#he sort of lacks a sense of self and forgets he’s not just a tree or something that does whatever it does because its a tree

[myrfing]

and (pointing at nothing) gourd isn’t really HEALTHY about his execution of his purpose either in that he is kind of insane about it. like he completely lacks a sense of self-preservation until after post-shb. he fully considers the possibility he will get blown up and die one million times and inflict terrible violence and just accepts that as almost a matter of fact. i think from a surface level outside view he can very much be taken as someone with an almost unnatural religious fanaticism but at the same time he’s like. not. he doesn’t actually ascribe to a divinity or a belief that he specifically will be rewarded or saved. he doesn’t do it out of need for approval or self hatred or insecurity or to prove his loyalty. he just believes that if he dies something stronger will grow in his place because that’s what he sees in the world all the time. if he believes in a heaven or hell it’s not somewhere else but right here.

his weirdness about it if anything comes from a sense of detachment-but-not-alienation that he found in the wake of the spires dying. the human part is is that this is him making sense of their choice to fight and die even though it hurt him. he WAS for a long time lost and empty in the wake of that decision and this is how he found purpose…it’s just that just because it came from troubled waters doesn’t mean it’s untrue or just a cheap justification. he feels like his place in the world is a given just because he was born, because that’s what he thought of his loved ones. he loves the world and his own existence within it but he loves the world just as much without so he sees no point in being defensive about his life. it’s very much like. a cucumber is a cucumber and it’s still a cucumber if you ate it. this is making even more sense as I keep going on

[kharmii]

..but what does this have to do with trains?

Kept the working title for a fluff story where Emmet joins Ingo in Hisui. It's based on a personal joke where I would tell myself that the Subway Bosses work with trains because they make them happy. They're the sort of guys who like to be happy. This is very shippy and inspired by (this) and (this) and (this) and (this)......as in I took elements from each one for the story. Nothing too explicit.....just suggestive. The twins don't know they're brothers. They just think they are of the same nationality. There's a touch of yandere Ingo, plus a head canon that ties in the original puppet design.

Ingo had held on to his uniform all this time as a reminder of his past life. Well, actually he still couldn't remember much of his life before the fall into Hisui, but he clung to it like an ideal. He had a vague sense of once being happy, being loved, being safe and secure in his future surrounded by people who understood him, or rather, if they didn't understand him, then they at least knew what he was and why they couldn't understand him, if that made any sense. It wasn't so bad now, -he had his new family, his best friend Lady Sneasler, his duties and his comfortable routine- but deep inside, he was troubled. He'd drift off to sleep at nights with the sound of something from his past circulating over and over in his head. Sometimes he'd hear it just as he awoke but immediately forget it when his back would start screaming as a constant reminder he was getting older and older...

Then one day, he appeared.....Emmet..one of his own. Ingo had been out harvesting leeks and other medicinal supplies when he saw a flash of white in his peripheral vision. That's when he saw someone as perfect as he must have been in his old life stagger up to a tree and lean against it. He was dressed exactly as Ingo was when he first arrived, but instead of having a black cap and coat, he was in all pristine, shining white. Excited, he dropped everything and went running toward the individual only to trip and awkwardly fall on him. Emmet had been confused and slightly feverish. He put up his arms in a feeble defensive posture, but there wasn't much fight in him at that point. After apologizing profusely, Ingo had helped him up and led him leaning on him to his camp for rest and recuperation.

Over the next few days getting to know Emmet, Ingo realized he wasn't as perfect as he first appeared. This made Ingo both fall in love with him and fear for him at the same time. Though weakened by his fall, Emmet was a larger than life personality who had an excitable energy about him. When Ingo would talk his experiences and day-to-day duties, Emmet would grin at him with lips slightly parted and stare with feral and hungry eyes that glowed eerily silver in certain lighting. Ingo would oftentimes grab one of his hands and squeeze to still it, compulsively rubbing the back as if to calm him down. He felt a need to control him. He sensed a potential for trouble in him. Eventually the day would come when he'd have to introduce him to both the Pearl Clan and the Galaxy Expedition Team in town. Emmet was the sort of man people might feel unsettled by. They would have no reason to be, but people could be funny, and that could make trouble for them both. Ingo saw Emmet as being childishly innocent and lacking in self-awareness, and that is why he was at times blunt and brutally honest. Others might be offended by this, so Ingo felt it was his responsibility going forward to speak for him. It wouldn't be difficult, as Emmet barely spoke above a whisper, even when he was excited.

Also...as strange as it sounded to admit to himself, but he and Emmet were susceptible to being dragged along by each others wills if one or the other was feeling strongly about something. They were like puppets who were tangled up in each others strings, and it became apparent right away that they'd mirror each other inexplicably when feeling strongly about something or making dramatic gestures. When Ingo sensed it was about to happen, he'd try to stop it before it started out of fear of what others would think. He'd grab both of Emmet's hands and attempt to redirect to another line of thinking. Why this happened was a mystery as profound as why Arceus might have brought them to Hisui in the first place, but Emmet's presence was a blessing in his life....so it was what it was. He'd do his best to keep them both safe.

Ingo knew it was inappropriate but he often got handsy with Emmet for no other reason that the pleasure of it. He'd stroke the hair on his cheeks while he slept or would spontaneously embrace him when they were resting together at camp. One night when Emmet was tossing and turning feverish in his sleep, Ingo had the urge to hug him with his whole body. Instead, he was content to lightly rest a hand on his chest. He had been so lonely for another of his kind for so long, and as long as Emmet never pulled away, he wouldn't stop. Emmet never did. When he'd rub his back, his body felt somewhat light and bony as if he were recovering from a long illness, and Ingo could sometimes hear the slight rattle of congestion as he breathed. When he asked him about it, Emmet was confused and had to think for a moment. He could only remember a long period of deep sadness, but for what, he couldn't remember. Finally, he said that it had been a problem with his lungs, and that for a while, he thought he might die from it. -But now he was getting better.

"I like winning a lot," Emmet mused, "-But sometimes when you've done nothing but win and win day after day, and someone comes along who finally beats you in a Pokemon battle...it's fun and exciting, isn't it? That's what I feel like coming here might be like...suffering a loss but a loss that might end up to be fun and exciting."

Those words cut through Ingo's foggy memories to give him a glimpse into his old life. He replied,"Pokemon battles used to be held in a safe and controlled environment. If you let Hisui beat you, you will end up deceased. Think of it like you have to win every time."

One day, Ingo asked Emmet about their uniforms that surely proved they were of the same nationality and from the same place, though they couldn't remember the who or the where. Emmet replied that he thought it was a uniform from a job they used to do. They must have been at work when they came over.

The most astonishing thing was that, while Ingo had arrived in Hisui alone, Emmet came with a whole team of Pokemon: galvantula, eelektross, durant, archeops... He was particularly taken with klinklang and chandelure. The former was shiny and pretty and made a pleasing cry as it rotated its gears. As it floated around Emmet's head, Ingo wondered for a moment if it was the thing he had seen in his dreams all those times, but upon further meditation, he realized it was something bigger and louder that hadn't made itself known to him yet. Chandelure was his, and she made that clear speaking in the way that Pokemon do, and both Ingo and Emmet were particularly astute when it came to communicating with them. Ingo told Emmet about the time he almost remembered Chandelure and got roasted for his troubles during a case of mistaken identity. One night, when he hadn't been there that long, he could see something approaching far off in the distance that put off a violet ghostly shimmer. Something in his subconscious connected it with the familiar ghostly flames of a chandelure, although he didn't know it fully and he couldn't put a name to it. As it got closer, the violet turned into bright white as he was blasted by a mystical fire from the attacking drifblim. He managed to shield his face with his sleeve, but his old shirt, tie and one glove were toast. After that, if he spotted something familiar, he treated it like he would anything else in that place...under cover and from a safe distance.

During Emmet's first few days in Hisui, Ingo kept him within sight of his camp and taught him everything he could think of about the dangers of wild pokemon, how to cook at camp and how to craft pokeballs and useful medicinal items. As he led him from task to task, he got the sense that Emmet would eventually need to take on greater responsibilities and be given a little space. For now, he was content to walk around like they were attached at the hip because he had no memories or knowledge of the terrain. The more he learned, the less likely he'd be content to just pick herbs and gather up berries under trees all day. He was the sort of man who would revel in a challenge, but Ingo's coat and hat weren't ripped up for nothing, and he wasn't thrilled about the idea of letting him out of his sight just yet... Oh well, it's not like they didn't have time. Emmet still had much to learn.

Ingo gave Emmet the chance to do something on his own the day he was introduced to Lady Sneasler. He didn't even have to call her with his flute. She sometimes just felt like showing up at camp for a day every week or so to lounge around or beg for treats, and then she'd abruptly leave. When Emmet saw her, he went absolutely still with a bright grin on his face. Ingo could tell he was practically vibrating with excited energy. His hands were trembling. Lady Sneasler put her face right up against his and sniffed him. She decided that he was the same sort of thing as Ingo, and that was good. That's when Ingo got the idea to ask her to take Emmet up in her basket to gather a kings leaf? He could go alone because he wasn't about to ask Lady Sneasler to take two trips up and down so they both could go. He explained what the plant looked like and how they could only take one leaf from it per day so that it stayed vigorous.

"The way you describe it, I feel like I can already see exactly what it is in my mind, even though I've never seen one before," Emmet said.

"Good," Ingo replied, "Then it shouldn't take you long at all. Keep in mind, if you see anything move up there -anything at all- you should come straight down. Safety checks have to be a constant here."

Lady Sneasler crossed her arms and gave Ingo an indignant look. She got him out of trouble more times than she could count, and she could do the same for Emmet.

After Emmet went up, Ingo paced around nervously. Being separated from him for even a short period of time was even harder than he thought it would be. What if he was attacked by a gligar or stumbled and fell over the side? He absently rubbed the part of his tunic covering a particularly nasty scar, and he reminded himself that Emmet was a grown man with a full team. He could take care of himself, but Ingo feared for him all the same. Even though they had been in each others lives for only a short time, he didn't think he could bear to live alone again. He had taken to Emmet that fast, and he hoped the feelings would be reciprocated, that they would want each other as individuals, and not just because each might crave the companionship of someone who came from the same place as the one came from...wherever that was.

Ingo was relieved when he saw Lady Sneasler descend after a short time without incident. Again, his hands lingered a bit too long helping Emmet out of the traveling basket. He didn't pull away, and he said excitedly, "Got it!" and held up a brilliant gold five pointed leaf that radiated an invigorating aroma.

"Well done! That will make a brilliant max potion. Those are always useful," Ingo exclaimed, an arm resting lightly over Emmet's shoulders.

Emmet had been there a couple weeks when a surprise challenge presented itself. It was an event that happened so infrequently that Ingo hadn't thought to mention it. Off in the distance, part of the sky had darkened to an otherworldly shade of violet, meaning that a space-time distortion had opened up. These were spooky and potentially dangerous, but they were also a great opportunity to make a lot of money and see both items and Pokemon that weren't normally seen in Hisui. Ingo flipped open his storage trunk and started tossing out random items until he found what he was looking for. He was unsure how much time they had to explore the mini-rift before it faded, but Ingo gave Emmet a quick run down of what it was and what the red-green-blue shards were that they needed to collect to craft into valuable star pieces.

"Dangerous wild Pokemon could appear at any moment, dragged into the distortion from who knows where," Ingo explained, "Our best bet is to keep moving. I'll cover you while you gather up the shards. If we catch the slightest movement, we'll change course and move away from it. Any wild Pokemon will likely be confused and disoriented. They shouldn't go out of their way to attack us, just so long as we make an effort to avoid them."

Ingo also explained that a lot of unknown items might be found. Anything unusual that caught the eye was to be gathered, even if it appeared to be useless. It could very well be sold at the shops for a high price, or it might have a use that wasn't immediately clear. Ingo threw Emmet an empty satchel, and off they went.

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

As they half-ran the distance of a few miles to the space-time distortion, Emmet was excited and a little afraid. It might have been empathy because Ingo was clearly nervous and trying to hide it with features pinched into a pensive frown. Living and traveling with Ingo was an adventure. He had come out of nowhere and rescued him when he was wandering around in the cold with no memory of anything but his own name. It was odd though...even though they were strangers, every day that went by gave Emmet more and more of a sense of deja vu. The way Ingo acted protective and responsible for him seemed familiar. Sure, he had shown up in a weakened state, but they were the same height and build. They looked similar enough that people might mistake them for brothers. Would he still allow himself to be led around when he regained his strength? For now, he was too weak to resist Ingo's will, but then he didn't bother to try.

There was also a familiarity about some of Ingo's mannerisms. Sometimes he'd scream at him with a stern frown on his face. For a second, Emmet would want to ask, 'Are you mad at me? Why are you screaming?' -But a second later, something in him would just know that was the way he was, nothing personal. He acted that way to show he was passionate about something in a good way. The one thing that was an out-of-place surprise was how Ingo was always stealth touching him intimately while pretending it was for another purpose. Emmet wanted to return the intimacy badly, but he lived in fear that doing so would break a magic spell between them. Ingo might come to his senses and stop touching him altogether.

They had finally reached the end of the distortion. Emmet felt Ingo tense up beside him. He slipped a hand around Emmet's waist as he reminded him once again to be careful and keep moving. At that, they walked into a world of haze and semi darkness. After Emmet spotted the first shard, it seemed like he was seeing them everywhere. The colors of them really popped there compared to the shards Ingo had shown him back at camp. There were vivid shades of electric blue, metallic teal and glowing red-red like the center of one of Klinklang's gears. Pure flashes of energy zipped around in the sky, and Emmet would pass his hands through shimmery spots on the ground, only to find out it was fine sand. He compulsively filled his coat pockets with it. Many unusual items were lying around, and before long, his satchel was bulging.

Emmet saw something pinkish in his peripheral vision. When he spun around, he saw something that made his breath catch in his throat. Off in the distance, looking pretty as can be, was a little sylveon wagging its tail. It stared at him with big adorable watery eyes. He started toward it really slowly with a hand out, eyes narrowed and looking off the side so as not to startle it. His other hand slowly closed around a pokeball. Who would have thought a sylveon could ever be found in the wild? A hazy memory came back to him that he had seen one before. Was it at the side of a trainer? Did he spot it in a child's storybook? They weren't found in nature. A trainer had to raise one something to do with happiness and a special bond. He saw it as a sign of something, and his face broke out into an even wider grin that made his face almost burn.

A sensation hit him like gravel pouring down the back of his collar. He yelped as a barrage of pebbles hit him, and then after that, larger and larger rocks came down all around him. One glanced off his cap and temporarily blinded him. The next thing to hit him was a panicked Ingo who half shoved and half dragged him away. When he pulled up his cap, he spotted a herd of what might have been rock type Pokemon off in the distance. They had bony protrusions growing out of their heads. Some walked on two legs and some on four. A few were large, but most were small. He didn't get much of a look because Ingo was screaming at him to run, and then he was, pulled by an unseen force into mirroring Ingo's frantic movements.

Ingo finally allowed them to stop running when he found a hallowed out space at the base of a cliff surrounded by tall vegetation. The first thing Emmet did was to start pulling off his coat and shirt while hissing, "Help me..!"

"What's wrong!" Ingo shouted in a panic, "Are you hurt?!"

"No, I just have rocks and grit down my shirt, and it's verrry uncomfortable. Could you get it off my back?" Emmet replied.

Ingo barked out a crazy laugh and then clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back the sound. He wiped the grit off the back of Emmet's shoulders. When Emmet was satisfied he was grit-free and put himself back together, Ingo pulled him to his chest. His breath was still coming out short and fast. A confused gliscor appeared and peered at them both...one of Ingo's Pokemon that had been left behind as they fled. Ingo stroked Emmet's cheek and apologized for getting rough and crazy with him. "I panicked," he admitted, "I can only hope that getting rocks down your back will be the worst thing to ever happen to you here. My heart aches at the thought of something worse happening to you. We haven't known each other that long, but I feel as if I've known you my whole life. I feel like that as long as I have you in my life, I can be truly happy."

Emmet let out a breathy chuckle and replied, "I was wondering when we'd work up the nerve to finally become lovers. Why does it sound like you just asked me to marry you?"

Emmet could sense Ingo flushing with embarrassment behind him, and he quickly added, "No need to be ashamed. It's almost like we are the only two people in existence out here. It doesn't matter what we do. Anyway, I have felt the same. Before all this, I was once sick and sure to die. Now that I'm here with you in this place, I feel like I have a second chance at life."

Emmet thought it would be nice if they could start kissing each other on their faces, but he was relaxed into Ingo's vice-like grip with his head against Ingo's chest. They rested like that until the sky turned back into the familiar soothing shade of blue. Then they felt safe to leave their hiding spot.

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

Back at camp, Emmet hummed contently while sorting his loot into piles. Ingo looked at what he had and yelled out a hardy, "BRAVO!! WELL DONE!! We should do really well at the shops after that little excursion!" He watched with the slightest hint of a smile while Emmet lined up his shards by color and bagged up the dust in his pockets, which turned out to be valuable but not that much because Ingo already had a lot of it. He had two fire evolution stones, a comet shard, and one unknown item that looked like a square box containing light and heat. He asked what it was, and Ingo told him that they'd have to ask someone in town when they went to make sales.

"We'll make a couple days of it. I'll introduce you to Zisu at the practice grounds, and you can try some of Beni's potato mochi. It should be a step up from my cooking."

"Your cooking is fine," Emmet replied, "It beats wandering around by myself with frostbit butt cheeks with my only food being a handful of Pokemon dingleberries that end up giving me who knows what status condition but at the mean time, I don't even know what sort of berries to forage that would cure it."

The two men looked at each other for a moment. Ingo looked for signs of humor behind Emmet's bright eyes, feral grin and dead pan voice. He planned on introducing him as quite the jokester once they got around other people, although he knew that Emmet was more prone to telling the absolute truth in the worst way possible.

"I'm wondering..." Emmet mused, "Do you think any of these items came from the same place we came from? -Although deep down, I'm positive I've never ever seen any of these things. Maybe I just don't remember?"

Ingo chewed the nail on his index finger and finally said, "If the shards came from the same place we came from, you'd think we would have disappeared back to that place when the distortion faded. -But here we are still."

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

My Liability, My Deadweight

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick

Collection/Series: My Liability, My Deadweight

Pairing: Richard B Riddick x Female Fat + Glasses Wearing Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T (Swearing, Riddick is Riddick, violence)

Warnings: Swearing, violence towards deadly alien creatures, violence from deadly alien creatures towards the reader

Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a holiday resort planet, relaxing by glistening waters and forgetting your troubles. Not traipsing through a deadly jungle on an uncharted planet with a just as deadly companion who seems torn between helping you and hating you.

Notes: So I guess this is going to be similar to Western AU Din in that i’ll probably write some stuff in the same sort of world/vein as this. I’m just interested in the idea of Riddick with a reader who is the opposite of a survivalist, who isn’t fit or strong, who is scared. The idea of Furyans having mates or soulmates that they don’t really get to choose and the idea of Riddick having to come to terms with the idea that the person he wants to protect so bad needs his protection more than most is interesting to me.

This is probably such a niche thing to write, not only because the fandom is tiny, but also because people tend to write Riddick fanfic where the reader or OC is extremely capable, but I wanted to write it. So self-indulgent fic coming up.

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Kratos is a horror show of a planet. It’s the sort of planet you’d never thought you’d end up on, the sort of planet that you saw on horror vids and read about in the tales of survivors of tragedy. You weren’t supposed to be on it. You were just on a short trip, just supposed to go to a stupid holiday planet, at the insistence of your boss that you needed a break from your desk, that you worked too hard. You were a city slicker, an urban citizen, not an outdoorsman or an adventurer, certainly not the sort of person who’d come to a planet like this. But, your pilot had needed to make a stop, said there was a problem with the fuel cells that he needed to check out. So you’d made a pit stop on a barely charted planet. Nothing good ever happens on a barely charted planet. 

Covered in dense, muggy jungle, the planet would have been beautiful had it not been trying to kill you and your, for want of a better word, companion at every turn. It was covered in vibrant green forest, tropical plants, exotic and brightly coloured flowers (many of which, it turns out, were deadly themselves). There were brightly coloured bird-like creatures and primitive mammals that scurried through the trees and across the ground. It would have been beautiful, except for the limp in your walk from the burning claw marks deep in your thick thigh, except for the blood that followed in your wake, the dead bodies of the crew you’d left behind, and the yellow eyes that seemed to follow the two of you under the dark canopy.

After a stupid decision by your group to go out into the jungle to try and find a settlement of some sort, just because it had seemed like (as if there was any real reason to leave), you’d been picked off one by one. You could only describe the beasts as fucked up panthers. Two tails with stingers at the end, sharp spindly spines along their backs, an elongated neck, venomous fangs and sharp teeth and claws. They were hard to spot, silent in the underbrush and decidedly and most definitely deadly. The only reason you were still even alive was because of Riddick, because for some unknown reason the man, the murderer, had decided to stick close to you, like glue. You weren’t complaining.

At the time of boarding the ship for your trip it had seemed horrifying, to know that you were travelling on the same transport as Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, known murder, predator. He was the sort of man your parents whispered about, the sort of man that you never wanted to meet. He was someone from your worst nightmare. Now he is your saving grace and surprisingly not what you had expected of a notorious big bad. While he meets many of your expectations, crude at times, harsh, and physically intimidating, he defies them too. He is at times oddly gentle with you and, the mere fact he cares about someone’s survival other than his own, is in itself a surprise. A fortunate one for you. 

“Are we nearly back to the ship?” You ask because your leg is killing you, because you so desperately just want to get off this planet even if it means being stuck in a confined space with a convicted murderer. You hate this planet, you hate the constant feeling of fear and of uselessness. You hate the truth of it all, that you are weak, vulnerable, prey not the predator. It has you realising your many weaknesses, many vulnerabilities, many failings. 

“Shhh…” Riddick raises his hand out in front of you, a universal sign to stop, while the other comes to his lips in a shushing motion. If he were a dog, his ears might very well have pricked up at the slightest sound. 

To you nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no unusual sounds or movement in the brush. You couldn’t see anything out of place. Just as you begin to notice the silence, the lack of sound, that is the moment everything goes terribly wrong.

“Riddic-” You were cut off by your own scream. 

Things happen so fast that you don’t really have time to process them. One minute you are standing behind Riddick attempting to get his attention, the next a dark shape crashes into you and you’re on the jungle floor a heavy weight pressing on your chest and stopping your breathing. Your hands reach up instinctively, pushing against the creature in an effort to keep sharp gnashing teeth from your face, but you’re not strong and you’re not a fighter and you can feel your arms beginning to collapse already. Can hear yourself screaming for Riddick even as part of you thinks he’ll leave you there, abandon you to be eaten alive. There is a deep fear that this is it, this is the end. That it shall be painful, terrifying, lonely, and unfamiliar. 

Claws scratch at your arms, blood runs over your skin in rivulets as you scrabble in the dirt. Then as suddenly as the weight came it was gone, hefted off of you with an angry roar and the sound of a knife hitting flesh over and over again. You don’t look, can’t bring yourself to look, just lie there and breathe, in and out. You don’t want to see him do what he’s good at, don’t want to see alien blood, a dying creature, the parts of him that are less than gentle. So you stare up at the canopy and catch your breath, feeling the blood flow down your arms, the bruises that ache over your stomach, hips and legs. Feel the relief flow through you, combat the shock, as you realise you are not dead, you are alive, and he did not leave you to die. 

You’re rather numb in truth until you hear him muttering above you, “goddamn liability, deadweight…”, it shouldn’t upset you because it’s true. But it does, it upsets and angers you because you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want any of this and you didn’t ask him to hang around, didn’t ask him to help you. You had no say in this. This was not your idea of a holiday, your idea of fun, or your fault. 

It forces you to your feet, forces you, despite the blood dripping from your wounds, to stand and face him, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the fear. You find yourself planting your feet even as you sway unsteadily, standing with hands on your wide hips and a scowl aimed at a man that could kill you easily. For the first time you’re too angry to overthink your actions towards the man. For a moment you stop thinking and start acting. 

“If i’m such a goddamn liability, then just leave me here! I didn’t ask for you to stay, Riddick! I didn’t ask for your help! If it’s such a fucking chore to have me along, if i’m really dead weight then leave me! Go!” You didn’t normally scream at anyone, it wasn’t your personality type. You were quiet, shy, retiring. A wallflower. You didn’t scream. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t do any of that. Anger wasn’t your natural response to anything. Fear was. But after being hunted down, time and time again by giant alien cats with venomous fangs and an uncanny ability to hide on a jungle planet, all while being called a liability, a dead weight by the one person you had to rely on, well, you were finally at your wits end. You were in pain, you were upset, frustrated and ready to just go home. 

You didn’t understand it. Why Riddick even bothered with you, practically a stranger. You knew you were a liability, that’s why it hurt so much when he said it. You were soft, emotionally and physically. You were a slow runner, a poor fighter, had terrible eyesight that required glasses, you weren’t light on your feet or graceful and you certainly didn’t know much about survival. You were overweight, unfit and unsure on your feet. You were prone to panic and tears, you were easily emotionally and physically unbalanced. Until this trip from hell you’d been content in the inner rim, working a normal job, a safe life. Your day to day had been comfortable, safe. Easy. You weren’t cut out for this, for danger and potential death and had Riddick, this known criminal, one of the most sought after murderers in the verse, not decided to stick by your side you’d have died at least ten times already. It didn’t make any sense and your frustration at yourself, the situation and at him had tears pooling in your eyes. You didn’t ask for any of this.

