. It was probably hurting him, but she was too far gone to care. For his first time eating someone out, Percy was doing better than she’d expected. It didn’t take her long to settle on a rhythm and start riding his face. As she grew closer to the edge, Annabeth removed a hand from his hair and rubbed her clit to provide the final boost she needed to cum.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” Annabeth moaned.

Percy’s hands wrapped around her ass and pulled her closer down onto his mouth as her thighs clamped down on either side of his face. Annabeth jerked hard on Percy’s hair, arching her back, a long moan escaping her as she came. She held onto the sofa’s frame to maintain her balance while her hips spasmed as she rode out the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Once they were done, she moved and sat back atop Percy’s stomach and tried to steady her heavy breathing. Annabeth could feel Percy’s cock straining against the curve of her ass and relished in how dark Percy’s eyes were.

“Not bad for your first time,” Annabeth said, panting.

Percy rolled his eyes and sat up, pressing their chests together. She could feel the outline of his scars against her skin, and she was sure that he could feel her own as well. Neither of them were conscious about – if anything it was a testament to how strong they were as individuals. Percy’s fingers ghosted over the gauze pad taped to her abdomen.

“You sure you’re not hurting yourself?” Percy asked, smirking. “This might be too hard on your elderly body.”

Annabeth narrowed her eyes and shoved him half-heartedly. “I’m not that old, you asshole,” she grumbled.

When Percy laughed, Annabeth could feel it through her skin. “Then does that mean you have enough stamina to keep going?”

Annabeth opened her purse and fished out a condom and tore it with her teeth. “Men shouldn’t talk about stamina.”

She reached behind her and rolled the condom onto his cock before wrapping her hand around it, smirking when Percy’s eyes fluttered shut.

“They never do last very long – most of them are only good for one round.”

Annabeth slowly jerked him off and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I doubt you’ll even last five minutes inside me.”

Percy glowered at her. “Is that a challenge?”

“Challenge implies you stand a chance of winning, which you clearly don’t.”

A growl rumbled through Percy’s chest, making Annabeth’s smile widen. Good, he was getting worked up. Annabeth found that she often got the best sex out of men once she provoked them.

Percy squeezed her ass hard before he lifted her above his cock and thrust into her. They both groaned in unison and desperately pressed up against each other.

God, it felt so good to be filled.

Annabeth brushed his hair out of his eyes and pressed a messy kiss to his lips. They kissed languidly, their tongues dancing around one another, as she got adjusted to his size. Then, without warning, Annabeth raised herself up and sank back down onto him.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Percy’s grip on her hips tightened when she circled her hips on her way down. He dropped a kiss to one of her breasts before reaching up to knead the other one, making Annabeth groan. She scratched at his upper back, etching red lines into his skin, and slowly began to ride him.

He managed to work a particularly broken moan out of her when he tugged on a nipple with his teeth. She could feel him smirking against her skin as he sucked it again to soothe the sting.

Annabeth pushed him onto the couch so that she could accelerate her pace, partially to prove he couldn’t last five minutes but mostly because she needed more. Percy tried to sit up again, but she stayed low on him and held him down by the shoulders, sucking a bruise under his chin and making him grunt.

She could feel heat pooling inside her already, the promise of another orgasm on the horizon, and chased after it with reckless abandon, setting a punishing rhythm atop him. The maddening scent of his was stronger now than it had ever been before and seemed to egg her on to go faster and faster. The lewd sounds of them fucking filled her half-dark living room, and the sofa squeaked beneath them, keeping time with her pace.

Percy’s body stiffened a few minutes later, which spurred Annabeth on faster. “Aah, I-I’m gonna,” he stammered.

Annabeth bit his earlobe, pulling with her teeth, before whispering into his ear, “Do it. Show me how you cum.”

Percy wrapped a hand behind Annabeth’s head to anchor himself, his fingers knotting in her hair, as he released a strangled groan.

“Annabeth,” he moaned.

Annabeth felt his cock grow inside her before Percy froze, his eyes screwing shut as his back arched up off the sofa. He was almost completely silent as he came, but Annabeth could feel his entire body quivering beneath her. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as Percy’s face contorted by pleasure, completely slaw-jawed, weaving his fingers into her hair like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

The sight itself was enough to send Annabeth over the edge as well. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, which made his hips jerked upward involuntarily. Her fingernails cut into his upper back, leaving red crescent shaped marks in his skin, while her cunt clenched around his cock desperately.

When she finally came, Annabeth’s entire body felt completely drained, leaving her panting atop Percy’s chest. Annabeth deeply breathed in the smell of sweat, sex, and Percy’s troublesome odor scent that hung in the air. She felt Percy’s hand brush aside the strands of hair that lay matted against her forehead, almost tenderly, and felt her face flush.

Annabeth looked up at him, her head still flat against his chest, and smiled softly when he met her eyes.

“I think that was more than five minutes,” she said coyly. “Well done.”

“Strangely enough, I didn’t really have enough time to check my watch in the middle of all that. Funny, huh?” Percy said.

Annabeth pressed a kiss to his chest and said, “Given how hard I just fucked your brains out, I’m a little insulted that you can still mouth off to me.”

Percy’s ensuing laughter brought a smile to Annabeth’s lips. “Are you always this arrogant?”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s true,” Annabeth said, shrugging. “I fucked you well, and you know it.”

Percy blinked. “That’s fair.”

They lay there in silence for a while. It had been a long time since Annabeth had had such a good fuck. Alyssa and her other partners were fun, sure, but there was just something about Percy. Already her mind raced with all sorts of possibilities.

They hadn’t gotten into any of the good stuff tonight, which fine considering it was Percy’s first time and all, but going forward, Annabeth wasn’t going to be this easy on him. Images flooded into her mind of him bound and blindfolded, sobbing as she edged him for hours, begging her to let him cum. Images of him with his hands tied behind his back, that cute ass of his pointing straight up in the air, red and ready for her, littered with welts from her riding crop, as she fastened her strap-on.

Fuck.

Annabeth bit her lip and rubbed her thighs together discreetly, already feeling heat pool in her stomach. She looked up and noticed Percy’s eyelids were drooping as he resisted the urge to fall asleep. Annabeth traced his scars with her fingers as a small bit of disappointment arose in her – she really would’ve liked to go for a second round, but it was understandable given that it was his first time.

“Not tonight. Next time,” she promised herself. “Next time, I’ll get to have some real fun with him.”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 144: Hermione's Helping Hand

The room was a very dangerous landing, each of them got a book to the head no matter where they landed. Frank was on a flaming red comforter on the bed with a dog eared copy, the title so faded he hadn't a hope of recognizing it until he flipped through a few pages, and even then did not follow the Muggle story.* Alice had a heavy tomb smash so hard against her forehead she saw stars, and it was over a copy of some muggle thing to do with the human anatomy a Healer would struggle to follow.

Lily groaned miserably as she removed a book on alchemy from her face, and Potter's glasses had broken where he'd faced planted a window with an interesting view of a Muggle neighborhood and still had a book on the windowsill crack a lens he couldn't even read the title of now.

Peter had to pull himself out from a whole pile of books, on top of which was Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard, and Regulus even found one on teeth he had to dislodge from his own.

Remus landed painfully on a desk, the book losing its place as the bookmark toppled out of sight he felt bad for, and Sirius even found a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages to his distaste for the first time in his life as he pulled it from where it had whacked his ear.

The silver book itself they were all supposed to be here for sat in the middle of the room with the air of innocence. For once.

"As if we haven't been traumatized by enough books already," James sighed as he tapped his glasses to fix them.

"If this room isn't Hermione's, then I'll kiss a centaur," Sirius happily informed the room at large.

"Brilliant deduction there," Lily rolled her eyes, but there was only amusement in her voice. "Did you figure that out before or after this?" She was holding a picture of Hermione in this very room, a still image of her sitting at this very desk with Crookshank's in her lap, the sun just visible on the horizon from the window.

The walls didn't house much decoration, it was simple yet charming to see so much of her personality packed into the comfortably sized room.

"The best part is, I bet this is only a quarter of the ones she owns," James grinned. "She takes most of them with her to school!"

Sirius laughed and Lily found herself smiling in agreement as Lupin tried the door, which mercifully opened. The others scattered about the house, some for the loo, some for the kitchen. Sirius made to do the latter, but lingered in the door jam to watch in fascination as Prongs hesitated, and then turned back to Evans.

There was a reluctance in him he'd seen a few times now, and he had a very good guess why James was suddenly so hesitant to engage with her. He'd been devastated by the news of Sirius' death, arguably more than him even, and it wasn't hard to follow his logic if he had to change something to keep it from happening it would be taking Harry out of the equation via her. He wished his brother wouldn't think like that, but he'd never liked Evans much himself to understand his fascination with her and so wasn't even sure how to urge him back.

When James turned back holding in whatever he'd been about to say though, Lily startled them both by asking, "so, do you know what a dentist is?" The tone was mild, maybe a little mocking, but she was now holding the book Regulus had spat out with a curious smile.

He would have expected James, as usual, to not actually know how to respond to her when she spoke like a normal human being. Instead he hesitated with an odd smile in place and said casually, "not really, but I got the idea. Teeth and such, Muggles need them cared for without a spell."

Prongs hesitated again, some torn expression lingering, before he softly asked as if speaking of her ill coming death, "how come you never took Care of Magical Creatures?"

Sirius snorted fantastically, earning a dirty look from both of them. He raised his hands in surrender and took a step back into the hall, where Remus came up and pulled on him out of sight. James turned back to watching her, still unsure if he should have asked. She'd gotten assurances on their first day from McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn all the creatures came to no harm for their classes to commence. He'd watched her love of animals long after that, she'd taken to cuddling with every cat in the common room and watched the birds deliver post every morning despite receiving none of her own long after other Muggle-borns grew used to it, but that look of awe and longing lingered in her.

