#i used to think mark could beat the other apprentices up in hand to hand combat but now im not sure. yknow cuz he was the muscle

[jennilah]

updated for the Logan lovers out there who have been vocal LOL

a new tallest boy has been crowned (of the jigsquad & main fandom ships jkhdfbngjn)

[bosinclairsgff]

I wanna ruin our friendship

Amanda young x f reader

Based on the song Jenny Studio Killers

Warnings: age gape (reader is 20, Amanda is in her early 30s), fluff, cussing

You’ve been working with Amanda as one of Johns apprentices for almost 4 months. Both of you had bonded over hating Mark. He made both your lives miserable. Always telling you how to do things or what to do. Even though he was in no way above either of you. John tries to get you guys to at least be civil with each other, however Amanda never seems to be in the mood for it. Today was especiallytense, no-one seemed to be in the best mood. “Amanda can you get your shit off my fucking desk huh? Is that to much for you to comprehend?” Mark says sternly. Amanda rolled her eyes and walked over to his work area. Saying nothing she picked up her stuff, making eye contact with him. If looks could kill he’d be dead by now. I stand back and watch the whole interaction unfold. Amanda looks over at me and smiles softly, my heart skips a beat. I make my way over to her. “Hey, you okay? He was a real dick to you.” I say. “I’m fine, he just annoys the absolute fuck out of me. I mean, who does he think he is? Talking to me like that.” Amanda states while glancing over in his direction. I touch her arm slightly and rub tiny circles on her. It’s moments like this I don’t hate having to be here in this awful warehouse. She looks at me with such a beautiful, loving smile. “Can you guys actually do something? We have a lot of work to do while you guys sit there and fuck off.” Mark yells. Her smile immediately fades and she stands still clinching her fists tight. “He’s not worth the trouble Mandy, you know this won’t end well.” I whisper to her. She simply ignores me and makes her way over to where Mark is standing. “I am not some bitch you can bark orders at, you got that?” She spits her words at him. He has a shit eating grin on his face. Mark loves when he gets under her skin. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to bark orders at you if you actually did your job instead of flirting with your stupid bitch over there.” That was her breaking point. I knew where this was heading so I quickly made my way to her side. “Say that again and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out Hoffman.” She says as she pulls a switch blade out of her pocket. I grab her wrist and tell her to let it go. She doesn’t listen for a moment, letting her anger consume her. “Mandy, come on, he’s not worth it at all. He’s just an idiot.” I whisper to her while looking into her eyes. This gets her to lower her knife and calm down. “Yeah that’s right listen to your bitch.” Mark says chuckling lightly. Immediately Amanda swings her fist into his face. At first I’m to stunned to speak. However reality hits, thinking fast I grab her wrist and take off running. We manage to make it out of the building and down the road. “I can’t believe you hit him! You actually hit him!” I slightly yell while out of breath. “I couldn’t let him speak about you like that.” She says in response also trying to catch her breath. We slump down against the near by buildings wall as we calm down. I notice Amanda shaking her hand and wincing in pain. “Are you okay? You hit him pretty hard, I’m honestly surprised you didn’t break something.” I smile softly. “I’m okay, just hurt a little bit not to bad.” She responds. I could tell she wasn’t telling the complete truth. Slowly I start to scoot closer to her until our shoulders are touching. “Thank you Mandy, I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.” I whisper slightly. Amanda looks up at me a bit stunned to speak. Instead she places her hand on my thigh while rubbing back and forth. I let out a shaky sigh. “Amanda…I…I want to be more than friends. I want to be with you, protect you and love you.” I blurt out without really thinking about the consequences. She stops rubbing my thigh and simply stares into my eyes. It felt like this went on for hours, just us looking at each other. For a moment I thought I had ruined absolutely everything. “Y/n, I want to be with you too. I can’t handle thinking about being away from you or not being able to save you. I’d do anything for you.”

Pt.2 coming soon…

A/n Hey guys! This is my first full fanfic! Sorry if it’s not the best, if you want part 2 I’ll be more than happy to write it!

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 35

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1 Previous chapter Next chapter

Moonlight bathed the lovers as they kissed, hearts beating as one. After so much longing for each other, they could now hardly pry themselves away. Eventually they were forced to part for breath and their eyes met once more. 

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Saff said with a chuckle, only half-joking as she stared into his eyes. “It feels too good to be true…”

“No dream, I assure you,” he responded with a chuckle of his own. She smiled as she leant in and hugged him again, though her smile faded as she thought of how distraught she’d been just minutes earlier. 

“I thought I’d lost you…” she whispered, burying herself in his chest. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything, I knew it would make you emotional, I should have-” “No, don’t apologise,” he interrupted, pulling back to look at her, “I’m sorry for letting it get so far. I should have had a better handle on my emotions… but that’s all in the past now, let’s not linger on it. There are… other things we need to discuss,” he said, with a seriousness that took her by surprise. She looked at him in confusion as he sat down from where he’d been kneeling in front of her. She followed suit, starting to feel slightly nervous as he took her hands in his. “You must know the reason the orb has been stabilised.” Her frown intensified.

“You mean… it wasn’t just to save your life? Was that not reason enough??” she asked incredulously. 

“Seems not…” he murmured, a noticeable bitterness in his voice. “Elminster was sent with a charge from Mystra. He has given me a charm to detonate the orb at will, which I am to use to destroy the heart of the Absolute when we find it.” 

The breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. “Wha… what?? But… that’ll…” “Kill me, yes,” he confirmed. “But worry not, I have no intention of obeying this order. She says she will forgive me if I do, but after all she’s done, I will not sacrifice myself for her. I will find another way to destroy the Absolute.”

Both relief and anger flooded over her, though for the moment it was anger that tipped the scales of her emotions. 

“I can’t believe she would demand that of you! How dare she! She’s a goddess, is there nothing better she can come up with? This is the best she can do?!” 

She squeezed her eyes shut and looked downwards as she seethed in anger. As if she hadn’t been angry enough at Mystra already… 

“She can’t take you…” she whispered, her anger now starting to turn to fear. “She can’t…”

“She won’t,” Gale said softly, cupping her cheek in his hand as he lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He leant in and kissed her once more, and she melted into his arms as she felt her fears washing away. “Now…” he whispered, barely pulling away, “I have spent quite long enough thinking about Mystra. I want only to think only of you…” 

She smiled against his lips, then leant in once more, wrapping her arms round his shoulders as she kissed him. He pulled her close, his hands resting on her hips as the kiss deepened. Soon all thoughts of Mystra were long gone from both their minds, replaced only by thoughts of each other. 

His hands moved up her back and hers into his hair, her fingers intertwining with the strands as she pulled him in. The kiss was hungry and lustful, and when they finally parted for breath, there was a look in her eyes Gale had never seen before.

“So…” she started, lowering her hand as her fingers trailed down his chest, running over the marking. “Just… how stable is the orb now?” As she asked she bit her lip and gave him a look that sent a rush of excitement through him. 

“Let me show you…” he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a growl. 

She gasped slightly as he swooped her down and gently laid her on the soft grass. Her heart rushed as he leant over her, his eyes darkening with lust, til he leant down and kissed her once more. 

It was like a dream come true for both of them as they kissed in the pale moonlight. Wandering hands fumbled with leather buckles, until one belt was hastily thrown aside, followed quickly by a second. The familiar clasps that held each of their robes in place fell open to their practised fingers, and any chill that Saff might have felt as the robe was slid off her shoulders was more than drowned by the warmth that grew inside her at Gale’s touches. Reaching up to help him out of his own robe, her eyes wandered down the thin, white undershirt that he was left in as the heavy robe was discarded. 

His kisses moved down her neck now as he ran his hands up her sides, her torso now only covered by the thin fabric of her undershirt. The ties that held the shirt together fell loose at his touch, and he felt her shiver with excitement as his hand slipped inside the shirt, skin meeting skin. 