“I can’t.” He’s so impassive, so calm, that it pisses you off more. It pisses you off how hard it is to read him, how he hides his eyes behind black goggles that stop you understanding him. How he hides all emotion from you so easily. How is he okay with this? How is he so calm when everything around the two of you wants to kill you, when he could have left this goddamn planet already if you weren’t slowing him down at every turn? How could he stand there above the body of some hell spawn creature and just stare at you like that, like everything was just fine, just normal? Like he wasn’t covered in it’s blood. Like you weren’t dripping in your own. Like you hadn’t almost died. Again. 

“I..I don’t get it…? What do you mean you can’t? You could walk the fuck away right now. I can’t stop you! No one else is here to stop you! If you want to leave, leave! No one’s holding you back, Riddick! No one is going to stop you! I can’t bloody well can’t! Look at me!” You sound hysterical even to your own ears but you can’t help it. You are so scared, so confused, so frustrated, so panicked by all that’s happened, all that could happen. You gesture down to yourself, to the bloody coating you, the way you protectively hold yourself off of your hurt leg, the sheer stature different between the two of you. All the things that make it very abundantly clear that if he chose to simply walk away you couldn’t stop him. 

“Listen, princess, it’s not that fucking simple!” The snap is almost relieving, that he’s not as cold, not as impassive as you thought. That he could break too. That he could be angry, that he could be upset, that this wasn’t just normal. Even as his steps closer cause your back to hunch, cause you to second guess your antagonist behaviour. 

“I don’t understand!” 

With a growl he’s crowding you against a tree, thick arms caging you in. He’s imposing, large, a head taller than you and the action has him taking over every one of your senses. He never touches you in anger and while the display is intimidating, it oddly enough doesn’t scare you. It almost feels secure. Perhaps because not once has he done anything to suggest to you that he would hurt you, every move he’s made has been to keep you safe. Every time he’s touched you has been to pull you from danger or bring you back to your feet. Despite his harsh appearance, his foul language and the deadliness that he displays at every turn, he has never once given you cause to fear him. To fear how he would treat you. 

“You’re my mate, got it?! I don’t get to choose, I don’t get a choice! I can’t leave you! I just fucking can’t, so you’re a fucking liability and dead weight, but you’re my dead weight, got it? I ain’t fucking leaving you, we either both get off this motherfucking planet or we both get eaten by these fucks, princess. There’s no inbetween, understand?” Silver eyes flash at you as he tears the goggles from his eyes,  his brow furrows and the muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders bunch and move with every piece of tension that bursts through him. You are distinctly and sharply reminded that Riddick is a predator in every sense of the word, while you are prey. You are on two separate ends of the spectrum. 

“Mate…?” Your eyes flit across the landscape behind his head, trying to process all those words and all their meanings. You don’t understand, you don’t understand any of it. But, those words soothe you in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t going to leave you. For whatever reason, for whatever this is, whatever he means, he isn’t going to leave you.  You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. He’s not leaving, even if you’re a liability, a deadweight. Even when things get bad, he’s not leaving. He is, at this point, your only chance at getting home, getting away from him, of surviving. The panic in you begins to soothe, calm and settle. 

“We don’t have time for this.” You’re startled by the sudden display of affection as the man cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead into your own, “Just trust me.”

“I do, Riddick, I trust you” It’s hard to explain, the trust you feel for him, the safety as you let him lead you once more through the jungle. You are bleeding, in pain and still ever so aware of the dangers around you, but you have an implicit belief that with Riddick you are as safe as you can be. That if there was ever a person to carry you through this it would be him. 

You might still be confused, might not understand what he means by you being his mate or by his obligation towards you, but you know that he isn't leaving you for dead and that is enough right now. That is more than enough.

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

                                                   All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat  @gabile18 @beccaboo929​  @trasheater

[bokettochild]

Hmmm if you need ideas I always love cultural difference shenanigans so maybe Twilight and Hyrule or Warriors and Hyrule having jarringly different cultures?

I didn't really touch on cultures much, since I'm still learning a lot about the games in general, but here's three boys discussing the educational systems of their respective provinces!

(Asks are open still, if anyone wants a story, feel free to request it! I will try my best! (Crossovers aren't off the table, but I can't promise I'll write them))

From Ordon to Catalia

“So, you’re telling me,” Warriors states disbelievingly. “That you, the Hero of Hyrule, couldn’t even speak Hylian until mere months before you saved the kingdom?”

The traveler nods, a faint flush dusting over his browned cheeks at Warriors’ question.

Twilight shakes his head, a smile on his face. “Who’da thunk it? Chin up traveler, I didn’t even live in Hyrule when I saved it.”

“What?” Warriors turns to him, royal blue flickering with disbelief as he stares from one country hero to the other. “Seriously? Both of you?”

“Well,” Hyrule tugs at one of his curls, eyes glistening with mischief as he speaks. “I mean, Legend saved like, four other countries, and he wasn’t from any of them.”

“But the first country he saved was Hyrule.” Warriors asserts. “And at least he was sent to the other places or something, unlike you two.” The captain stares from one to the other. “Traveling through the kingdom and just happening to run into the Royal Nursemaid?” He turns to Twilight, disbelief still written clear on his face. “And chasing monsters, if I recall correctly. What the heck, guys?”

He can’t help but take a bit of pity on Warriors, the captain has only ever been outside of his Hyrule’s main areas when time traveling, and the poor man clearly has little to no familiarity with the provinces and kingdoms beyond his own home, save for whatever rich and stuffy nobles talk about when royalty from the other kingdoms comes to visit. But even so, Wars lacks the faintest clue of the world outside of Hyrule’s borders, and that's just a little bit sad.

He leans back on the bed that he and Hyrule are sharing, it’s been a few weeks since they were last at an inn and he fully intends on enjoying the plush beds while they can, even if it is a bit too soft for his own comfort. “We could tell you more about them, if you like?”

At his side, Hyrule nods, smile bright if not a bit wistful. “I’m always willing to share about my home.”

Warriors hesitates, caught between disbelief and curiosity.

“I don’t think even Legend has been to Catalia.” Hyrule muses, but Twilight sees the sparkle in Hyrule’s eyes, he’s tempting the captain in a way the both of them know is sure to work.

“That so?” Warriors muses. “Well, I suppose so. Although,” He turns a cynical eye to Twilight. “I’m not sure how much I actually want to know about farm life.”

“Your loss, city boy.” He scoffs in response, a wolfish smile pulling at his features.

It’s nice, he thinks as he leans back further, letting Hyrule pull his thoughts together and Warriors shake off the surprise of their previous words, to just sit and talk with his brothers. Time and Legend have roomed with Wild so he doesn’t have to worry about the Cub making trouble without him there to watch him, and for the first time in a long tie he can just sit down and talk with his other brothers. He doesn’t know why Time let Four assign rooms like this, but he isn’t complaining if the others aren’t.

“Well, what would you like to hear about?”

Warriors frowns, staring at Hyrule for a moment as the Traveler flushes darker under his curls. Maybe the healer wasn’t as ready to talk as he first thought. “How about, your family, what sort of people are they?”

Hyrule stares at the captain disbelievingly for a moment. “You’ve met my mom, remember? And I don’t really remember much of my dad, he went missing when I was a kid.”

“Oh,” Warriors flushes, a strained smile taking over his features. “Right.”

Hyrule giggles softly. “I’m not mad, Cap, just surprised that you forgot. Although to be fair, not many people probably think about it since I look like a Hylian.”

“Yeah, about that, how does that work?”

“Hylian father, I look more like him in this form. We may be from Catalia, but he was there entirely because he was fleeing the destruction of Hyrule. He met my mom in the Aver Forests, where she’d been wandering for the last few years. Great fairies can leave their pools if they so choose, but they do so rarely. Unfortunately, mom had too because of the increase of monsters in Hyrule.”

“What is the Aver Forest?”

“The biggest, lushest forest in all of Catalia!” Hyrule spread his arms wide as if to indicate how big it truly was. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the other side of the lost woods in my time, since it’s so close to the border. It nothing like Hyrule, but it is, was, home.”

“So, did yer ma follow you to Hyrule?”

“Not exactly.” The traveler replies with a small frown. “She came after Hyrule was made safer again. I can’t exactly leave the country freely anymore, so she came to see me. It’s a good thing too, since getting potions is far more difficult than just bathing in her pool.”

“Are potions really that expensive in your time?” Warriors asks, concern flecking his gentle gaze.

“It’s not about the price,” Hyrule frowns. “It’s more that most people don’t know how to brew them, and finding a person who can is difficult.”

“Ah, supply and demand.”

“Pardon, what?” The traveler looks up to the captain in confusion.

“Supply and demand, you know,” Wars states like it’s common knowledge. “When lots of people want something but only a few people can provide it? It’s the reason shops can get away with charging so much for things.”

Both country heroes stare at him.

“Have neither of you ever heard of it?” The captain blinks at them, leaning forwards on his bed. “How is that possible?”

“Not all provinces have a school, Wars.” He replies, chuckling softly at the surprise on Warriors’ face. “For farming communities we focus on animals and plants, don’t need no fancy education to plow a field.”

Hyrule stares between the two of them. “Alright, this might be a Hylian word I haven’t learned yet, but what is a scewl?”

“A what?” Warriors echoes, turning to face the traveler.

“A scewl?”

“A school?” Twilight translates, brow furrowed until the Hero of Hyrule nods in confirmation, after which he relaxes again. “It's a place people go to learn to read and write, and to count and do equations.”

“And here I thought there weren’t any in Ordon?” Warriors teases lightly.

“Get off it, Cap’. We don’t have schools, but we do have books, I know how to read and if I can learn more than I will.”

“Ah, self-taught?”

“Mostly.” He shrugs. “Hylian’s real different from Ordon-Standard, even if they’re essentially the same.”

“That makes no sense.” The captain deadpans, staring at him blankly.

“I mean, even though they have a lot in common, the way people speak and pronounce things, the vernacular and what not, is quite different that Hyrule proper.”

Hyrule blinks at the two of them owlishly. “What are equations?”

A glance is shared between them. “Math.” Warriors answers. “You know, adding, subtraction, multiplication and division?”

The traveler raises a brow, but he's shrinking in on himself in the way he does when he gets nervous. “What are those? Multipulycation and division?”

Warriors stares cautiously at the traveler, gaze gentle but concerned. “Hyrule, do you not know how to do math?”

“Do you know how to count?” Twilight tries instead.

“Of course!”

“Can you combine numbers?”

“That’s counting, but with bigger numbers.”

“Can you subtract it again?”

“Yes.” Hyrule answers slowly.

“Can you multiply?”

The traveler stares at Warriors nervously. “I just told you I don’t know what that is.”

The captain, bless his heart, looks genuinely hurt. “Good grief, what sort of mentor is Legend? Not making sure you know basic multiplication?”

And Hyrule flushes, but his brows furrow as he pushes himself straight, always defensive of his mentor. “He didn’t know, and he’s a great mentor! He’s been showing me how to grow trees!”

“Legend knows forestry?” The captain starts.

“He has an orchard.” Twilight reminds him, light laughter bubbling in his chest at the understanding that crosses Warriors’ face at the words.

“Right.” The captain turns to Hyrule. “How about this, Legend can teach whatever it is he teaches you, but when he’s done with that for the day, you come find me? Math is a wonderful thing, even if it is a tad complex, and it'd be a shame to let you go without knowing it.”

Betrayal makes itself known as Twilight pulls away from the two. “You like math?”

Horror blooms on Warriors’ delicate features. “You don’t?”

“Arithmetic is the bane of my existence and if I didn’t need to know how to count rupees, I would willingly forget it.” Twilight spits out.

“It’s wonderful!” Warriors defends. “Everything makes sense and has a logical explanation! You can count on it having an answer every time.”

One dark brow raises as midnight blue stare back at the captain, unimpressed. “Except when it doesn’t. Except when you have to graph equations but you can’t because they don’t have answers. Except when there’s two missing numbers and nothing fits in together, except when the numbers decide to become letters and you have to spit up the alphabet along with your equations.”

“How much math do you know?” Warriors raises a brow.

“Too much.” He isn’t even ashamed of the shudder that makes his pelt tickle against his cheeks. “Wild is a literal genius at it, and I can’t even number how many time he's decided to use it to explain some hare-brained scheme. Trajectory and angles and-” He shivers again. “No thank you. It’s like he ate a math textbook and just keeps spitting it back up, every time he wants to do something dumb.”

The captain whistles lowly, royal blue eyes sparkling. “You mean he has theories and reasoning behind all that? Dang!”

The glare shot the captain’s way is nothing short of threatening. “Do not encourage him, or so help me, Wars. I can hardly contain him some days as is, he doesn’t need someone else egging him on.”

“Oh, trust me,” Gloved hands raise in a non-threatening motion. “I just want to pic his brain, maybe he can help me tutor the traveler here.”

And Twilight almost asks him not too, almost begs that the captain not, before realization hits. “You know, that is actually a good idea.” He smirks. “I’m surprised.”

The deadpan look he receives is well worth it. “You wound me.”

“Were your skin not so delicate, I wouldn’t.” He returns, smile stretching wider. “But that aside, if Wild is busy tutoring Hyrule, he won’t be off blowing things up, and if Hyrule gets a better education out of it that's even better.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” Hyrule answers, eyes lighting up in a way that looks innocent, but considering the kid is Legend’s descendant there’s a very good chance that it isn’t fully. “Maybe he can teach me some tricks while he’s at it.”

“No!” The voices ring at once, but it’s already too late, Hyrule is tapping his chin and muttering low under his breath as a wide smile stretches over his face.

“What have you started.” Twilight whispers, horrified.

“I’m sorry.” Warriors returns, just as grim. “I won’t tell Legend if you don’t.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

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[hadit93]

Hi, how are you doing? I hope you're feeling better.

I am sending this ask because I am stuck at a question and that is affecting my entire practice. Most of the books I've read on theology, religion, and mysticism kind of agrees on the part that despite the fact that there are several gods, entities, and higher beings at different planes, we all originate from the same source and that's where we go in the end (I don't mean death, I mean the end of a soul's journey). This is a very broad overview, I know.

What I don't understand is, if we all start and end at the same point irrespective of the path then what is the meaning of subjecting us all to this sufferings? What was the point of creating an universe if it all ends where it started? Even if this is necessary for souls to learn during this journey, isn't the journey ultimately futile because the soul finally ends up where it came from, i.e., from where everything and thus all knowledge came from? Doesn't that mean there is no true meaning to our suffering other than the fact that an omnipotent being thought it was necessary?

The other explanation can be everything is meaningless and random but my practice has taught me otherwise.

I might be wrong. I hope I am utterly wrong.

This is a question that cuts very deeply into the fabric of philosophy and the meaning of life. I am not sure I am the most qualified to answer, I believe I know the answer I have but I lack the mastery of language to truly put it into words which capture my views sufficiently. However, I will try!

Firstly you are assuming that the being/source is personally subjecting you to suffering. That a God with a personality is causing you sufferings as some sort of psychological project to see what makes you tick before allowing you back into union with itself. I don't believe this to be the case. I am going to have to explain my own thoughts through a Thelemic lens because that is the system I have largely grown up with so to speak.

The creation of the manifest universe is largely an illusion, a projection from a state of non-manifest non-being- a state of total potentiality which Thelemites call Nuit. For whatever reason Nuit began to contemplate itself and found out what it was and thus what it was not. What it was not is, in a sense, manifestation. Thus Nuit's consort Hadit was born. In Qabalah we would say this is Kether emerging out of the Triple Veil of Negative existence.

This manifest source, which is not the true source at all, slowly reflects and refracts before slowly manifesting as the physical universe we know and love (or hate!). Why? I don't know. Some people seem to believe that it was for experience's sake. This divine being wanted to analyse itself. It fragmented itself into different portions, the sephirah on the Tree of Life, before crystallising itself in Malkuth or the manifest universe. The manifest universe is said to be a reflection of God in its totality. This is the true meaning of "As above, so below".

This leads to us. We live in the reflection of God, we are part of that reflection. You can blame all issues, all suffering on God, and perhaps you would be correct. However, you are forgetting an important thing- YOU ARE GOD! At your core you are a fragment, a spark of the divine fire. You seek union with 'God' because you seek the knowledge of your true identity. More than this, the goal is not union with Hadit/God the goal is union with Nuit- being reabsorbed into non-manifest bliss.

God is not peace and love. God is totality. God is both Mercy and Severity, Chesed and Geburah. Suffering is God as much as love is God. Union is the only way to escape suffering. Buddha had it correct when he stated "All is existence is sorrow" separation from the divine, individuality, the illusion of duality these are the causes of suffering. It is only by escaping this illusion, in Thelema we call this crossing the abyss, that you can transcend these illusions and limitations and perhaps escape the cycle of rebirth. Know God, know Nuit, and recognise the inherent divinity within.

So what is the meaning of your suffering? You are a divine being experiencing your creation which is really your Self. Suffering is sometimes an avenue to attain a union of one kind or another. Without suffering there is truly no growth. Now there are some sufferings which are truly abhorrent and awful. I can't say I know how they are justified, all I know is that the world is a reflection of a totality of possibility and sadly evil is one of these possibilities. Jesus and Satan are two faces of one God. This may be shocking to hear but I believe it to be true.

How does one escape suffering? The first step is to find your Will and to carry it out.

Of course this is just my humble opinion, should not be taken as fact, nor is it representative of the entire Western tradition. I wish I could give you a better answer. The truth is I don't know, I believe the creation of the universe was an accident.

I leave you with a few quotes from Liber Legis which illustrate my points above. I apologise for the Thelemic seasoning, it is simply the system I best work within.

"28. None, breathed the light, faint & faery, of the stars, and two.

29. For I am divided for love's sake, for the chance of union.

30. This is the creation of the world, that the pain of division is as nothing, and the joy of dissolution all."

-Liber Legis, Chapter 1.

"9. Remember all ye that existence is pure joy; that all the sorrows are but as shadows; they pass & are done; but there is that which remains."

-Liber Legis, Chapter 2.

[apiratewhopines]

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter One — Don’t Panic

Summary: In which our hero panics

Read on AO3

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazines covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood.

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece.

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do.

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning.

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family.

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible. Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating.

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons.

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits.

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements.

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations.

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence.

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune.

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother.

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate.

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge.

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again.

Perhaps it was easier this way.

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking.

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine.

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least. Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue.

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it.

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost.

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians.

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out. Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved.

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father.

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something.

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these.

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door.

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again.

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists. “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.”

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.”

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”



[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 51]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

I have some editing to do, so I’m going to do a bit of this.

Chapter 21

Virgil woke with something soft but kind of stringy in his face. That was weird. He didn’t know what in the closet would feel like that. In fact, as he woke more he noticed more things that he couldn’t sus out the origin of, particularly the warmth curled up against his side. Curious, he blinked open his eyes. Oh, right. Patton.

The soft stuff in his face was Patton’s hair and the warmth next to Virgil was the rest of the boy’s body. Patton had all but refused to let Virgil go last night after Logan had taken off the restraints and Virgil hadn’t minded the attention. They must have fallen asleep together in the piles of pillows and blankets on the floor.

 Virgil brushed his hair gently away, internally (for fear of disturbing him) shaking his head at him. He’d fallen asleep hallway on top of an assassin. He had no self-preservation instincts. He looked at his wrists. It seemed no one had any self-preservation instincts. This of course, included himself as instead of running off when free in case they decided to turn him in after all, he had fallen asleep on the floor with Patton too.

He looked to the side and saw Logan was already awake, reading on one of his chairs. He seemed to sense Virgil’s eyes on him because he looked up after a moment.

 “You can get up if you like,” Logan said. “He is a heavy sleeper and won’t wake up if you squirm out of his grip.”

Virgil frowned, unsure if he wanted to risk it.

“I have breakfast ready for you.”

Okay, Virgil was going to risk it.

He carefully squirmed out of Patton’s grip, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead in apology for leaving him before getting to his feet.

Logan handed him a plate of eggs and toast when he walked over and gestured to the chair next to him. Virgil sat there to eat while Logan continued to read.

 Virgil ate his food quickly, and then glanced over at Logan once he was done. Virgil was honestly at a bit of a loss. Usually, they came and got him out of the closet only once they were ready to do something, but Patton was still sound asleep on the floor and Logan looked engrossed in his book.

Virgil fidgeted slightly, unsure what he should be doing or even if he should be doing anything. Considering Logan hadn’t given him any instructions, he should probably not do anything. He didn’t want to screw up the first day of… whatever this was now.

 Logan glanced over at him after a few minutes. “Don’t forget about the potion,” he reminded.

Virgil nodded and stood, walking over to the closet since it would still be in there from the previous morning. It was about half gone now and it had gotten to the point where Virgil didn’t feel any immediate affects from it anymore other than some warmth. It basically just felt like drinking tea.

He said as much to Logan when he walked back over to him.

“That’s good,” Logan said, “it means it has been working. It has healed any damage it can from malnutrition. Any internal organs that were damaged should be mostly healed. You may even notice your eyesight getting slightly better. Your immune system should also be boosted. You will likely also find it is easier to gain muscle and while you likely will never be as tall as you could have been, you will likely still grow a few inches during your next growth spirt.”

 Virgil studied his hands where they were sitting on his thigh now as though he could see the changes that allegedly had already taken place in his body. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Logan replied, eyes already back on his book like it was some normal thing and not a huge kindness he’d bestowed on Virgil before even really knowing him. As though Virgil didn’t just owe him more than just his life going forward.

They sat in silence then for a few more minutes, before the was a soft sigh from the floor and Patton started to wake. He sat up and looked around. His eyes landed on both Virgil and Logan sitting together and he seemed to light up.

 “Good morning!” he chirped.

“Good morning, Patton,” Logan said as Patton popped to his feet, “I have breakfast for you.”

“Thank you Lo,” Patton said, throwing his arms around Logan’s neck, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil presumed from the lack of surprise on Logan’s face that this was normal for morning Patton, not that the fact surprised him considering how night Patton acted.

He still managed to be somewhat surprised by the fact that Patton turned to hug Virgil a second later. Patton’s lips were pressed briefly to Virgil’s head and then he turned to grab the plate Logan had saved for him.

 “So, what are we doing today?” Patton asked.

“I was thinking Virgil and I could continue our reading lessons if he is not opposed,” Logan said. Virgil nodded, happy with that prospect. “Other than that, I have no plans. I have already spoken with my father before the two of you woke. He is going to spend most of his day catching up on things he missed and said I could take the rest of the day off royal duties.”

“A whole day to relax then!” Patton said, happily chewing on his toast. “Reading sounds fun, but we should do something more active too.”

 Logan hummed. “We can show Virgil the courtyard after the reading lessons,” he said.

It took a moment for it to register, but then Virgil froze. “Wait,” he said. “We’re going outside?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“So, we’re leaving your room?”

“Are you alright with that?” Logan asked cautiously.

Virgil nodded quickly.

“Oh,” Patton said at his enthusiasm. “I guess you have been cooped up a while, haven’t you?” He smiled sadly and turned to Logan. “Maybe we can do reading lessons in the garden.”

“That would be satisfactory.”

“Great!” Patton said. He looked over at Virgil. “If we’re going out, we should probably put your hair up and get you in some clean clothes.”

 Logan nodded. “You finish eating, and I will help Virgil find something to wear.”

Logan found him an outfit, though it was a bit baggy on Virgil and the hem of the shirt went halfway to his knees. When Patton finished breakfast, he sat Virgil down and carefully worked a brush through his hair.

“Can I braid it?” Patton asked.

Virgil hummed his consent. Having his hair brushed and done up by another person was a lot more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. He’d liked it when Logan did it the night before, though he had to very firmly push away thoughts of where that led.

 “Okay!” Patton said after a few moments. “You look good. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded and they both led him out into the hall. He paused before they got to the door. “What about the guards?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ve already given them the same story as I did Dad,” Logan replied. “They know you’re here.”

Virgil still hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Patton promised. “Here, hold my hand?”

Virgil took the offered hand immediately, and Logan stepped in front of them both. Virgil felt himself relax a bit knowing the prince was between him and the guards.

They led him to the door.

 Logan greeted both of the guards at the door, and they said good morning back. Both of them glanced at Virgil curiously for a moment making him shrink into himself, but they quickly averted their gazes.

Patton pulled him past them without incident and soon they were in the small dining hall Virgil had passed through his first night here. He remembered how he’d snuck around at the edges of the room in the shadows with the aim to kill the king, but now he was being pulled through the middle with the prince having just wandered past the royal guards in broad daylight like it was nothing.

 It was so strange, and Virgil still couldn’t totally believe this was happening. The retraced his exact steps back down the spiral stairs near the kitchen and out of the door he and the nice gardener had came through. He could even see the shed he’d been hiding in from here. With a blink, he remembered they were going to the garden, and he wondered if he’d see the man again.

For now, he just looked around them as Logan and Patton led him past the garden shed towards an area with many trees. Orange and yellow leaves were starting to fall from many of the trees.

 They made a satisfying crunching sound under his feet as he was led to a tree. He had seen the group of trees when he’d first arrived here and had even thought about hiding amongst them instead of in the shed, but they’d seemed scary in the dark. They were pretty in the daylight, however, and Virgil found himself tilting his head to watch the branches sway in the slight wind.