Just because he'd given up on the idea of her didn't mean he couldn't still learn more about her, right? It was something he'd wanted to know for years but obviously she'd never have answered before. Maybe if he tried without the flirting he'd get a better result.

And, it worked. She went a little red, but answered casually, "I was trying to prove something, to my parents, to Snape, myself. Taking Arithmancy and Runes, the harder and more difficult classes. I regret it a bit now."

Potter watched her, absolutely fascinated by her little speech it seemed. She kept waiting for that to wear off now that she was actually trying to talk to him on a regular basis, but it didn't seem to be happening.

"You can take it come NEWT year if you want," he told her, that damnable cheerful smile creeping back now as they managed the first casual conversation of their life. "Remus will lend you his notes for the OWL's next week if you want."

She laughed in surprise, then realized he wasn't joking. He really thought she was that smart she could take a class she hadn't been in for two years? "I'll, ah, take that into consideration," she tried to shrug.

He hesitated, seemed to decide he'd pushed her enough, and then finally left. He'd gotten her to laugh, that was more of an accomplishment he'd managed in his life already! He glanced the way two of his friends went, rolled his eyes, and called towards the kitchen, "hey Alice, want to show me how a muggle stove works!"

Lily blanched in fear of him burning the house down and snatched up the actual needed book, not bothering to pretend to herself she was smiling as she followed along and cracked it open, but paused to take in the rest.

The hallway was littered with cheerful hallmark signs such as 'Love, Life, Live,' and several more of Hermione through the years, but Lily kept watching the muggle photos despite the fact that they weren't moving in mild curiosity for several moments before it occurred to her why they seemed a little odd. Hermione was alone in each of them, smiling brightly, but the only one in focus. Not only no friends hanging off her arm in her primary years as she held up spelling awards and science fair projects, but her parents didn't seem in any of them either. One particularly telling one was a candid shot of a very young Hermione sitting in an empty waiting room, reading a book far too big for her lap. Only when she got to the very end of most recent photos hinted at who could have been there all these years, and it was an extremely elder lady, possibly her grandmother or even a nanny, the photo at such an angle it was clearly taken by her as well as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Hermione. The tender look of love in the older woman's eyes only leveled with the weary exhaustion in the folds of her skin. Beneath that was a hand drawn calligraphy plaque with the year and date, but no other sort of explanation except her socially awkward behavior from back at the first book.

The kitchen seemed to double as a study, there were heavy journals on multiple surfaces, Frank was flipping curiously through one that was ear marked with dates, names, and what the appointment was going to be for, another that Regulus was prodding his wand along curiously through every page seemed to house lots of studies and practices on how Hermione's parents could improve their work. She doubted he followed a word, even she probably couldn't.

The chapter title itself was unsurprising, and she went through it still laughing it was all about Harry's first act as Captain sorting out members of his team, indeed with Hermione's help. Wasn't this just a day of surprises.

Potter continued to rank highest of all in that regards. The look on his face when he found out what Hermione did was priceless.

The reason behind it she misunderstood.

"She cheated? On Quidditch! I'd expect this girl to snog Snape before I heard her do something like this!"

"She did set Snape on fire once during a game." Alice happily reminded as she swatted his hand away from the hot surface, again. He seemed to keep forgetting despite the red light and heat waves coming up from the innocent black circle. "Guess her bar goes out the window during sports," she finished with a giggle.

His flummoxed expression still seemed at war if he should be impressed or agitated at this, while Regulus was snickering relentlessly for the show as well as he said, "I thought it was brilliant, as if I want to sit around hearing about that McLaggen's temper for the games, he'll ruin what little fun we've been getting out of these."

His eyes tracked curiously as he seemed to realize his brother wasn't in here to give his opinion, but seemed distracted enough when Peter spoke, "think of it this way, you or Padfoot would have done it to some arse in the hallway if he was really saying half that shite. Does the location matter that much?"

"I mean, yes," he pouted, but if anything he looked more confused. "Quidditch shouldn't be trifled with," he finished with a hint of defiance, but eventually sighed and turned back to turning the stove on and off with the odd switch and all the numbers while she finished.

Remus let his fingers brush against Sirius' and subtly pulled his fingers before letting go. Sirius needed no further prompting before following him out of the room into what must be Hermione's parents room. Remus didn't care as he locked the door and then hugged Sirius.

He laughed in delight, immediately returning it as he said quietly into his neck, "I'm getting whiplash from you."

"I just wanted to make sure you know I'm grateful," Remus told him as he pulled back, having to remind himself not to let his hands linger. "For not beating Frank's face into a pulp, back in the apothecary," he elaborated.

The fact that Sirius never held his mood swings against him or even ever accused him of being moody because of the full moon made him wish he could snog his face off right about now. Merlin, James had barely been involved and he'd called him on being an emotional ass!

"Oh," Sirius' face did not settle into a promising expression, barely concealed anger still there, but he made such a valiant effort to push it back away Remus had to fight back the urge to kiss him again. "Right, you're welcome. If he had done it on purpose though, I can't say I'd have been able to stop myself." Moony and Prongs had made a valid point, better Longbottom occasionally forget the dangers than continue being a racist arse, but his point still stood there was a middle ground that wouldn't put Remus in pain! The Marauders all knew it, couldn't he?!

Remus really couldn't resist and let his hand brush along his cheek and settle down on his neck as he gazed into his eyes. Sirius hummed as always at the physical affection. Remus could have hugged him back in the apothecary and not been an arse about this too! This really would just have to be enough for him, he could never ask for better friends. He reluctantly let his hand drop back away with one more whispered thanks.

Sirius looked hurt though, to Remus' confusion. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" He denied, he really hadn't thought Sirius would realize he was starting to back off yet, as much else as he was dealing with.

"Remus, you've barely looked at me since the polyjuice prank," Sirius finally called his crap. "So if you're not mad at me, would you please say so?"

"I'm not," Remus instantly promised. Merlin if he was mad at Sirius for every stupid prank he'd never not be enraged at this one. "I'm, mad at myself." He finally reluctantly admitted.

Sirius' face clouded with concern. Even on top of dealing with James, Peter, and Regulus at once Padfoot hadn't once tried to cope a field on him for some fun away from them while in this room, and a traitorous bubble of hope still lingered in Remus' chest this could mean more to Sirius. They were just friends with benefits, he instantly reminded himself. Friends! Of course he cares, you know he does.

"Anything I can do to help?" Sirius was even the one to reach for his hand, their fingers naturally intertwining.

"It's, Harry," he finally gave a half truth, which was still a truth that the book provided. He couldn't believe he'd only been back in Prongs's kids life once so far this year with Sirius out of the picture. "Not even writing to him, I'm just, this future- I don't want to stop-" He stopped himself quickly before something stupid came out. 'Being there for you,' probably sounded way too intimate to Padfoot. Maybe if he'd actually been around Sirius during that awful Ministry fight he would have come back out of it and none of this would be thrown in their face so repeatedly!

What kind of heartless monster couldn't do the bare minimum to look after one of his best friends kids anyways? And he was complaining Sirius wasn't ready for more, he clearly wasn't capable of it either.

Sirius had such a beautiful smile, and one he so rarely showed anyone. A smirk, his teasing grin were all anyone but the Marauders ever got to see, and Remus drank his fill in now as Padfoot squeezed his fingers while mimicking as well, tracing his cheek before letting his hand rest on his neck as they naturally mirrored each other. Remus wouldn't dream of denying he instantly felt warm and assured as he leaned into the touch even before Sirius told, "this future's a mess Moony. Don't kick yourself about this poor kids life we have no control over. We'll find a way to fix this."

He spoke with such assurance it's like they should have heard the very words Evans was reading change to match. Remus was convinced Sirius could hypnotize the moon to never be full again in that moment as he leaned in and kissed him.

It was just sweet, and gentle. There was no randiness in either of them, just a silent promise as Remus leaned back that no matter what, his words would be true.

HPHPHPHP

*Let me know what you think Hermione's favorite book is. I personally always thought it was Sherlock Holmes.

[spookyceph]

ShigaDabi Week Day 8 | Free Day!

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Swearing; use of Ouija board

Summary: Way to Confess Your Crush #13: Get a Ouija board to tell them on Halloween.

I Sense a Presence in the Room

“You’re moving it, Twice.”

“No, you’re moving it, Spinner. Demons are moving it, and we’ll all be cursed for messing with this stuff—haven’t you watched any horror movies?”

“Both of you, shut up. You’ll scare the ghosts away before I get to ask them anything.”

“Himiko, honey, I don’t think the ghosts are the ones likely to get spooked in this situation.”

“Why are we using a board with English letters? I mean, I do remember the basics from school, but that was some time ago. Wouldn’t it be easier to play Mr. Kokkuri or something?”

“I can read it.”

“See? Dabi knows English.”

“Yeah, but what if the ghosts don’t?”

Like he was watching a tennis match, Tomura turned his head to and fro, following the bickering as it volleyed around. Just a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined such a scene: his friends gathered on both sides of the hideout’s bar, playing a game better suited to middle school kids. Then again, a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined using the words his friends in any sentence.

The game had been Toga’s idea. A fun way to celebrate Halloween, she'd said. Tomura didn’t care about some imported holiday, just as he hadn’t paid any attention to Bon when it came and went a couple months back. But he did enjoy seeing the others participate, learning all the different ways they interacted. So, silent, he watched from the edge of their circle as they finally settled down, cramming their fingertips on the planchette in the middle of the Ouija board Toga had picked up from who-knew-where.

A lack of holiday spirit hadn't been the only reason he'd sat out. The sight of so many hands squeezed into such a small area sent a chill rolling down Tomura’s spine. He wasn’t about to risk Decaying someone over a silly party game.