He helped her out of her shirt, leaving her in just the thin, lace bra she wore underneath. He barely had a chance to admire the sight before she leant forward and relieved him of his own shirt, deftly undoing the ties and pulling it off him. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him topless, surprised as she was by the unexpectedly toned muscles that she couldn’t help but run her fingers over. 

He leant over her once more, propped up by one arm over her head as he met her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and she gasped with a breathlessness that only increased as their nearly bare torsos came together. He held her gaze for just a moment, til their lips met once more. 

Their wandering hands now met bare skin, and as he pressed into her she could feel the extent of his arousal even through their trousers, hard against her thigh, sending excited shivers through her body. 

His kisses were met by soft moans as his lips moved down to her neck, his nose nuzzling beneath her ear, her scent intoxicating to him. Further he continued down til he found the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths beneath his lips, and as his hands cupped the curve of her breast and gently pulled the lace fabric down, he heard the whispered hint of his name on her lips as he took the nipple into his mouth. 

She barely even noticed as her bra was removed, so lost was she in his touch, and as that touch moved down her stomach and fingertips brushed between her legs, she couldn't stop the moan that escaped her lips. 

Gale smiled to himself, still kissing and sucking at her breasts as he lowered her trousers. He eventually pulled away to finally remove them from her, and when she was left lying in front of him in just her thin, lace knickers, flushed and breathless, he had to pause once again to admire the beauty of the view in front of him. This time she let him, smiling as she saw the way he looked at her, feeling any insecurities she had about herself melt away. 

She sat up and took her turn now, peppering kisses across his chest as she trailed her hands down his body. She felt his hands run up her back, leaving loving touches and strokes across her skin as she undid the fastening on his trousers, her fingers brushing over the hardness that awaited her. Soon his trousers were removed too, and she might have noticed the hint of magic that emanated from his underwear had she not been completely distracted by thoughts of what was concealed beneath. 

As her hands brushed over the fabric of his boxers she felt his arms tighten round her as his breath caught in his throat. He buried his face in her neck, stifling moans against her skin as she began to stroke him. How long had it been, she wondered, since he’d felt another’s touch like this? Since he’d known what it was like to be truly loved? She didn’t know exactly, but she was determined to make him feel as loved as he made her feel. 

Gently she pushed him down to the ground and straddled over him. His eyes were full of emotion, deep pools of love and lust as he looked up at her, his hands running up her thighs til they rested on her hips. Excitement bubbled inside her as she leant down and kissed him, feeling his wandering hands as their tongues met once more, til she began to make her way downwards, trailing kisses along his body. 

Gale's head spun with a wave of pleasure as she slowly slid his underwear down and took him in her hand. He tried to keep it together as he felt her fingers, her lips, her tongue, all running along his skin, reminding him what love’s touch could truly feel like. Breathless moans and whispered words of unbridled pleasure danced in the air like music in her ears as she finally took him into her mouth. Trembling fingers found their way into her hair, and as she felt him writhing beneath her, she took him deeper, determined to show him every ounce of love she possibly could…

“Saff…”

He pulled her upwards by the arm, knowing what would happen if he she continued much longer. As she crawled up next to him he pulled her into a kiss, then rolled them over once more and met her eyes as he leant up over her. “My turn,” he said with a smirk, before moving down her body, leaving a trail of soft kisses in his wake. Anticipation rose inside her as his mouth moved over her breasts and down her stomach, before lingering tantalisingly at her hips. He moved teasingly down her leg to place light kisses on the inside of her thigh, smiling as he tasted the slick evidence of her arousal on his lips, and as she felt his fingers brushing over the thin lace of her pants, her breath caught in her throat in a pleasured gasp. 

Her head swum and sensations fluttered through her at his well-practised touches, so turned on was she at that moment that even the lightest stroke over her underwear was enough to draw a moan from her lips. As his kisses moved further up her thigh and she felt not only the touch of his fingers but too the touch of his lips, teasing and caressing, until finally he slid her pants down from her hips and began to truly explore her. 

Licks and kisses, strokes and circles, one finger, followed by another… her back arched and her fingers gripped the grass below her as her body trembled in his hands. Soft moans and gasps escaped her lips, whimpers of pleasure and whispers of his name. Never had any of her previous partners made her feel like this, a level of pleasure she didn’t even know was possible from touch and tongue alone. 

By the time he made his way back up her body she was aching for him. Her eager hands pulled him into a hungry kiss and her legs wrapped round his waist as his body pressed against her. He lined himself up and as he finally entered her, they both let out a deep gasp of pleasure. 

Their bodies began to move as one as they lost themselves in each other. His name danced breathlessly on her lips as whispered declarations of love met her ears. Every thrust of his was met with a squeeze of her legs or a moan against his neck. Eventually they both flipped over so she was on top, straddling him once more. His hands explored her body as she took the lead now and began to move on top of him, her hands resting on his chest, the plaits of her hair falling down and brushing over his skin as she leant down over him. She trailed kisses up his chest, over the marking left by the orb and up his neck, til her mouth met his once more. Their lips parted and their tongues danced, hungry and passionate and loving. 

By the time she sat back up again, he could barely stop himself from moving his hips underneath her, thrusting up into her, watching enraptured as she leant back, her chest heaving with pleasure, her cheeks flushed. He moved a thumb down between her legs from where his hands were resting on her hips and began to massage her once more, bringing a moan from her lips. Her fingers dug into his thighs as she drew ever closer, the sensations growing almost too much. 

Finally he sat up with her, wrapping an arm round her waist and holding her gently against him as his other hand remained down between her legs. She melted into his embrace, resting her hands against his chest as their eyes met, giving herself to him completely. In that moment, as she looked at him with starlight reflecting in her eyes, he’d never felt more in love. 

She closed her eyes as the sensations grew overwhelming, her moans growing in pitch as she clutched at his chest. His movements grew faster, willing her on… til finally she let out a loud moan, trembling in his arms as the climax shot waves of pleasure through her, leaving her crumbling against him. The sounds of her moans, the way she fell into him, the feel of her squeezing around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too. He couldn’t stop the moan that came from his lips as he held her tightly, his head swimming from the intensity of his release. 

Breathless and light-headed, the two of them simply sat there in each other’s embrace as they came down from the high they’d both just felt. Safe in his arms as she leant against his chest, Saff never wanted to move from here. 

Eventually he leant back just enough to meet her gaze as he cupped her cheek. 

“I love you…” he whispered, staring deep into her eyes, feeling the sweat that beaded on her skin. 

“Gale…” her voice was barely audible but still he could hear the emotion in it, warm and loving as the smile that graced her lips. “I love you, too.” 

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Gravity Between Us Vol 2! These two are so awkward with each other, I just want to shove them in a closet to sort it all out.

…

…

…

…

Someone knocked on the door. Ochaco jerked her head up at the sound, tearing her attention away from the book in her hand. It sat heavily on her lap, her finger still marking the paragraph she’d been reading. Around her, her office was as messy as ever. Her notes lay scattered across the floor, magical tools abandoned and forgotten in odd corners, and there were at least three different mugs of coffee perched on various pieces of furniture.

Another knock reminded her of just why she’d looked up. “C-coming!” she yelped as she sprang off her chair, her thick tome falling to her feet with a loud thud. She winced.

Through the wooden door, rand a familiar, muffled voice: “Are you okay?”

Izuku.

Ochaco tried and failed to tamp down her blush. It was just Izuku’s voice. It was an ordinary question. She hadn’t even seen him yet. Yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t help but react to it.

This crush was starting to get out of control.

“Yeah!” she shouted, praying he couldn’t hear the blush in her tone. Stumbling to the door, she pressed her cheek against the cool, firm surface, hoping it’d get rid of the red. Her heart beat like a drum. She breathed in. She breathed out.

And then, as calm as she was going to get, she opened the door with a wide smile. “I’m fine! But if you’re here…did you get injured again?”

A sheepish Izuku filled her sight. As usual, he still had some of his armour on. He must have rushed here straight from practice. It’d actually be stranger if he hadn’t; almost all of his training bouts ended in injuries. He got injured so often that her office was considered the third most likely place to find Izuku, right after the stables and the training grounds.