Logan sat down under it and pulled out a book and some writing materials from the bag he’d brought. Virgil settled down next to him so they could both look at the book at the same time and Patton flopped down on the other side, immediately setting to work tying fancy knots in the yarn he’d brought with him. Patton shuffled slightly to the side so they bumped shoulders as Logan opened the book and started Virgil’s reading lesson.

  Chapter 22

Patton bit his lip to keep from laughing or awing. “Do you like the flower, Virgil?” he asked.

Virgil glanced up at him briefly and then his eyes returned to the flower he’d found. “It’s nice,” he said.

They’d finished the reading lessons and let Virgil explore the garden a bit. He’d found a dark purple and yellow flower (a pansy, Patton thought) and seemed to be endlessly fascinated by it. He’d been staring at it for minutes now, almost as though he expected it to do something. Patton did not quite understand his interest, but he was still adorable.

 Logan sat next to him and the flower, smiling at him softly. “I imagine you’ll enjoy the garden in the spring,” Logan said. “There are many more flowers then. Of all types. We’ll have to show you all of the best spots. Mr. Deknis has a particularly good eye for colors, and it is always quite beautiful.”

“Who is Mr. Deknis?” Virgil asked.

“He’s the head gardener,” Logan said. “He’s a nice man, though a bit prickly when it comes to his garden. We may see him today if he’s in this part of the garden.”

“Would he have been the multrum I saw in the gardening shed when I hid there?”

 “Ah, yes, that would be him. I was unaware you interacted with anyone in the castle.”

“He caught me in his garden shed, but he wasn’t mean,” Virgil said, he tilted his head curiously at Logan. “Why…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“Why is he the gardener?”

Logan looked confused, “Well,” he said, “I guess because he wants to and is good at it.”

“No,” Virgil said with a frown. “I mean. Shouldn’t he… he’s…”

Logan seemed to think hard for a moment. “Right,” he said. “You’ve been under a blood compulsion. I’d guess you would have only worked with multrums in the military.”

 “I guess I didn’t realize that they could be other things…”

“Of course, they can,” Logan said. “Their abilities don’t make them any less of people. Mr. Deknis likes to garden so he gardens.”

Virgil blinked at him.

“…Of course, all things considered, that may not be a familiar concept to you.” Virgil turned back to look at the flower instead of answering. “Right,” said Logan.

There were a couple of awkward beats of silence. Patton bit his lip and happened to glance up. “Oh,” he said. “Speaking of Mr. Deknis.” He gestured to the gardener who was coming up the path between the trees.

 Logan sat up on his knees as Patton waved at him. He saw Patton and turned to walk towards them. “The two of you had better not be up to mischief in my garden,” Mr. Deknis called, his voice a bit gruff. He clearly did not see Virgil who had laid flat on his stomach to stare at the flower.

Logan rolled his eyes automatically. “We were just reading Mr. Deknis,” he said. “Your piles of dirt are safe.”

“No mud cakes?” Mr. Deknis asked skeptically still coming towards them.

“It has been a literal decade…”

Patton saw when Mr. Deknis was close enough to see Virgil.

 He stopped in his track and looked down at Virgil who was already watching him a bit warily. “Hello,” he said, his voice a lot softer than it’d been a few moments before. His expression completely flipped in a moment to something very gentle when he saw Virgil and the cautious look on his face. Virgil did seem to have that effect on people.

“Hi,” Virgil replied.

Mr. Deknis looked at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Virgil. “This is our new friend, Virgil,” Patton offered.

“Hello, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a nod.

“Virgil, this is the gardener Mr. Deknis.”

 “He’s not nearly as grumpy as he sounds,” Patton assured.

“Well,” Logan said, “yes he is.”

Mr. Deknis shot him a look that only served to prove Logan’s point if Patton was being honest. Logan just smiled back. Mr. Deknis apparently decided to let it slide because he turned back to Virgil.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Deknis said. “Are you feeling better?”

Virgil nodded. “I’m a lot better,” he said. Mr. Deknis considered him for a moment, clearly reading how true that statement was. Patton was glad he seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I see you’ve met these two.”

 “Yeah,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly. “Be careful with this one,” he said, pointing to Logan. “He’s a bad influence.”

Virgil frowned in confusion. “He’s the prince,” he pointed out.

“And a bad influence,” Mr. Deknis repeated. “He’s a beacon of irresponsibility and mischief and he corrupts that one,” he nodded to Patton.

“I am completely responsible,” Logan replied.

“Need I remind you of the cucumber incident.”

“I was 8,” Logan said.

“I know how old you were,” Mr. Deknis replied, “and you are hardly any older.”

“I resent that.”

Mr. Deknis just smiled and turned back to Virgil who was watching the interaction with pure curiosity.

 “I just picked a few more of those apples for Patton’s mom to make into apple sauce. Would you kids like some?”

Virgil glanced over at Logan and Patton.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Patton replied for them all, standing up. Seeing that, Virgil also climbed to his feet.

“It’s back this way,” Mr. Deknis said, inclining hid head back the way he’d came and then turning to lead them that way. Patton followed him. He glanced back to see Logan put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and give him a gentle push to get him going. “So, what are you kids up to today?”

 “We wanted to show Virgil the garden and courtyard,” Patton said. “He’s been cooped up inside for a bit.”

“I see,” Mr. Deknis said. He glanced back at Virgil. “Feel free to come out in the garden anytime you like. As long as you don’t go about purposefully destroying stuff, I don’t mind you being out here.”

“I won’t destroy anything,” Virgil promised instantly.

“Well I hope you manage to keep that attitude even while befriending the large upright groundhog behind you.”

Virgil looked a little bit nervous. “He’s just teasing Virgil,” Patton assured. “He loves Logan.”

Mr. Deknis glanced back again and seemed to read the same thing Patton had read on Virgil’s face.

 “Yes, of course,” Mr. Deknis said. “I have simply known the prince for a long time and joke with him in that way often. Logan is aware of that.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, his hand squeezing a bit on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil relaxed a touch.

Mr. Deknis stopped and reached down into a bucket next to a tree. “I wouldn’t offer my apples to people I don’t like,” he said, tossing an apple underhand to Logan. Instead of trying to catch it, his eyes widened and he dodged out of the way.

“You would however throw apples at them despite knowing they have never been able to catch things.”

 Mr. Deknis just rolled his eyes fondly, but Virgil frowned and turned to Logan. “You don’t know how to catch things?” he asked scandalized. “You should know how to catch things. What if someone throws a knife at you?”

Mr. Deknis looked… probably the right amount of concerned about that statement coming from a 14-year-old’s lips.

“Haha, yeah,” Patton said awkwardly. “Maybe you can teach Logan how to catch things Virgil, but later. Right now, why don’t we just get the apples and then show you the courtyard.”

Virgil was still frowning, but he did not argue with Patton’s suggestion.

 Thankfully, Mr. Deknis did not push, though Patton did have to dodge many a meaningful side eye. He might… need to make sure he did not get cornered by the gardener in the coming days… or brush up on his lying without lying skills.

For now, though, he just handed out the apples, not tossing them this time. Virgil thanked him softly and Patton could see the way the usually fairly gruff man went all melty at that. He even slipped an extra apple to Virgil for later which Virgil perked up at.

Patton and Logan pulled him away gently after that so Mr. Deknis could go back to work, but Virgil seemed happy with the apples and copied Patton at waving goodbye to him cheerfully.

Despite the fact that he liked Mr. Deknis and he’d been nice, Patton still took a calming breath when they were no longer at risk of lying about something and getting caught by the man’s powers. They went back into the castle towards the courtyard.

  Chapter 23

Logan was unsurprised that after showing Virgil the large courtyard, Patton almost immediately decided to instigate a game of tag. They were, after all, here with the goal of getting Virgil a bit active after having had him only in Logan’s room for weeks.

He was also unsurprised that Virgil seemed confused about the concept of tag, and Patton had to explain the game in detail to him.

It made him wince, but he still was unsurprised when Virgil went about inquiring after the consequences of losing the game.

He was, however, very surprised when, after getting all of the facts about tag settle, Patton was chasing after Virgil trying to tag him and suddenly the boy disappeared.

 Patton almost ran into a wall in his confusion. He stared at his hands stretched out and just a couple of inches from touching the wall for a moment, before slowly looking up.

“Virgil!” Patton exclaimed. “What?”

“What?” he asked.

“…What are you even hanging onto?”

“The wall,” Virgil replied.

Logan walked closer to the two of them and tilted his head up to look at him. Virgil had jumped up and somehow managed to find hand and foot holes on the seemingly smooth wall. He climbed about 5 meters above their heads and was peering down at them curiously.

 “Okay,” Logan said. “New rule. Virgil is not allowed to scale walls during tag.”

Virgil frowned down at him. “Why only me?”

“Because Patton and I cannot do that anyway,” Logan said. “We would not be able to actually play if you remain up there.”

Patton glanced over at him and reached over to touch Logan’s shoulder. “No tag backs,” he said. Logan glared at him. “Why don’t you come down sweetie?”

“But Logan will tag me,” he said.

“Well, honey, that’s part of the fun,” Patton reasoned. “Don’t you want to try being it?”

Virgil seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Okay,” he agreed.

 To Logan’s terror, he simply let go of the wall, falling straight down and landing crouched. He blinked at Logan. Right. With a start, Patton took off, so he’d have a head start. “No tag backs means a 10 second head start for me,” Logan reminded. Virgil nodded, and Logan reached out to poke him in the arm before immediately running off in the opposite direction as Patton.

Logan’s strategy worked out since, knowing he couldn’t go after Logan for a few seconds more, he chose to turn and go after Patton. After finding one of the statues to hide behind on the edge of the courtyard, Logan risked glancing back.

 Virgil was faster than Logan (and likely Patton) had accounted for. Patton had gotten a good head start on him, but Virgil closed it quickly. Patton shrieked as Virgil barreled into him, bringing them both to the ground.

“Virgil!” Logan heard Patton giggle. Logan figured he was more than okay despite the tackle. “This isn’t how you play tag!”

“I combined tag and tackle hugs,” Virgil declared, making Patton giggle more.

“That’s very innovative, honey,” Patton said. “Now are you going to let me up?...Virgil… I’m counting down your 10 second head start in my head, and if you don’t let me up I’m going to tag you again.”

 This did not seem to have the intended effect as Virgil did not remove himself from Patton’s person. Patton laugh when it became clear he was not going to move and began counting down “7, 6, 5, 4, you’d better let me go sweetie, or you’re going to get tagged again.” Virgil did not seem to care. “3, 2, 1.” Patton reached up and bopped him on the nose. “Tag!” he declared.

Logan was surprised when Virgil instantly jumped off Patton at that. He whipped around.

‘Oh,’ Logan thought as the boy’s eyes narrowed in on Logan immediately, ‘I see.’

 “Virgil was already halfway across the courtyard towards him before Logan could even think about running away. There was no way that he was fast enough to outrun him. Perhaps he could outthink him, he thought. His eyes scanned his environment in the seconds he had left and landed on a large square piece of stone that held flowers in the spring. It was just full of dirt now, but it was still about waist high. Perhaps if he kept that between them, he could outmaneuver him. He sprinted towards it and scrambled to the opposite side from where Virgil was heading.

 He really should not have been as surprised as he was that Virgil did not even slightly slow as he approached the planter box, instead grabbing ahold of the side of it and vaulting over it. Logan stumbled back, bracing for impact, but instead he just got a quick tap on the shoulder.

Logan blinked at him.

“I don’t know if you would be okay with tackle hugs,” he explained.

Logan considered him. “I would be okay with a nontackle hug.”

Virgil happily jumped forward to hug Logan, pressing his nose into Logan’s shoulder. Logan chuckled and patted the top of his head. “Six,” he said, “5, 4, 3…”

 Virgil bolted away suddenly, actually making Logan stumble a bit. He paused just out of reach of Logan, looking at him with anticipation. “2,1,” Logan finished with a raised eyebrow. He already knew he was being played with, but he indulged him by starting towards him. Virgil danced out of the way, eyes alight. Logan sighed. “Is this truly how it’s going to be?” he asked.

Virgil didn’t answer, but to watch him with wide, excited eyes.

“Fine,” Logan said. He dashed towards him again, only to have him continue to maneuver just out of Logan’s reach each time Logan went forward. He’d call it taunting if there was any sign of malice in it.

 They ran around the courtyard in spirts of Logan charging at him and Virgil expertly dodging. Eventually Patton came closer to them. Logan could tell that Virgil was aware of his presence, by how he glanced back at him briefly, but considering he was not ‘it,’ it seemed he chose to disregard him. However, he was not aware of the way Patton winked at Logan as he walked up behind Virgil.

Logan, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. He went to spring for Virgil again, and Virgil again moved to dodge, but this time Patton grabbed him around the waist, allowing Logan to actually tag him.

 He turned slowly to face Patton who started to giggle immediately at the perplexed look on his face. It cleared into something else as soon as he heard Patton laugh. “Traitor!” he claimed. “We were on the same team and you betrayed me.”

“I just thought we should probably have mercy on poor Logan,” Patton replied.

“Hmm,” Virgil said, eyes again full of that playful mischief Logan had not seen until today. “Plea for mercy not accepted.”

Patton once again half-shrieked half-laughed as he was pounced on. The two of them went rolling across the grass, Virgil clearly keeping the rolling going longer than it should have as they made it a good few meters.

 Virgil sprung off of him a few moments later.

“Oh, is it my turn?” Patton inquired with a huge smile. He slowly got to his feet. “Hmm, I’m probably at about 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” He took off after Virgil, but Patton had a bit more endurance than Logan, so instead of doing quickly calculated lunges at Virgil as Logan had done, he just ran at him full tilt without stopping.

Virgil ran from him, though Logan was pretty sure he was intentionally slowing himself down a bit so Patton had some amount of a chance. He kept turning to check behind him and make sure Patton was still somewhat close as he ran.

Which is why he didn’t see the imminent disaster in time.

  Chapter 24

Thomas should have been paying more attention, but his mind had been on the meeting he’d just had with the castle guards about increased security in the wake of the possible threat from Mocnejsi. He’d decided to take a brief walk around the courtyard to clear his head but was still distracted with mulling over the options that had just been presented to him. He stepped into the castle courtyard and did not have time to step out of the way of the much smaller body rocketing towards him. Virgil slammed into his front, but not before Thomas got a good look at his face.

 Virgil’s expression changed dramatically in the few seconds between him registering Thomas was there and running into him. For the briefest moment, Thomas could see that he must have been having a lot of fun. He’d caught the wide smile and sparkling eyes as Virgil turned his head back from looking at Patton who was chasing him across the greenery. He’d looked very happy which made it all the more painful to see that happiness die in and a few instants. When his head had turned back towards Thomas, there was a flicker of confusion at something being in his path.

 Then, clearly everything about the situation registered, because his eyes blew wide in horror as he tried to stop himself, but there was no way he’d be able to in time. Thomas saw that fact register on his face the moment before he hit. Gone was any trace of happiness or joy in that split second. All that was left was dread that had no place anywhere near a children’s game of tag. It was the expression Thomas would expect from someone who felt ice give way under their feet in the middle of a lake they had thought was frozen solid.

 He hit hard, but he wasn’t nearly big enough to actually harm Thomas. Thomas was thrown slightly off balance but managed to stay on his feet. He reached out a hand to his shoulder automatically to steady the child. There was a moment of pseudo calm where they both absorbed the impact and stilled.

Then, the boy’s shoulder slipped out of Thomas’s grip as he went crashing to the ground in a move that made Thomas wince for the state of his knees. Thomas couldn’t quite grasp what was happening for a moment as Virgil face planted onto the ground in front of him, but when he did, Thomas couldn’t help but flinch and take a step back from him.

 Thomas had been bowed to before, of course, seeing as he was a king, but this was not out of respect or courtesy or even just tradition. This was out of terror. He was begging for mercy and it made Thomas feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meek and shaky into the ground, and there was almost something worse about the fact that he did not beg for forgiveness with his words, but only his posture. The way his breathes came far too quick and shallow said he was likely on the verge of a panic attack, but he was not blubbering through apologies or even not speaking at all. He gave a clear, if shaky, apology, and waited for whatever he thought Thomas planned to do to him. There was no way that was not learned.

 “You don’t…” Thomas stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he reacted in no other way. He did not even react when Patton made it to his side and knelt down next to him. Patton’s hand hovered over his back, clearly wanting to touch down, but he pulled back on that instinct.

“Virgil, honey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. No one is mad. It was an accident.”

Virgil did not react to this at all.

Thomas caught Logan’s eye as he hurried over to them himself. “Sorry,” Thomas mouthed. Logan just nodded and turned his attention to his friend.

 “There is no reason for any of that,” Logan said, his voice firm, almost clipped. “You are not in trouble. Now sit up.”

Virgil did respond to that, slowly shifting back on his knees. He kept his head down looking at the ground. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I…” Thomas said, surveying the three kids on the ground in front of him. Thomas slowly sunk to the ground to be at their level. Virgil was tracking his movements out of the corner of his eyes, his head still bowed and his shoulders tensed. “Hey,” Thomas said softly. “Were you three playing tag?”

 Virgil hesitated, eyes flickering as he debated whether he should respond or not.

“Yeah, we were,” Patton answered for him after a moment of stressful silence.

“Well that’s fun,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry for interrupting the three of you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Virgil glanced up at him for just a moment before looking away again. Patton apparently felt it was safe enough to touch Virgil, because he settled a hand on the boys shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ve just been having a fun day,” Patton said, carefully matching Thomas’s light tone. “We went to the garden and did some reading. Then, Mr. Deknis gave us some apples.”

 “That’s nice,” Thomas replied. “He’s been talking about the new apples he’s been growing. He’s been working on them for years and they’re just beginning to bare fruit this year. I haven’t gotten a chance to try any yet. Are they any good?”

“They’re very good,” Patton told him. His hand rubbed slowly on Virgil’s back. “Isn’t that right, Virge?”

Virgil nodded a bit, a little less tense now, but still nowhere near calm.

“Well, I’ll have to try them soon,” Thomas said with a smile. “Thank you for the information. Now, I’ve got to get back to what I’m doing, but I hope you three have a good day.”

 “I’ll see you later, Dad,” Logan said.

Thomas nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Goodbye you three,” he said before turning away towards the door back into the castle. He paused to take a breath when the door closed behind him, cutting off the courtyard. There were a lot of thoughts to shirt through in regards to that conversation. He hated that Virgil was so obviously terrified of him. Both of their two interactions had ended with the poor thing panicking on the ground. He wished he had some idea of how to help him or at least someone to talk to about it.

Maybe he’d go visit Mr. Deknis himself and not just for the apples.

  Chapter 25

“Alright,” Patton said, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I’ve got to go back to my room for the night. Will you two be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Logan said. “It won’t be particularly different than the last two weeks.”

Patton nodded and leaned to the side to squeeze Virgil in another hug. He’d been clingy since the incident in the courtyard, and Virgil had been appreciative considering he was still pretty shaky from it. He was still surprised he’d touched the king of Prijaznia (let alone ran into him) and lived to tell the tale.

“Goodnight, Pat,” Virgil said because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t leave if Virgil didn’t.

 “Night Virge,” Patton said with a smile before standing up from where they’d been sitting on the ground. He reached over to hug Logan who was sitting on a chair. “Night Lo! Put the book down and go to bed.”

Logan looked up from his book with a frown.

“It’s almost midnight,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and set his book down. “Very well,” he agreed. “We will get ready for bed.”

“You better! I’m going to come and wake you up early in the morning.”

“Early in the morning for you is 9am,” Logan scoffed.

Patton stuck his tongue out at him as he walked backwards out of the door.

 Logan gave his book a mournful look once the door closed and Virgil almost giggled. “I won’t tell on you,” he said.

Logan thought about it for a few moments. “No,” he finally said. “We should probably get some sleep.”

Virgil nodded and pushed himself to his feet.

“We should probably both take a bath after sitting in the dirt today,” Logan said. “Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Don’t care,” Virgil answered.

“You can go first,” Logan offered.

Virgil felt himself smile. “You just want to finish the chapter in that book,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” Logan conceded.

 Virgil just grinned and walked over to his closet to grab one of the outfits he’d been given for pajamas. He chose a pair of baggy shorts that went past his knees and the huge soft black sweater Logan had found in the back of his closet. He headed into the bathroom, noting Logan had already picked up his book again.

Logan may have declared the both of them dirty enough for bathing a few minutes before, but Virgil was cleaner than he thought he’d ever been before coming to the castle. Logan had taught him how to use the tub and what soaps to use for what a couple of days after he’d arrived and had suggested he clean himself regularly.

 Virgil didn’t mind. The tub was enchanted to warm the water inside of it and Virgil loved it. Though, that had the negative affect of making it very difficult to leave.

He cleaned himself up quickly, so he’d have a few minutes to just sit in the water before he felt like he needed to get out and let Logan have a turn. He changed into his pajamas, pulling the crescent shaped protection charm out of his day clothes pocket and storing the warm to the touch stone in the short pocket. He used the clip Patton had made it to pin it to the cloth to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.

 Logan was engrossed in his reading by the time that Virgil exited the bathroom. He did not look up as Virgil approached.

“Your turn,” Virgil said to him.

Logan clearly just barely managed to tear his eyes away from the book. “Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“The book will be there in the morning,” Virgil reminded.

“I know,” said Logan sadly as he set the book aside.

Logan never took much time in the bath, so Virgil quickly went about getting ready for bed the rest of the way. He put his day clothes in the basket Logan had for that purpose and started to straighten out the blankets and pillows in the closet.

 He heard Logan come back into the room a few minutes later.

“Virgil,” Logan said. “What are you doing?”

Virgil looked over at him. “Getting ready for bed,” he answered, confused.

Logan frowned at him. “You don’t sleep in the closet anymore,” Logan said. “That’s only for when we were worried you might escape.”

“Oh,” Virgil said blinking over at him. “Right.” He felt a slight pulling at his chest. He liked the closet. It was warm and soft. Patton had taken a lot of care with how he’d arranged all of the pillows and blankets. It was the best place he could ever remember having to sleep in his life. Yet, he did not argue. He knew getting to sleep out in the open was supposed to be a reward and he wasn’t about to reject it.

 Virgil stood and closed the closet. He tugged on the bottom of his sweater, stretching the fabric between his hands as he watched Logan pull down the covers of his bed and settle down onto it. Cautiously he walked over towards the bed. He wasn’t sure where he should lay down exactly. He dithered for a moment before bending down to sit on the floor near the right side of Logan’s bed and then laying down.

There was shuffling on the bed above him and then Logan’s head popped over the side to squint down at him. “On the bed Virgil,” he said.

 Virgil looked up at him in shock. “But it… I’m…” He trailed off and there were a few seconds of silence.

“It is just a bed Virgil,” Logan said.

But it wasn’t ‘just’ anything. Virgil was pretty sure touching the bed of a royal family member without permission would be considered a capital offence. At least, it would in Mocnejsi. Yet, Logan was expecting him to just… crawl into it?

“Please just get up here,” Logan said. Virgil’s caution at touching something he was definitely sure he should not be allowed to be touching wared with his resolve to repay his literal life debt to Logan by doing whatever he wanted.

 Feeling honestly a bit sick to his stomach, Virgil slowly pushed himself back to his feet. Logan scooted back over to the left side of the bed, and Virgil cautiously sat down on the empty side of the bed. After a second of hesitation he slowly laid down, his head hitting a soft fluffy pillow. He jumped when Logan flopped the covers on top of both of them.

Virgil took a long moment to absorb the situation while Logan took off his glasses and reached over to turn off the light next to him. He’d never slept in a bed before, or if he had he’d been too young to remember. In the orphanage there was a lack of actual beds due to overcrowding and there had always been someone bigger and stronger that Virgil didn’t dare fight for the use of them. During training, none of the kids had a bed. Only a few of the higher ups had ones at the more permanent training sites. There were very few situations where any of the assassins, at least a Virgil’s level, would be allowed to touch a real bed.

 The light switched off, plunging them into darkness.

“Is this…?” Virgil said, eyes still pointed towards the ceiling even though his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see it. “Do you want… things?”

“Things?” Logan asked.

Virgil did not move his head, but he did reach over and put his hand slightly above Logan’s knee. Logan didn’t move, so Virgil slid his hand up.

Virgil’s wrist was grabbed immediately and pulled firmly away from Logan’s inner thigh. He did not let go afterwards, his fingers squeezing hard, but not quite painfully. “Never,” Logan said, his voice harsher than it had ever been even on the day when Virgil was nothing more than an intruder with deadly intent. “Never offer anything like that to anyone ever again.”

 “I was just…”

“I know what you were doing,” Logan said, voice icy, “and it inadmissible. Never offer that again for anything. Do you understand me?”

“I... yes.”

“Promise me.”

Virgil took a short moment to think. “I promise,” he agreed.

“Good,” Logan said, releasing his hand. His voice got softer too. “Good.”

They were silent for a long time after that, though Virgil had no delusions that Logan had fallen asleep. He could almost feel the tension.

“Sorry,” Virgil finally said softly.

“It’s not something you should be apologizing for,” Logan replied. The bed moved as Logan shifted and a hand lightly touched the top of his head. “Just… never.”

 “Okay,” Virgil said. He shifted slightly after a moment until his head was in the crook of Logan’s arm. Logan brushed the hair out of his face with the hand that had been on his head.

“Goodnight Virgil,” Logan said.