“Okay…” A quivering note had crept into Spinner’s voice despite his earlier accusations of Twice moving things. “What do we ask first?”

Toga bounced on her heels. “I know, I know! Who am I going to marry?”

A collective groan filled the room. Nevertheless, the heart-shaped plastic pointer gave a jerk, like an eager dog tugging on its leash, and began to slide across the board. Everyone held their breath. Tomura squinted in concentration, sounding out each letter chosen in his head.

D…E…K…U.

“What’d it say? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Toga demanded the second the planchette stopped.

“Deku,” Tomura answered, wrinkling his nose. Maybe demons were rigging the game.

Toga held a differing opinion. With a squeal, she hugged herself and collapsed into a fit of maniacal giggles.

“Oh? Shigaraki speaks English too?” Even through his ever-present ski mask, Mister looked impressed. “A man of many talents.”

Tomura shrugged. “It can be useful sometimes.” Mostly for online games, but still.

“Hey, it’s spelling something else,” Dabi said.

Instantly righting herself, Toga watched with huge, shiny eyes as a second name emerged.

“Ochako,” announced Dabi, triggering a second giggle explosion. “Congratulations, vampire girl. You’re a bigamist.”

Spinner snorted. “What a load of crap…”

“Let’s ask it what unlucky slob gets stuck with you then, lizard lips.”

Toga was on it like a shark on a baby seal. “Yeah! Spinner next!”

Heedless of stammered protests and long-suffering sighs, the planchette launched into action. Tomura smiled wryly as the next name took shape.

“I knew it.” Dabi clicked his tongue. “Mandalay.”

“Total bullshit.” Spinner’s entire face had flushed deep forest-green, the edges of each scale almost black.

“Don’t get all bent out of shape. Not like you’re the first nerd to be into catgirls.”

“Get fucked, staple-face.”

“Let’s ask the board whether he does. I’ll do it if no one else gets the honor!”

“You’re making me blush, Twice.”

“Dabi’s true love next!” declared Toga, mercifully taking the reins again.

The planchette went to work. Tomura craned forward, curious despite himself.

T…O…

That could be the start of hundreds of names, Japanese or otherwise.

…M…U…

Wait—maybe he was separating the syllables incorrectly?

…R…A.

“Well? Who’s the one destined to tame the Blue Flame?” Mister asked with a laugh.

Not Tomura. It couldn’t be. That was simply impossible. The stupid board had to mean someone else—without kanji there wasn’t any way to tell one name from another if the sounds matched.

Except when he looked up, he caught Dabi staring straight at him.

Dabi, whose blue eyes burned hot and electric as they met his.

Dabi, the only other person in the room who knew English.

Dabi, his true love, according to the board.

In one smooth motion, Tomura pushed away from the bar and spun on his heels. He didn’t look back despite the bewildered and shocked questions the others pelted him with as he marched out of the bar. It was a miracle he didn’t accidentally Decay the door in his haste.

He’d gotten as far as the top step in the upstairs hallway before he heard pursuing bootsteps.

“Hey, wait up.”

Tomura refused to give in to weakness and look over his shoulder. If he hurried, he could make it to his room in time.

“Fucking hell, mophead, come on. Don’t make me run. I’ve got shitty lungs.”

A switch flipped in his brain, killing power to all rational thought. Tomura halted and did a sharp one-eighty. Dabi skidded to a stop just out of reach. A good thing too—there was no telling what might’ve happened if one of Tomura’s hands, fingers hooked into talons, had been able to grab him. Dabi read the other warning signs with a neutral face: tensed shoulders, narrowed red eyes, breath hissing in and out.

Only two words managed to bob to the surface of the stew of rage and humiliation Tomura’s mind was boiling in, but they were enough. “Not. Funny.”

“Who’s laughing, mophead?”

Slowly, the question and its serious tone sank in. Tomura blinked, his roiling emotions thickening into a sludge of confusion. “You…you rigged the game.”

“Guilty. The girls were in on it too. Toga was going to ask fluffy stuff about her crushes anyway, so I only had to bribe her to keep quiet and not gush to anyone else. Magne used her quirk to tug everyone’s hands in the right direction. Her English is even better than mine, as it turns out.”

“You had her spell my name.”

“And the others, yeah.”

“B-but…”

Dabi arched his eyebrows. “But if I wasn’t making fun of you, why would I do such a thing?”

“ Yes.”

“Because I think you’re interesting and smart and hot in a gangly, goth sort of way. I like you is what I mean.”

Tomura opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. So, he closed it with a click of teeth. Then he tried again. Same results.

With a sardonic smile skewing his lips, Dabi shook his head. “I’ve been dropping hints for months, but they flew over your head every time. So, when Toga suggested the stupid Ouija board game, I figured I might as well literally spell it out for you. Speaking of dropping hints, Spinner wasn’t embarrassed about the catgirl thing. He was pissed because your name didn’t pop up. Just thought I should mention it, in the spirit of fair competition.”

Though Tomura glanced all around the hallway, there was neither a convenient couch to faint on nor a hole to crawl into. So, he settled for the next best option: directness.

“I…don’t know what to say.”

Dabi’s smile softened as he shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything right now. When you’re ready, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever. I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

He turned to go, but some unknown impulse spurred Tomura into grabbing his wrist, two fingers safely tucked away. Both red and blue eyes widened in identical degrees of astonishment.

“Uh…” Tomura scrambled for a reasonable follow-up. “Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

The way Dabi’s staples followed the curves of his smile did warm, strange, fluttery things to Tomura’s insides. “About which part? Telling me to fuck off or being my one true love?”

“I-I-I—”

“Relax, mophead. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh.” Tomura looked at Dabi’s hand, which had moved to link fingers with two of his and certainly felt serious. “Does that mean—”

“Yeah, let’s talk. Up on the roof fine? Kurogiri hates it when I smoke inside.”

“Sure. Okay.” He definitely wasn’t the former, but something in the back of his mind assured him the latter would stick eventually.

Warm fingers on a scarred hand gave his a squeeze. “After you.”

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely

Yes, I’ve found my way into the Schitt’s Creek fandom - it’s a lovely, hopeful place to be.  And of course, having met these wonderful people, I need to throw some angst and h/c their way.  Please enjoy this, the first chapter of my whump!Patrick fic.  

Thanks as always to my beta @perryavenue for coming along with me to yet another fandom :)

David/Patrick, M, A03 (tags/warnings this chapter:  injury, hospitalization, loss of consciousness, blood (minor))

Chapter 1 

David is arranging a new shipment of lavender sage lip balms by the cash register – he’s not sure they will sell as well as the honey vanilla but they are definitely more interesting – when he hears the crash.  

He grumbles again at Patrick’s insistence on spending their Sunday morning at the store when they could have just as easily slept in another few hours, and ambles to the backroom to see what happened.  It’s the last calm thought he processes.

There are wires hanging from a ceiling light fixture, a step ladder tilted at an angle against the shelves, and Patrick, lying on the floor, oddly twitching.  David crashes to his knees, hands flying to Patrick’s head, as words flow out of his mouth in a panicked stream.  “Patrick – Patrick- are you okay?  Patrick-”

Patrick is still breathing, David can feel his breath on his cheek when he presses his face close, but he’s not responding.  David’s hands are fluttering up and down Patrick’s body, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong.  He tries to hold Patrick’s head steady as his husband’s muscles continue to spasm.  “Patrick, wake up.  Please, come on, please, Patrick.”

David can feel something warm and wet in Patrick’s hair, and he faintly realizes that Patrick is bleeding.  “Oh my god, Patrick, open your eyes, please.”  He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls emergency services, one hand resting on Patrick’s head, trembling so hard he can only hope the operator can understand what he’s saying.

Something in his brain finally connects the wires still swinging above him with Patrick unconscious on the floor and his breath leaves him in a horrified gasp.  “Send help now, right now.  I think my husband has been electrocuted.”

*****

It’s David’s first time riding in an ambulance while he is sober enough to remember it, and it’s terrifying.  He can’t wish for anything to dull his senses right now, though, because he needs to be here for Patrick.  He needs to get a grip, to stay strong, to not fall apart like he absolutely thinks he’s about to do, because Patrick needs him to keep it together.

The EMTs don’t offer much information, and the ride to the hospital in Elmdale is a nightmare of spiraling anxiety.  David feels like his chest is going to implode, the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is his hand on Patrick’s ankle, his arm stretched out to touch him in the only place he can reach.  

He wants to say something, to do something, but his voice seems to have abandoned him.  Finally, the questions in his head break through.  “Is he going to be okay?”

He barely hears the noncommittal answer.  Patrick has to be okay.  Their story can’t end here.  They haven’t even been married a year.  David has plans for their one-year wedding anniversary, only a few months away.  He’s going to take Patrick on a hike.  He’s going to do it right, make up for how David almost ruined Patrick’s proposal with his grumpy mood.  He’s not going to complain, and Patrick’s not going to get stabbed in the foot with a branch.  David is going to pack a picnic, with Patrick’s favorite foods this time, and serenade him at sunset - or maybe not quite sunset, because hiking back down in the dark seems like a bad idea, but he still has time to figure that out.  They still have time, they are supposed to have time.  Lots of time.

David’s come far enough to believe that he’s pretty good at making Patrick happy, and at letting himself be happy, but there’s so much more he wants to do.  

So many more smiles he needs to see on Patrick’s face.

There’s a rush of activity as they arrive at the hospital, and David has to let go of Patrick’s ankle, even the loss of that small connection paining him.  “I’ll be right here,” he says, although Patrick can’t hear him, and no one is listening.  “I’ll be here.”