“Well…” Izuku rubbed his neck, embarrassed. He held up his right arm. His white sleeve was rolled up, revealing a series of cuts and bruises encircling his skin. “Just a little bit.”

Ochaco paled. Izuku always surprised her, in the best and worst of ways, and she didn’t think she’d ever get used to his training injuries. She reached for him, trying to tamp down on that little spike of nerves she got whenever Izuku was injured. How was he always so calm when he was hurt? “Oh my god.”

“It looks worse than it feels,” Izuku added, smiling nervously. Despite his words, she could make out a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight wince as he lowered his arm, the way his jaw tightened as he breathed. The only good thing was that the cuts weren’t bleeding anymore, though red stained his shirt and smeared his skin.

Ochaco gritted her teeth. Pull yourself together! She had been training as an apprentice mage for a year, had been treating Izuku for months. This wasn’t the time to panic. “That’s an understatement!”

She stepped aside, ushering him in. Quickly, she cleared a spot for him to sit. Izuku knew the drill by now and promptly plopped down on the chair. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he apologized. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault you got hurt…” Ochaco trailed off before eyeing him suspiciously. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d overworked himself. “It’s not, right?”

He didn’t look her in the eye. His voice was guilt-ridden. “I…I’m not sure.”

She covered her face with a hand. There was a reason the head mage had stopped taking care of Izuku’s training injuries. There was a reason it had all been relegated to her. The man always came in once a week looking like he’d lost a fight. And that was a good week. “You’re not sure.”

“I…well…” Izuku scratched his cheek as he struggled to find the words. “I kinda got a new blessing, and I was trying to use it.”

Her head snapped up. “Another new blessing?”

“Yeah…” He averted his gaze as he shrugged. “It just came to me.”

Ochaco doubted that. The god’s blessings were usually limited to one per person. Few people unlocked theirs after childhood, fewer still that had multiple blessings. Yet Izuku had not just one, but three, and all gained after he’d joined the knights just last year. Even the great hero, the Almighty Sir Toshinori, only had one blessing.

He was hiding something. This was more than just being a late bloomer. Even if he hadn’t been a terrible liar, she’d have known that. Something in her ached at the thought—did he not trust her? Did he think she couldn’t handle it? Her lips parted to ask, but she forced the questions back down.

She didn’t want to pry. And there was something more important to deal with right now. Ochaco grabbed a jar of ink and her paintbrush. After dragging a stool closer to his seat, she sat down across from him. “You’re overworking yourself.”

“Not really.” He carefully pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned chest. Scattered across his skin were the remnants of other long-healed injuries. “I’m just starting as a knight and everyone else is miles ahead. I have to catch up.”

Ochaco stared at the murky black ink. The hardest part of taking care of him was sitting across from all of that and trying not to react. Forcing her hand to move, she dipped the brush in the ink and shifted her focus back to him. And his very, very attractive muscles. “You’re…you’re still overworking yourself. You need to rest sometimes.”

Good. Her voice didn’t come out weird. Her hand remained steady as she started to paint runes on his skin. Good. Good.

Izuku breathed in sharply. “I rest,” he replied, sounding oddly squeaky and strangled. His body stiffened.

Ochaco peeked up. Red dusted his cheeks—that was new. He had never reacted like that before. She’d have to ask him later about it. Hopefully, it didn’t have anything to do with her brush; at her skill level, she needed to draw these runes in order to heal. “You don’t,” she replied as she returned to her work.

“I do,” he protested.

“Not enough,” she disagreed firmly. She met his eyes with a hard glare. “Don’t lie.”

“That’s…sorry. I’ll do better.” Izuku coughed, clearing his throat. It still sounded unnaturally high. “Um…how’s your training?”

Ochaco chuckled as she sat back, setting aside the paint. “Well,” she drawled with a teasing smirk. “I’m really good at healing now.”

“Wh—” Izuku froze as he understood the implication of her words. He flushed, the red spreading all the way to his neck. “Sorry.”

She giggled. Part of her wanted to tease him more. Ochaco rested her palms on his chest and closed her eyes. “Maybe I should specialize in it. There’re too many spells to learn otherwise. I can’t memorize all the runes.”

Power welled up within her and flowed out of her fingertips, jumping to each of the runes like lightning rods. It left her with an oddly gentle, bubbly feeling. If only her attack magic worked just as well.

“I know you can do it,” Izuku reassured, and she almost opened her eyes at the sudden praise. “I’ve seen how hard you work.”

I’ve watched you too. The words remained locked in her chest. Part of her was afraid of ruining the careful balance they’d achieved. Another part of her was just afraid of rejection. She’d spent so long looking at him, she didn’t know where else to turn.

But if she stayed like this, nothing would change. Ochaco pulled away and clasped her hands in her lap. Steeling herself, she asked, “This Saturday, you’re off, right?”

“Saturday?” Izuku bit his lip as he pulled on and buttoned his shirt. After mulling it over, he nodded. “Yeah, there’s no training.”

“Do you have any plans?” She swallowed nervously. This was it. This was the question she’d been wanting to ask for months.

“Not exactly…” He crossed his arms, thinking about it. “I mean, I could train—”

“No. Training.” Ochaco ground her teeth, shooting him a glare. Exhaling softly, she fiddled with her fingers. “There was this field I told you about, remember? The one with the herbs? I was…thinking of going there and—and do you want to come with?”

Izuku stared at her blankly. When his silence became almost unbearable and she was just about to poke him, he sat up straighter and nodded. “S-sure. You wanted to collect those herbs for a while, right?”

“Y-yeah.” That wasn’t quite what she meant, and she felt both disappointed and elated. “So you’ll come?”

He gave her a thumbs up. “Definitely!”

It wasn’t what she had intended, but it was still a date of sorts. Ochaco smiled brightly. It was a step forward, and she’d take it.

[hoffstrap-yuri]

Not What I Could Have

ao3 // masterlist

*Summary: Her first instinct as a doctor was to feel for a pulse even though she knew it was in vain. She ripped off a piece of her shirt and shoved it into the wound. It would do nothing for Amanda but she didn’t want to see her love covered in so much blood.

*Rating: T for Teen (Saw Canon Typical Stuff)

*Content/Tags: Needle and Chain, Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Gender or Sex Swap, Alternate Universe- Gender Changes, Character Study, WLW Romance, Hurt No Comfort

*Status: Sequel to 'Not What I Needed'/Complete

Author's Note: A little on the shorter side but I've missed this ship a lot and this idea's been stewing in my head since the first time I watched Saw 3. So enjoy!

Laura glanced at the analog clock on the corner of her desk. Tonight was the night. Two concurrent games were going on as she sat at the hospital in an uneasy quiet and tapped the edge of her desk with a pen. It was Amanda’s first real game without John having a hand, guiding his apprentice like he had during the nerve gas house.

Laura just had to be patient with the results. In a fell swoop, one of her most hated co-workers would die and the woman she loved would be the grand successor to Jigsaw’s legacy. It was Amanda’s dream come true. To have John’s attention and acknowledgment. Laura didn’t care to be the successor of John’s. She would go to the ends of heaven and hell to serve Amanda as she saw fit. She could see Amanda in her head on her metaphorical throne, and Laura waiting on her hand and feet.

She pushed her chair away from her desk and got up to go for a walk around the hospital. She needed to get her mind off this game. She grabbed her cane and did a lap around her department as a warm-up to the walk down to her car. The digital clock in the car read it’d been thirty minutes since the game had started. A quarter of the way done… She shouldn’t be anxious about this. Amanda had assured her that she had thought of every angle, considered every twist that John would have predicted. She turned the keys in the ignition and booked it to her apartment. Since having been divorced from Allison, Laura lived alone in a small place. It felt impersonal, more of a space to sleep than it was a home. She didn’t turn the TV on when she crossed the threshold of the dwelling. She sat in the moonlight trickling in through the windows on a couch that could fit a family if she just hadn’t made one too many mistakes. Her head bobbed as her eyes threatened to shut for the night. She shook her head once more and used the end of her mobility aid to pull her work bag towards her, rummaging through to find some paper work she needed to fill out a treatment plan. Her hand rubbed up against a piece of crumpled paper and pulled it out of the bag.