“Goodnight,” Virgil responded. They were quiet after that, though Virgil was still awake for a while yet and Logan’s hand slowly stroked through his hair for a while. Eventually though, Virgil relaxed into mattress. He stuck his hand into his pocket and curled it around the charm in his pocket. The bed was nice, he thought. It was soft and warm… and safe. He finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 26

Patton did their new special knock on the door so Logan and Virgil would know it was just him and they didn’t need to hide the fact that Virgil was sleeping in the prince’s room. He didn’t wait for a response, however, and just shoved open the door. He was surprised to see that Logan was not already out of bed and wondered for a moment if he had broken his promise stayed up way too late reading like he was sometimes known to do. Yet, then, Logan spoke from the bed. “I’m awake,” he called.

Confused, Patton stepped into the room. Logan wasn’t one for lazing around in bed; usually he was out of bed the moment he woke.

 He stepped over to the bed and had to stifle a smile when he recognized the problem. Logan was awake, but Virgil was still sleeping, and he was half on top of Logan, his arms wrapped around him.

“Why don’t you just squirm out of his arms like you do me?” Patton asked, keeping his voice low.

“He isn’t like you,” Logan said. He did not bother to quiet himself at all.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked amused.

In answer, Logan started to move as though to squirm out of Virgil’s death grip on him. In response, Virgil made a pitiful mewling sound in his sleep that landed like a piercing blow straight to the heart. Logan stopped moving immediately and Virgil shifted to grip Logan tighter.

 “Aw!” Patton said.

“It’s not cute,” Logan insisted. “I’ve been stuck for hours and I have to pee.”

Patton chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’ll save you.” He rounded the bed to Virgil’s side and crawled up on it. “Virgil, honey,” he entreated softly. “I think it’s time for me to get cuddles so Lo can get up.” Patton softly touched Virgil’s shoulder and pulled at him gently. He reached forward to carefully pry Virgil’s arms off of Logan.

Virgil made a more confused than heartbreaking sound this time, turning towards Patton so Patton could wrap his arms around him. Logan managed to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

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Logan made it off the bed and dashed towards the bathroom as Virgil’s arms came around Patton and squeezed. Patton laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. After a few moments, Virgil’s eyes started to flicker a bit.

“Good morning, honey,” Patton said softly. “Did you sleep good?”

He hummed sleepily. “Beds are nice,” he said. Patton felt a slight pang at that because it implied he didn’t get to sleep in beds very much, but he chose to shove that aside.

“They are,” Patton agreed. Virgil’s eyes started to close again. “Honey,” Patton laughed. “I think it’s time to wake up now.”

 Virgil made a sleepy whining sound, squeezing Patton tighter. “Don’t you want breakfast?” Patton asked. That question managed to make Virgil open his eyes again. “I was thinking we could go down to the kitchen to eat that way it’s nice and fresh and I can introduce you to Mama real quick.” He neglected to mention the fact that they really did not have a choice. Mr. Deknis had blabbed to Mama about Virgil, and worse, had apparently mentioned that Virgil was skinny. As soon as he’d gotten home yesterday, he’d been met with an already worked up Mama firmly insisting that she meet Virgil sometime today.

 He wasn’t going to tell Virgil that though, because he thought it might scare him away from both Mama and Mr. Deknis.

Virgil thought about the prospect of breakfast for a long moment. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll be awake.”

“Good,” Patton said. He reached up to bop him on the nose. Virgil narrowed his eyes and then bopped him back making Patton giggle. He sat up then, and Virgil let him. “Let’s get you something to wear and do your hair,” Patton suggested. Virgil nodded and reluctantly got out of bed, just as Logan returned to the room. “We’re going to go downstairs for breakfast,” Patton told Logan. “That way Virgil can meet my mom.” He gave Logan a significant look and Logan nodded once in understanding that this was not a choice.

 Logan and Virgil got dressed, and Patton did Virgil’s hair up nice, before Patton led them out of the royal wing. They went down the main staircase instead of the spiral staircase that went right to the kitchen, mostly because it would be very busy, and Patton thought they should probably eat in the main dining room anyway. He could feel Virgil getting more anxious as they entered the busier part of the castle, and he stuck close to either Patton or Logan from the time they hit the top of the steps all the way to the main dining room.

 There were a few people in the dining room already eating breakfast when they arrived. Virgil’s curiosity seemed to temporarily overwhelm his anxiety as he looked around the large hall and at all of the people there. Patton looked around trying to see it through his eyes. He’d been running around this place since he was little, so he never really thought about how big the room was or how grandly it was decorated, but Virgil was just seeing it for the first time. Patton smiled at him as he guided him to one of the seats. There was already muffins on the table so Patton grabbed one and plopped it in front of Virgil.

 Virgil frowned down at the muffin dubiously. “You just… keep food out in the open?” he asked.

Right.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Patton promised. “No one here would have put anything in it.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked around at the other occupants of the room suspiciously.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “No one even knew we would be down here for breakfast. Nobody would just put something in random people’s food for no reason.”

Virgil gave him a look like he’d just told him people could in fact breathe under water. Virgil was really from a… whole different world, wasn’t he?

 “It’s really fine,” Patton said. “Logan and I have eaten things on the table like this a lot.”

“I’m surprised your not dead yet,” Virgil said.

Logan rolled his eyes and reached for a muffin. Virgil slapped it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Really?” Logan asked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “No eating unsecured food!”

“Virgil,” Logan groaned.

“I bet you don’t even know what common poisons taste like.”

“No,” Logan said. “I don’t because I don’t worry about being poisoned on a daily basis!”

“You should!”

People were starting to look over at them. Patton shot an awkward smile at the woman a few chairs down.

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“Just don’t eat the muffins Logan,” Patton said under his breath.

“I do not understand why-”

“Because it’s stupid as he-”

“Shush,” Patton commanded out of the corner of his mouth, “people are watching, and Virgil is just a normal castle resident.”

That shut the both of them up at least.

“No muffins for now,” Patton said. “I assume it’s okay to eat the things they bring straight from the kitchen.”

Virgil looked a bit leery of this still, but he nodded.

“Good,” Patton said, “then we’ll just wait for that to get here and then everyone will be happy, right?”

Logan opened his mouth and Patton turned to glare at him.

“Right?”

 Logan closed his mouth, though clearly, he did not want to give in so easily. They’d be doubtlessly rehashing this conversation once they were alone again.

Patton caught sight of one of the kitchen workers he knew fairly well come out of the kitchen and deliver food to a group of people who were there before them. She caught sight of them and walked over likely to ask them what they wanted for breakfast. Patton watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil tensed, eyeing her approach suspiciously and she slowed under his glare.

This was going to be a long breakfast.

  Chapter 27

After an, honestly quite aggravating, breakfast full of Virgil’s cognitive distortions about the likelihood of being poisoned, Logan was relieved to finally be able to leave the dining area. In consideration to those serving breakfast, Patton did not lead them through the door in the back of the dining room that went directly to the kitchen, and instead took them out of the room and down the hall to a different entrance. This one had a guard stationed across from it as, despite what Virgil may believe, the castle workers did consider the possibility that someone would want to sneak into the kitchen for nefarious purposes.

 Said guard, of course, saw nothing wrong with the prince and the head chef’s son entering the side door even with the bonus stranger. In fact, he may even have known Virgil could be coming through this door if Ms. Heart had mentioned him.

Though Virgil hadn’t managed to catch it, Logan knew enough about Patton’s mother that he’d surmised that she had insisted Patton bring the boy to meet her. It was bound to happen at some point anyway, Logan knew, and he wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was Patton’s mother. Virgil himself didn’t even seem particularly concerned.

 Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Of course, that may be because he did not know Patton’s mother specifically wanted to meet him and just assumed that they were starting the necessary process of introducing him to castle residents with a low risk person.

When they entered the hallway, Logan could already hear the usual noises of the kitchen: the clattering of plates, the bubble of conversation, and the sound of Ms. Heart’s voice calling out instructions.

 He did see Virgil hesitate, but Logan couldn’t sus out why and Patton was already ahead of them and opening the door into the kitchen. It was fairly calm for the kitchen considering it was meal hours. Logan imagined that Patton had chosen the time between when the day guards ate breakfast before their shifts and the night guards after their shifts on purpose. There was still a bit of chaos as dishwashers attempted to catch up during the lull and a few orders were still being made, but overall the mood seemed, to Logan at least, to be light as Ms. Heart ordered her kitchen around.

 Yet, Virgil clearly did not see the situation the same way that Logan did. He froze when the kitchen door swung open and some of the workers turned to look at them. He took a step back, bumped into Logan, startled violently, realized it was Logan, and then side stepped to hide behind him. Logan looked back at him in confusion, but Virgil said nothing, proceeding to mutely peer over Logan’s shoulder.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

 Logan could see Ms. Heart’s eyes soften as she tracked his movement. She turned to the woman next to her and said something before moving to remove her apron and hang it up in its designated area. Virgil’s hands clenched in the fabric of Logan’s shirt when she turned back to him.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

 Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Mama,” Patton said. “Come here, Virgil.” He reached over to touch one of Virgil’s hands and had to pull a bit to get him to release Logan. “It’s back that way, away from the kitchen,” he said when he managed to twine their fingers. He stepped around Logan, probably so there was still a buffer between Virgil and the kitchen and tugged him in the correct direction.

 Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

As head chef, Ms. Heart had a small office where she could plan menus without the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and have meeting with people who needed to discuss dietary needs and restrictions. It was very well organized, but still looked fairly messy because of the numbers of decorations she had in it. She had a tendency to keep everything that Patton made her, thus she had his childhood drawings on the wall and little projects stacked on her desk and on the shelves. A lumpy cat statue acted as a paperweight on a stack of papers on her desk and there was a vase of fake flowers (as it could not actually hold water) sat near the window.

 By the time Logan entered the room, Patton was trying to coax Virgil into sitting down on one of the two mismatched chairs, but Virgil was having none of it. He had turned to face the door and was yanking at his sweater in nervousness.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

 It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

She nodded and walked forward towards her desk. Virgil turned so his back was never to her. If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just grabbed a small tin off one of her shelves and took the top off. “How about a peppermint candy?” she asked.

 She offered the tin out to them. Virgil stared at it like it was a venomous snake. Logan decided to act, stepping forward and taking three of the pieces of peppermint candy from the dish. He stepped over to Virgil and Patton and held out his hand, offering Virgil first choice out of all three.

He hesitated before glancing between Patton and his mother. He must have decided that Patton’s mom wouldn’t risk poisoning Patton and took one of the pieces. Patton took another one of them and popped it into his mouth. Logan ate the last piece.

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

 Logan watched Virgil’s eyes light up a bit when the flavor registered. His posture didn’t completely relax, but he seemed at least a bit less like he was contemplating jumping through the window. His trust was almost worryingly easy to buy sometimes. All it took was a not poisoned peppermint.

Ms. Heart seemed pleased by his reaction. “I’m actually going to be making some new ones soon and I’m trying to get rid of these. Would you like to take another one for later?” she asked, holding out the tin.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

 “Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. “She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Did he now?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Logan. Logan winced. He was definitely in trouble for not bringing him directly to her. He was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as she caught him without Virgil in the room.

 She turned back to Virgil with a smile, and Logan imagined Virgil had no idea how dead Logan was. “Well, that’s a very good start, but if there was need for a nutrition potion, we should be careful to make sure you get enough calories and nutrients every day going forward.” She sat down at her desk. “Why don’t you and I talk for a bit about making sure you get some good food.”

He still looked cautious but was predictably enticed by the promise of food. He did not sit still, but he did put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and slightly lean on it. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

  Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

 That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

 Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

 “And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

 “Any adults,” Thomas corrected with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he, Patton, and Logan must have been around each other considering how close they already seem to be.” He paused, “Logan implied he wasn’t particularly… comfortable around adults.”

“I did get that impression, yes,” Helen said, pouring the hot water from the kettle into a tea pot and carrying it and some cups over to the table.

“He was incredibly jumpy,” Jeff confirmed. “I imagine he does not have good experiences with many people, but he seems to have grown attached to Logan and Patton. He defers to them in most things and seemed a bit protective.

 “Where did he come from?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jeff said. “I found him hiding in the garden shed a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did he sneak in?” Thomas asked.

“That’s what I would have thought,” Jeff replied, “but when I asked, he said he wasn’t trying to steal anything and that he was supposed to be in the castle. So, I’d assumed that meant he was the child of someone living in the caste.”

“But neither of us could find anyone who knew him,” Helen said. “Of course, we didn’t even know his name until now.” She seemed to decide the tea leaves had sat long enough because she started to pour them each a cup of tea.

Thomas took a sip. “Earl Grey,” he commented. “I guess I’m not sleeping much tonight.” It was her ‘planning tea.’

 “We need a plan,” she said, “but we’re going to have to be gentle.”

“At least with Virgil,” Jeff said.

Thomas laughed lightly, “and what do you plan to do with the other two?”

“I have my ways.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “You say that,” she said, “but you’re too soft. The two of them learned to run circles around you and your powers years ago.”

“We should talk to them though,” Thomas said. “Separately from Virgil.”

“We should,” Helen agreed. “I already spoke to Patton a bit yesterday, but I will again. We should see if we can ask around and find out why he’s in the castle. We don’t even know how long he’s lived here. Or who brought him here.” The look on her face told Thomas she wanted to have a talk with his guardians whoever and wherever they were.

 Helen took a drink of tea, it seemed to calm herself. “We need to make sure whatever has been happening to him is not happening in these walls,” she said.

Thomas had honestly… not thought about that. He’d assumed whatever made Virgil so skittish was in the past, but it was possible that it was ongoing. The thought made him sick.

“Perhaps you should try to talk to him, Thomas,” Helen suggested.

Thomas winced. “I am not sure that is a good idea...”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the best track record… I don’t think me being around him would be a good idea.”

 “Oh, please, Thomas,” Helen said disbelievingly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Thomas said. “He seems disproportionately afraid of me. I think it’s a mix of me being king and how we met.”

“How did you meet?” Helen asked.

“I… gave him a bit of a fright,” Thomas admitted. “Logan and Patton weren’t in the room and I didn’t know who he was. He… ended up under the bed. Then… the second time I saw him he accidently ran into me. He freaked out again.” The memory still made Thomas feel gross. It also made him think there was a lot more to his backstory than the three of them understood.

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“Perhaps Jeff can try to talk to him then,” Helen said. “It sounds like he was calmest around you. I’ll push Patton towards taking him to the garden more often. I bet fresh air would do him some good anyway.”

Jeff nodded. “I will try to talk to him a bit more.”

“Great,” Helen said, but Thomas already knew the conversation wasn’t over. “Now we need to talk about strategic events to throw over the next few months that Patton and Logan to invite Virgil to. We’ll start slow, but we need to make sure he feels welcome in the castle.”

Thomas met Jeff’s eyes. Yeah, it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 29

Virgil finished eating the breakfast Patton’s mom had sent for him. It had been going on a week since she’d made the menu for him. She sent up little cards with each meal and he was supposed to rate each thing she sent on a scale from 1-5. Logan would read it to him before he ate, and Virgil mark the little box on the card. Usually, he would put a 4 for everything (he had tried to do 5, but Logan had told him 5 was reserved for things like chicken alfredo). Three was for things that he was neutral on, 2 was for things he didn’t like but could tolerate, and 1 was for things he didn’t like. So far, the only 3 was the unseasoned porridge she’d sent one day.

 “Finished?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

“What would you like to do today?” Logan asked. “Patton is busy until after lunch, and then we thought you might like to go back to the garden again. It’s supposed to drop in temperature over the next few days, so it will be the last good day for it.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “I don’t care what we do today though.”

“Well, there are a few options,” Logan said.

“What do you want to do?” Virgil asked.

Logan made an expression, and Virgil titled his head. “I’m don’t have anything in particular I want to do,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Virgil said immediately.

 “You would not be interested in the activity I wish to partake in,” Logan said.

Virgil squinted at him. “I’d be interested in laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling.”

Logan chuckled. “No, truly. The activity I would do if you were not present would involve reading.”

“You can read to me,” Virgil suggested.

“…In Sanskrit.”

Virgil frowned at him. “Isn’t that, like, some sort of dead language?”

“It is,” Logan said. “I taught myself to read it to read a specific book called the Pragilium Text. It’s an encoded book that leads to a magical location that I have been trying to decode for years.”

 “That’s fine,” Virgil said. “You can do that.”

“It would be in the library,” Logan said.

“Okay.”

“But…” Logan said. “It would in no way be interesting to you.”

Virgil shrugged. “Like I said. I’m content to lie on the floor for a few hours.”

Logan frowned. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me,” Virgil said. “I want to go. Maybe you can find me an easy book I could try to read?”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, decisively.

“Very well, get dressed and I will show you the library.”

Virgil stood to do so and a few minutes later, Logan was leading him out of the royal wing.

 Both of the guards greeted him kindly, and Virgil hunched his shoulders in a bit, but said a soft “hi.”

The library didn’t end up being too far away. It was through the small dining hall and to the left where the staircase to the kitchen was to the right.

“This is not the main library,” Logan said. “It is just a smaller one. The royal librarian comes here only about once a week to organize. Some other castle residents might come in too, but it is usually mostly empty.” Virgil could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the place was likely empty (unless someone was lying in wait).

 “I’ll look and see if there is something simple for you in case you’d like to read. You can explore a bit if you’d like,” Logan said.

Virgil nodded and stalked off into the shelves to secure the area. There were many books, not that he could quite read any of the spines. The bookcases were mostly cramped into the space. There was the open area where they’d come in with a few comfy chairs and Virgil found a desk near one of the windows. It had stacks of books including one pretty large and old one. He looked at it curiously.

[ask-iamnotanalicorn]

Previous: The Tirek Timeline

The Discorded Timeline

The new Element bearers had not appeared. With nothing to fall back on, Celestia went to face the return of her sister armed only with her determination and desperation. With the knowledge that anything other than subduing her sister would result in Luna’s death or her ponies’ enslavement, Celestia fought with all her heart. 

A thousand years hadn’t tempered Nightmare Moon’s madness, but it had grown Celestia’s magical skill. The clash of the last remaining alicorns filled the sky with light and darkness that could be seen across the entire country... including from the gardens of the castle in Canterlot, where a long-dormant statue waited.

If Celestia had known the danger... if she had known that the Tree of Harmony had grown weaker over a thousand years... if she had known that the Element magic used to imprison Discord was weakened with it, and he only needed one significant bit of discord to break the last lock on his prison... she might have preferred allowing Nightmare Moon to take the throne. 

Because two alicorn sisters displaying their ground-shattering discord across the skies was more than enough. 

Discord caught them mid-battle...and was honestly kinda irritated to find them more focused on fighting each other than challenging him. He couldn’t even set up a good game for them to lose at before he took over! He’d just have to fix that with a bit of chaos magic. A quick boop to the heads, and... well, things didn’t turn out quite like he expected. Celestia became haughty, snide, and violent, but Luna changed out of her (decidedly tacky, but what could you expect from pony fashion) goth look and turned all nice and weirdly remorseful. Luna tried to appeal to her sister, Celestia (who now had an interesting tinge of fire in her mane) unleashed some demeaning verbal attacks, and pretty soon it looked like they were gearing up for another fight, and...

Well, this was stupid. They were so focused on each other, they weren’t even paying attention to him! He’d fix that with another boop on Celestia’s noggin - really annoying, having to un-chaos someone, but at least it put the two ponies on the same side so they could get their priorities straight and focus on...

Ah, yes, there it was! Just what he’d waited for these past thousand years: two alicorn sisters, both staring at him with horror and worry and that oh-so-precious pony determination. Too bad they had already worn themselves out with their fight over who-knew-what. They were almost pathetically easy to overpower, especially with not an Element in sight.

The princesses were his playthings. Equestria would be shifted and reformed under his chaotic whim. And none stood able to challenge him.

The Reign of Discord had begun.

----

Meanwhile, Salespitch was visiting Canterlot at just the wrong time, and... 

Well, what do you think happens when a lord of chaos notices a pony standing in the middle of the road, trying its hardest to not show how petrified it is, and it has a horn and wings but clearly no alicorn magic? And then said lord of chaos investigates said pony out of curiosity, mocks him about playing princess, and is amazed when said pony actually gets annoyed enough to scold Discord that no, he is NOT an alicorn, he’s never WANTED to be an alicorn, and he would really prefer it if people didn’t mistake him for royalty when he’s just a stallion with a genetic mutation trying to live a normal life!!!

Discord thought that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. 

Long story short, instead of Discording Sales’ personality, Discord just... made his biggest annoyance a reality. Obviously he didn’t give Sales FULL alicorn powers, and what powers he did give him are pretty wonky - the ability to turn random objects into suitcases, and fly upside down, and speak in a dramatic Royal Canterlot Voice at random and totally inconvenient times, etc. The royal regalia was a stroke of genius inspired by one of this new era’s “cartoon characters,” a perky little alicorn called Prince Smiley. (The fact that Sales had once dressed as said character for Nightmare Night was sheer coincidence, although Discord would have found that even more perfect.) 

Obviously Sales was horrified, which is really the wrong reaction, because it just made the whole thing funnier to Discord and thus made the draconequus that much less likely to forget about Sales and go pester other ponies. Anonymity is your friend in Discord’s kingdom.

Now, Discord being Discord, he gets bored of things easily - including mocking and tormenting the powerless alicorn princesses. There’s a whole nation to twist and remodel into a true chaotic kingdom! Plenty of other ponies to give him some variety. Turning them to stone would be so gauche and ruin his single moral high ground over the ponies, so when Discord tires of his princess fun, he turns the alicorn sisters into fillies and leaves them with his newly-appointed Prince of Babysitting. After all, shouldn’t an "alicorn” be in charge of baby alicorns? Discord even made him a lovely glass castle with stone windows - more of a cage, really, since Sales can’t leave it, but he has a throne and everything! Discord doesn’t even have to worry about manipulating somecreatures into worshipping the new “prince”; Sales has already got his own cult that fawns over him outside the see-through castle like a fanclub, to Sales’ eternal embarrassment. Yes, this is clearly the best setup Discord could have come up with all around, takes-hand-off-and-pats-self-on-the-back.

Time passes with no end in sight for the madness that has turned Equestria into a kaleidoscope’d chaos playground. Sales kind of falls into a perpetually annoyed resignation. He tries to be grateful - at least he still possesses full control of his mind, unlike so many ponies outside his weird castle. He has the honor of safeguarding the princesses - although he feels guilty that he can’t actually protect them from Discord’s whims. But he can keep them happy, and the few times he gets to talk with them before or after they’ve been in their baby states, Celestia manages to give him a word of encouragement or gratitude. (Plus, well, they ARE pretty adorable as fillies... even if he is NOT the world’s best babysitter and has to figure things out on the fly. He really wishes his mom were here.)

There is one actual advantage to all this. Ironically, Sales has a closer connection with Discord than most; since Discord made Sales the caretaker of the princesses, he actually talks to Sales sometimes. Granted, he mostly treats Sales as a captive audience to whine at when Discord starts getting bored of whatever recent chaotic plan he’s enacted. After all, when EVERYTHING is chaos... well, chaos almost becomes normal, so Discord keeps having to up himself. Sales actually manages to have conversations with him sometimes, and he’s gotten a glimpse of the truth even Discord can’t or won’t recognize: that he’s lonely, dissatisfied, and lacks a real sense of purpose or fulfillment.

Sales has to treat carefully, since annoying or upsetting Discord too much results in chaotic ‘punishments’ that are usually more disorienting and frustrating than actually harmful. But Sales has started picking his ear a little bit with hints that maybe Discord is bored because most creatures subject to his chaos don’t enjoy it like he does? Maybe sharing fun WITH people is better than just having fun for yourself at others’ expense? I mean, look at you, Discord, the only pony you really talk to is a nobody you made into an alicorn just to embarrass him.  That’s a pretty lonely way to live, isn’t it?

Sometimes Discord listens while making snarky comments. Other times Discord gets irritated and turns Sales into a tiny alicorn who has to ride around on baby Celestia’s back and try not to get stepped on (or something of that nature). But Sales keeps trying and hoping and praying he’ll get through, because if they ever hope to stop Discord’s reign of chaos... well, it might just take teaching the Lord of Chaos what friendship is.

Even if the only pony currently able to make the effort finds him super annoying.

-----

Fun Facts About The Discorded Timeline:

- Yes, Luna’s popsicle is her cutie mark. I suppose once she digests it it will reappear back on her flank. XD

- Cadence hasn’t become an alicorn yet in this timeline. The chaos events do lead to her meeting Shining Armor, though, because TRUE LOVE and such :D

- Sales’ cult ABSOLUTELY LOVES THIS SITUATION. I mean, a lot of them hope/expect that Sales will eventually break free and defeat Discord now that he is showing his true alicorn might. Sales yells at them through the walls sometimes, but they have a hard time hearing him, so naturally they make up all sorts of “godly” nonsense he’s supposedly sharing.

- Discord did in fact accidentally cure Luna of the bad magic that was fueling and feeding off her old rage and paranoia. She and Celestia have pretty well made up through these weird events. And as Discord grows bored of their initial humiliation, his torments get less frightening and more, well, just weird, so life is KINDA bearable. Plus they really like Sales now (they don’t remember their adult selves while they are babies, but Discord makes sure they can remember every embarrassing toddler thing they did when they get aged back to normal.)

- Sales doesn’t know what’s going on with his family, they were back home when this happened. He’s hopeful they didn’t get affected too badly. In fact, Featherhorn (his hometown) got turned into a cardboard village and a few ponies had their heads swapped around, but Discord hasn’t made any connection between them and Sales, so he doesn’t think anything special of the place. Mostly just chocolate rain, flying rhinobunnies, and corncob trees. Everypony agrees it could be worse (but not out loud, that’s just ASKING for trouble!) Also Per talks backwards now, but everyone can still understand her (somehow) so it evens out.