*****

David is pacing in the waiting room.  He has already filled out the necessary forms, his handwriting barely legible since he’s still shaking all over, and now there is nothing to do but wait.  He knows he should probably call someone and let them know what’s going on, but Patrick’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, and his own parents are in Fiji.  Stevie’s in New York for a conference, and Alexis is in L.A.  He’s got to handle this on his own.  

David used to be good at handling crises.  He prided himself on it.  Even when he was at the height of his drug happy party boy phase, he was always able to make a call to the right consulate and get Alexis sprung from whatever ridiculous situation she had wound up in.  He could act the part of a confident, competent savior, equipped with enough money and pull to get things done.  But things are different now.  Patrick has changed him, has cut right through all the walls he built to protect himself.  His defenses are gone.  And now this panicking, flailing, frightened man is all Patrick has left.

It seems like forever but finally a doctor comes out to talk with him.  Patrick is stable, but still unconscious.  Apparently he is more impaired than would be expected from a minor electric shock, because he hit his head when he fell.  Tests are being run.

David takes a step towards the doctor as his vision narrows, and someone is there next to him, a hand on his arm.  “Would you like to sit down?”  He doesn’t seem to have any choice, as he’s pushed into a chair, and a moment later handed a cup of water.

David takes a sip, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together and forcing himself to take a deep breath.  “When can I see him?  Can I see him, please?”

Not yet, they tell him.  Soon.  They’ll let him know.

*****

<i>Four hours earlier</i>

David wakes to the feel of his husband’s lips on his own, and he hums and wraps a hand around Patrick’s head and holds him close.  But instead of finding a sleep-warm, enticingly aroused and naked Patrick shuffling closer to him under the sheets, he opens his eyes to see Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, already showered, a towel around his waist.

“Mmm, no, come back to bed.”

“Can’t do that.  We’re going to the store early, remember?”

David groans and flops over, pulling the duvet over his head.  “I don’t want to.”

“But we said we’d do it, and if we don’t, our lovely shelves will be empty on one of our best selling days of the week.”

David doesn’t really care to remember this fact, although it’s true.  Thursday afternoon he and Patrick had gotten into a disagreement about whether to keep sourcing peppermint foot cream from a particular vendor, and by the time David shut his mouth long enough to figure out why Patrick had developed a sudden aversion to Mr. Braden (he was unforgivably rude to their intern), some rather less than pleasant things had been said by David, too.  David suggested he make it up to Patrick by trading their regular Thursday evening at the store doing inventory and stocking shelves for an impromptu date night, and Patrick had agreed, on the condition that they come in early on Sunday instead.

“I’d like to suggest an amendment to our agreement,” David says, sitting up and slinging both arms around Patrick’s neck, loving the smile it brings to his husband’s face.  “Come back to bed for just a little while, and I’ll put all the labels on the body milk bottles myself.”  Patrick doesn’t like sticking labels on the bottles, he says the adhesive makes his fingertips itch.

“We’ll be late,” Patrick objects, but he’s already relaxing into David’s arms.  

David knows Patrick’s protest is mostly for show.  He runs his tongue up the side of Patrick’s neck, inhaling the smell of his warm, damp skin.  “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Patrick caves, attacking David’s mouth in a hungry kiss, as they both fall back onto the bed.  “You always do.”

*****

It seems like forever, but finally someone comes and tells him that he can see Patrick.  They lead David down hallways and around corners and finally into a room.  He goes past an empty bed and a partly pushed back curtain and then he’s there, staring helplessly at his husband, laid out unnaturally where he absolutely does not belong.

All the tropes are true, David thinks to himself.  Patrick looks small, diminished by the machines and the wires and the strangeness of the setting.  He’s lying flat on his back, which is just wrong – Patrick sleeps on his side, his knees always bent, body twisted around a pillow or the sheets or, when at all possible, David.  He says it’s because he doesn’t breathe well lying on his back, but David knows he likes the comfort of it, of being surrounded and held.  David likes it too.

They’re a good pair, right for each other in all the most important ways.  David swallows hard and moves closer to this fragile version of his beloved husband.  <i>Patrick has to be okay.</i>

“Here, sit down,” the nurse at his side says, sliding a chair closer to the bed.  “You can touch him.”

David sits down, stiffly, and hovers his hand near Patrick’s.

“You won’t hurt him.”  The nurse is looking at Patrick’s chart, and then back to David.  “He hit his head pretty hard, but there’s no sign of any other injuries.”

“Is he… is he in pain?”  David thought Patrick was still unconscious.  

“No, he shouldn’t be,” she says.  “But we’ll ask him when he wakes up, and go from there.”

David bites his lip, and forces the words out.  “He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?”

The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and David forces himself not to flinch.  “There’s nothing to be gained by not staying positive,” she says patronizingly, patting him twice and then, mercifully, leaving the room.  

David indulges in a moment of fury, imagining himself storming out of the room and demanding to speak to a doctor, throwing a Moira Rose-style tantrum until someone gives him better customer service, but then he sees Patrick’s hand twitch and all thoughts of histrionics disappear.

“Patrick?”  David takes his husband’s hand and squeezes it.  “Patrick, are you awake?”  He reaches over and runs a finger along Patrick’s cheek.  “I’m right here.  Open your eyes, baby, look at me.”  

Shaking, he leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s dry lips, and then another.  But there’s no response, no Sleeping Beauty moment of grateful awareness.  David takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and sits back up.  

“It’s okay,” he says, scooting the chair closer so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and hold Patrick’s free hand in both of his own.  “You don’t have to wake up yet.  You can sleep some more if you need to.  Rest all you want.  Heal that beautiful head.  I’ll be here when you wake up, Patrick.  I’ll be right here.”

*****

A doctor comes by a little while later, and tells David what he’s pretty much figured out on his own – they can’t say when Patrick will wake up.  So far, they don’t have any reason to believe he won’t, which is good, as far as it goes.  It’s not very precise, but Patrick suffered a head injury along with some level of electric shock, so they have to wait and see.  They’ll run some more tests tomorrow if there’s no change, but they are “cautiously optimistic,” whatever that means.

After the doctor leaves David makes the mistake of googling “traumatic head injury.”  He reads for a few minutes and then practically throws his phone across the room, watching as it slides across the linoleum floor and comes to a stop by the IV stand.  He’s historically not very good at looking on the bright side, but he refuses to entertain the possibility that Patrick is going to be permanently disabled from his attempt to make the backroom overhead light stop flickering.  

He leans down against the bed, resting his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped in his own.  He can feel the panic rising in his chest again, and he fights it, not wanting to be any more useless to Patrick than he already is.

“Hey, I know I said you could rest, but maybe just wake up for a minute?” he says softly into Patrick’s ear.  “Just squeeze my hand, or blink your eyes.  Can you do that for me?”  He waits, not really expecting a reaction, but it doesn’t seem fair to ask for something and then not wait for an answer.  “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, okay?  Even if you’re hurt, even if…” David can’t really put into words what it might be like if Patrick doesn’t recover.  “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.  Just come back to me, okay?  I can’t… I won’t make it if you don’t.  I need you.”

“David.”

David looks up to see Alexis standing by the foot of Patrick’s bed, looking almost as pale as Patrick.  Then she moves closer and folds David into a tight hug, squeezing him until he can hardly breathe.  It’s the safest he’s felt since he heard the crash in the back room.

After a few minutes of Alexis’s pointy chin digging into his shoulder, David eases himself back.  “Maybe give arm day a rest,” he says softly, as she loosens her boa-constrictor hold around his waist.

“Everyone always says I’m stronger than I look,” Alexis says, tilting her head as she gazes at him.  “And you are too, David.”

He shrugs and glances away, his gaze inevitably going to Patrick, still just as quiet and unresponsive as he was a moment ago, and then back to his sister.  “How are you here?”  he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic of his questionable ability to handle this particular situation.  “I thought you were in L.A.”

“That was last week.”  Alexis drops her bag to the floor, then drags a chair around from the other side of the curtain and positions it next to David’s.  “I was in Toronto, working with a new client, when Jocelyn called me.”

David blinks.  “Jocelyn?”

“Yes, David, Jocelyn called me, when you didn’t answer your phone – and so did Twyla, Roland, Ronnie, and everyone else.”  She waves her hand, apparently to indicate the universe of people blowing up her phone.

“But… why?”

“David, did you really think that an ambulance could show up in the middle of town and whisk you and Patrick away without anyone noticing?”  Alexis boops his nose and looks from Patrick back to David.  “They’re worried about you.  Half of the town is in the waiting room right now.”

“Wait, what?”

Alexis lets a smile tug at the side of her mouth.  “Kidding, no they’re not.  But they’ll come, if we need them.  Twyla did drop off some food, it’s in my bag.  Muffins, or something, she said you didn’t even come get one this morning.  And sandwiches.”  Alexis reaches down and pulls out a bag.

“I’m not hungry,” David says.

“Yeah, because you and skipping meals is a good idea.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about,” David says, his voice cracking.

“I know, David,” Alexis says softly.  “But you have to take care of yourself too.  And then we can take care of Patrick.”

It’s what breaks him, finally, that “we,” and David loses it, sobbing in Alexis’s arms at the side of his husband’s hospital bed.