‘My dear Amanda…’ Clearly John’s handwriting. Laura’s eyes skimmed the document quickly before getting up as fast as she could and back into her car. She punched the gas pedal and drove towards the workshop where she had kissed Amanda for the first time. She ran a red light, nearly hitting someone but narrowly managed to avoid it as the thoughts of her love consumed her. Still burning with rage, she parked her car and busted the door in on her way down the stairs. Some loud trap went off as she entered, using the sound to cover her as she crept through the warehouse. As she entered the open floor, she saw Mark standing at the door. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she approached him. She’d never win in a fair fight against the other apprentice, but she felt the adrenaline slowly start to course through her veins. At the very least she could get a bite into his jugular before she got thrown across the room. She put a hand on Mark’s shoulder before letting a breath escape between gritted teeth,

“Move.”

Without missing a beat he replied, “You know what’s behind there. You don’t need to see it.” If Laura were stupid, she’d think his words came from a place of concern.

“I said, move.” She repeated herself

“Laura. It’s not going to give you the closure you think it will…”

“I don’t fucking care.” Rather than keep an even voice her screams rang out across the empty warehouse. Mark finally turned around to face her and let his hand slip off the handle of the door. He didn’t move but Laura rustled the handle behind him, getting the door to open behind him.

“You have fifteen minutes.” Mark finally said. “Cops are going to storm this place looking for either survivors or victims. I would move fast if I were you.”

She rushed into the dark room and felt something soak through the seams in her shoes. It had to be blood. She fumbled with the light switch and saw the carnage before her. She ignored the body of her former coworker and her husband. Ignored the man from which she took orders from for a year now and dropped her cane, running towards the crumpled mess of flesh on the floor that was once Amanda Young. She held the other woman close to her chest. Her first instinct as a doctor was to feel for a pulse even though she knew it was in vain. She ripped off a piece of her shirt and shoved it into the wound. It would do nothing for Amanda but she didn’t want to see her love covered in so much blood. Her hands started to shake as she swept the pieces of Amanda’s hair that had stuck to her face from sweat and her tears fell onto the ever growing cold skin.

“What happened?” She asked the silent air, “You told me it was going to be fine… you promised. You placed all your faith in John… Mark!” She called out for the other apprentice, hoping he might have an answer. Her cries went unanswered for the man and she pilfered through the pockets in Amanda’s jeans. Nothing. Nothing. Paper… She carefully set Amanda’s corpse back down onto the floor and unfurled the folded note.

‘Amanda. You were with Cecil…’ She skimmed the note with haste that she had read John’s note. It was Mark’s block writing. ‘… I will tell John what you did.’

“You.” The letter trembled in her hand as she got to her feet and spun to face the deceased Jigsaw Killer. “This is your fault.” He couldn’t respond to her. Smile in a twisted satisfaction as she wailed for the woman she couldn’t have. Taunt her with the fact that they both knew Amanda would always be out of Laura’s reach. “You pushed Amanda. You always pushed her too far! You sent me to scold her for you when she was hurting herself because she thought she couldn’t live up to your expectations! She never stood a chance, did she you sick son of a bitch?!”

She reached out in anger for the first glass object her hands could reach. She launched it at John’s head, just narrowly missing her former mentor. She didn’t know if she had it in him to desecrate him after all she had put him through when they were just patient and doctor. As much as she felt disgust, anger, disdain even for the man she knew that he had felt that tenfold for her. She took another beaker that laid on the counter and crushed it in the grasp of her hand, gritting her teeth as the shards dug into her skin. It drew a deep crimson wash from her skin and mingled with Amanda’s blood on the concrete of the floor.

“It’s not fair. Why do you always take them away from me?! First it was Eve…” She bit down on her lip as she remembered the woman in the bathroom across from her. She was younger than Laura was when she had gotten into med school and she had barely begun to live. Amanda wasn’t much older, but had gotten even less out of life. “Now. Her…” Her eyes darted back to the other woman who was the object of her affection for another blink in the stream of time. She sat back down next to Amanda and wove their fingers together. Laura held her head up against her chest. She was ice cold, her brain had probably shut down while Laura screamed at John.

“I’m so sorry Amanda…” She whispered to herself, “I should have been here for you. I…” She shook her head and with an aching in her chest left her lover’s body at the scene. She didn’t have the strength to carry Amanda in her condition to get her out of the crime scene. Somewhere she could respectfully say goodbye to her fellow apprentice. She reached across the floor and grabbed her cane to get herself back up. In one last outburst of rage against the whole game, she swung the wooden thing into the center of Lynn’s husband as if he were a pinata. Fresh blood came spurting out from his mouth as the impact of the cane definitely snapped a rib in chest. She hit him once more for good measure and looked over at Lynn. “You thought you were better than me. Now look at where you and your useless husband are. You stupid bitch.”

She walked out of the door and sealed it behind her, pressing her head against the unfeeling metal and shut her eyes. She didn’t want to abandon Amanda but she had no choice this time. She ran from the house of horrors and got to her car, driving home as fast as the vehicle would take her. When she got back to her apartment she cried for a bit. As if on cue, she heard the sound of heels in the hallway walking past her door. They stop directly in front of her and a piece of paper slides under the door. The footsteps resumed and grew more distant. When she heard the shoes no longer she approached the door, sliding the paper towards her using her cane. She leaned down and picked it up.

‘Hello Doctor Gordon,

As you by now know, Amanda’s game was rigged. It was Mark who rigged her game, replacing the letter intended for her with his own. John fed Hoffman information in order to trigger Amanda and make her fail her test. This is never the outcome I wanted for her, even with the knowledge of what she did to Gideon. I cared about her recovery and who she would become after she was clean even though I seem distant from her up until now. I give you this information in hopes that it should help ease whatever guilt you may have over what John has planned to come next. Act as John would, and you will be the successor he always intended.

-Jill’

“Mark…” Laura shredded the paper in her hands, “Your days are numbered. If you ever cross me again, you’ll be begging for death.”

She would succeed where her love had failed. Death creating something new with a grotesque and twisted purpose. She would carry on the name, Jigsaw for the both of them.

[gildedmuse]

Not me checking your blog twice a day to see if you’ve updated…

Anyways, here is a prompt that you are by no means obligated to fulfill:

A/B/O Zoro and Law, with Law taking Zoro on as his swordsman despite his being an omega. He’s unsure about having an omega in his crew, until their first fight with him. (Zoro beating people up awakens something in him) (Feel free to add in Mihawk)

Or honestly anything with A/B/O I just like it as a plot point.

Who Has Three Swords And Doesn't Give A Fuck What You Think?

Part One

All three of the katanas are cheap, modern creations, likely made by a group of apprentices, one working for one of those mass production operations. The kind of Marines use (looking closer, Law is sure that at least one of them is marine made). They're saya are plain and scratched up despite being cared for, and the tsuka are simple wood - no decorations are markings. They were obviously mass produced, swords met to arm men without real skill, or to be picked up by someone with no other choice in weaponry.

Yet when Law reaches for the handle, he finds his wrist immediately being held in a tight grasp.

He meets the narrowed, sharp eyes of the little omega with a smirk, showing off his teeth, and his amusement that the boy would be so bold. "Is there a problem, omega-ya?"

"Don't call me that," the boy snarls, tossing Law's arm away with some force, though not enough to bother Law. "And don't touch my swords."

Law chuckles, amused by the spirit of the boy, despite having only just been pulled out of the freezing cold north sea a couple of hours earlier. He sure had a lot of fire, for someone still wrapped nice in tight and shivering beneath Law's fur blanket. "So rude to your host, omega-ya, and all over a sword. It's not like you can make use of all three."