- Black DOES run into Discord at one point while trying to sneak into Sales’s castle. Discord thinks he’s just another of Sales’ fanclub, so he turned him blue and forgot about him. Black finds this super annoying, especially when he can’t change his color no matter what magical disguise he makes.

- Don’t even worry about Sombra, he’s not touching a Discorded Equestria with a ten foot pole. Honestly Discord probably went after him as soon as he showed up, adding the Crystal Empire to his chaos kingdom. 

- The Changelings are staying the HECK away in their nice little magic-negating castle, the only safe haven from Discord. Pony refugees actually try and go there, although it is tricky to get around the thick forest of living candy Discord erected all the way around their territory. Those who do get in exchange servitude and donations of love for safety. It keeps the changelings fed and the ponies feel safer working for bug-ponies in a place of order than out in the madness of Discord’s land.

- So as you might imagine, Sales can’t break through the glass of his glass castle. If he were to try and smash through the stone windows, though... let’s just say he feels really smart AND really dumb while making his escape attempt. It doesn’t go over well with Discord, especially when he manages to successfully pawn the baby princesses off to some of his cult members (one of whom is Black, don’t worry), who hide them away. This leads to a rather heated conversation when Discord catches up with him... and perhaps a moment of truth where Discord might realize he actually does maybe kinda sorta consider this silly brown pony a friend who he possibly doesn’t want to severely punish as a warning to other ponies who might defy him. Maybe.

- Art note: I didn’t draw a background for this one initially, and then I got around to coloring them and knew it needed SOMETHING. Came up with the glass castle with stone windows because that seems Discord-like. Also baby bottle trees. The idea for breaking the stone windows was literally last minute as I wrote this, so bonus!

Next Week: Industrial Devolution (Flim Flim Universe)

[thetravelingmaster]

Erin’s Weird Morning

NOTE: Another lost gem from the beginnings of my old @mc2015 blog! 

I had completely forgotten about this one and I hadn’t transferred to my mc-diaries.com site. I find this one especially good since I’ve discussed some of the themes present in this story.

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

Female’s Point of View - Hypnosis

My conscious mind gradually came back to reality as the delicious fog of my dreams carefully released me from its sweet embrace. I could almost feel it... At first, it was simply that I could control my thoughts more and more. Like I wasn't waiting to see what happens in my dreams, but actively deciding what I would do next. Then the scenery of my dream faded away softly as it was replaced by a sense of self I couldn't deny. I felt so ethereal in my dream, but the more I awoke, the more I grounded I felt...

As if they had all agreed before hand, my senses came back in turns. First of them was my sense of touch. Of course... That was why I felt so grounded... I could feel myself lying down on something soft. Warm... My skin informed me that I had something fluffy and soft covering me. I was still somewhere between my dream and reality and I almost giggled as I thought that I must surely be on a cloud somewhere hot and sunny.

Then came my hearing... My awareness started to hear a rhythmic click that had me perplexed for a few moments. What was that sound? But my brain finally woke up a little more and I could identify it as an old grandfather clock, ticking away... It was so soothing... Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

My muscles felt heavy with sleep and I was tempted to stay in bed and see if I could travel back to my dreams, but then I smiled and stretched out my limbs under the sheets. I could notice the dull heat as passed through all of my tissues, waking up my limbs. God it felt nice... One of those simple pleasure I don't always enjoy properly...

As I stretched, my third sense made itself known: Smell.

I took in a deep breath and was instantly aware of a faint aroma floating in the room. What was that? Vanilla? Lavender? Some sort of perfume or candle? What ever it was, it was wonderful. I breathed in again and let the scent invade my nostrils. It was soothing... Delicate... I smiled as I thought that my lover must have surely woken up before me and prepared it.

And then my fourth sense woke me up: Taste.

I couldn't help myself, I licked my lips as I thought of him. We made such an incredible pair... Fitting together like puzzle pieces. I always felt so... Sexy... Around him. I could always see the lust he had for me in his eyes. Like he always had to fight and control himself around me. As if his lust was a caged animal that always wanted to ravage me... 

God I loved it when he let loose and released that beast...

But as I licked my lips, I noticed that there was something foreign applied to them. I could taste something... Sweet... Strawberries? I licked and sucked at my lips to identify this new sensation, but I couldn't put my finger on it... The substance felt and tasted like one of those flavored lipsticks. I didn't remember applying that before I went to bed... How strange...

Finally, I decided that I just had to wake up eventually and reluctantly opened my mind to my last remaining sense: Sight.

A soft light blurred my vision before my eyes could adjust to the sudden intrusion. But as the focus got better and better, my heart started to race more and more...

I didn't recognize the ceiling.

It made no sense. Why wasn't I seeing the ceiling in our bedroom? I didn't recognize the light fixture. So ornate... I sat up straight and looked around. Nothing made sense! This wasn't my bedroom at all

There was a window to my left and I could see that it was way passed morning. What time was it? I looked around to find the clock I had heard earlier, which... Which made me realize that we didn't even own a grandfather clock! But there it was, standing against the wall... Like a silent sentinel...

I looked at the bed I was in and it too was strange. Was I still dreaming? I finally looked at myself and saw I wasn't wearing my regular nighty. I was wearing... Nothing!

I looked around the bed and saw that there was a card propped up on the night stand. The card was folded neatly and it was addressed to me. Next to it was a feather... A feather! And an ink pot... We definitely didn't own that... My name had clearly been written with it. 

I shook my head and told myself I needed to find out what all this was about. I covered my naked chest with the sheets as I moved to grab it.

"Good morning my divine Angel,

    I hope your dreams were as exciting and erotic as our time together last night. Our play time was... Exquisite... Entertaining... Sensual... I find I lack the proper words to describe how much of a gem you are. Who knew you would be such a wonderful and compliant subject... I'm so glad I got the chance to meet you yesterday... But before you tumble down the rabbit hole of your worries, I assure you that you gave me all the permissions I needed to spend the night with you... Well… The weekend really... And before you ask... Yes... I asks all does questions while you were in a hypnotic trance... Before I we truly started..."

Oh god... Hypnosis? No... This can't be happening! I had always had a fetish for hypnosis. I even went to a professional to see it was just a phase or something else. It definitely wasn't. Feeling the trance invade my mind made me so hot. Horny... I still remember how ravenous I was with my lover when I got back from that first and only session. Did... Did someone find out about my desire? Did... No... Had I been hypnotize to follow some stranger?

The thought both scared and aroused me. Of course it was a fantasy of mine! But I would never want to live it out for real... I bit my lip as I continued to read the note.

"You were so eager to be claimed. To be taken... I've removed your memories from last night, but only as part of a game. In this room, you will find another piece of paper. On it is a trigger word that will make you remember our time together..."

Oh god... Oh god... This is real... As much as I tried, I couldn't recall anything from last night!

"And finally... I left a few... Commands... in your mind... I think you'll have a few surprises as you search for my little trigger..."

OH GOD! Was this fear or excitement? I couldn't tell anymore...

"But be warned… There are 2 sides to any piece of paper... So I’ve written 2 triggers... One will turn you back into my lovely Angel Doll... And the other will make you remember... Choose wisely..."

Oh fuck... Angel Doll? That's exactly one of the names I imagined my hypnotic Master would call me! Speaking of which... He signed at the bottom...

"Your new Master."

New Master? Oh god... Fuck! Ok Erin... Get it together... Don't give in just yet... 

I got up and looked in a few drawers. If nothing else, I was going to be dressed to meet this pretentious 'new master'. I'll be able to tell him that I may have accepted all this in a trance, but I have to stop things here. I already had a lover!

I found panties and a bra as well as a see through shirt and tight pants. All in my size. How the hell could they all be in my size? I put my panties on and as I grabbed my bra, I suddenly felt an intense itching sensation. As if my panties were soaked with itching powder or something... I quickly removed them and looked at them, lying on the floor... What the hell? I tried to put my bra on, telling myself that I could go commando in those tight pants, but as soon as I had my bra on, the itching started again...

I simply couldn't stand it! I undid it in record time and through it on the floor. I looked at them for a moment before I finally understood.

Hypnosis...

God damn it! If he could make me forget last night, he could certainly make it so I couldn't put on underwear. That pervert... I tried to put the pants on and sighed in relief when I couldn't feel the itching sensation. I put on the shirt with the same apprehension, but everything was ok. 

Well at least I'm not naked... Even if this shirt is see through...

I went to the door to see if I could get out. Had he locked it? But as I looked at the door and saw the handle... I... I couldn't figure out how it worked! Should I turn it? Pull it? Push it? I... I couldn't decide! I had no clue how to operate the door! The more I tried to figure it out, the worst it seemed to get.

I finally gave up and went to the window. I saw that I was on the second floor... With only trees as far as I could see... I certainly didn't want to climb down... The more I looked out, the scarier it seemed. Like... Like I was getting vertigo... I turned and caught my breath.

So... He made it so I couldn't get out... He thought of everything...

I started to look through the room for his mystery piece of paper. I finally found it under the bed. I grabbed it and looked it over. Like he said, 2 words were written on each side of the paper. Again, it looked like he had written it with the feather. 

As I read both, I suddenly wondered which would make me remember and which would make me into a... A... A doll...

It was evident which would make me remember and which would turn me. But was it a trick? He wrote that this was a game.

I guess I couldn't figure it out anyway... Might as well try and see what happens. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

"Reminisce..." I said.

I felt another wave of vertigo sweep my mind as images came flooding in. It was such a rush! I closed my eyes as I tried to make sense of it all. Oh god... I remember seeing a pocket watch... Swinging... I remember... Oh yes... I remember feeling the trance invade my mind... Then... I was made to undress... Sensually... And then...

OH MY GOD!!!

I opened my eyes and looked around. I was in our bedroom! And that was our bed! I looked towards the door and saw that it wasn't closed, it was wide open! And there, leaning against the door frame, was my lover! He was smiling as he looked at me.

That little bastard...

I remembered now! He wanted to make my fantasy come true! He... Oh god... He discovered my fetish... I remember telling him about it... And he studied to hypnotize me! And he did all this... I should have realize it was him all along! He always calls me his Angel.

I smiled as I turned the paper over. Might as well go with it...

"Angel Doll..." I said aloud.

He smiled even more as I felt my mind go numb...

[abizarreyodelingincident]

LU: Our Nightly Confidant 2

Deserted Hyrule

It could be worse.

Don't get him wrong. He'd gone through far more dangerous situations with not nearly as much ressources, or the faint hope that someone would notice and come help him. He's actually fairly confident he won't die in this ditch. A few factors led him to that conclusion.

For starters, his legs are no longer broken. And he isn't in his Hyrule, so chances are, he's not in immediate and urgent danger of being found by hungry monsters. Which is a very big positive note, because he currently can't do much more than lift a finger. Healing takes a lot out of him, but healing himself is so much worse. Taking his own energy to repair the damage, also a demanding thing to ask of his body... well, he's pretty resigned to spending the night at the bottom of this ravine if none of the others find him before nightfall.

Light is dimming, already hindered by the thick foliage all around him, worsened by the imminent sunset. Shadows crawl on the dirt and the bark of trees, tall spindly things. And yet, it still lacks the sort of venomous promises of home. Back home, no one slept in a forest if they could help it. No one with the will to live, at least. Here? He has the feeling he'll, at worse, be spooked once or twice.

The wind turns, again, and it strokes his hair like a kind old man's hand would. It's strange how appeasing the whistling in his ears feel reassuring. It's nothing like he is used to. Winds don't just stop and start all over again naturally. There's a presence in these woods. Something ancient, tied in the blood of the land. Some Hyrules feel more alive than others. This one is striving, brimmed with an undercurrent of Light.

Twilight had told them not to wander into the woods. It's got a lot of hidden ravines, he said, and poison mists. Hyrule cringes a bit remembering the heavy look aimed at him and Wild. Were he able to travel through time, he'd tell his past self to pay attention. He might have been too confident in his ability to avoid the danger. Poison and sheer drops should have been second nature for him at this point. Between his fairy and his jump spell, he had this covered.

That's probably why he fell now that he thinks about it. He never thought bushes could hide that kind of drop. They never grew around the mountains and hills of his era. The thought brings heat to his cheeks. The Hero of Hyrule, laid low by some harmless bushes.

“Maybe it's best the others don't find me right away. An hour, give or take, and I'll be able to scale this,” he mutters to himself, blushing.

The snap of a twig grips his heart in a vice grip. With what little energy he has, Hyrule snaps his head around to face a large shadowed wolf.

“W-Wolfie?” he asks, his voice uneven.

The bark that is his reply somehow sounds sarcastic. A drawled 'woof' that's like rumbling clouds.

“Huh.”

Despite his better judgement, Hyrule does relax. It's hard not to when faced with something that baffling.

“The others sent you to get me?” he says, remembering the last time the beast had spent hours leading him and Wild through the woods. That glare scorched. “Right, right... huh, think you could wait a few minutes.”

It's not much better tonight.

“Sorry, Wolfie. I got injured in the fall. I healed, but it's taken its toll.”

Worry makes the wolf's face shift. A cold nose pushes against his foot, and Hyrule chuckles at the tickling sensation.

“I'm fine. It's... just a bit of rest should do the trick... I give you a lot of work, don't I?” I am a burden, a failure, he doesn't say.  

With a huff, Wolfie rolls his eyes and lifts his head. For a second there, Hyrule has to blink, convinced the light of dusk is playing a trick on him, but no, Wolfie's fur is darkening. From grey to black. Like ink spilled on top of him, bleeding over his entire form until even his eyes are swallowed into the darkness.

He flinches back, willing his hand to grab his sword. Ache, he thinks. He's been a fool! He was so willing to believe his luck had turned he'd forgotten the most basic safety precautions of his time!

Blocks of darkness fly off Wolfie's silhouette, which somehow doesn't change. Doesn't stretch into a standing position and a face full of mocking fangs. Wolfie disappears in a flurry of pure black and Hyrule's brain stutters to a miserable stop.

And then, just above, the darkness gathers, swirls together. And out emerges Wolfie, same as ever, with the markings on his forehead and the chains clanking against the edges of the ravine. Teleportation.

“You can use magic?!” Hyrule yells, forgetting all about keeping a low profile in the face of that shock. Animals aren't supposed to know magic! Most monsters can't use it!

For some reason Hyrule can't wrap his head around, his shout causes Wolfie to pause. His next movement is more careful, a little more hunched, and he disappears beyond the edge of the cliff, a hint of his tail the only sign that Wolfie has turned around.

Sky would tell him that it's another sign that Hylia is watching over them. That she sent Wolfie as a sort of messenger to pass along hope. Something like that. And Legend would have the hardest time keeping his disdain off his face. For all he was prickly, he also had a sixth sense for what was and wasn't an unacceptable line to cross.

Hyrule... Hyrule doesn't know who he leans toward in that case. Before this quest, he'd have no clue, not because he was uncertain, but because he didn't know what a goddess was supposed to be then. Now that he does, it lacks... appeal. It doesn't help that none of the others can exactly agree who and what the goddesses of the world are, what's the point of belief.

'Faith that there's a way to save yourself,' rings Legend's bitten answer, whispered late at night.

It's probably a coincidence that the moment the memory plays out rope drops quite directly into his hand.

Wolfie is looking down, a low huff and nod for him to grab onto the rope. Even though his every limbs are weighted with iron, he has to give it a fair try.

And he drops the moment he's on his feet.

The dizziness hits worse with the echoes of a panicked bark over the howling wind. He has to close his eyes for a second. What he wouldn't give for a potion right now.

A rough texture licks the back of his hand. It's not anything he ever got to experience before. What few dogs he knew before this were more the sort to bite than offer comfort. And that's what it is, comfort, an apology, maybe, for pushing. Slowly, he opens his eyes, comes face to face with Wolfie, who lets out a pitiful whine.

“Sorry,” Hyrule repeats. “I don't think I can climb that.”

The ears flick on top of Wolfie's head, and he grabs the rope in his mouth. Circles him quickly. Oh. That could work. Together, they manage to tie the rope around his waist, secure it tightly, and Wolfie's gone again. The tugs start right away.

It's uncomfortable at best, but he's not about to complain. Who ever heard of a wolf pulling someone up a cliff before? Throwing someone a length of rope? He figures the discomfort is his punishment for not listening. It doesn't last long regardless. He has to blink back the sleep when his back scrapes on dirt. Groans. Thinks.

Now that he knows Wolfie can use magic, the scolding feels even worse. He's not scared. Just... the weight of those eyes grew. It's not just Wild's tame wolf being sent after him. It's a thinking beast annoyed at his recklessness. He should know better, the glare inside his head tells him.

He bites his tongue. The words don't want to come out.

Wolfie crouches low and nudges him with his nose, hints at his back. An invitation. It makes shame curdle inside his stomach. He can feel it sloshing around. The ravine suddenly sounds appealing. But he can't do that to Wolfie. Not twice in a row. He only has to swallow a bit of embarrassment. He's lucky. So lucky. Most people just die.

Few people ever seem to live in his era.

Wolfie's fur is still unfairly soft even when he can feel the rolling muscles underneath. He lies on top of Wolfie, his arms hooked around the beast's neck, hoping he's not too heavy.

Wolfie makes an inquisitive sound, almost a question.

It takes Hyrule some time to realize he's waiting for an answer too.

“I, yes, I'm ready,” he says, wishing to disappear.

They start at a slow trot. His weight is an obvious burden for the beast he's seen rocket through a battlefield to maul a monster about to strike one of them. His next apology might not even be said out loud. Hyrule's not sure anymore.

Wolfie feels like a well-hidden cave or a barricaded inn room at night. Deep breathes after a sprint to escape a horde. The buzz of magic in his veins, full, potent, ready to fry a daring monster. Face half-buried in his friend's coat, Hyrule's eyelids grow heavy. The exhaustion of his accident, pushed aside by the meeting with Wolfie, is returning with a vengeance.

He listens to the rhythm of Wolfie's steady heartbeat. The breaking of twigs and brushing of leaves on fur. Little grunts when the wolf goes over large roots and the scritches of claws on bark.

“I... I used to be pretty scared of wandering off, you know?” he whispers into the wall of fur.

Wolfie swerves and twists, his big head turning just enough to give Hyrule a glimpse of a wide blue eye. Shock is an understatement.

He can't help it. He chuckles and runs a hand just behind Wolfie's ears, the way Time does on rare occasions. He is rewarded with a huff and a jolt when Wolfie picks up the pace again.

“It's a dangerous business, going out your doors. So I never did, until one day there was no one left and the food had run out. Then an old man gave me a sword. That's the kindest thing a stranger ever did for me,” he says, fond, the bearded old man flashing through his memory.

A quiet whine rings to his ears. Wolfie's posture lowers. Hyrule can't quite tell what it means. Is the wolf tired? Ashamed? Exasperated? He's not sure. But now that he started talking, it's harder to stop.

“Once in a while, I'd meet people that would help me. Offer me shelter. Help me treat my wounds. But nothing like that first time. When I first wandered around, past the little alcove that had been my home forever, into the great vastness of my country. And it was a hundred times bigger than I could imagine from my little hole in the ground. That old man... gave me the world.”

Fireflies fly above, and Hyrule leaves his thoughts to trail off. These woods are lovely. Yes, even with the hidden drops and the ravines with whistling winds, with the deku babas here and there that leer at the wolf too far for them to reach... all he sees is a forest thriving, so full of life it's in the very air he breathes.

“I... Poisonous mists didn't sound so bad. I've got tons of poisonous rivers, full of hostile zoras. Poisonous swamps, full of monsters. Heck, poisonous caves too... My Hyrule's pretty harsh, y'know?”

A grunt. Not angry. Just... a grunt.

“Don't get me wrong, it's my home. I love it. And I'm not jealous. I'm not!”

Even though Wolfie is looking forward, never faltering from the obstacles on his path, Hyrule can feel Wolfie's full attention bearing down on him. Can feel the anticipation, the worry. And a knot in his chest unties itself long enough for a fear never voiced to suddenly latch onto words and thoughts.

“But how will I look the princesses in the eye if I can't even describe to them what the world would be like without Ganon's influence? If I can't give them hope for a bright future when I've been to those futures myself? I don't want to fail them.”

Fur soaks up a stray tear or two.

His tongue refuses to move anymore. They make the rest of the trip in silence.

                                                  ***

The others, indeed, hadn't been very pleased, but Hyrule had more or less fallen asleep before the eldests (minus Twilight somehow) had finished berating him. He'd woken up just before dawn, greeted Four still on the third watch, and busied himself until the inevitable. He's not looking forward to the concealed worry on Legend's face or the exasperation on Warriors'.

He hovers on the outskirts of the camp.

Which is where he notices, at first lights, their goatherd breaking away from the group. 'Probably going to relieve himself' is Hyrule's guess. It could have been true, but when the others start stirring, Hyrule's hit by a bunch of nerves. Nothing wrong happened to Twilight, right? It's his era, he can't have been taken out by a surprise cliff, right?

He takes off in the direction he saw his elder leave. And, luckily, he's easy to spot in the plains of Hyrule Fields. There's little but grass and the occasional tree here. Yet, Twilight's crouching behind a rock.

Puzzled, Hyrule lowers himself to the ground and tiptoes near Twilight.

“What's going on? Is there an enemy nearby?”

Twilight hides part of his grin by putting a finger to his lips. In his other hand, he's holding some strange weapon. With a long wooden handle and then a circular hand, with... a cloth hood? He... is that something to suffocate your enemy? It's a violent thought, and he doesn't quite associate it with Twilight, their farmhand, their goatherd, who'll whistle with grass on a slow evening.

It's twice as strange for the lack of visible monsters around. He prays it's not another round of  moas or kasutos...

Responding to an unheard signal, Twilight stalks forward. Crawls on his knees, slow and patient. The pelt on his back is coming alive in Hyrule's mind. He needs to blink, to chase away the image of a wild animal, and by the time he does, Twilight is pouncing, weapon striking a tree.

“Gotcha,” Twilight says, pumping a fist.

“Huh?” He couldn't see a thing. Did he forget the cross somewhere...?

“Hyrule, come here.”

Twilight's hands are cupped together, hiding something from view. It immediately tickles his curious side, who can't help lean forward.

He gasps.

The bug's shell glimmers in the morning light. Specks of dust around it catch its glow. Sparkle. He's never seen an animal like this. With hesitant fingers, he makes a reaching motion. A very faint hums of magic brushes against his finger before the beetle scurries backward. That's Twilight's cue, it seems, and the bug is dropped into a glass bottle, cork sealing it in. He can't help the pang of envy that pierces through his heart at the sight.

Twilight rubs the back of his neck, rueful. “Never been big on going out of my village, it's the farmer in me, but darn if some things don't feel worth the risk. Home's nice, but Hyrule as a whole... s'a place of wonder for me.”

“It is,” Hyrule says, unable to quite look away from the little thing.

“Want to keep it?”

And Hyrule's heart is sent into a stuttering mess, his hands clenching around the little glass bottle so hard he fears it'll break.

“I... can I?”

He doesn't dare hope yet.

Twilight's mouth pulls into a wry grin. “Sure thing. Bit of a hobby of mine at this point. Bug catching, I mean. There's this girl in Castletown that used to pay me to find some for her. I scoured my whole Hyrule looking to find all the golden bug species. Fetched me a pretty rupee.”

“Oh, huh, right, lemme see how much I-”

“Don't be daft, 'Rule,” Twilight says, slapping him between his shoulder blades. “You don't make brothers pay. 'specially not for a bug, of all things. I'll find a dozen the next time I look. Mind you, you might wanna check on 'em once you're back. Queen Zelda told me them buggers can spread like nobody's business. They think each other's shell's pretty too.”

A wink.

And there's a vision in his mind, of golden lights fluttering through Saria Town at night. Of colonies of radiant ants scuttering in the burning hills and shining dragonflies hanging from reeds. He thinks of that gentle warmth from the beetle's shell, spread like dots over ravaged countryside. Little, in the face of poisoned wells and bone-thin monsters. Little, just a sign that it's not only evil that thrives. Would that be so bad?

Hyrule's mouth feels a bit dry. He swallows, dares meet Twilight's gaze. “Would it be okay if... if we looked for more of them?”

Twilight's blue eyes – nearly the same shade as Wild's wolf – flicker back to the camp, and Hyrule fights to keep the disappointment off his face. Of course. Twilight is one of the responsible Heroes. Someone the others say has 'common sense' – that Hyrule never seems to grasp. Going on a bug catching quest was a nice thought, but they obviously can't. They have a mission. The others would disapprove.  

And then, Twilight turns back to him with a look that's startlingly like Wild's. “How fast can you run?”

He stalls. “I, dunno, the monsters never caught me, but-”

“Good enough for me.”

The bug net is shoved into Hyrule's hands, and it's all he can do to grip it before it slips through his fingers. Yet the moment he's holding it, Twilight bolts, waving a hand to beckon him.

This... this he can do. Running's easy. Stamina's simple. He's never had trouble pacing himself. It's easy, comforting, to sprint after Twilight's back. For once, his eyes don't wander to the breathtaking beauty of a Hyrule spared the King of Evil's malice. They stay firmly on the black pelt strapped to Twilight's back, the swaying tail at his belt, the pulled hood and ears. There's the same comfort there, the same... magic he found in resting his head against Wolfie's fur. The same promise. Safety.

It's not a feeling he is used to. But he loves it.