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 10: “They Look so Pretty When they Bleed” (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

This one ended up really long, but enjoy the Rohan whump (we need more of it XD)

Day Ten: They Look So Pretty when they Bleed

Prompts used: blood loss, trail of blood, internal bleeding

Fandom: JJBA: Diamond is Unbreakable 

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

Graphic Violence

(If you’ve been enjoying my whumptober prompts and want to help support me, you can buy me a coffee on Ko-fi! :)

~~~~~~~

Rohan Kishibe knew he was in trouble the instant he pegged the guy for tailing him. Normally, he wouldn't think too much of it—after all, having people follow you was just something that came with being famous, and some fans didn't know what personal space or propriety was. And yes, now that it had slipped out that he was living in Morioh, he had gotten a lot more attention. But he'd been out tracking down clues from his pictures all day, trying to find out what had happened to Kira and now he was certain he had bitten off more than he could chew.

Setting his jaw at a determined angle, Rohan turned down a side street, planning on catching his stalker with Heaven's Door and finding out what he knew. If this wasn't Kira himself then it could possibly be another Stand user that might know where Kira was hiding.

So he took the chance and darted down an empty alley, continuing on his way as if nothing was wrong and he was just taking a short cut.

He could feel the man's presence behind him, shoes tapping against the concrete.

Rohan pulled his pencil out of his pocket and rested his hand on his sketchbook, waiting for the right moment.

He spun around and raised his sketchbook.

"Heaven's D—"

Something grabbed his wrist and held it firm, so his pencil was immobile. Rohan watched in horror as his sketch book was yanked away and the pressure on his wrist increased until his fingers spasmed, forcing him to drop the pencil.

It clattered to the ground and a nice leather shoe stopped it from rolling away.

Rohan followed the shoe up to see the face of a man who looked vaguely familiar. He was sure he had been in that photo with the boy he had been trying to track down.

"Well, well, well, Rohan Kishibe," the man said and bent to pick up his pencil.

"I'm afraid we haven't met," Rohan growled, glancing at the thing holding onto him, the man's Stand, he assumed. Large, pink, and almost feline. Just like how Koichi and the others had described Kira's Stand.

The man in front of him smirked, tapping his pencil against his cheek. "No, we haven't, more's the pity. That's why I've decided to remedy that. The other Stand users that have tangled with your little gang have proved useless, so I decided to come myself."

"And exactly what do you plan to do, Kira?" Rohan snapped.

The man didn't seem fazed that he knew who he was. He just continued to smirk. Rohan already hated him. He wanted to punch the man's smirk off his stupid, repulsive face.

"As long as Killer Queen holds on to you, you can't do anything to me with your Stand, correct?"

"Care to try and test that theory?" Rohan growled.

"Yes, actually," Kira said coldly as he stepped forward. Rohan tried to struggle away, but the Stand slammed him against the wall and Rohan slumped to the ground, crying out as he saw stars. The Stand grabbed both his wrists and pinned them over his head, trapping him effectively as Kira crouched in front of Rohan.

"It was very kind of you to find such a secluded spot for us to have our chat. I was wondering how I was going to get you alone. I was planning on following you home and having our chat there, but I like this so much better. Much more fitting."

He leaned over and grabbed Rohan by the chin, jerking his head up. "Tell me, how close were you to figuring out where I was?"

Rohan snarled at him and jerked his face from the man's grasp. "Piss off."

"It must be horrible for you to be staring me in the eye and knowing you'll never get the chance to tell your friends about me. But you'll tell me a lot about them." He punched Rohan in the face, hard. Rohan's head snapped back against the brick wall and blood dripped from his nose.

"You'll tell me all their weaknesses. If you do, I'll have Killer Queen kill you quickly and mercifully. If not…well," he chuckled darkly. "I get to have my fun."

Rohan tried to force his fear aside as he curled his lip in disgust. "You think I'll tell you anything, you perverted piece of shit? I know what you did to all those girls. I've made it my new mission to stop you."

"Oh, have you?" Kira said, feigning interest as he raised the pencil Rohan had dropped again. He reached out and tapped it against Rohan's trapped hands, tracing it over his palms and between his fingers almost teasingly.

"My victims are always women, but I find your hands quite attractive, really. Thin, and long-fingered. Truly an artist's hands."

Rohan growled and tried to curl his hands into fists, but Kira had drawn the pencil back and all of a sudden slammed it through one of Rohan's palms and into the wall behind. Rohan screamed, sparks dancing over his vision as the pain blinded him.

Kira grabbed his face again, shaking him. "So, Rohan, what's it going to be? You tell me what I want to know or I continue with this method of interrogation."

Rohan groaned, and managed to gather enough saliva to spit into Kira's face.

The man sat back on his heels and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the bloody spit from his cheek.

"Very well, I can see this is going to go the hard way. But I must admit, I am rather happy with this decision." He pulled a knife from the back of his belt and leaned in close, tracing it from the corner of Rohan's eye to his jaw. "You know, Rohan, I heard something about you. That I almost killed you back when you were four years old. Is that true?"

Rohan's breath caught in his throat, and not because the knife was tracing his windpipe. How could Kira know the truth about what happened that night? Had he read the papers? Of course, why wouldn't he?

Kira smirked again, playing the knife across Rohan's collarbone. "That's right, I remember that pretty little girl and her family. It must be fate that has brought us together now for me to finish the job."

Rohan bared his teeth. "If you think I'm going to let you do that to another family—"

Kira grabbed him by the hips and yanked him away from the wall. Rohan shouted out as the pencil still stuck through his hand was yanked free of the wall and his head slammed the ground, causing him to black out for a brief second. When he blinked his eyes again, Kira had straddled his hips, holding him down and leaning over him threateningly with the knife pressed into the soft part of his throat.

"You play tough, Rohan, but I can see a coward hiding under that aloof exterior. I bet I can make you scream soon enough and you'll tell me everything."

"I bet you're wrong," Rohan gritted out, even as he tried to keep his breathing from showing his fear.

Kira smirked and reached up to Rohan's hands, still held fast by Killer Queen. The point of the knife traced across the fingertips of Rohan's uninjured hand and the mangaka clenched his jaw, biting his lip to keep it from trembling.

"Your hands are everything to you as an artist," Kira commented, touching the flesh between his thumb and forefinger ever so gently. Rohan's fingers twitched at the blade's sharpness. "It would really be a shame to damage them."

One quick slash opened Rohan's palm and he cried out, bucking under Kira. But the man wasn't stopping there. He slashed open each of Rohan's fingers at the joint until the mangaka felt nothing but pure agony shooting down his arm, unable to help screaming. He could only hope that someone would hear but…no, a civilian would just get themselves killed. He couldn't stand that, no matter the agony he was in.

"Well, Rohan? Are you going to tell me what I want to know?" Kira asked, reaching out to flick his finger against the pencil still stuck through Rohan's other hand.

"Go to hell," Rohan gasped.

Kira shook his head and yanked the pencil out, only to stab the knife through the same palm.

Rohan screamed even louder than before and tried to force Kira off of him, but the other man was heavier than he was and was not budging.

"I told you I would make you scream, Rohan. Now, have you reconsidered?"

Rohan spat at him again and Kira sighed. He yanked the blade out of Rohan's hand and looked at the blood staining it. "Very well, you are actually far more stubborn than I took you for. I suppose I'll have to do more damage to you than I really wanted to."

Rohan grunted, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The pencil Kira had stabbed him with, if he could reach it…

Killer Queen had retreated with Kira's excitement, obviously thinking Rohan wasn't going to put up much of a fight, but the mangaka wasn't done yet.

"Honestly I'm surprised you're still holding out, I didn't expect that of you," Kira told him, tracing the blade over his collarbone again, pressing in.

Rohan gritted his teeth as his fingers scrambled for the pencil. He finally found it. He could barely grip it with his damaged hands, but it was all he had. He had to make this count.

His hand clenched around the pencil as blood made his hold slippery. Kira pulled the blade slowly out of his shoulder, looking for his next target.

Rohan made his move.

He cried out and slammed the pencil toward Kira's face.

The lead hit his cheek, but stopped as Kira turned aside and Rohan found himself staring into the impassive face of Killer Queen.

"You little prick," Kira snarled, clutching his face. Killer Queen snapped Rohan's wrist to the side, breaking it completely. The mangaka screamed, before his breath was punched out of him by Kira slamming the knife into his stomach.

"How dare you?!" he snapped, completely losing it as he stabbed Rohan several times.

The mangaka choked out a cry and flailed, kicking out at Kira and slamming a foot into his ribs before he curled up on the ground. The knife slashed across his exposed lower back and Rohan gave a strangled scream. He choked up blood, but as he lay there, he raised a trembling finger and traced a small picture in his own blood, turning over to expose it to Kira.

"Heaven's Door," Rohan choked out and his Stand appeared, panting, flickering, but opened Kira like a book.

The man screamed in shock and fell back. Rohan curled on the ground as his Stand had to pick up the bloody pencil and scratch out a command in Kira's book.

Rohan panted as his Stand retracted and Kira lay unconscious on the ground. He wouldn't have long though. He had to get out of here, find a payphone. He needed to call Josuke. As much as he found the teen annoying, he knew Josuke was his only chance in this condition. And Jotaro needed to know too. Kira might even still be here by the time they came.

Rohan only made it halfway to his knees before he doubled over at the pain from his stomach. He couldn't push himself to his feet with his hands and wrist in this condition either. Even crawling was too much.

But he somehow managed to get onto his feet, clutching his broken wrist across his middle and staggering one step at a time out of the alleyway.

He didn't make it far. He didn't even know where he was going. He was trying to make it to a convenience store he saw ahead, but he didn't get that far. He collapsed in another alley, curled around his middle, clutching his ruined hands to his chest as blood bubbled in his throat and he choked. He was dying. He was sure of it, and he didn't know how to stop it.