The boy snarls at him, open and unafraid, the steel of his eyes like twin blades wishing to sink into Law's chest, but they only leaving the older alpha pirate grinning over the small, drowned creature's mettle. Such a fierce little thing, he doesn't seem to comprehend how lucky he is to have been fished out of the icy seas by an alpha who finds him more amusing then desirable. By all rights, he should be dead, food for the fish or a frozen corpse floating into of the wreckage he insisted was his boat. There are no other ships around, and even if he had held on long enough for another to come along, in these waters he would have been nothing more than an easy catch for slavers, Marines, and pirates, none of whom were likely see him as anything more than a lost little thing they could sell or use or who they would make sure "repaid their kindness" the way only an omega could.

Well, once they cleam him up, got some of the grime and dirt off him, maybe got some food in him depending on how nice they were feeling. And how they liked their boys. Oh, and beat some basic respect and fear into him, of course. You couldn't have such a young alpha glaring at anyone that way.

The fact that he didn't care that this is Law's ship, the alpha that had brought him on board just made it all the better.

"I told you," the boy sneers, or at least he gives it a damn good try. The way his teeth keep chattering rather undermines his attempts to look so tough. That and the way he's snuggled up under the blanket, sitting on top of the medical cot Law had teleported him on. He looks like nothing more than a patch of green grass a top a small little lump of furry snow. Plus, of course, those steely eyes. "They're all mine. It's how I fight."

Right, he had said as much, right before passing out when Law had first brought him aboard. Law might have thought he was dead, he could barely even smell him, but the moment he reached over the boy's hand had shot out, just like now. "Leave them, they're mine." That's all the boy managed before passing out again.

Helped along by Law's ability. Well, he wasn't about to waste time arguing with some kid when he was trying to save his life.

Now he's awake, and he seems to inherently know Law was to blame for his earlier state. Law hadn't laid a wrong hand on him, only scanned the boy for injuries, then had his crew help clean him off and get him into some clean, dry clothes (a boiler suit about two times to big for him). Bepo had brought him the blanket, along with some soup the boy had drank with worrying speed. He been fine enough accepting the gifts from the mink, but the second Law approached he could see the kid's guard go right back up.

Not that Law could blame him. The only kind of omega likely to be trusting giving the boy's circumstances would be a dead omega.

"Keep your takemitsu," Law teases, smirking again at the insulted looks that crossed the boy's face. "We're two days from land, should be enough time to figure out which one you plan to trade for food."

Law strolls our of the room, smile still tugging at his lips as he listens to the boy protesting that he uses all three swords, damnit, he's a kenshi. What a strange little omega. Shame Law can't imagine him lasting a week off the boat.

But it's a big ocean, you never know. Maybe some poor alpha will find themselves hopelessly in love with the wild, rude little thing, strange as he is. In two days, he won't be Law's problem to worry over.

[aria-i-adagio]

Fourth Try’s Not the Charm

for @autumnofanders Day 3: Kinloch

Wordcount: ~2100 Rating: T

CW: templar abuse, imprisonment, hurt/comfort

Anders didn’t plan his fourth escape from Kinloch Hold. It was a crime of opportunity. About two months after his Harrowing, some of the senior enchanters talked the Greagoir into letting them take the recently harrowed mages outside to teach them some spells that could be used with water - in the water. Supposedly, they could be trusted now. Allowed a bit more leeway.

He wasn't planning on doing anything except enjoying the sun, but once he's mastered a spell that creates an artificial current - intended to propel a boat - well, it only made sense to see if the same spell would work for a human body.

Yes.

And by the grace of Andraste or some other power, no one notices when he takes as deep of a breath as he can manage, ducks under the water, and reemerges a good fifty yards closer to shore.

Anders hides out on an overgrown bank for the rest of the day, then steals some clothes from a line and a handful or two of carrots from the ground in the little village beside the docks, and then he's gone.

It takes them one month and five days to find him in Amaranthine.

Anders is already pretty beat up when they get him back to the Tower. Greagoir is infuriated - angrier than Anders has ever seen him - and orders a public whipping to get his point across. Thirty lashes. Anders tells himself that he’ll live through that... he thinks. After about ten or so, his mind just sort of drops out, floats away, to nowhere in particular. Just somewhere very, very far away. He’s not really conscious again until someone tosses a bucket of salted water across his back, then two knights are hauling him down the steps and dumping him face-first onto a thin mattress.

The next time he’s aware of anything there’s a woman arguing with the guards outside the door.

“Sorry, ma'am, but the Knight-Commander wants him to be an example.”

“He won't make a very good example if he's dead, will he?” A very stern, determined woman. Wynne. Just what he needs. A warm, maternal tongue lashing. “Let me through. I won't do anything other than drive out infection.”

“Let her pass. Drop the dampening wards for her as well.”

The door creaks open. Anders can’t tell if the light in the cell increases. His face is too well hidden in his arms. Wynne touches his bicep and shakes him until he groans and turns his head to the side. “Hi, Mom.”

“You are the damnedest fool I’ve ever met.” Wynne tweaks his ear. “Don't you realize how much trouble you create for the rest of us? How worried some of us were about you?”

“I'm not the problem. If they didn’t -”

She sighs. “I’ve heard all of this from you before. You’re old enough to know better.”

Heat radiates from her hands as they hover over Anders’ back. It’s not a full healing spell, but it will keep the open welts from getting infected. And possibly calm the fever that Anders can tell is running dangerously high. Might get an interesting dream or two out of it to pass the time.

“That’s all I’m allowed to do.” Wynne gathers his hair at the base of his neck and brushes the back of her hand over his temple and cheek. “They're leaving you down here for two months and ten days, Anders.”

“Ah, I'll get caught up on my sleep.”

“Don’t jest. I suggest using the time to pray for some wisdom.” She pats his cheek and stands up. “You're smarter than this. You have a lot to offer if you would just learn to accept reality.”

***

Light. Even the limited light of Kinloch Hold’s entry hall is more than Anders can hand;e after two months and change in the dark. An unsympathetic Templar shoves him toward the door that leads into the library. They’re done taking him apart. If any of the other mages want to bother putting him back together, he’s their problem now.

Karl grabs him almost as soon he staggers into the library and shakes him by the shoulders. “You moron.” Then he leans close and kisses him. “You fucking idiot.”

Anders winces at the contact. A kick in the side is about as much human interaction as he’s experienced in the past... however long. In the dark, time collapses and expands in unpredictable ways.

Dark. His vision goes dark around the edges, and his knees give up.

Karl catches him and pulls Anders’ arm across his shoulder, holding him up. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Anders hadn’t had the time to fully explore the quarters where the mages who had survived the Harrowing but who weren’t yet enchanters slept. The baths off to the side are about the same as the ones in the apprentices’ dorm though. Cast iron tubs with chips in the enamel and a few folding screens to approximate privacy. Hand pumps for water. A drain in the floor for the same.

They’re on the second tub of water, and Anders is beginning to worry about just what Karl used as a bribe to get this much water and time. “I’m going to have to cut these out.” Karl has been trying for what seems like hours now to work loose the mats in Anders’ hair. Or maybe they’ve only been here a few minutes; Anders isn’t sure.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles.

“Maker, baby...” Karl pushes lightly on the back of his head. Anders lets his chin fall forward onto his chest. The sound of metal scraping together grates against his ears as Karl begins snipping clumps out of his hair. Karl is careful, working slowly and pushing his fingers along Anders’ scalp to keep from cutting the skin by mistake. It’ll grow back. Just like skin does.

He rests his elbows on the edge of the tub and lets his fingers dangle in the water. It’s warm, he knows, but he can’t really feel it, any more than he could really feel the rough fabric of a washcloth scrubbing across his skin.

“What are you humming?” Karl is still trimming, maybe trying to even out the length.

“Am I humming?” Anders started singing to himself maybe a week, maybe two, after he was left alone. Then it turned to humming. He doesn’t even think about it now.

Karl leans around him, scoops up a double handful of water, and rinses out his hair. “There we go.” He presses his cheek against Anders, beard prickling against freshly shaven skin. “Let’s get you dried off and dressed. Do you want to try to walk a bit? The garden is still nice.”