And he runs, a wide smile on his face, already eager to show the princesses the wonders that their Hyrule might one day have.

[lonestarbabe]

Learning to Speak

Chapter 1: Channeling the Noise

[A03]

Moments of TK in therapy.

“Has anything important happened since your last session?” Melody Janson asks, a warm expression on her face. T.K.’s seen her for a couple of sessions already, but he’s still getting used to her therapy style. He’s been to a lot of therapists in his time, some of them good and some of them bad. He isn’t quite sure where Melody falls yet, but he likes her as a person, which is enough that he’s going to take the sessions semi-seriously, even if his willingness to share about himself is still limited. There are still some things that he can’t say and he’s not sure he will ever be able to say. He’s made peace with the antsiness of the things that go unsaid. The thwarted words bounce on his tongue like it’s a diving board and they are waiting to plunge into the icy waters of hard conversations.

“Depends what you consider important.” He pinches his lips together. He continues when she doesn’t say anything. “I don’t know. It’s been the same mostly. For all the action I experience, my life is boring most of the time.” Boredom is one of the things that makes him want to use, so he craves the moments of action, but there are never enough of them. He could tell her about calls he’d had on the job— like the baby in the tree—but he hadn’t done a whole lot in that rescue. The brunt of the work had been all his dad, ever the hero, and T.K. doesn’t feel like bringing up his dad because Melody always hones in on that topic. As nice as she is, she’s a vulture when it comes to certain discussions, which is probably what he needs, but he doesn’t want to need it. Some days he loves therapy, and other days, he hates it.

“Have you still been feeling restless?”

“Since birth,” he jokes. “I don’t know how to keep myself busy. Time is slower when I am sober. I only used oxy that once, but it feels like it’s sent me a million steps back.” One slip up, and he feels like he’s ruined everything. It feels like things will never be back to normal, and how can they be? He’s moved across the country to a hot and stuffy place that lacks the cool veneer of New York City. He misses Manhattan nights already. He doesn’t need stars. The New York skyline has always been more dazzling, and since he was a kid, it told T.K. stories that the constellations could never tell. New York may not be a natural wonder, but it’s a wonder nevertheless.

“Progress can be slow and isn’t always linear,” Melody reminds him. “How have the urges to use substances been?”

T.K. shifts in his seat. The urges are there, and that’s enough to send a wave of self-hate through T.K. It bothers him that he’ll never rid himself of those urges. He can lessen them, but he can’t stop them from existing. “Okay, I guess. They’ve been more manageable lately. I’m still fucked up, but I always will be.” Melody raises her eyebrows at “fucked-up,” and he knows it’s not because she’s concerned about his foul-mouth. He can tell she’s noting that to talk about later.

“What techniques have you been using to keep them manageable?” He has a whole toolbox of techniques that he’s collected from various stints in therapy, but some of them have become rusty, and it’s taking time to make them usable after neglecting them.

“I’ve been able to notice when I feel on edge more.” It’s like looking at the radar to predict a storm. He was never able to do that before. He’d always ignored that feeling of creeping closer to a cliff until he was staring down at the abyss below and gravity pulled him over.

“Sounds like you’re learning a lot about yourself. When I saw you in our last session, you were very on edge. You said you were feeling antsy about being in Austin. How are you feeling this week about being here?”

“It’s never going to be home, but I’m getting used to this place. I’m not getting lost as much, and it has a weird charm.”

Melody understands what he means immediately. “Yeah, it sure does. Have you been keeping up with thought-behavior logging?” The thought-behavior log is a worksheet that she gives him each week to explore how certain situations can lead to beliefs that produce unhealthy behaviors and negative feelings.

T.K. nods. “I’ve been filling it out, but I don’t know that it’s doing anything.”

“You did say that you were more aware of when you felt anxious. That’s progress. Did you make any helpful observations when you were logging your information? Even something small can be important.”

“That distractions are good for me.” Getting his mind off what was wrong with him is the best way to pretend that he was okay. He isn’t sure if that was an unhealthy way of coping or not. Knowing himself, it probably leaned towards unhealthy.

“What kind of distractions do you mean?”

“Anything I can find.” Anything but that one thing that he shouldn’t do, shouldn’t even think about.

“What’s the first one that comes to mind?” She’s persistent enough that she can get past the resistance that T.K. can’t help but have when some tries to get to know him.

“I met a guy— Carlos— and he’s been keeping me busy enough that I can keep my impulses in check.” He adds, “It doesn’t hurt that he’s hot. Between seeing Carlos and my job, I don’t have too much time to think. I can’t be tempted if I don’t have tempting thoughts. It’s a win-win.” T.K. is enjoying the no-strings relationship he has with Carlos. He’s glad they haven’t decided to complicate things by defining a relationship. He’s not ready for a real relationship. He gets attached too fast and that only leads to heartbreak.

“So these distractions are the main tool you use to stay sober?”

“I guess. It’s been working so far. I haven’t relapsed.” He’s thought about substances— a lot— but he hasn’t acted on those thoughts. He doesn’t let himself be proud of that fact because staying sober never should have been a challenge to begin with.

“I think that would be a good topic to add to our session today. But before we dig too deep into that, I want to know what else you’d like to cover today. Is there anything you think we need to talk about beyond this new relationship and the other distractions you may have going on?”

“It’s not a relationship,” T.K. tells her. “It’s… complicated.” T.K. chuckles to himself. “I’m sure you’ll want to unpack that.” So much to unpack, so little time.

“You’re as much responsible for our agenda as I am.” He doesn’t want that responsibility. He wants someone to shove him through this process as quickly as possible so that he doesn’t have to think about it anymore, but Melody has explained how important it is that he takes an active role in the process, so he’s trying to meet her halfway.

“I guess we can add it. It can’t hurt.”

“Okay, T.K.,” she says, “I think we should also touch on how you’ve been feeling about your sobriety.”

“We can talk about it, but I’m feeling fine.” He’s not happy, but it’s not like he’s ready to swallow a handful of pills— again. He wants to be sober. He wants to be alive. I’m good.

“You seem apathetic about most of these topics,” Melody observes. “Why do you think that is?”

“It’s just been that kind of week.” Work’s been hard. He isn’t sure what to think of his new coworkers yet. He likes them, but he doesn’t know them yet. It doesn’t take long for firefighters to bond with how much time they spend together, but T.K. is overwhelmed with having to basically reset his whole life and try to make sense of his new situation.

“What kind of week is that?” Therapy is a lot of questions, so many questions.

“The kind where I don’t want to think.” He wants to clear his mind and forget he exists because that’s easier than having to sort through the influx of feelings that he has. It’s the perfect kind of mood for substances to creep in and screw everything up.

“I see. Is something weighing on your mind?”

T.K. shrugs both shoulders. “Just the usual stuff. Work, getting used to this crazy place. I haven’t slept well.”

“Have you been having trouble adjusting?”

“It’s hard not knowing anyone. I’m good with people, so I can fit in, but it’s still hard. ” He puts on a big smile and acts like his normal goofy self and that seems to endear other people enough, but it doesn’t bring them too close. He’s not sure if he’s ready to get too close.

“That’s something we can explore some more because you’ve expressed in past sessions feeling like you don’t have a good support system here in Austin.”

“Another item on the agenda?”

She nods, a pleasant look on her face. “Does what we have sound like enough?”

“We’ve got a lot on the agenda,” T.K. says with a sigh. “So, yeah, sounds like enough.”

“You always rise to the challenge. Remember that we can always be flexible to suit your needs, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Let me ask, what is the most important of these items for you, T.K.?”

“Let’s start with the distraction thing,” T.K. tells her because he’s not sure where he wants to begin and the first thing on the list seems easy enough. Might as well just knock them out in order. “Or the guy thing. They’re pretty much the same topic.” His heart gets fluttery when he thinks of Carlos, and he’s not sure if it’s in a bad way or a good one.

“Okay, the male distraction. Do you want to tell me about him?”

“His name is Carlos. I met him on a call.”

“What do you like about him?” He’s nice to me. He has the best smile. He was the first person who made me forget that I was an outsider in Austin.

“I think the sex might be better than drugs.” He says the sex part before thinking about it, and then he feels weird because he’s talking about his sex life with a woman he barely knows. He’s always been pretty open about that kind of thing, a trait he inherited from his parents, but it’s different in a clinical setting. The faded, geometrically-patterned chair feels stiff under him like it’s judging him.

Melody’s face doesn’t change from neutral. “What about sex is satisfying to you?” Everything. T.K. doesn’t really believe that sex is better than drugs, but it is close and it helps him to pretend that it is better than drugs. Sex is a release. It allows him to escape his head for a while and give in to his carnal urges. “Like I said, it’s a distraction.”

“What does it distract you from?” Everything.

“If I think about it too hard, that defeats the purpose of distraction, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t like to use the words addict or drugs or substances, which probably doesn’t bode well when drugs are what got him in therapy in the first place, but at the end of the day, the drugs are a symptom of the feelings he has that he can’t deal with. Those stiff words hang in the air and then he keeps thinking about them, and if he thinks about them, he figures that he’ll give in eventually, and he doesn’t want to give in. He doesn’t want to disappoint his dad, lose his job, or hurt anyone else. He doesn’t care much about himself, but the way his addiction impacts other people holds him back when he’s on the edge between resiting and relapsing. Sometimes, it is enough. Other times, it is not.

“What do you think will happen if you talk about it?”

“I’ll lose control?” Control— that sounds deep and pathological, and therapists like that, right? He’d had a therapist who had been obsessed with the control thing, so he ran with the idea, thinking it was something he could hurry Melody through. His real answer is somewhere behind a wall in his mind that he doesn’t want to peak through let alone tear down. He keeps a lot behind that wall, just beyond the point of easy access. It’s a cluttered wasteland, but with the wall, he doesn’t have to look at the mess of life. He can pretend it’s not there, and if he can’t easily access it, he won’t think about it.

“Lose control of what?” she pushes him.

“Just in general,” T.K. tries.

“What is it about control that alarms you so much?” she asks again, and the question is oddly unsettling as flashes of him being high or drunk rush through his mind. He brought this up, and now he’s regretting the can of worms he’s popped open thinking it was just a normal can. He suddenly and ironically feels like he’s lost control of this line of thought. He should have thought this through, but he didn’t. That’s what he’s always done; he didn’t look before he leaped. He’s not afraid of losing control, he realizes with dread. He’s afraid of taking control. Maybe Dr. Bundting wasn’t such a quack about this control thing after all.  There’s something alluring about spiraling. He disarms himself so that no one can do it for him. He hands his life over to substances so that he doesn’t have to take the reigns and navigate through it himself.

T.K. crosses his arms over his chest. “No one likes to lose control.” Except for freaks like me. T.K. feels his chest clench, and his heart is pounding.

“The question seems to bother you. Was there something I said that made you uncomfortable?”

“It’s complicated.” Complicated is the way T.K.’s life works. Nothing is clear-cut, and it makes deciding what the fuck he is doing with his life eight million times harder.

“Can you explain what makes it so complicated?”

“It’s weird,” he tries, but Melody has never been stopped by that excuse before, so he’s not sure why he thinks it will work now.

“Austin is weird,” Melody says with a reassuring smile. “We like weird here.”

T.K. takes a breath. “I used to lose control all the time, and it didn’t bother me. I liked being out of my mind and not caring about anything.”

“And how does it make you feel about yourself when you’re in that state of mind?”

He swallows. “Like I’m defective.” He adds a laugh so it doesn’t sound so pathetic. “But also like I’m alive. It takes away the worries for a while.” He shakes his head. “But, mostly defective.”

“You remember how we talked about core beliefs?”

T.K. rolls his eyes. “I’ve been hearing that word for years.”

“Then you probably know where I am going with this. What makes you think you’re defective?”

“I can’t do things that normal people can.”

“What can’t you do?”

“Handle things in a normal way. When anything goes wrong, I spin out.”

“You’ve been managing your cravings. That doesn’t seem like spinning out to me.”

“It’s more of a feeling, and then the feeling is what makes me want to do things that I shouldn’t.”

“Can you define what ‘spinning out’ means to you?” Wanting to give in and wreck my life just to escape my head for a while.

“I go crazy. My mind starts to race, and before I can think better of it, I’m doing something dumb.” He hates to think about all the stupid things he’s done just because he doesn’t have the mental clarity to resist those impulsive urges.

“What kind of ‘dumb’ actions are you referring to?”

“Relapsing, fighting, fucking up opportunities— those kinds of things.”

“You called those actions dumb, so can you tell me what do those actions have to do with your intelligence?” Because I am an idiot who can’t control himself.

“Because I should know better than to do them. That’s pretty dumb, right?”

“You seem to use that kind of language a lot about yourself. Do you think addiction or mental illness makes someone dumb?”

“I know it makes me dumb.” My mistakes could have all been avoided if I only used my head.

“Okay, so your addiction makes you feel dumb, but if you saw my other patients behaving because of their illnesses, would you call them dumb? Or did your dad’s PTSD, for example, make him dumb?”

“He went through a lot, so it makes sense that he would react in the way he did. He wasn’t acting dumb, not really. He was just trying to survive after a shitty situation put his life in danger.”

“And what’s different about you? When you talk about your dad, you blame the circumstances, but when you talk about yourself, you attack your core characteristics.”

“I made choices. That’s what created his problems. My dad was powerless. Something happened to him while I happened to me.”

“I’m all for taking accountability, but don’t you think you’re showing yourself none of the mercy that you offer your dad or other important people in your life?”

“He deserves that.” I don’t.

“What has he done to deserve that? You’ve talked about how his actions hurt you, so why do you forgive him for those actions that hurt you but not your own actions that hurt you?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. He never meant to hurt you.”

“Did you mean to hurt yourself?” she prods.

“I tried to…” T.K. trailed off. “I nearly died.”

“If you got to choose how you feel, would you choose to hurt?”

“No. Who would?”

“So, that brings me back to the question, why can you forgive others more easily than yourself.”

“It hurts me more not to forgive him.”

“Does it not hurt you more to not forgive yourself?”

“Because maybe he’s not perfect, but I’ve burdened him with my issues, so I owe him forgiveness. It’s not his fault that I’m overly sensitive or whatever. He made mistakes.” But I am the mistake. “But he’s a hero, and the hero’s kid always has to make room for the heroics, but I was always too selfish to see that..” T.K. doesn’t mention how he still has a kernel of resentment for Owen, one that he has never been able to forgive away.

“What about you? You save people every day. Aren’t you a hero? If being a hero is why you are merciful with your dad, shouldn’t you extend that to yourself?”

“Yeah, but it’s my job to save people, and I haven’t sacrificed anything to help others. My dad lost his whole crew on 9/11. That’s a sacrifice.” What about my loss? the childish part of him wants to say, but he’s learned that that part of him is the one that drives him further from his dad. When he lets his inner child say his piece, the tension between T.K. and Owen smothers any goodwill they’ve forced into existence through years of close proximity and the common goal of saving other people’s lives.

“It takes sacrifice to be a hero?”

“Yeah, if you don’t lose anything from doing something, it’s not a big deal.”

“You sacrificed many moments with your Dad. You sacrifice time and energy at your job. Wouldn’t that make you a hero too under your definition?”

“It’s not like I had a choice.”

“Why not?”

“Firefighting was the only thing I’ve ever considered.”

“Okay, and why’s that?”

“Because I knew it was what I wanted.” He didn’t need to think. While other kids his age had been debating what they wanted to be, he never had to make that grueling decision. He just knew. My fate had been decided for me already, and it was nice not to have to think about what kind of future I wanted. It had always been written for me.

“What was it that you wanted?” A dad.

“To be like my dad.”

“And are you like him?”

“Not in any of the good ways.” T.K.’s sure that he and Owen are both headstrong. They’re both passionate and like grand gestures. T.K. knows that he’s a lot like his Dad but not in the ways that would make him proud.

“In what ways aren’t you like him?”

“Well, for one, I’m constantly making bad decisions. I nearly died before I came here, remember? I was so dumb. What was I trying to accomplish by nearly killing myself?”

“You’re back to using the word ‘dumb.’ Do you know the early meaning of dumb?”

“Probably not,” T.K. admits.

“In Old English, it referred to someone who was mute.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And people conflated the inability to speak with the lack of intelligence. Dumb was a word used to degrade and mock those who couldn’t speak because other people didn’t understand muteness”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“While the behaviors that result because of your mental illness may feel dumb as in stupid, you’re conflating your inability to speak with the lack of intelligence. Mental illness doesn’t rob you of your intelligence; it robs you of your ability to speak and communicate your feelings. Your ‘dumb’ behaviors are attempts at communication, but in these sessions, we figure out how you can break your silence.

“So I’m learning how to talk to people?”

“Not just how to talk to people but also how to talk to yourself. Your self-dialogue fuels your feelings and behaviors, so if we can change that dialogue, we can change your experiences with the world. What I want to accomplish with you goes beyond just talking.  What I’m teaching you is how to communicate healthily, which can come in more forms than just verbal language. There are lots of ways to speak, and what you need to do is find the ones that work for you.” Melody’s words linger with T.K. as he carries on the session, and he wonders if happiness is that easy. Is it nothing more than learning to speak?

[legendoftheghost]

NSFW Headcanon: Jin Sakai 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) 

Jin believes practicing aftercare will naturally develop closer, more intimate bonds with his partner. After sex, he is particularly vulnerable; they’re naked, they have (hopefully) just had an orgasm, and one of the most intrinsic need for him is that need to ensure that positive state of mind continues. Everyone feels good when he knows his partner cares for him, and what better way to show it than tending to his partner when they both are in a vulnerable post-sex state of mind? Jin is especially susceptible to the post-coital blues, and even when he is seemingly highly independent, somewhat repressed and distanced with expressing emotions, I think this will be the perfect time for him to take a plunge and attempt to cuddle and engage in deeper conversations. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

His entirety? Despite his fears of failure and flaws on his body, Jin Sakai is a man comfortable in his skin. From the crown of his head to the end of his toe, Jin Sakai has a body of a seasoned warrior; as a disciplined samurai, he had learned not only martial arts, but swordsmanship, horse riding, hunting, how to survive in the wilderness with bare essentials, and he literally has zero ounce of excessive fat on his body. 

He’s not the strongest, biggest warrior, a powerhouse who can dominate and overwhelm enemies with brute strength, but he’s compact, sculpted with enough muscle definition, and corded with lean strength that only comes from meticulous care. Younger Jin used to hate the scar that would continue to bleed and bruise due to excessive bullying, but now that he is the Ghost, he thinks it only gives him character. After all, scars build character. And out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars, and Jin Sakai is a prime example of one. 

Jin isn’t very particular when it comes to his partner’s favorite body part, but if his partner has anything that contrasts Jin’s own, he would obsess over that and touch him/her over and over. It could be the sensuous curve of the woman’s narrow waistand widening hips, the budding swell of her breasts and slender neck, or another man’s expansive chest and strong arms and legs embracing and cradling him. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) 

He doesn’t like the mess, and would prefer if he came inside his partner, but the one thing he finds it extremely appealing is coming on his partner’s stomach. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

Jin loves talking about sex with partners, friends, whoever. To him, sex in essentiality is a fascinating subject that's different for each individual yet common to people all (in some way), and he finds it endlessly depressing that it's a taboo subject.everybody (for the most part) needs sex and wants to have sex, so Jin believes that people should be able to talk about it openly, and he will sass and awkwardly joke and humor with insinuations of sex in normal conversations. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) 

He snuck into Clan Sakai and Shimura’s personal archive / library and would sneak in some erotic illustrations of the time in curiosity. Despite the general lack of experience and focusing on his strenuous trainings, he would have fulfilled some curiosity of sexual exploration through masturbation and through secretive excursions with Ryuzo. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) 

His preferred positions are; The Victory position, Doggy Style, Shoulder Hold, Lifted Missionary, and Lotus

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) 

Appearing too serious is Jin Sakai’s greatest flaw; being too serious which is Jin’s principal trait doesn't seem like such a bad thing, but it could create some issues regarding sexual explorations. 

Social anxiety.

Perfectionism.

Social awkwardness.

Fight or Flight responses to most things (Can't laugh inconveniences off or smoothly escape conflicts because of over seriousness, which is likely to do the opposite, in other words escalate minor conflicts to big ones).

Overthinking and not living in the moment.

Not having fun due to exaggerated thinking about the consequences.

Jin may be a sassmaster and likes to throw in some dry humor in between, but that’s his coping mechanism to lesson and ease his insecurity and stress that stems from even the sexual act itself, but in the act, he’s deadpan serious. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) 

Judging by the full thatch of his beard, I’d like to think that he’s pretty thick and ample down there as well, peppered with hair below his belly button, and a nice, sizable thatch of his pubic hair. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Jin does crave intimacy during sex, and this is something which becomes very important to him. Jin is at his most vulnerable, candor, raw, and open, and if it’s not a casual sex only to fulfill the needs to get off than anything else, Jin still needs and wants to build some sort of friendship or connection beforehand. Their sexual performance is then more about action than it is about emotions and deeper layers of intimacy, and with more deeply-connected intimacy, he would rather focus on both the physical and mental connection, which could make it much difficult to come with him. Regardless, he is tender, and will attempt to initiate; especially stroking his partner’s back, the side of his/her face, raking through his/her hair, etc.  

 J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) 

Jin likes the stop-squeeze technique, which is a form of ejaculatory control. It allows him to near the point of climax and then back off suddenly by holding the tip of the penis until the sensation subsides. He likes to do this multiple times to make his orgasm much more intense. While it could be a tedious or time-consuming practice, he likes that explosiveness and exquisite high he gets from it. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) 

Shibari (kinbaku), aka rope sex: Contrasts are central to Shibari: intricate geometric patterns with the natural curves of the body, rough rope against soft skin and vulnerability side by side with strength. The practice can also lead to a trance-like experience for the tied partner and a rush of adrenalin for the artist, or rigger.

Erotic Asphyxiation (breath play): This type of sexual activity involves intentionally cutting off the air supply for you or your partner with choking, suffocating, and other acts. People who are into breath play say it can heighten sexual arousal and make orgasms more intense.

Dirty Talk: Jin can have a little trouble getting out of his own mind. However, in this case, it’s less about being able to connect to the body than it is a fear of letting go. A little dirty talk goes a long way in making him forget his fears and let loose.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do) 

Taking in consideration of his fugitive life, it would be somewhere relatively hidden and private. Especially in nature; against the tree trunk, near the lake or an ocean when the weather accompanies Jin’s mood, and empty, abandoned houses. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) 

Jin is almost always turned on, and has higher than normal sex drive. He’s one of those who craves intimacy and wants to share himself with someone special, even though it doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t participate in any given opportunities when they are presented. It can feel like a chore and not really something he wants to waste their time or energy on if they cannot converse well to begin with. There must be underlying honesty and genuinity in order for Jin to at least partake in a casual sex. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Cockiness – specifically unwarranted arrogance accompanied by a smug attitude. Lack of a sense of humor – unless they’re the one dishing it out. Flaking – because flakes are some of the most unappealing individuals to build any type of relationship with.  Being goalless and content with life — having zero aspirations for the future. Liars – but not even about significant stuff. Just unnecessary lies, made up stories and exaggerations when a fib is pointless. Vulgar language finding its way into every, single, sentence spoken. Baseless cattiness, malicious comments and disdain toward others. Humiliation and degradation.  BDSM for BDSM’s sake without exploration, caution, and mutual respect. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) 

He’s much more inclined to receive than give. While Jin lacks the scope of experiences, he is skilled with his tongue, very attentive, considerate, and careful to observe his partner’s reaction. Because he is a perfectionist, he will attempt his absolute best to pleasure his partner and send him/her over the edge. He expects the same when he’s on the receiving end. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) 

The act in itself is viewed essentially as a series of steps to his and his partner’s mutual satisfaction. It entirely depends on their shared needs. As a dominant top, Jin is likely to be a very passionate lover, focused on the connection he gains from this experience. He does appreciate and sees how much closer sex can bring him to someone he loves, and would rather be patient waiting for the right person to share this with, because for him to reach this step, it would have taken a lot of trial and error. He definitely likes things to built up towards the climax, exploring different positions to find their needs satisfied. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) 

Jin actually prefers quickie, because it offers a much-needed opportunity to relieve stress, strengthen a relationship, and get off at a time when intimacy, connection, and, well, time, are luxuries (especially with him on the run). Prefers mutual masturbations, than penetrative sex. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) 

Jin is likely to be a very passionate lover, focused on the connection he gains from this experience. He sees how much closer sex can bring him to someone he loves, and would rather be patient waiting for the right person to share this with. If he’s in a long-term relationship, he will be more than willing to experiment and take risks. It all depends on their shared interest, and Jin would be open to try everything at least once. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) 

From his strenuous training as not only as a samurai, but as the Ghost on the run, Jin has extremely high stamina and will be able to go on for more than a few rounds if his partner is up for it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) 

Occasionally will use Geisha balls / beaded necklaces for added pleasure, mostly one another in reciprocated masturbations. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

He isn’t very good at teasing, unless it’s with words. He is rather straightforward with his actions, because he doesn’t like to deceive with his affectionate, tender touches. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) 

On the quiet side, and for most of the lovemaking, he will make soft, gentle moans that turn into animalistic grunt when he’s on the verge of orgasm. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) 

Perhaps one of the simplest, yet most potent sexual fantasies Jin has is just having his partner direct the sex script for the night. Whether it's a full-on dominant or simply a partner who knows what he or she wants and how to get it, he finds the thrill of a confident and sexual partner to be very appealing.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) 

He is uncircumcised, his shaft is curved slightly upward, with veins that snake along the underside. His member is longer than average (around 13cm when erect) and has considerable girth (9 centimeters when erect). 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) 

Jin has rather active sex drive. It’s not a particularly powerful sex drive, for he could always resort to, and might prefer his own imaginations. His inner minds are rather rich place, and he doesn’t always feel like outwardly expressing this side of himself.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

All depends on Jin’s condition on that day; judging on the Ghost’s life (on the run, essentially a fugitive ronin), and a slew of traumas and PTSD trailing his back, Jin Sakai suffers from insomnia. While he has high stamina and could go for more than a couple of rounds when he’s in a particularly frisky mood, but one intense round could have him knocked out exhausted. He’s a kind of a guy that sneaks in sleep whenever and however it comes, so he would let himself fade away for an hour or two, before he’s coaxed to awake. 