"Rohan-chan?"

A gasp sounded and suddenly soft hands were running over him.

"Oh, no! What's happened to you? He did this, didn't he?"

Rohan blinked up and saw a pretty face staring down at him. He opened his mouth to reply. "Re-Reimi…" but her name got lost in a bubble of blood and he choked, the copper tang expelling from his mouth and spattering over his chin and shirt.

Reimi gathered him up against her and slung his arm over her shoulder. "Come, Rohan, you can't stay here, it's not safe. But you can hide in my alley. He won't find you here."

"N-need to…" Rohan groaned, clutching at the ghost girl's waist, wondering at her solidness, as she somehow supported him until they reached a corner where her dog, Arnold, was sitting. She lowered him down there and took his head into her lap, cradling his upper body as she reached for his hands.

"Oh, poor Rohan, your hands…"

"I—I need," he tried, swallowing back thick blood. "Josuke…"

"Of course!" Reimi said as if just remembering. She slipped the headband from around his brow and handed it to her dog. "Arnold, find a dog to carry this to Josuke."

The ghost dog barked and took the headband, heading off to the end of the alley at a run. Rohan watched until his stomach rebelled and he threw up more blood, his abdomen on fire from the strain. Riemi held him tighter, stroking her fingers through his hair.

He moaned, feeling her gentle fingers trace over his forehead and through his hair that was falling into his eyes now without his headband.

"I'm dying," he whispered. Why else had he been able to find this place? Why else was she so solid.

"No, you're not," Reimi said firmly. "This alley is between the living and the dead. You cannot die here. Not while I'm watching over you."

Pain wracked him, tearing through his middle and he choked on a cry, tears slipping shamefully from his eyes.

Reimi began to tug his jacket off, before shifting Rohan in her lap and pressing it firmly against his stomach.

"Just hang on for me, Rohan-chan. Josuke and the others will be here soon."

XXX

Josuke and the others were walking home from school when he saw the dog running at him. He stared at it warily, not really liking dogs all that much, especially since it seemed to be coming right toward him.

"What's that?" Koichi asked as the dog stopped, barking at them, and dropped something on the ground.

Josuke frowned, glancing at the strange, green object. "Don't know?"

Okuyasu frowned as well, reaching down to pick it up before Josuke could tell him not to. "I think I've seen this before somewhere."

Koichi suddenly gasped. "It's Rohan's! His headband! Why does this dog have it…?"

The dog barked and suddenly started running the other way before looking back as if to see if they were following.

Josuke had a bad feeling in his stomach. "What do you think it wants?"

"There's blood on this," Okuyasu suddenly cried, turning the headband over.

"You think Rohan's in trouble?" Koichi asked worriedly.

The dog barked, and Josuke suddenly decided to follow it. "I don't know. Let's go find out."

They ran after the dog and once they got to the opening to an alleyway, Josuke saw a trail of blood.

"Oh no," Koichi gulped. "Rohan…"

Josuke bit his lip and continued on, the three of them following the blood until they stopped at a strange alley Josuke couldn't really remember being beside the convenience store before…

"This is Reimi's alleyway!" Koichi said.

"The cute ghost girl?" Okuyasu asked.

Josuke was already venturing in and all three of them stopped when they saw what lay at the end of the trail of blood.

Reimi sat on the ground holding Rohan's head in her lap. The mangaka was covered in blood and shuddering uncontrollably.

"Oh god," Koichi cried.

"Josuke!" Reimi cried. "You came! Please, help him now, he doesn't have much longer."

"What happened?" Josuke demanded as he crouched down, studying Rohan as he manifested Crazy Diamond. Geez, as much as Rohan annoyed him, he looked terrible and Josuke felt sorry for him. He had multiple stab wounds in his abdomen and his hands…Josuke felt sick as he looked at them.

"Was it Kira?" Koichi asked quietly.

"I think so," Reimi said bitterly, stroking Rohan's hair as he made a sound of discomfort and choked, some blood spattering across his lips and the ground. Josuke bit his lip worriedly. Rohan really had taken a lot of damage.

Crazy Diamond reached out to heal the mangaka, and Rohan was encompassed by the Stand's glow. The wounds faded and he gasped, finally opening his eyes.

"Rohan! Are you okay?" Koichi asked as he stepped forward while Josuke sat back on his heels, recalling Crazy Diamond.

Rohan shakily sat up, looking down at his hand and flexing his fingers before he traced them across the smooth skin of his stomach, breathing heavily.

"I—I think so," he said and cleared his throat. He glanced out of the side of his eye at Josuke. "I suppose I should thank you."

"You're not mad at me for healing you this time?" Josuke quipped.

"Shockingly, no," Rohan grunted.

"What happened to Kira?" Koichi asked.

"I doubt he's still there," Rohan said. "But…I do know his face now. I know who we're looking for."

Everyone glanced at each other before Josuke reached out and he and Koichi helped Rohan to his feet. He still looked shaken, and had good reason to be. Josuke had felt the damage he had taken through Crazy Diamond. He'd nearly been dead. If he's gotten there only a few minutes later…

Rohan snatched his headband from Okuyasu and put it back in place, to keep his hair out of his face.

"You sure you're okay?" Koichi asked him.

"I'll just mark this as another experience for research purposes. I haven't been stabbed before."

Josuke snorted. "Only you would see the bright side of that."

"We need to tell Jotaro about Kira," Koichi said suddenly and they started off.

Josuke hung back, seeing Rohan doing the same, staring at his hands again. He caught Josuke staring and narrowed his eyes before he sighed and tucked his arms against his chest. "Fine, this is the only time you'll ever hear me say this sincerely, but thank you."

Josuke grinned and rubbed the back of his head before he went to follow the others. He supposed he would take that.

[magioftheseas]

Burdensome

Summary: Sometimes, Hanako gets annoyed that he's the only one of the group with secrets.

Rating: G

Warning: None, really. I guess implications to Hanako’s vague past?

Notes: I honestly wrote this just to see if I could come up with a simple enough idea that would then be made into a fairly short fic. I’m trying to get more productive in my writing, see, so sometimes I have to resort to methods like that. In fact, I was so fixated on the idea of completing this before the day was over (and I had like, two hours before it did) that I ended up missing the deadline for applying to a zine I wanted to apply to. Now THAT’S burdensome.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The world is filled with secrets. He’s known from the beginning that there are a lot of things that are kept from others. Crushes, concerns, dreams, ambitions, motivations—the deepest aspects of a person were often the most hidden.

He knows this well, and yet—

Those two are a bit different.

“Hanako-kun, what’s up?” Yashiro would ask, and the young exorcist would also glance his way. They both had such wide, honest and open gazes. “You’ve been staring for a while.”

“I was thinking,” Hanako says, waving his hand with his usual smile. “You two are way too easygoing.”

“Coming from a spirit!” Minamoto bit back as Yashiro similarly protested.

“I have plenty of worries not in the least thanks to you!”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hanako laughed. “You two are also pretty naïve, aren’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean, Hanako?!”

“Yeah, Hanako-kun! What do you mean?!”

What do you think?

Irritation nips at him. His smile twists the slightest bit.

Normal people have secrets. Normal people have baggage that they wouldn’t share with the world. I’ve observed the students here enough to know that hasn’t changed over the decades. You two, on the other hand...

Open books. Both of them. Even with their torn pages.

“Never mind,” Hanako chirps. “I was just thinking.”

“I bet you were,” Minamoto huffed as Yashiro pouted.

“I swear, Hanako-kun. It wouldn’t kill you to be more honest with us sometimes. You’re way too secretive.” She does pause, however. “O-Of course, I only expect you to tell us things when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, what senpai said.”

Even with the verbal agreement, there is a flicker of aggravation in the young exorcist’s eyes. An open book. Hanako already knows what he’s thinking about. It’s obvious. Too obvious. Minamoto Kou was a simple man of simple concerns, after all. He wanted to be respected, but he wanted to protect those around him. His family, friends, Yashiro—and the other Mitsuba.

Even now, Tsukasa lingers between them like blood in the water. They’re both just too afraid to bite because matters could escalate and that wouldn’t be ideal when Yashiro’s always a factor. That—and Minamoto was kind. He and Yashiro were both kind people. There was that, too.

Kindness was often granted as a privilege. It shouldn’t have been such an easy, accessible resource.

It’s cumbersome—how much the two humans that Hanako is closest to just don’t act like normal humans.

Yashiro was tugging at Minamoto’s sleeve, and she sways him into resuming their cleaning. With a sweet and disarming smile, the matter is settled and discarded. It might not ever get brought up again, because these two aren’t the types to hold grudges.

They’re kind. They’re just very, very kind.

How infuriating.

--

“Is there a reason why you’re giving those two attitude all of a sudden?” Tsuchigomori asks him. “You’ve got them complaining to me about you, Honorable Seventh. And y’know—I can’t exactly reprimand you as your teacher anymore.”

“And yet, you’re reprimanding me,” Hanako pointed out, tucked between the curtains. “I assume you do want me to stop.”

“It’s just troublesome behavior,” Tsuchigomori says with an impassive shrug. “Troublesome for them, for you, for me. Rather than just bottling it up, you should just vent.”

“It is annoying,” Yako chirped up in the midst of grooming her tail. “Those brats are going to keep on whining and it’ll soon be troublesome for everyone.”

“Don’t think we asked your opinion, dumb fox,” Tsuchigomori muttered, to which she hissed back.

“It’s hard to nap peacefully when everyone is as gloomy as you!”

“It’s because,” Hanako spoke up. Immediately, Tsuchigomori turns to face him, ever attentive. “I’m frustrated.”

“With what, exactly?” Yako asked, muffled against her tail. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten bored of them.”

“Oh no, they’re still plenty fun to mess with.” Hanako waved his hand. “However—don’t you think it’s weird? Yashiro and that boy are both so simple. They don’t really have any deep dark secrets.”

“They don’t,” Tsuchigomori confirmed. “As transparent and blatant as they come. Do you feel awkward, then? Like you don’t fit in? You’re already an apparition, Honorable Seventh.”

Even as a human, I wouldn’t have fit in with them. Even acting as a human, I had to distance myself from them.

“Keeping secrets may be natural, but it is a burden you must undertake if decided.” Tsuchigomori inhales, sighing out smoke. “Even so, don’t act out so much.”

“They’re both still bratty garbage humans,” Yako murmured, ever unimpressed. “Tasteless and tactless.”

“I’m sure you’d make tasty udon,” Hanako cheerfully remarked.

Yako snorted, but curled up into an unassuming ball all the same.