Anders can’t find the energy to respond or even to raise his hand and investigate the feeling of short hair. Karl decides for him, guiding him to the kitchens and begging a bowl of soup and a thick chunk of bread from one of the Tranquil cooks. He sits across from Anders, watching as he eats. Anders doesn’t finish the food, his stomach starts to feel tight and painful before he’s even halfway through. He stares at the surface of the thin soup and stirs it absently.

“Can’t eat more? They’ve starved you too.” Karl reaches across the table and touches his face, frowning when Anders reflexively pulls away. “I’ve never seen your cheeks so hollow.”

“Shoulda left the beard then.”

Karl almost smiles. “Let’s try to stretch your legs a bit then.”

Even though the autumn day is overcast, the garden is almost too bright. Anders has to pull up the hood of his robe to shade his eyes before he can bear it, and he isn't able to walk far before he has to sit down on one of the stone benches. So much for running.

The walled garden is busy with mages trying to catch a bit of sun before winter sets in, but everyone except Karl gives him a wide berth. Anders has no complaints, he can barely manage to not cry with delight from hearing other human voices - or to panic because he’s no longer accustomed to hearing the sounds of people interacting with each other and going about their business.

How much he can stand to be touched comes and goes, but after the first several times Anders flinched away, Karl waits for him to initiate anything, not even daring to hold his hand. It’s probably safer for Karl if that remains the case. Anders just creates trouble for anyone who cares about him.

“You should go. They’ll be watching anyone with me.”

“Fuck that. Besides, I’m already marked.”

“I’m sorry, Karl.” Anders slumps against his shoulder, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to not start crying. Maybe it’s just the light causing his eyes to water.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

“Can we go back inside? I’m tired.” He hadn’t expected to be tired after spending so much time sleeping.

“Yes. If that’s what you want.”

***

Anders’ bed is just as he left it. No one had taken the opportunity to steal a desirable lower bunk tucked into the corner. A sign of respect? Or just Karl zealously guarding it? Who knows?

Anders crawls in and lays down gingerly on the mattress. His back is finally whole as of an hour or two ago when Karl peeled the filthy shirt off him, squeaked in dismay, and healed the one or two remaining welts that had been stubbornly refusing to close up. But Anders has gotten accustomed to moving with care to avoid reopening them. It’ll be some time before he’ll be able to bring himself to move carelessly, freely again.

Anders curls on his side and lays his head down on the large pillow, wrapping his arms around the much smaller one his mother gave him. The threads of the artful needlework are beginning to fade, much like the memory of her face.

Karl shakes out a blanket, drapes it over him, and starts to pull the curtains around the bed.

“No.” All the muscles in Anders’ body tighten, and his right calf spasms painfully. “Stop.”

Karl freezes. His eyes widen then soften with something between pity and pain of his own. Anders reaches out to him. “Will you stay with me? Please. Please don’t leave me alone. And not in the dark.”

Karl sits on the edge of the bed and strokes Anders’ hair. The short length transfers more of the sensation to his scalp, and Anders chokes back the sob that the gentle contact elicits.

“Do you want me to lay down with you?”

Anders nods. His throat is too tight to speak. Karl crawls into bed next to him and pulls the curtains around it partially closed, leaving at least some light streaming in. He folds one arm under his head and continues stroking Anders' hair and cheek.

“I’ve missed you,” Karl whispers.

Three, nearly four months, counting the time Anders was on the run and if in fact, Greagoir had only left him locked up for the time he first named and hadn’t conveniently forgotten about him for a few days or weeks more than promised.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the problem. It’s this miserable place.”

“Keep talking.” Anders hasn't heard voices that weren't gruff commands in so long. “Please. Anything. Tell me what happened while I was...” His voice trails off.

“Hmm... Amaury finished his thesis. He’s got two apprentices now. One accidentally set a tree in the garden on fire last week. He let the Templars scramble for a minute or two before extinguishing it.”

Anders smiles, even if he can't quite find the strength to laugh.

“Speaking of Templars, two were caught at it in a stairwell the other day, and dear Knight-Captain Maude is furious because she'd been tupping one of them, but she can't say anything of course, because you know Greagoir frowns on cross rank relationships. So that's been a bit fun to watch.”

“Ah, so much honor and self-restraint from our selfless protectors.”

“As always. Let’s see... The Formari were asked to up their production of goods. I guess the Chantry didn’t get enough donations this year, or some Revered Mother wants new drapery for her halls. Pity that increased speed increases mistakes. Exponentially, of course.”

“Of course.” The Tranquil within the Formari might not care about being asked to do more, but the enchanters would find subtle ways to indicate their displeasure.

“Enchanter Ines managed to arrange another research trip, so every mage with any training in botany or herbalism is jockeying for a position. Have you ever seen what happens when a growth spell is cast on a fly trap?”

“Please tell me the overgrown carnivorous plant caught a Templar.” Anders manages a chuckle. “I should ask to go. Ines loves me. Maybe I could take a vow of silence."

"Now, now -” Karl kisses the tip of his nose. “Don't make promises you can’t keep.”

[thecipherlegacy]

For the touching asks:

17. holding the other’s chin up, for Mavasha and Quinn? 🥺💜

I had to draw and write for this one! These two are so cute 🥺

Thanks for sending an ask! I hope you like it! 💛

Malavai had been wandering their home aimlessly for hours. The clicking of his shoes echoed and their 2V-R8 unit watched him pace. He went downstairs, to the landing pad, back up, to the bedroom to see his child still sleeping soundly, then start over. If it were possible he was sure there would be a sizable groove in the floor marking his pattern, worn away by his walking.

"Master Quinn, might I suggest you wait in your office for the lady to get home?" The droid spoke up at last. This briefly stopped the officer and he looked at 2V with worried brows and a frown. "She has been gone for far longer than I calculated. Her and that apprentice of hers should have been able to clear that location within three hours!" Malavai argued. "With the hyperspace travel time they should have arrived back here exactly five hours and twenty-seven minutes ago!" With that said, the pacing continued.

He normally didn't worry this much. Mavasha was the strongest sith he knew. She was the emperor's wrath. But she was also carrying their second child. She shouldn't have even gone out with Hisk'ash and Vette to do that job.

The man's frustrated thoughts came to an end when he heard the front door slide open and the sound of Vettes excited yammering filling the house.

"-and then you struck that guy down! You two are amazing!" She finished her story as Malavai met them at the entryway. The twi'leks mood turned slightly more sour upon seeing the officer, but she feigned a smile anyway. "Oh, hey Quinn. Where's my godbaby?"

"She's down for her nap in her room" he frowned, then he watched as she got on her toes to give the Cathar apprentice beside her a kiss and run off to see young Yavasa.

"Darling, you should have seen how well Hisk'ash did today." Mavasha boasted excitedly. The tall male blushed under his dark fur.

"You give me too much credit, Master." He replied with a slight bow of his head.

"Oh hush. You know I only give credit where it's due. Now off with you, go clean up while I see to my husband." The woman waved her hand dismissively. The cathar fully bowed in respect, then left to do as she said. "Now, you look frazzled, my love. Whats the matter?"

Malavai was beside himself. How was it not obvious? "What's the matter?- Mavasha, I have been worried sick! Not a single call and you were gone-" he looked at the time quickly before continuing his rant, "five ours and thirty-two minute longer than expected-"

His wife raised a brow at him. "I dont recall you being this... let's say worried... before" she replied.

The officer's blue eyes shifted and he let out a heavy sigh of irritation. He knew what she was thinking. "I am not being possessive, nor am I meaning to control you, my lord... but" another sigh, this time more deflated than heated. "You announced your pregnancy with our next child nearing a month ago. You should be home, out of danger. We cannot risk this. Early as it may be you are bound to start losing energy... and it's taken so long for us to produce just one child much less two... I don't want to risk anything..." his balled fists relaxed as his frustration dissolved back into worry. "And if you have a bout of exhaustion from the pregnancy... as capable as Lord Hisk'ash may be, I don't trust him to hold his own against your enemies. I don't want to lose you either."