[wolf-zer0]

whisper and thorn

cross-posted to ao3: whisper and thorn

He doesn’t have a name.  At least, not one he could remember.  He tried, sometimes, to shift through memories.  Tried to grasp something, anything, that wasn’t static.  That wasn’t painful.  Nothing sticks.  Nothing stays.

Nothing but the forest.

He doesn’t have a name, but he does have the forest.  It is always moving, always changing, always living.  He feels the forest under his skin, thrumming through his veins.  He feels every fallen tree, every shift in the earth, every thing that enters and exists.  

He doesn’t have a home, not like he sees others have.  Instead of four walls of stone and wood, he has towering mountains and trees.  Instead of a roof, he has the vast canopy of green leaves.  He likes green.  The torn and tattered remains of fabric stretched across thin shoulders are green.  Green is home.  

He doesn’t have a family.  He may have.  Once.  But not anymore.  The first thing he can remember is the shell of a house, empty and smoldering.  There wasn’t anyone else there.  He was alone.  He is alone.  But he’s not.  He has the forest.

The forest sings to him.  He hears crescendo of berries and fruits as they ripen to sweet perfection.  He hears the bubbling rush of fresh water tumbling from high atop the mountain.  He hears the dim percussion, the heart of the earth itself beneath his bare feet, matching the rhythm of the beat in his chest.  

He hears the dissonant pounding of footsteps. Crouched on a log, fingertips fiddling with the decaying bark, his head tilts in the direction he hears it from.

There’s a child running through the trees, laughter ringing through the clear summer air.  

He’s seen children before.  He thinks he is a child.  But don’t children have families?  Homes?  He doesn’t, so he’s not sure.  He stares at the newcomer, confused.  Where did he come from?

The newcomer stops, back towards him.  He turns.

And looks right at him.

For a moment, the forest is silent.  There’s no music, no movement, nothing.  Just a single note, high and unwavering, like the dark brown eyes of this new boy.  

There’s something scratching at the back of his head, trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t listen.  

The note breaks.  He runs.  He thinks the boy shouts at him, but he doesn’t care to listen.  He doesn’t want to listen.  He just wants the forest.  

He doesn’t mean to see the boy again.  In fact, he makes it his goal not to see him again.  His ears are strained at all times, listening for any change, any shift in the life of the forest.  A sudden call of birds.  The rustling of grass.  Anything.  It works.  Until it doesn’t.

He should have remembered the traps.  The angry metallic hum pierces the chaotic calm of the forest.  But he’s so focused on listening for the boy, he misses the sound of the wire and metal as it tightens around his foot.  

He falls with a yelp, chin pressing into the earth painfully as his leg is wrenched upward unnaturally.  He scrambles to free himself, fingers digging at his ankle, to no avail.  

The forest falls away as he is dragged upward.  His skin feels too big, empty space left in his bones where movement once was.  He can’t feel it.  He can’t feel it.  Hecan’tfeelithecan’tfeelithecan’tfeelit-

He doesn’t hear the boy this time, though the boy still makes no effort to mask his movements.  Panic clouds his vision, clogs his hearing.  He catches a faint buzzing just beyond his awareness as a featherlight touch brushes the wire.  He jerks once.  His breath catches and tears build as the metal tightens.  The buzzing remains, oddly comforting in its consistency.  

The hold on his ankle releases, and he tumbles to the dirt in a heap.  His chest is heaving, barely able to breathe, and tears cover his face.  His eyes blur and all he can see is color.  Green, green, green, green —

Brown.  He only sees brown.  Brown that morphs into dark hair, leaves and twigs caught in the mess.  Brown that shifts into dark eyes, warm with concern and care.  Brown that solidifies into the boy.  The boy who he was afraid of— was saved by.  

The boy’s mouth moves, noises spilling from his mouth like the waterfall’s he used to sleep near.  It makes no sense to him, and yet it does.  He knows it the same way he knows the forest.  The humming beneath his skin grows where the boy is touching him, where the boy is wrapping a clean white cloth around his bloody ankle.  The boy pulls him up quickly, ducking under his shoulder to support him when he nearly collapses.  He lets the boy.  He doesn’t know why.  

The boy leads him to a house, a cozy looking stack of stones and woods that only feels empty and lifeless to him.  The stone is dead.  The wood is dead.  The lack of life scares him.  He refuses to enter, refuses to be cut off from the forest, not again.  The boy says something again, tries to pull him closer.  He resists.  He can’t lose it, he can’t.  Something shifts in the boy’s eyes and he huffs, chest vibrating against his side, and pulls him higher up on his shoulder.  

The boy leads him to a cluster of trees, grown together in a way that makes a small, dry hollow.   He curls up after the boy lowers him down gently.  His ankle throbs painfully and he tries to fight back the flinch.  He fails.  The boy says something quickly before dashing away.  

He feels cold.  He feels empty.  But the forest is still there.  The thrumming is still there.  Why is he empty?

Why?

The boy comes back, a strange looking bundle stuffed in his arms.  The cold ebbs.  The emptiness fades.  His head feels light.  It feels right.  Safe.

Whole.

He floats in the space between sleeping and waking, hyperaware yet distant from the boy.  There’s chatter that drifts in front of his face that he doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t try to grasp at.  His ankle stings, then doesn’t.  The boy speaks, then doesn’t.  

He’s awake, then isn’t.  

The boy doesn’t leave him alone.  He’s always somewhere behind him, talking and laughing and not making any sense.  He doesn’t acknowledge his presence, even as he stomps through the underbrush and crushes the flowers below his heels.  He thinks he glares, once, after the boy snaps a branch of a nearby tree and he feels the pain deep and sharp in his chest.  The boy walks more carefully after that.  

They boy keeps visiting and visiting and visiting.  He’s always moving, always talking, always living.  After a while, he wants to understand.  He forces the boy to stop and teach him.  The boy does.  

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to trust the boy - Sapnap, the boy squawks one day when he finally starts to learn his language.  There’s something in him that won’t let him walk away.  He doesn’t know if he even wants to in the first place.  

Sapnap doesn’t care about his lack of shoes. (For often than not, he’s barefoot next to him, splashing away in a mud puddle).  Sapnap doesn’t mind the way he pulls his ratty hood up, the way he tugs his collar to hide his face.  He knows he’s not… normal looking.  He remembers way people sneer if he forgets to hide.  He knows Sapnap should be the same.  But he never is.  (He doesn’t even comment).  He feels comfortable around him, safe, in almost every way.

Except one.  

Sapnap is Sapnap.  He is…

He doesn’t know who he is.  He’s never had to care before.  The forest doesn’t care about names, about self.  It lives and grows and dies as a unit.  He didn’t care before, when the forest was all he had.  But now…

Now he wants to be something.  Something more than a child in green, living in green.  He wants to be someone.

He doesn’t tell Sapnap.  He doesn’t know how to tell him.  They continue to meet.  (Never near Sapnap’s house, not after his mother screamed and nearly skewered him when he tried to follow Sapnap inside).  They meet by the river, by the lightning-split oak, by the rock shaped like a wolf.  They meet and he listens and he wants to tell him so badly but he can’t.  So he doesn’t.

Until Sapnap asks him.  It should be so easy.  Three words.  I am … something.  But he’s not.  He has nothing.  He tells him as much, throat raw.  The thrumming under his skin becomes painful.  

Sapnap’s hand on his arm isn’t.  It’s warm.  

He offers him options, laying them out on the soft, dew-covered grass.  He sorts through them, testing them on his tongue, looking to his … friend for guidance.  

He picks one, and it feels right as it tumbles from his mouth.  Sapnap smiles brightly when he says it to him.

My name is Dream.  I’m Dream.

Dream grows, and so does Sapnap.  He learns, and so does Sapnap.  They learn of the world beyond the forest border.  They learn of the great oceans, the vast deserts, the sprawling cities, the sheer number of people.  They learn of magic, great and small.  No matter what they do, they do it together.  

When Sapnap sheepishly hands him a white mask with a crudely drawn smile, he feels the forest around them sing in tune with his heart.  He offers a thin strip of white cloth in return, so similar to the one used so long ago, yet so much more valuable than anything he can say with words.  And he swears he feels the forest’s voice change, a new, deeper note of gratitude adding to the chorus, when his friend accepts.  He thinks something has slotted into place, and he doesn’t want to let it go.  

He doesn’t know exactly how everything happened, only that it did.

He’s waiting for Sapnap to show, dozing in a clearing with his back to the earth and face to the sky.  He hasn’t seen his friend in days, but he’s fine with waiting.  Everything is quiet.  Calm.  Peaceful.  The forest is humming around him.  

Then it shrieks.  

He bolts upright, calm melting away and replaced by panic and pain.  

So much pain.  

It tugs at his very core, screaming pain pain danger hurt fire hurry HURRY PAIN.  

He doesn’t think.  He runs.

The forest opens up in response to his panic.  The earth shifts beneath his feet.  Roots curl back to avoid catching his ankles.  Trees move to open new paths.  Birds call in the distance as he nears the spot.  He knows this spot.  He knows that house.  

The house is on fire.  

Tall, red and orange flames lick at the leaves above it, and the trees shudder.  Patches of once green grass are burned black and brittle.  An outline of something he doesn’t want to recognize but does lays in the scorched grass.  There’s a crowd of people he doesn’t know, dressed in black and gray, gathered around the burning building.  There are weapons in their hands.  A small figure stands at the center of the mass, covered in soot and hands lit aflame.  

Sapnap’s eyes are smoldering embers, glowing in the afternoon light.  He wears a snarl, the beginnings of fangs glinting as he growls lowly.  Dream doesn’t breech the tree line, frozen in fear and rage.  There’s a dissonant note ringing in the air, familiar and not.  A figure swings a blade down, slicing through the dirty band tied around Sapnap’s forehead.  

The note continues.  

Dream shatters.  

He doesn’t remember the earth twisting to cover Sapnap.  He doesn’t remember the ring of stone that rises, forming a barricade.  He doesn’t remember the thorns that twist between, razor sharp thorns multiplying.

He does remember the feeling of blood puddling turning the dirt beneath his feet to mud.  He does remember skulls crushed beneath his fingers.  He does remember the snap of bone, the scream of pain, the rush of heat.  The thrill of the hunt. Of the kill.  

He stands alone, surrounded by what remains of the crowd.  The earth releases Sapnap, carefully depositing him next to Dream.  They don’t look at each other.  Sapnap reaches and clutches at Dream’s hand.  Dream doesn’t let go.  It starts to rain, droplets hissing on the fire.

They stand, blood-soaked and soot-stained, in the rain.  They hold each other tightly.  They don’t let go.

Brothers walk into the forest.  They never look back.

He doesn’t know how long they spent alone in the forest, but the years pass anyway.  Both change, growing into lanky limbs and boundless magic.  Dream learns to tighten his reach, to pull the scope of his awareness down to a pinpoint, to lessen the input of noise.  The forest still sings, but he is the conductor.  Sapnap learns how his flames wax and wane through the seasons, to conserve his heat through the winter and to restrain the inferno in the summer.  They spar and clash, chasing one another through the forest with the same childlike glee but sharpened with age and reckless with confidence.  

The whispers start late in the autumn.  The Year of Challenge had arrived.  They heard of the festival held every century to test the might and the will of the king.  Whoever emerged victorious could claim crown and throne for themselves.  

Dream feels the forest’s song change, once careful and chaotic, to a frenzied and wild drumbeat of war.  The thrumming nearly tears skin from bone.  It urges him to claim what was rightfully his.  

He knows Sapnap feels it too, already familiar with the way their power has entangled and formed an unbreaking web.  

They make a promise, curled up in the darkness of the canopy, that no matter which of them succeeds, they would never leave.  They were a pair.  Inseparable.  

The city is alive much like the forest that surrounds it, but in a very, very different way.  Dream feels the way the thrumming becomes almost non-existent.  He tries not to let the cloud of panic overtake him, not when they’re so close to what they want.  What they need.  

He doesn’t remember much of the tournament.  It rushes around him in a haze of action.  He wields his blade like an extension of his arm.  He feels each movement of his enemy before it happens.  He cuts them down without remorse.  He feels entirely at ease.  Natural.

And a scream changes everything.

There’s no freezing of time.  No moment of recognition.  No note hangs in the air.  He knows the scream as soon as it sounds.

He charges.

The challenger stands over the broken form of his brother, curved sword dripping with blood.  He does not hesitate to cut their head from their shoulders, reveling in the slick slide-thud as it hits the ground.  No one else is standing.

The crowd cheers for their new king.  He does not care for them.  He cares only for one person.  

He doesn’t care for tradition, for the pride of the Fair Folk, for the strength of their image.  He doesn’t care about the Lords and Ladies of the Courts, the politics of the outside world, the gold and jewels and luxuries that are his by right.  

He waits by his brother’s bed, by the only person who he chose and who chose him in return, and does not leave.  

Courtiers and chancellors and counselors all try to pry him away.  He is king, he is meant to rule.  He refuses.  He will not rule without him at his side.  

It takes weeks of hoping for miracles and praying to gods he’s not sure exist until Sapnap opens his eyes.  Dream buries his face into his shoulder and cries.  They do not separate for what feels like years.

Life changes, and yet it doesn’t.  Dream embraces his role as King, and he doesn’t.  Sapnap becomes Lord of the Summer Court, and he doesn’t.  They grow, and they stay the same.

Dream continues to search for the thrill of the hunt, of the chase.  When he no longer finds it with Sapnap alone, he searches for something new.  Something more.  

He finds it hidden in the Royal Library.  A Night Court Fae, brought to be the Royal Historian, grins at him without reservation, without the fear and awe most gave without a second thought, and offers his name.  He likes Karl, before he can even learn what he can do.

(Karl asks him if he wants this, wants to feel powerless.  He does.  The forest goes quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard it before, and something in him breaks.  His head is clear.  He feels like his skin isn’t filled to bursting.  He folds Karl into his circle without thought.)

He finds it tucked away in a secret clearing near the Eastern border of the forest.  A tiny cabin, surrounded by trees and flowers.  A Changeling with glittering, diamond-hard scales and his demon companion are startled by his appearance, but not frightened.  The demon merely scolds him for not calling ahead as the changeling laughs.

(Skeppy doesn’t want anything to do with the Kingdom.  They abandoned him to the outside, and Dream understands.  He visits when the Courts grow too stuffy, too closed off, to much and joins on his friend on adventures.  He is not loyal to Dream because he is King.  He is loyal because he is Dream.)

(Bad is kind and sharp and knows more than he lets anyone know.  He is tight-lipped about his past before Skeppy and Dream does not blame him.  They whisper late at night about magic and madness and the truth about power.  Bad does not see Dream as the Master of the Forest, for there is no way to master a force as dangerous as his nature.  He helps him hold tight to the edges of himself when it threatens to tear him apart.)

He runs from them, laughter weaving through the trees.  He feels the way Sapnap pounds his feet on the dirt, hears the way Skeppy jumps from tree to tree, knows the way Bad switches his rhythm to try to hide his location.  Karl is nearby, pressing down on his power to keep things interesting.  His blood sings for the hunt.  

He pushes through brush, leaps over rivers, running in circles just to hear the cries of outrage and disbelief.  He taunts them because he can, because this is his domain and he knows everything that happens.  

He doesn’t know who this man is.  

He stands panting, barefoot, mask covered in mud and hands riddled with scrapes, at the man kneeling in the grass.  The man is humming to himself as he looks at the flowers, not even acknowledging Dream’s presence.  

He doesn’t understand.  He feels every movement, every shift, every change in the ebb and flow of magic in the entire forest.  And yet, he senses nothing from this man.  He feels nothing but an empty space.

It’s fascinating.

He doesn’t hesitate in introduce himself to the man, to George.  George doesn’t seem alarmed in the slightest at Dream’s appearance or his invitation to join him for a walk.  They talk, and as they talk Dream feels the thrumming rise despite Karl’s intervention.  When they meet back with the group, all frustrated and annoyed at being ignored, he offers George a place to stay.  He feels Sapnap’s interest, Karl’s confusion, Skeppy’s curiosity, and Bad’s amusement.  He ignores the way the thrumming intensifies when George accepts.

George blends in seamlessly and flourishes in his new home.  Dream sees his wonder at the variety of fauna and preens.  (Sapnap digs an elbow into his side and snickers).

But as time passes, Dream notices changes.  The way George finds a single gray hair.  The way  he gathers a few smile lines around his eyes.  The way he wears his humanity so blatantly, and yet Dream missed every sign.  And now he’s running out of time.

He runs to Sapnap.  They cannot lose a piece of themselves.  Not now, not when they finally know what it’s like to feel complete.

They dig through old manuscripts, pages stained and torn with time and age.  They consult every Court, every living Historian, every herbalist they can get their hands on.  They beg Bad to help.  After hours of begging, bribery, and tears, he gives in.  They don’t tell him why they’re so desperate.  They don’t have the time.  

(Bad doesn’t tell them he knows.  He doesn’t tell them he’s been through this before.  He doesn’t tell them the average life expectancy for Higher Demons, or the average life expectancy for Changelings, or the reason he came across such forbidden knowledge.  Some things are better left unsaid.)

They find the right components, the right time frame, the right moment.  They complete the ritual in silence, staring at the vials in hand.  The liquid is silvery in the moonlight.  It worked.  They breathe.  It worked.  

Dream invites George to the castle for lunch, slipping the liquid into his drink before he arrives.  The conversation flows, jokes and stories bouncing off one another easily.  He watches carefully as George drains his drink, commenting on the sweet flavor.  Both sip their own and feel the tension drain from their bodies when know it works, power settling deep in their cores.  

One will not go without the others.  All three will survive.  He will make sure of it.  

He didn’t have a name before.  

He didn’t have a home before.  

He didn’t have a family before.

He has all three now.  

And he doesn’t plan on ever letting go.

(George doesn’t tell them he knows.  They aren’t the most subtle.  He doesn’t approve of how they went behind his back, of how they did not think to give him a choice.  He doesn’t approve, but he understands.  He knows fear when he sees it.  And while he doesn’t approve, he does appreciate having a family that cares.  In their own unusual way.)

[snowbellewells]

“A Cottage by the Sea” {Part Two}

I apologize now for the delay, but I had my second @cssns​ fic to post, a few family obligations and other things pulling at me. I will absolutely try to get this one back on a regular schedule after this, but for now, I’ll stop making excuses and let you get back to what has been happening to our shipwrecked sailor and the princess who loves him...  Enjoy!!

***Thank you SO much once again to @searchingwardrobes​ for the stunning artwork she made to accompany this story! I seriously can’t say enough how much I love it. <3***

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

Links to Previous Installments:   Prologue        Part One

Part Two

When Killian’s eyes opened once more, it felt as though he had been unconscious for ages. The grit he blinked away and the painful shock that the bright sun was to his retinas had him fighting not to close them again and float back into oblivion. It took a moment for the dizziness and disorientation that pressed down on his back to subside and for his shaking arms to support pushing up to a sitting position. His skin stung and stretched with the movement when he did so, and it was only then that Killian realized he had been sprawled out prone on some deserted stretch of sand, the naval uniform he’d donned so proudly stained and torn, and any exposed skin blistered red with sunburn.

Wincing, struggling not to vomit seawater and sand back up on himself, he began to recall a bit more of what had occurred, brushing a dark, saltwater-encrusted hank of his hair off his forehead as he tried to squint against the brightness assaulting him to get the lay of the land. There had been a terrible freak storm out on the water, blowing up suddenly as if conjured especially to attack their vessel and take it down. There had been no hope of navigating such a maelstrom - in spite of their best efforts. And then, he’d gone overboard in the rising waves… there was fire… and a whirlpool… It had swallowed the ship, and all his fellow sailors, whole, right before his eyes.

Trying to take stock of himself, Killian made sure his fingers, toes, legs, arms, all extremities seemed in order, and then managed to haul himself to his feet. He staggered a bit drunkenly at first, sensing he looked a bit like the old sea dogs seen at port, past their years of crewing a vessel and often lost in their cups, but forced himself to reach the minimal shade of a palm tree nearby and leaned against its trunk heavily, catching his breath.

There wasn’t much else to take in. As far as his sight carried in either direction, he saw only the isolated beach, the sea to one side crashing against the sand in unending rhythm and a thicker stand of trees farther inland on his other. At least there was some shelter from the blistering heat, he tried to comfort himself. But no signs at all of any habitation, or any other living beings.  The pounding waves, the rustling leaves overhead… and nothing else.

But wait… hadn’t there been a voice? Before, as he’d slid under the churning waves, he’d felt arms pulling him back to the surface. And there was… singing?

Killian blinked dazedly, shaking his head of such fanciful nonsense. Who would have been singing? For all he could tell, he was alone, on a deserted island. What he needed to focus on were not fevered mirages but finding some source of water, aloe for his burns if a plant could be located, and some sort of shelter before nightfall.

Heaving a sigh, the young lieutenant knew he needed to get to work if he wanted to have any sort of protection from the elements and any natives or wild animals he might encounter before nightfall. Trudging further from the crashing surf, Killian rolled up the damp and bedraggled sleeves of his white shirt, after quickly shedding the naval jacket, and tried to push aside the waterlogged fogginess of his head and the aches and pains of extremities that had been buffetted by waves and debris from the ship’s wreckage. He had more pressing concerns needing to be dealt with in short order.

Soon, he was pulling branches and underbrush to a flat spot of beach and attempting to weave them together in his best approximation of a canopy - both for shade and rain protection when he lay down to rest. He propped it up to form a sort of lean-to up the beach near the treeline using boards from the ship that had washed ashore near him. Killian tried not to focus on the fact that he saw no sign of the ship’s sails, lifeboats, or any of his fellow sailors. He knew they’d been swallowed by that unnatural whirlpool, and yet he couldn’t fully process it either. It didn’t seem possible that all other traces of the ship, the mission, and its crew had vanished in an instant, and that he was the only one left.

When finally he had what passed for a sturdy enough shelter in which to pass the night, Killian noticed while wiping sweat from his forehead that the sun was beginning its descent back down the western side of the sky. He needed to find fresh water to drink, and gather enough more brush to start a fire. By this point, his limbs were nearly numb from exertion and lack of water, but he couldn’t stop yet. He would be doomed if he lay down before accomplishing at least those two tasks. Grim determination in the fierce lines of his young face, Killian headed into the trees, in search of some stream or pool toward the island’s center. Something must support the vegetation after all.

He was too focused on the necessities before him to sense that he was being watched, though he was indeed. Kind eyes, void of malice, indeed aching to help him, if their mood could have been read, kept their distance, but yet drank in every movement and detail of the young survivor on the sand. Eyes that seemed so intent, so loving that they might never look away… and were as limitless and blue as Killian’s own.

~~***~~

At the same time, back in Misthaven, Princess Emma waited anxiously for her love’s return. Oh, she knew it might yet be some weeks before they could possibly sail to Agrabah and back - even with the fairest of winds and smooth sailing. Despite that rational knowledge however, her young heart aflutter with love newly voiced and emphatically returned couldn’t help counting the days, even the hours, until Killian’s ship made port once more, she could look upon his well-known and beloved face and fling herself into his arms.

She grinned mischeivously as soon as that image graced her mind’s eye. Killian himself would caution her not to do any such thing. He was self-assured and competent in his naval training, a confident sailor, secure in his position and satisfied that he had earned his rank among his peers. Still, much to Emma’s chagrin, he never seemed to forget that she was royalty- the sole heir to an entire kingdom - and that he was certainly not; in fact his origins were so completely unknown as to be a mystery even to him. Though the smallest quirk of his smile or wink from his eyes as they made faces behind the dance master’s back when Emma struggled with a step and he turned to demonstrate again with long-suffering sighs at the princess’ lack of natural grace, though even those tiniest of his familiar expressions could set her blood rushing and her heart to pounding, Emma knew Killian would be embarrassed if she were to be as brazen as she were tempted in her feelings for him in front of a crowd. If she really were to throw herself into his wiry, tanned arms and take the second kiss she had been dreaming of since the first ended at their parting in full public view, he would blush to the very tips of his honestly quite adorably pointed elfin ears. She had learned quickly over the years that he did not see himself as of the same standing as she and her family; no matter that he had been brought up as one of them since they found him, and her parents would no more think that way than she did, he would still fear tarnishing her standing or regard by choosing him as her match.

‘Utter nonsense!’ Emma snorted to herself with a frustrated shake of her head, a furrow of consternation creasing her brow. She wouldn’t stand for anyone to say or think such a thing; it was one of the first topics she meant to discuss with him as soon as they were reunited. Everything had happened so quickly once they had admitted their feelings to each other; he had been ready to set sail, and after such a breathless kiss and embrace, she had been struggling to regain her wits enough to speak at all.