“Honorable Seventh.”

That smile on Hanako’s face remained, even when stared down by Tsuchigomori’s stern, knitted glare.

“Do those humans make you feel inferior?”

Yako’s ear twitched, but she mercifully kept any further commentary to herself.

“Maybe a little,” Hanako admitted, laughing. “I get it. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry for the trouble, sensei.”

Tsuchigomori didn’t look remotely reassured or convinced.

Haven’t you prodded a little too much already? I could still squash you like a bug.

Aha. Those thoughts sound like something Tsukasa would say.

Hanako leaves without another word.

--

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Yashiro speaks the second he slinks in. She’s not looking his way but her hands are fisting into her skirt.

“It’s not like I don’t understand—sometimes people have a lot more going on. I get frustrated, too, when I see Aoi able to laugh off guys confessing to her. Aoi’s really carefree. Sometimes I envy her so much that I get upset.”

Hanako blinks, tugging at his collar awkwardly.

“Yashiro...”

“I know!” she exclaims. “So don’t—don’t treat me as if I’m shallow just because I might not have as much going on as you do! I’ll have you know I have plenty going on!” She turns on him, fierce despite her tears. “I-I actually really want to have a bunch of rodents! And I want to have a huge garden! A-And not only to I want to marry a handsome boy—I also think I want kids! A-A boy and a girl! It’s too early but—who knows! Having beautiful children might be really, really fun! I don’t know—but I think about it! One time I dreamed about my own daughter making fun of me for my legs! And I woke up crying!”

She was still crying right now, in fact.

“I’m going to graduate and I still want to be friends with Aoi even though she’s inevitably going to an elite college that I could never dream of attending! I-I also want to make more friends. I-I heard that—once you get to college, people start caring a lot less about their appearances...! But that because everyone’s all matured, they’re still super attractive...!” Yashiro blubbers. “I-I’m gonna graduate, I’m gonna go to college, I’m gonna grow up, I’m gonna get my garden, my rodents, my husband, my children, and, and, and... I’m still going to visit you if I can... Because I don’t want you getting lonely. Even if Tsuchigomori-sensei teaches here forever, I—I’ll worry about you, Hanako-kun.” She sniffles. “I’ll worry...a lot. What if you completely go off the deep end without me and Kou-kun? I’m—so worried!”

“Are you saying I’ll become a villain out of loneliness?” Hanako asked, mildly offended, mildly amused. “I was lonely before I met you for a long time.”

“That might make it worse,” Yashiro mutters. “Losing your friends is awful, even if you were friendless before.”

Friendless. I wasn’t really friendless. That said. That said...

“The fact that you’re so compassionate really does irk me,” he said. “Yashiro—you’re way too kind. Please be careful.”

“Or I’ll be taken advantage of, you mean?” Yashiro’s frown deepened, her cheeks darker. “I’m not helpless, Hanako-kun. I’m not always going to need you to save me. I’ll do my best to manage on my own. As well as I can.”

“I believe you. After all, I have underestimated you in the past.”

“Hanako-kun...” Yashiro huffed and she stomped forward. Raising her hand, she furiously ruffled Hanako’s hair. “You’re so immature! Don’t act like you’re not!”

“H-Hey, Yashiro.”

She knocks off his hat so that she can ruffle him harder.

“Immature! Childish! Bratty! Meanie! Hanako-kun!”

“Y-Yashiro, cut it out!”

Yashiro finally laughs at him. Hanako glares back, but then, after a while, his expression twists.

“Sometimes, it’s so heavy I can’t move. I should be glad you can move about so freely.”

Yashiro shakes her head, smile strained but sympathetic.

“We’re friends, Hanako-kun. If you want me to shoulder the burden with you, all you have to do is ask.”

I won’t. I refuse.

But Yashiro does hug him, and it’s far too easy to fall into her embrace.

She really isn’t one to be underestimated.

“There, there,” Yashiro coos, petting his hair. “There, there. Just let Nene-nee help you.”

Hanako chortled.

“I’m half a century older than you.”

Yashiro chuckles.

“You’re still a child, Hanako-kun.”

Still a child. She really is naïve. As if all I am is a child that desperately needs reassurance and validation. I needed more than that. We both did. But, still. Still, still, still.

Hanako’s lips pressed closely together as he buried his face into her shoulder.

I guess this is still nice.

[saventhhaven]

Only You - Chapter 10

Title: Getting Answers

Summary: When a man who left the reader six years ago suddenly reappears on her doorstep, she does everything she can to stop herself from falling in love with him all over again. Little does she know that his seemingly brief return will open an entirely new chapter for both of them.

Only You Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Tags: witches, paranoia, angst, protective!reader, protective!Dean, 

Word Count: 3,284

(Gif not mine)

"I don't know why you can't just take your stupid brother out to breakfast instead of me. I should be staying with my mom," you grumbled, watching your house grow smaller in the passenger-side mirror. "Can we please go back?" Sam kept his gaze on the road as he drove.

"Nope. Dean told me he thought it would be a good idea to get you out of the house for a few hours, and I agree with him. You literally haven't left since we've gotten there."

"What? That's ridiculous, yes I have!" Sam shot you a side glance, his expression clearly saying he knew you were full of shit. "I have!" you insisted.

"When?"

"I... took the trash out to the end of the driveway the other night." Sam snorted and gave a shake of his head, a breeze from the open window rustling his hair.

"That doesn't count, and you know it."

"Yes, it does!" you argued.

In reality, it didn't. It had been a few days since you arrived at your mother's house, but you still hadn't made any progress. As much as you hated to admit it, Dean was right. You had been starting to go a little stir crazy, and a trip to get some breakfast was exactly what you needed. Still, even as fantastic as the warm breeze felt on your skin, you were anxious to get back to the house already. How could you not be? You knew your mother would be perfectly safe with Dean while you and Sam were gone. In fact, Dean could probably do a better job of protecting your mom than you could. You trusted him to take care of her, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to relax again until you saw with your own eyes that she was completely unharmed. 

"Y/N?" Sam saying your name had you jerking to attention. "You okay over there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought is all." Sam reached over to rub your arm sympathetically.

"Dean's got it covered. Why don't you just relax for an hour, okay? You've got nothing to worry about." With much effort, you took a deep breath, allowing your shoulders to sag. You were tired. The past few days had been draining in more ways that one. Actually, scratch that. Your entire life had become a big ball of exhaustion ever since that damn witch made her appearance. And the worst part? No matter how much you or the boys looked into it, you couldn't find anything on her. You didn't even know her name. "What are you going to order?" As far as subtle attempts to get your mind off of something went, this wasn't the best, but you still appreciated the effort nonetheless.

"I don't know, probably french toast or something. Definitely a side of bacon with whatever I get, though." Sam laughed.

"I think you and Den are more alike than you want to admit sometimes." A hot blush rose up to your cheeks, and you turned away from him so he wouldn't see.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The younger Winchester gave a knowing smile next to you.

"Whatever you say, Y/N."

Back at the house, Dean let out a nervous breath through puffed cheeks as he went back inside. He had been waiting for a moment alone with Y/N's mother, but now that he had it, he was more nervous than he was expecting.

"Me?" Sam had looked surprised when Dean had asked him to get Y/N out of the house for a while. "Why can't you take her?"

"Because she's your friend, too. Besides, you guys probably haven't had the chance to catch up with everything being so crazy." The younger Winchester frowned.

"I mean, I guess, but we did go for a run back at the motel, and-" Dean held up his hand, closing his eyes in annoyance.

"Just get out of here, will you?" Eventually, Sam relented and stuck his hand out for the Impala's keys. The two of them had left almost twenty minutes ago now, and he had been sitting on the front porch trying to brace himself for the conversation he was about to have. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat in a chair across from Y/N's mom, who was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper.

"So," he began cautiously, "anything interesting in the paper?" She gave him the side-eye, and he gulped. Over the years, Dean had learned to be prepared for anything, and as a result, he had become very good at usually knowing what to do. Unfortunately for him, this was not one of those times. Dean sighed. He couldn't keep tiptoeing around the issue. "I know you don't like me, and I understand why," Dean stated. "If I were you, I don't think I would like me either."

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement there," she said sharply as she continued to read the paper. Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw, ignoring her comment.

"Look," he tried again, "I made a mistake. It was six years ago. I was young and stupid and a coward. I know I hurt your daughter, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life. I thought I was doing what was best for her." Y/N's mother shook her head. "But I love her," Dean admitted. Mercifully, she set the paper aside and gave Dean her full attention. "And I'm trying hard to make it right."

"I have never seen her love anyone that deeply before, and when you left, she was heartbroken. Why in God's name was that best for her?" Dean licked his lips, taking a deep breath. He had never told this story before.

"A demon was after us," he finally began to explain, "my brother and me, I mean. A powerful one. Dangerous, too. He was the kind of son-of-a-" Y/N's mother shot Dean a warning look, and the profanity died on his tongue. He cleared his throat. "Well, he was the type of demon you don't want to mess around with. He didn't want my brother and me dead - well, he did, but he knew Sam and I weren't going down without a fight. So, he started coming after people we knew." The older woman across from him steepled her fingers under her chin, understanding beginning to make its way across her face as she nodded thoughtfully. "For a few days before I left, Sam and I kept getting calls that hunters we knew were getting hurt. Hurt bad. The closer the demon got, the worse things were, and I panicked. I may not have handled it the best way, but I never took your daughter's safety lightly. Not once." Dean heaved a sigh mixed with relief and sorrow. It felt good to finally get that off his chest. Y/N's mom sat in silence for a long moment after he was finished.

"What happened to the demon?" she questioned.

"We got him," Dean answered. "When Sam and I left town, the sucker ran for the hills. We finally tracked him down in Sedona, Arizona, after a couple weeks."

"You didn't come back after you took care of it," Y/N's mother pointed out. Dean's shoulders slumped.