Mavasha watched her husband release all of his feelings with a rising sensation of guilt, a rare feeling for her. It wasn't often when Malavai admitted his feelings or his wife's mortality. He had been through enough with her to know she usually beat impossible odds, so his worries were typically unfounded, but this time she really hadn't been thinking. She gently reached out and caressed Malavai's jaw.

"My sweet, passionate husband..." she began and lifted his chin with a tender touch so his eyes looked into hers. "I apologize for worrying you.. We got caught up with a request made by a fellow sith while we were planetside. I should have called you."

"Or at least have taken me instead of the twi'lek. She could have watched Yavasa for a few hours." Malavai added. "I just don't want something to happen to you and our unborn child without me there to at least try and protect you. I can calculate the odds, be prepared for fatigue, make sure you're getting what you need. I know this is your duty as not only a sith, but the Emperor's Wrath. So I cannot, and will not, stop you from doing it, but I can at least help you be safe."

The torguta nodded. "You're absolutely right, my heart. Next time I am needed I will bring you, that's a promise." She assured him and leaned down to press their foreheads together. "Now, what can I do to make up for the stress and panic I've caused you?"

He was silent, though she could sense his emotions in the force. Waves of anxiety, relief, frustration, and concern crashing into each other. Instead of answering her right away, he slid his arms around her and pulled her close. "I'm just thankful my family is safe another day." Came his response at last.

Mavasha smiled softly and smoothed his hair. "And we will be for many days more. I swear that to you." She mumbled. "I love you Malavai. And next time I agree to something that would be dangerous to myself and our baby, you have permission to speak, Captain."

A small scoff of a chuckle came from the shorter male and he looked up at her. "Even if I didn't have permission, I think I would tell you anyway. Not as your Captain, but as your husband." He claimed. "But... Thank you, my love, for hearing me out. Even if I didn't give you much of a choice."

"You know I value your wisdom, Malavai, no matter the subject." Mavasha purred before meeting him for a soft kiss.

He couldn't help the smile her statement caused. She always knew how to calm his nerves and ease his worries. Once they parted the two followed his pacing pattern to check on their daughter with Mavasha's arm linked to his own. Safe and sound.

[passable-talent]

*grabby hands* childhood Jedi training rival x anakin skywalker? 🥺🥺

you ever had a boy own your whole heart? I didn’t even realize how much I loved this man when I watched the prequels at 7 until I watched them again at 19- literally a gay awakening, twice. unprecidented.

also. I LIVED BITCH

Three years old, and you’ve never known anything other than the Jedi Temple. You’re learning words quickly- words like ‘up’, and ‘down’, and ‘Force’.

Five years old, and you’re told about how your parents sent you to Coruscant with pride, because you were force sensitive. They knew that someday, you were to be a Jedi.

Age seven. The time is drawing closer for you to become an initiate. You’re doing well in your classes, and you’re capable of some deep meditation, even if Master Yoda always comments that you’re too distracted.

Age nine, and there’s an eleventh added to your clan of younglings. His name is Anakin Skywalker, and he seems cool. He’s a bit old to start his training, but he’s part of your clan now, so everyone helps him study and catch up to the rest of the group.

You’re eleven years old. The initiate trials are only a few years away. Anakin is your best friend, even if you’d never admit it. He’s such a show-off, his force powers much stronger than anyone else in the unit, his marks on strategy exams are always outstanding, and he’s already a padawan, as he loves to remind you. But your politics are stronger, and when you practice with the wooden sabres, you beat him every time.

Thirteen, now. Next year, you’ll compete in the initiate trails, and if you succeed, the Apprentice Tournament. Anakin has started going on missions with Obi-Wan Kenobi, but he’s stopped teasing you about it, since he’s noticed how you redden with jealousy.

The initiate trails were a success. You’d gathered more skill in the force, though you still weren’t at Ani’s level, and passed the first trial. You had been gifted an orange kyber crystal by Master Mace Windu, and your lightsaber was distinct and brilliant. Finally, you had something to tease Anakin about- his blue blade was a common color.

For a year you trained with renewed fervor, having been moved from a youngling to an initiate. You were readying to participate in the Apprentice Tournament, where you would show off blade skills that Master Kit Fisto praised as being some of the best he’d seen from an initiate. Anakin helped you train, though he always offered with a throw-off statement such as ‘you’ll need all the help you can get’.

And if he didn’t cheat and use the Force, you certainly would’ve won more than you did.

Master Mace Windu had become an idol of yours, ever since he chose you to hand that kyber crystal to. If he didn’t mind the interruption, you would study with him, and he would guide your emotions, like your jealousy of Anakin and your angry determination, into Jedi strengths. He harbored the decision that he would take you as a padawan, as he hadn’t had one since Depa Billaba completed her trials, years ago.

He told himself that he’d take you as a padawan as soon as possible, but it seemed that you were intent on competing in the Apprentice Tournament, and he wouldn’t stop you.

Fourteen years old, and facing off against your class- and clan- mates in lightsaber duels, one by one. Your skills with the saber were unmatched by your peers. Certainly not by far, but you had a talent, a natural knack, and you quickly progressed through the bracket, until the final free-for-all. Anakin and Obi-Wan, you knew, were in the stands, just like Mace Windu. You needed only to win, or at least put up a fight, to impress them all.

Strategy was your ally, as the match started, as you did not charge headfirst into the battle. Your angry determination had turned to cool focus, picking out the best times to engage a fight and turn your opponent away. Soon enough, it was you and one other initiate- Lys Kysek. He was skilled, but you were better.

Cheers erupted when you won the duel, and you gave a humble bow, lifting Lys up to show respect to him. When you exited the Arena, you found the congratulations of your friends, and though Anakin looked impressed and happy for you, he maintained that things would’ve been different if he’d entered the tournament.

Seventeen years old- you’re a padawan to Master Mace Windu, and have been for three years. Anakin is most certainly the person you despise most in the world, and anyone who claims otherwise is clearly lying, kidding themselves. Don’t they see how you boast every time you beat him in a duel? Don’t they see the way you flush with anger whenever he bests you? What other explanation could there be for your sputtering whenever he sends you a cocky smile?

Yeah, yeah. You see, Jedi are forbidden to love. You wondered, though, if the Masters of Old would’ve written that rule if they’d seen how Anakin smiles.

At nineteen, you were knighted, having completed your trials. It was rushed, you knew that, but the Clone Wars had begun, and the galaxy needed Jedi Knights like never before. It was fine- Master Windu would do just fine without you. And besides, being a General in the Grand Amry of the Republic had its perks.

One being, of course, that you were able to chose to go on missions with your old friend, Anakin Skywalker.

He had his hands full, with his new padawan and all, so he was often grateful to have you at his side. Ahsoka, her personality not unlike a Florrumian fire cracker, seemed to reignite the rivalry between the two of you, going so far as to claim she wished that she had been your padawan, instead of Anakin.

Oh, how that made him boil.

Still, you would follow him into battle in a heartbeat. You’d protect him with your life, and of course, he would do the same. Together with his piloting and your sabre skills, you were unstoppable on missions. Ever so slowly, you forged a force connection.

It was like that of a padawan and master, but more balanced, like a true partnership. You could feel each other’s presence, location, and sometimes even emotion, when it was particularly strong. Anakin never spoke of it, and so you wondered if you were meant to hide it- maybe, it had happened because of the love you held for him as a teenager, and maybe still did. Jedi weren’t meant to grow attached to anyone, especially not the way that you had, and so you kept quiet, and just felt it when he stood beside you.

Anakin and Ahsoka had left for a mission that you weren’t meant to accompany them on. You stayed at the temple and completed the diplomatic communications you were known to be quite good at, content and confident that Anakin would return unscathed.

And then, you felt it.