Even days later, Emma blushed to think of their stolen moment as she ran a comb through her hair before twisting it into a long braid for comfort while she slept. Surely the messenger bird of her mother’s would return in the morning with an answer to the missive she had sent after her lieutenant. She had kept it short, but had yearned to let him know she would think of him every second he was gone and be counting the moments to their reunion. Queen Snow’s winged couriers never failed to locate their recipients - and often within a day or two, much quicker and more reliably than any sort of human post by land or sea yet devised.

With that encouraging thought buoying her spirits, the crown princess curled up on her side under the covers with the hope that she might receive a reply in her sailor’s own hand as early as the morrow. She slept that night with a smile on her face, dreaming of a crooked, playful grin and kind eyes as blue as the ocean itself.

On the morrow, Emma rose with the sun, well rested and full of energy, her mind recalling almost immediately her hope for the day. She paused at her vanity table only long enough to pull on and belt her dressing gown over the long, silken shift in which she slept, stuff her feet into slippers, and peer out her window at the perch with food to which their messenger birds were trained to return. Even the absence of the small creature didn’t dampen her spirits; it was early yet, and the day was young.

Not until she headed downstairs to break fast with her parents and godmother did anything occur to rattle her cheerful mindset. Their morning meal opened as usual with Granny bustling around them to place fresh-baked biscuits with newly churned butter and stewed apples for topping, along with fried ham slices, before them, and they all happily tucked into the simple but delicious repast. Ruby and her mother spoke animatedly on the possibility of whether or not Graham would actually allow himself to dance with Ruby at her birthday celebration and admit the mutual infatuation which had been clear between the queen’s guard and best friend for months, or if he would continue to linger on the sidelines keeping watch, as serious and solitary as always. It seemed as though the man were still paying penance for choices made long ago leading to his enslavement and forced allegiance to Snow’s wicked stepmother before he was freed. All of that had happened years ago, before Emma was even born, but she did often sense the captain of their royal guard carried some weight on his shoulders that never lessened. He had always been kind to her, doting even, teaching her survival skills when she had been yet a child to help her in case she were ever lost in the woods, or needed to hide in nature as a place of escape. As she had grown, he had often gladly shown her techniques to better her tracking and archery when her mother could not. All the same, even when the quiet, gentle Huntsman did smile, there was a haunted sadness still clouding his eyes. Emma was contemplating that even as she met her father’s humored gaze while her mother teased Ruby that she should wear her tightest corset and brightest red gown and not give Graham a chance to deny her a turn around the dancefloor. Her godmother had winked and given them all a devious smile in return, which Emma knew meant that their Huntsman was bound to get an eyefull he couldn’t resist, and their foursome had returned to quietly finishing their meal.

Once they had eaten all they could hold, her parents were standing to go to open court where they would hear the needs and requests of the people for the rest of the morning, telling Emma to join them whenever her morning’s lesson was completed, when an emissary of a neighboring kingdom hurried into the kitchen, led by her “Uncle” Grumpy and his rather suspicious usual grumbling face. The young man appeared not in the least daunted by the dwarf’s inhospital introduction, however. He looked only at the King and Queen, bowing and breathlessly offering a quick apology for the interruption. Emma paused as well on her way back upstairs to her tutor, curious for any word of things beyond their borders - both hopeful for news of Killian’s mission and fearing it, as news might well mean trouble and explanation for why her note had remained unanswered. Ruby waited at her elbow, as if also alerted by some sixth sense to the import this man’s tidings could bear.

“Nonsense, my friend,” King David reassured the young man as he smiled understandingly and nodded for him to proceed. “You are quite alright, what news do you have for us?”

Emma, however, had taken note of the young man’s attire - the livery of her parents’ friends Eric and Ariel, King and Queen of the neighboring maritime kingdom - and her stomach flip-flopped sickeningly, the premonition that his news might pertain to her sailor’s well-being growing all the stronger.

The courier dipped his head in respectful acknowledgement once more, but as he actually began to speak, Emma noticed that he pulled the cap from his head and began to nervously twist the material in his hands as he proceeded, clearly reluctant to offer the tidings that were in store. Emma tried to steel herself for whatever might be coming, but the slithering nausea moving through her frame warned her she might have only limited success. 

“My Lord and Lady bid me notify your Highnesses of the occurrence witnessed off the shores of some uncharted islands near the Echoing Seas on our kingdom’s border, two nights hence,” the messenger began hesitantly. “As you well know, our Queen Ariel has familial connections and contacts in the acquatic world, far beyond the scope of which my king’s merely human scouts would ever possess. On the night in question, one of Queen Ariel’s own sisters was nearly swallowed by a sudden and unnatural whirlpool that came out of nowhere. As she just barely pulled herself from the undertow that would have dragged her to the very depths - dangerous even to mer-people, apparently - she saw a ship sucked into its vortex. She was reluctant to report, as you can imagine, knowing our leader’s friendship and allegiance with your Majesties, that she recognized Misthaven’s flags on the doomed ship, as well as numerous sailors onboard, fighting for their lives. According to Princess Arista, the entire vessel and all its visible passengers were subsumed within moments of the typhoon’s appearance.”

The young man’s head fell to stare at the floor as his report finished, knowing it was dire news to digest, and yet clearly well-trained enough to wait for a reply or further instructions, no matter how awkward. Emma felt herself struggling, gulping for air as she blindly stumbled to one of the kitchen stools they had vacated before she collapsed to the floor.  ‘No,’ her mind was repeating blankly, ‘It cannot be...not Killian…’ even as a dizzying haze seemed to obstruct her senses, clouding her surroundings and setting up a dull roar in her ears that made all other sounds fade to a distant hum. Ruby was immediately at her side, a soothing hand stroking her hair like the woman had often done when Emma was small and woke from a nightmare, when the werewolf’s keen hearing made her godmother the only one aware and who always slipped through the silent and darkened halls of the castle to comfort her.

She knew her parents must be looking to her in concern as well - asking if she was alright - but with the strange echo resounding in her head she couldn’t hear them clearly. As the monarchs, obviously, they would be saddened for the loss of all aboard the ship, and would keenly feel the responsibility for each death, not just Killian’s. It had been an official mission, and as such her parents would bear a weighing burden, though they could have had no way of knowing such a tempest would appear.

After some long minutes of heavy silence, the emissary prompted gently, “Your Majesties? Will there be any reply?”

Her father spoke then, moving forward to shake the man’s hand and give him thanks for bringing them news so promptly and accurately, before rumors and falsehoods could spread. Though he spoke with the same calm assurance she had always known, there was a quaver of emotion in King David’s words that couldn’t be ignored for one who knew him as well as his only daughter. Though she was far from being clearly focused and taking in all that was being said around her, Emma knew from experience that he must be expressing their hope that he would return their gratitude and good will to Ariel and Eric, along with the hope that they would notify them of any further developments regarding the storm and its aftermath, and that the rider would partake of food and drink before returning to his own kingdom.

Once it seemed that the newcomer was leaving their presence, alone at last with only those loved ones she had known all her life, Emma slumped further in her seat, nearly boneless in the devastation attempting to spread throughout her being. Head in shaking hand, Emma tried to console herself, repeating that he must have escaped the ship sometime before “Auntie” Ariel’s sister saw the craft’s demise. He could not simply be gone from this earth and she feel no different. Surely she would have known…

However, just before the man exited the room, he turned back with a remembered afterthought. “One last thing, my lieges,” he added, almost sheepishly. “My Lord and Lady were unsure whether or not to include this supposition in their notification, as many outside our borders do not believe in the craven villain and view him as a mere character of legend and imagination, but rumors have been increasing for weeks now of more frequent and violent attacks from the sea demon Davy Jones. No one had died, merely property taken or destroyed and many frightened. But reports have been fragmented at best and wildly varied. We were uncertain whom to pursue, or how to accomplish the pursuit. But now King Eric seems resolved that it must indeed be Davy Jones. He and the Queen know of no other who could have whipped up such a sudden and powerful storm to swallow a ship in the blink of an eye. They are still debating how to rebuff future insurrections, but intend to answer his treachery. Take from that what you will.”

Emma had straightened in her seat as this last announcement was made. Her senses seemed to clear as she heard her mother thank their visitor this time with benevolent grace and ask him to assure his Queen that she would contact her soon, even as her capable hands prepared bread and cheese with some cakes for him to take before he did at last leave on his return journey. The princess’ will was somehow galvanized once more by the idea of Davy Jones’ scurrilous role in their ship being wrecked. It gave her something to cling to, right or wrong, in the knowledge that perhaps her love was not lost as the rest must believe. All who did believe Davy Jones and his cursed crew and ship existed, knew that they prowled the sea, taking ships and sailors as plunder, indenturing them to sail as additional ill-fated hands on his Flying Dutchman. Though it was horrific to contemplate, and she shuddered imagining Killian once more trapped and forced into servitude as he had been before they met, she drew some resolve from the knowledge that if he still existed somewhere, he could be found and rescued. She would not rest until she found a way.

~~***~~

As he continued to move through the dense vegetation, Killian was surprised  at his own relatively calm thinking after all which had occurred, but he simply knew he had no choice but to keep his senses about him. True, his first instinct upon waking had been to scream and rail at the gods of sea and sky, shed tears for his lost comrades and lie down on the sand in defeat. Part of him still wanted to take off swimming frantically in hopes of reaching land, but going blindly without knowledge if there were any to reach was a futile fool’s errand. He must focus on what he could do if he were to survive.

If he explored the entire expanse of this seemingly uninhabited island, and found no lake or stream, he could try to boil the most of the salt from the ocean water over his firepit - but it would be a painstaking and continuous chore if it could be avoided. And so doggedly Killian moved toward the center of the island, further and further into the trees. He could only hope he wasn’t traveling further from the safety he had been provided so far, but he would not survive long in the heat and the elements without a potable water source. It was one of the first points of wilderness survival he had been taught in the case of shipwreck, marooning or capture. There was always the danger of unknown wildlife, injury on unfamiliar terrain, or becoming lost, but his sense of direction had always been admirable - it was one of the first things which had won him praise from commanding naval officers - and he really had no other recourse.

Soon he was blazing a trail through the low-hanging vines and branches, doing his best to slice brambles and brush from the way before him and create a path. If he did indeed find some freshwater pool or stream, he would want to have a clear way back and forth between it and his rough campsite. Killian was holding out hope that there must be something of the sort because there was such a wealth of greenery and growth; it had to be supported somehow.

The heat seemed to climb higher with every step; the humidity wrapping around him and seeping down his throat with a stifling heaviness, but Killian pressed on. He was in excellent health and fitness - his naval training had seen to that - but he still came to feel as though he had been plodding through this relative jungle for hours, his arms and feet burning and feeling heavier with every step, his light, loose shirt clinging to his torso with the sweat that ran over his skin, stinging in his eyes and the numerous cuts and scrapes he bore from the wreck.

He had just promised himself he would sit to catch his breath soon, when he broke through an especially dense stand of trees and scrub brush to hear the sound of rushing water and glimpse the light of sun off a liquid surface just ahead. Hurrying forward once more, rejuvenated in his excitement and relief, Killian broke through the canopy to find a pool fed by a small waterfall in an open clearing.

Thankful for the blessing in his stranded situation, Killian left the trees and rushed to the edge of the pool to throw himself on the ground and plunge his hands into the clear, calm water. Breathtakingly cold and bracing, Killian reveled in its refreshment, splashing it onto his face, his hair, the back of his neck before cupping his hands together to bring the water to his lips and drink greedily - one, two, and three times. 

Lying prone on the bank for a minute when he finished drinking, trying to cool off slightly and catch his breath, Killian closed his eyes, thanking God that he did find the fresh water he needed to press on. Now that he wasn’t moving, hacking and fighting through the dense growth, he could take a moment to feel the worry abate slightly and gather his resolve once again. For the moment, he at least had the jug on his belt to take some water back to his shelter, but he would search the beach again upon his return for any washed up wreckage, hopefully to yield him some larger bowl or pot, some container to hold more water from a trip to this clearing. He hated to be away from the shore for too long, knowing he also needed to start some sort of signal fire which could be seen by any passing ships out at sea, and he did not wish to miss any rescue vessel which might be sent to look for his ship and fellow sailors. Certainly he didn’t overvalue himself, but he did regret the knowledge that his princess would be worried for him. She had almost undoubtably already sent him messages he had not received, and she would be at a loss for why he had failed to respond.

Still, he would count himself grateful for this moment’s success and do what he could to find his way back to her. Rising to his knees, he pulled out his water skein and uncapped it to dip into the water and fill. As the lip of the bottle broke the surface, however, Killian felt a current run through his limbs, intense, but not unpleasant, instead calming and strangely peaceful.  Looking over his shoulder and to both sides, he took stock of the forest he had left and the clearing all around him, but all remained as quiet and undisturbed as before.

Forcing himself not to succumb to flights of fantasy, Killian returned to his task with an inner admonishment against imagining things. Yet again, as soon as his fingers dipped into the water, he had the same enveloping impression that he was no longer alone, that a presence he had encountered before was somehow nearby. Out in the center of the pool, almost at the foot of the gentle waterfall, ripples began to spread in ever-widening circles, drawing always closer to the bank where he crouched warily.

It was then he picked up another sound, one that did not fit in with running water, rustling breezes, birdcall and the buzz of hovering insects. Once more, as it had the previous night when he’d nearly drowned, it sounded as though someone were singing. No one was around, and as before, common sense chided that it must be in his head, but the voice was so beautiful, so full of almost supernatural comfort, that it could not be ignored.

As he continued to watch the ripples widen, the pool’s surface was broken in their midst, some six or seven feet from him. Slowly, with liquid grace a head broke the water, followed by the shoulders, torso, and eventually the full form of an inexplicably familiar woman, who emerged from the depths fully and seemingly walked upon the water to stand before him with affectionate, beguiling smile.

Though anyone else observing the scene would have been struck immediately by the resemblance this lovely creature bore to Killian himself, the young lieutenant was a bit too stunned to recognize the uncanny similarities. She was slim and poised, dark hair the same shade as his streamed down her back to nearly reach her hips, and unique pointed tips to her ears also resembled Killian’s that Emma had so often tweaked and playfully joked about him being half an elf. Perhaps most remarkable of all though were her deep, oceanic blue eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, drinking him in as if Killian were every bit as awe-inducing to her as she was to him. Those eyes so like his own, made Killian swallow hard at how much the color and shape and the warmth of emotion in them as they studied him reminded him viscerally of Liam. 

What sorcery was this? Who was this being? And how did she come to be here? Why was she here before him?  So much was invading his mind at once that it took Killian several more beats to realize that her lips were moving, and only when they stopped did the song he had heard cease. She was the one singing the night before, the notes in his ear as he had been plucked from the murderous waves.

“You,” he breathed, blinking rapidly as he again found his voice. “You saved me. Why? And who… who are you?”

The look on that ethereal face turned unbearably sad. Her musical voice whispered brokenly, “Oh, my dear, I had feared you would forget. Don’t you know me, Killian? … I’m your mother.”

Tagging some shipmates who have enjoyed before: @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @jennjenn615​ @capswantrue​ @therooksshiningknight​ @spartanguard​ @tiganasummertree​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @lfh1226-linda​ @tornadoamy​ @bubblegum1425​ @hookswan25​ @gingerchangeling​ @courtorderedcake​ @jarienn972​ @nikkiemms​ @thisonesatellite​ @artistic-writer​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @winterbaby89​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @laschatzi​ @kday426​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ 

[thesvenqueen]

With All My Love

Rating: M Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else) Also on AO3

Previous Chapters Notes: looks like we got an answer folks...

{Chapter 5}

Anna groans in frustration, rolling over to stare at her ceiling once again.

She thought that her lack of sleep the night before would make her completely exhausted and bring sleep to her quickly. That wasn’t so. 

The entire night, no matter how much she tried, no matter how long she stared at the ceiling, the wall, the fire; sleep would not take her. 

It’s a cruel trick, Anna thinks, how she had hoped as she got ready for bed earlier that evening that she would not have to deal with any nightmares tonight. She got her request, but only because she hadn’t slept a wink. 

Her thoughts kept her awake, going through several different scenarios and what ifs. 

If she did not leave and refused to move away, what trouble that could bring to her and her kingdom. 

If she did, in fact, move away with this Prince Hans and married him. What life in the Southern Isles, if she remembered correctly, would be like for her.

If she rejected his proposal upon his arrival, refusing to hear otherwise. Would they drag her away, force her down the aisle?

If the Prince arrived and managed to sweep her off her feet, be the man she dreamed of.

If she discussed things with her sister, patched things up before her potential departure or just left things where they lied and never spoke to her again. 

If Elsa would even want to speak with her, if she would even allow that much after what had transpired.

If she had never met K, how different things would be. Would she be the same girl she once knew years before, or would she have become who she is today?

If she would have been able to get through the years without his letters and comfort, if she would’ve overcome the grief and pain in time or not at all. 

Would things be easier without him? 

In retrospect, in a way maybe, but then again she would not be who she is now. Before K, she never would have stood up for herself. She would have bent to their will, going through with the arrangement without one complaint. 

Would she have been happy doing so? She isn’t sure. She thinks possibly her younger self, filled with the fairy tales she’d read in the library, may have found it romantic. To have her so-called prince charming come to sweep her off her feet, whisk her away to a magical, far off land to live happily ever after. 

That idea now makes her stomach queasy, the thought of being given away to the highest bidder.

Anna lolls her head over to her desk, spying the small clock sitting on top. She squints, trying to read the time in the dim lighting of her room.

It was nearly 4 am. 

There is no use in trying to sleep, she realizes, until she gets peace of mind. With that, she forces herself out of bed. 

All day and majority of the night she thought of what K’s response may be, if he left one at all. Anna had planned to go first thing in the morning to the tree, not able to wait till after breakfast to get her response...or lack thereof. 

There was a good chance he had not found time to respond, or even make it to the tree yet to retrieve her letter. 

Still, something pulled her to go check. 

Though incredibly exhausted, Anna dresses quickly to sneak back through the castle. As she places her black cloak back on, she takes one deep breath before moving towards the door. 

She sneaks through the castle with ease, running into no one, as expected in such early morning. Making her way through the kitchen and to the castle wall, she doesn’t hesitate when she stands in front of the dark forest. 

It’s dark, the small sliver of the moon lighting her way but it is not bright. She should be scared, terrified at how dark it is, but she’s not. The cool night air mixed with the crickets chirping throughout the forest give her comfort in a weird way. 

Like the birds during the day, the crickets seem to be beckoning her in, welcoming her into their home.

The only moment of hesitation comes when she sees the Oak tree come into view.

Immediately, Anna’s pace slows, her eyes never straying from the tree. As she draws closer, her heart begins to race.

She comes to a stop just short of the familiar tree. The hole is just above her, unable to see completely inside as it’s just out of eyesight. With shaky breath, she stands on her tiptoes, peering into the hole just so.

Tilting her head up just slightly, her eyes widen as she sees a piece of parchment lying within the hole, one that she recognizes immediately as not her own.

He’s responded, and the thought makes Anna terrified instead of the usual bubble of excitement that would fill her.

Her heels come back down with a soft thud. Anna’s mind races, blinking rapidly as her heart thunders in her chest. 

For the first time since starting these letters, Anna doesn’t immediately move to grab the parchment from inside. She turns, reaching out to place a hand on the trunk to hold herself up. Even still, she falls against the tree, slamming down onto the Earth. 

Leaning her head back, she stares up at the sky as she tries to catch her breath, tries to slow her racing heart. The stars are beginning to lose their shine, the sky becoming a dark shade of blue. In the distance, she can hear the birds starting to awaken. 

She closes her eyes.

This is it.

The answer she has longed and also feared lay just above her. 

It was a terrifying thought that her future lies within the answer written upon the parchment. But also, in an odd way, thrilling.

What if he said yes?

Her plan was not completely thought out. There are some minor details to work out, some things he must do on his own side to assist in this scheme Anna has created. She herself has bits and pieces to manage before the plan is ready to execute, but it would take no time at all to do so.

There was time to map it all out with him, make sure that there would be no hiccups or issues in every step. She was sure they could both manage to create a nearly flawless plan. 

There was still the chance of being caught, Anna knows this. The risk is great, she could potentially find herself in massive trouble. Not to mention K could very much be thrown into the dungeons if they were found out. It would be so easy to claim he had kidnapped the Princess, ignoring the truth of the matter to save face. 

Elsa would, to keep the reputation of the kingdom intact. Then again, Anna could very well be thrown into the dungeon too. Her sister had bidded her away for the sake of her kingdom, lord knows what she would do to protect her reputation, to keep the truth of why Anna had left a secret as well. 

The thought doesn’t surprise Anna, not really. She could almost see Elsa’s furious face, hear her yelling for the guards to take her away.

Even so, the risk of it all would be worth it. 

Even if it was just for a mere moment, if their plan was found out the moment it was executed, if Anna could just see K’s face for just a second it would have all been worth the punishment awaiting them. 

To have a life with him, to see the cabin he spoke so much about, to see the views and places he wrote in detail to her. To be able to see his brown eyes, hold his hand, get the hug she had dreamed so long of having. 

To even have a chance to say his name. 

Then again, what if he said no?

That potential idea was what gave Anna the most dread, what kept her lying awake.

In retrospect, she would understand, truly she would. The risk of it all, not just for her but for him was tremendously great. No matter a commoner or a royal, whoever he may be the punishment for taking her away could be substantial. 

Then again, he had no idea of her royal background, only knew she was from a wealthy family of sorts. 

Though, there was a chance that if they did execute the plan, he could very well refuse to go further once they met, once realizing exactly who she was. 

He could become furious, angry at the fact she played him for a fool to drag him into such schemes. Risking his life as she did so to escape such a lavish life.

Anna believed that through the years of letter, their relationship and bond was solid, capable of withstanding anything. He may not do so after such a confession. 

He could very much decide that this, her identity, was a sign to leave this all behind. To move on from such a childish game and forget the whole thing entirely. 

If that was his request, she would respect that.

If there was a no scrawled in his familiar handwriting sitting above her, she would accept it. 

Though Anna knew, deep down, even if he asked to forget it all she never would. There was no way, no matter how hard she could try, that she would ever forget the kind hearted man that had there for her. 

She would put on a brave face upon the Prince’s arrival, hopefully having cried out her pain before. Though she knows, no matter how kind or caring he may be, no matter how their marriage went, Anna would and could never truly love him.

Her heart belonged to the man who took a chance to reply to a random letter left in a tree.

Anna wonders, if he says no, if he would still be willing to meet. To give them both that peace of mind of who was on the other side of these letters.

He could still say no to that too, an easy way out in a sense. Without a face or a name, the mourning of the loss could be easier for them both. Without knowing, it would not complicate the process of moving on, of leaving the other behind. 

She hopes he will give her that satisfaction and peace of mind to at least give her that. If not anything, if not a potential future with him, at least grace her with his true identity. 

If it made more pain, caused her heartbreak to be even more great than it would be, she could live with that. But she could not bear to live her life never knowing who he was. 

She would ask, she decides, suggest to have at least that piece of him if she couldn't have him completely. 

To have a face and name to the person that held her heart.

Anna opens her eyes, a few rays of sun cresting over the Fjord in the distance. The sky becomes an array of colors; pinks, purples, oranges, yellows, blues. She’s seen a few sunrises in her time, but they still manage to take her breath away each time. 

~.~

You think the sunrise in Arendelle is beautiful? You should see the ones in the mountains. The way the light reflects on the snow, against the ice, makes the colors in the sky even brighter. Then the heat hitting the icicles in the trees, making water drop from them. There’s like a..tinkling to it, a little music to greet the sun as it rises.

That sounds absolutely magical! 

It is, it truly is.

I hope one day, some day, I’ll be able to see it. 

To watch the sunrise with you.

You’ll have to get up exceptionally early, not sure if you’ll like that. 

It would be worth it, to have that with you.

Someday, I swear it, we will have that moment.

~.~

So many promises made, on both sides, but now would they keep them?

Would there be a chance to?

Anna takes another deep breath, realizing she only has so much more time before the staff in the castle would awaken for the morning duties. 

With the dawn, comes a new day and with it, an answer she must know and accept. 

Accepting her fate, Anna stands, pushing against the trunk to steady herself. Her hands are shaking, so she grips her skirt to steady them as she turns to face the hole. 

She takes a step forward, releasing her skirt with still shaking hands and reaches up to grasp the paper. 

It’s small, tinier than any other letter she has received. Pulling it out, she sees that it isn’t even in an envelope this time but instead a small folded up piece, as though placed with haste. 

As though the response he left was one that was simple and short.

She realizes, as she turns the small folded paper, that the paper is in fact her own. K has seemingly ripped a piece of her paper, of her last letter to leave her a response.

The recognition sends her heart racing once more.

With shaky breath, she begins to unfold until she has one final bit to flip. Unable to bear to watch, Anna closes her eyes and looks away as she unfolds to reveal the response. 

It’s right there, his answer in her hands but she can’t bring herself to look. 

~.~

I love you. More than anything, more than I can even understand myself, I love you. 

~.~

A moment passes, then Anna slowly turns, looking straight ahead at the tree. 

It’s now or never.

Anna, without another moment more, looks down to the paper. 

It’s one word, scribbled in his handwriting, not as neat as his other letters but as though he was in a rush.

As though he was doing it before he changed his mind.

Anna only stares at the word, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

The fear disappears, revealing determination and a bubble of excitement as she reads the word again and again.

Yes.