"I wanted to. God, I wanted to. When I was here, every day I woke up with her next to me, I was scared for her life. I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to protect her. When I left, that's what I was doing."

"But you didn't say goodbye. Why?" The Winchester let out a chuckle.

"Mrs. Y/L/N, you know as well as I do that Y/N's the most stubborn person alive." Her mom nodded her agreement with a small smile. "If I told her I was leaving, she just would have convinced me to stay." A semi-stunned silence filled the room.

"I never knew that," Y/N's mother confessed. "Any of that." Dean gave her a half-hearted smile.

"How could you? You only knew what Y/N told you." Uncrossing her legs, Y/N's mom got up from the couch, and Dean followed suit, assuming the conversation was over. When she came over to him, though, she pulled him into a hug. Surprised, Dean froze for a moment before reciprocating.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For protecting her. I misjudged you, Dean. And I think I may have been too hard on you."

"No," Dean disagreed, "I don't think you were."

"Okay, I may be a little grateful you convinced me to get breakfast with you," you admitted, leaning your head against the car's interior contently. "French toast and bacon fix everything. Sort of." Sam laughed. 

"I'm glad I could help. But I still think you should have tried to take the morning off." You shook your head in response.

"Getting a game plan together was a morning off. Sure as hell put my nerves at ease, at least." Leaving the house had really done wonders for your mental state. When you left an hour ago, you had been drained, upset, and had no idea what to do. You knew it had been Sam's goal to get your mind off of the witch, but you had eventually strong-armed him into talking strategy with you. Now, you had a game plan. Look for a history of witchy activity, and find a name. It wasn't much, but it was something.

You bounced your knee to the music subconsciously as the two of you rolled into your childhood neighborhood.

"So, where should we start?" you asked. "Newspapers?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "We need dates and events before we can narrow down police records to get names." He pulled the car into your driveway, and you unbuckled.

"All right, well, let's get cracking. I know a few local papers we could-" The last few words of your sentence died on your lips as something caught your eye. In your bedroom window, a dark shadow moved between the curtains, and you saw a flash of unmistakable dark hair. Then, the pieces of white fabric obscuring your view into the house parted, and you fully saw her. You felt your heart stop as time seemed to slow. And then... she smiled at you.

The car door was open before you even had time to think about it. "Mom! Mom, get out of the house!" Your legs carried you up the front walkway at top speed, running purely on adrenaline. The front door slammed into the wall with such force when you opened it, it was a miracle the glass in the window had stayed intact.

"Y/N?" You took the stairs two at a time up to your room. You had no idea how she had gotten in, and frankly, you didn't care. All that mattered was getting her out. But when you burst into your bedroom, the window was wide open, the curtains moved peacefully in the gentle breeze, and the witch was nowhere to be seen. Footsteps pounded down the hallway behind you, and you felt someone at your shoulder. 

"She..." The serene silence was incredibly out of place around you. It didn't make any sense. You stepped forward and yanked the curtains aside. "She was right fucking here!” Sam and Dean watched you intently from the doorway as you whirled around. Your mom pushed past them, clasping your hands as she searched your eyes.

"Honey, I don't understand, Dean and I were here the whole time you were gone. No one was in here." You shook your head, frantic.

"No, she was here. I know she was. That window was not open when I left."

"She's right," Sam put in. "I did a perimeter check before we headed out this morning."

"I opened it after you left," your mother explained. "It felt stuffy in here, so I wanted to get in some fresh air." She went over to the window and promptly shut it, sliding the lock over as if that would somehow solve your problems.

"There's no way she could've gotten in, sweetheart," Dean said. "We put up all the wardings, remember?"

"Wardings?" your mom echoed. Reaching up to massage your temples, you tried to alleviate the pressure building around the crown of your head as Dean rubbed your back soothingly. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We stick to our game plan," Sam answered. "We figure out who this woman is and where we can find her."

Hours later, you, Sam, and Dean were scattered around the living room, each of you deep into old news articles and police records on your laptops. Unexplainable earthquake takes down local business. Woman claims to hear ‘demonic voices’ from neighboring home. Every headline you came across that seemed promising turned out to be either a dead-end or a false alarm. Your mom came around with a pot of coffee as late evening sunlight streamed through the windows.

"Any luck?" she questioned.

"No," Dean replied through a sigh. "Squat. She's damn good at covering her tracks. If she's got any," he added as an afterthought. When Sam had helped you come up with an idea of what to do next this morning, for some reason, you had assumed it would be smooth sailing from there. How wrong that assumption was. Your mom topped off your mug, and you chewed on your lower lip thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm sure you kids will figure it out." Her levelheadedness surprised you, especially since there was no doubt in your mind she knew that the witch was after her specifically.

"How are you so calm about this?" you asked incredulously. Your mom handed the pot of coffee off to Sam and wrapped her arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

"I'm your mom," she replied. "Being calm through the chaos is in my job description." You reached up and patted her hand as you continued to sift through articles and headlines. At this point, the letters were swimming before your eyes, morphing into an unintelligible ball of random vowels and consonants. Somewhere off to your left, you heard Dean groan.

"All right," he grunted, popping his back as he stood. "I'm tappin' out.  I need a fifteen-minute break and a brewski. Pronto. No offense to your coffee, Mrs. Y/L/N." Your mom chuckled a bit, taking the coffee back from the tallest Winchester.

"None taken. I have some beer in the fridge, or some whiskey in the cupboard if you want something a little stronger." A broad grin lit up Dean's face, and he pointed at your mother as he looked at you.

"Oh, now we're talking." As Dean followed your mom into the kitchen, you felt your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Huh," you mused. For the first time in hours, Sam looked up from his computer.

"You find something?" You shook your head.

"No. I just don't know when your brother and my mom started actually getting along." Sam shrugged and returned his attention to his research.

"Maybe we should extend the search a little further," he proposed after a few moments of silence. Your head tilted to the side.

"How so?" He began to type vigorously, eyes scanning the screen with newfound fervor.

"Well, I just thought of something. Sometimes witches use anti-aging rituals to keep young and extend their life." You felt your heart drop into your stomach. You had no idea witches could even do that. Nothing was ever easy, was it? "So," Sam continued, "you said she looked about your mom's age, right?" You nodded a reply. "She may be even older than we thought."

"And just not look it," you finished.

"Exactly."

"Jesus," you grumbled under your breath. Suddenly, everything seemed a thousand times harder all over again, and you couldn't sit still. "Sam, I'm sorry, I need a minute to wrap my head around all this. Do you mind if I..." you raised your eyebrows and let your open-ended question hang in the air, waiting for his answer.

"Yeah, Y/N, go ahead." Mercifully, you finally set your laptop aside and made your way into the kitchen, where your mom was leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. She looked just as tired as you felt, but when she noticed you standing there, she immediately straightened, wiping the exhaustion from her face almost entirely.

"You coming to get some whiskey too?"

"No," you answered. "Just taking a break before my brain explodes. Where's Dean?" She let out a soft laugh.

"He's out back nursing that drink like his life depends on it." You joined in on her laughter.

"Yeah, that's Dean for you. I'm gonna go keep him company for a bit, and then I think we're getting back to it." The last thing you wanted to do right now was sit down again, and research for God knows how much longer, but the harder you worked at this, the quicker it would all be over with. At least, that's what you were hoping for. 

When you stepped out onto the back porch, you didn't see Dean at first, but then you found him, leaning against your tree in the far back part of the yard.

"Stealing my spot, huh?" you called out as you walked over to him. He smiled gently when he saw you.

"Didn't realize it was taken," he responded. Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you leaned against the broad trunk next to him.

"I don't mind sharing." Dean smiled coyly.

"That so?" Feigning indifference, you shrugged. "I don't blame you for wanting to be around me," he teased. "I am devastatingly handsome. I know you like having me around, YN, you don't have to pretend." Based on the way he was peering at you from the corner of his eye, you could tell his joking manner held some sincerity. He was fishing - waiting for you to reiterate that you didn't want him there, just as you had when he first arrived. Or maybe... oh, boy. You fixed Dean with a shy gaze.

"Who said anything about pretending?" With those five words, his entire demeanor changed. Tipping back the last of his whiskey, he set the glass on the ground at his feet. Dean looked into your eyes intently as you stood there, almost too nervous to speak. Almost. "Dean," you finally whispered, "kiss me." The corner of his mouth quirked up a bit, and his green eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Was kinda hoping you'd say that." This time, there was no hesitation between the two of you; no stipulations from the fear of reigniting an old spark. You weren't sure when it had happened, but ever since he had returned, the supposedly unlit spark had turned into a whole damn wildfire.

Dean's hand on the small of your back pressed you closer as you leaned into him. Your arms wound around his neck, and you tangled a hand in his short hair. Butterflies, fireworks, the whole nine. Kissing him had felt like this from day one, and for the first time in a long time, the world went away, and it was just you and Dean Winchester. That is until Sam cleared his throat to get your attention. The two of you broke apart, and a small smile immediately crept back onto your lips at the thought of what you had just done. Dean wrapped an arm around your waist again, tugging you gently to his side. When you glanced up at him, you realized that he was also fighting a grin.

"What's up, Sammy?" he asked.

"Sorry to, uh, interrupt you guys," Sam apologized, "but you're gonna want to see this."

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 11 - Coming Clean

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