In the middle of your meditation, when your body was open to the force, you felt the deepest, most raw pain you had ever felt in the depths of your stomach. It made you double over and nearly vomit, its pain so intense that you couldn’t move. It ebbed after a few moments, and on weakened legs you stumbled to your communication station.

Where pain had been only moments ago, you now felt fear settle. You had a connection with Anakin, and when you were meditating with the force, had felt horrible pain- the conclusion was obvious that Anakin was hurt. You tried first to reach him, but nothing went through. Then you tried for Ahsoka, who was equally unreachable. When you couldn’t reach Captain Rex you started to fear for the worst.

You ran to your old Master, finding him in discussion with another Jedi, who he waved away as he sensed your panic, and strife.

“What is it?”

“Anakin’s in trouble. I can’t reach him, and I think he’s hurt.” Mace turned to the nearby communication equipment and tried to reach Anakin’s unit, but gave you the side eye as he did so.

“How do you know he’s hurt if you can’t reach him?”

“Master, I- I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” You conceded with a sigh, knowing that your master could see through you.

“Anakin and I- we have this bond, in the force. I don’t know how it happened. But it’s never been like this before- I’ve never felt his injury, and I’ve never felt him when he was so far away. I- I’m scared that he’s in real danger.” By this time, Mace had pulled up transmission with Obi-Wan, who quickly relayed the 501st’s last known meeting and location.

“Be careful,” Mace warned you, “what you’re describing sounds almost like a Dyad. It can’t be, we would’ve known by now, but if it’s this similar now, it could prove to be dangerous, later. Don’t let his pain keep you from his rescue.”

You hopped in a speeder and raced to the aid of your friends.

When you entered the atmosphere of the planet Anakin had said to have been lost upon, you tried to open your mind to the force- it was difficult, you had to admit, flying a speeder through Seperatist airspace, but you had to try. You let the force guide you to a different part of the planet, where you touched down and hid your ship amongst the foliage as best you could.

Once again you let the force guide you, sending you deep into the woods. You knew you must’ve been getting close when you began garnering fire, but instead of red droid blasters, you were avoiding instead blue fire.

So you ignited your saber and lifted it as a sign of peace.

As soon as the clones stopped firing, you rushed toward them, and found almost exactly what you feared. Ahsoka had tears running down her face, surrounded by a protection squad of clones, and Anakin was bleeding heavily from a droid blast in the center of his abdomen, right where you had felt the pain. You had taken time to get here- he was still alive, but had passed out either from the pain, or from blood loss.

“Master (Y/N), I don’t know what to do,” Ahsoka sobbed, and you feel to your knees opposite her, at Anakin’s side.

“Ahsoka, give me your hand,” you ordered her, and you pressed down her hand onto the left side of his wound, then moving your palm to its right. “Meditate with me. We’re going to give him some life force, to help him heal.” You’d tried this, once, long ago. When you were on a mission with your Master, and he’d received a similar wound. It was much smaller, and he’d been able to guide you through it. Today, you would be that guidance, for Ahsoka. And maybe, her Force powers and yours combined would be enough to heal him. “Visualize the Force, the Force all around us, within us. Visualize it traveling down your body, into your fingertips, into Anakin’s body. Visualize the energy flow being channeled by the two of us.”

Once you’d explained, you closed your eyes, and pictured it. The Force, to you, looked like golden light, compassion and kindness shimmering in the air all around you. Like a magnetic field it was drawn to Jedi, and in this instant you saw it pour downward through the funnel you created with Ahsoka into Anakin’s body.

He opened his eyes slowly, a small groan leaving his body.

“Hey, (Y/N). You made it after all.” Ahsoka called Master! and leapt forward to give him a hug, to which he laughed and hugged back, teasing that it would take more than a droid to kill him. You shook your head and sat back, narrowing your eyes.

“Skywalker, how many times am I going to have to hop in a speeder and race across the galaxy to make sure you don’t die?”

“Oh, just once more,” he shot back, that smirk back on his face, as though it had never left. “I don’t suppose you have a way off this planet?”

“You’re lucky I’m going to let you on my ship.”

As soon as Anakin opened communications on your speeder with Obi-Wan to report the successful, if nearly life-costing, mission, you let Captain Rex take the wheel, and went to the deck below to speak with Anakin in private.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” He asked, his hand over the scar that had formed from rapid healing. “When I got shot.”

“Yes,” you answered, eyes cast to the side.

“Why are we connected like this?”

“I don’t know. I think-“

“Is it because of how much I like you?” You lifted your head in surprise, and briefly felt an emotion you almost never felt from Anakin- vulnerability.

“You- you do?”

“I have since we were kids. I never told you, because I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel this way, and thought that since you were raised in the temple, you’d never feel the same.” His expression told you he was sensing the emotions that currently broiled in your heart. The nervousness, the surprise, but mostly the relief, relief that your love wasn’t unrequited, that you weren’t the only one, that you weren’t breaking the code alone.

“Anakin, I- I can’t believe this.” You took the two quick steps to him but stopped short of the hug he was expecting, briefly laying your fingers where his wound had been, where his robes were scorched. “I’m glad you’re not dead.” Anakin gave a little laugh.

“Yeah, me too.” You closed the distance and hugged him, tightly, closing your eyes and letting yourself feel as satisfaction and happiness bounced between the two of you. “I’m glad you were there when I woke up.” You snorted, pulling away, eyes narrowed playfully.

“Buddy, if I wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have woken up.” Instead of teasing back, as you had expected, Anakin took hold of your closer wrist, the playfulness only in his smirk.

“Then it’s a good thing you were there. If you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have gotten to do this.” With his opposite hand he cupped your face, and slowly, he brought the two of you together.

Scattered across the galaxy, there were four people who felt it when the two of you kissed. Not because of the kiss itself, but because of the connection between two who were bound by the force, pulsating outward from a moment of satisfaction, devotion, happiness. Master Yoda, on a mission to Endor, who scowled, wondering how much harder it would become to control Anakin. Mace Windu, on Coruscant, who laughed, as though he expected such a feeling. Obi-Wan Kenobi, in a cruiser halfway ‘cross the galaxy, who merely shook his head. And, on the very same ship, Ahsoka Tano, who quietly received five Republic credits from Captain Rex, who’d lost their bet.

-🦌 Roe

[tendertenebrosity]

Illiam and Helis on the road! Close sequel to here and here.  Masterpost for these characters is here. Mostly just some conversation and worldbuilding today; stay tuned for part 2!

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi   @thesleepysnapdragon @whump-cravings

Helis knew, from the conversations they had overheard at Illiam’s heel, that today they would pass into the south of Rosdan, the part the Toraldan army hadn’t taken yet. If they hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have been able to guess; the countryside was the same as it had been for the past few days. Heavily forested hills, a dirt road that wound side-to-side between their peaks like the track made by a snake. The ground was rocky, any snow long since trodden into black sludge peppered liberally with gravel. Helis had an impressive bruise on the underside of their foot from trying to make their way through it, and the little downy feathers on their ankles hadn’t been either white or downy in days.  

“We have quite a large ravine to cross next,”  Illiam commented. “The town is just over the bridge; we should be able to see both once we’re around this next bend in the road.”

Helis made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. They wouldn’t be stopping for the night in this town; they might pause so that people could mill about, make a mess and maybe have another urgent, terse meeting. Or they might not. Helis supposed they’d be glad for a chance to stretch their legs.

The thick pine forest on some of these hills was a lot like the country that they’d spent a few weeks camping in with Reed. Had it been this tiring, going up and down the hills? Not for Helis, but maybe for Reed it had been. He’d never complained.

“I built some bridges, you know,” Illiam remarked.  

Helis blinked, roused from their reverie. “What?”

“Bridges. You know, big structures, usually made of wood or stone, they allow you to get over bodies of water… ”

Helis hunched their shoulders. Yes, very funny. “You… built bridges? Why?” It wasn’t something they’d ever considered him doing. It seemed… beneath him, or at least that he ought to think it was beneath him. They didn’t remember him ever showing the slightest interest in that kind of thing before.

“It’s the kind of thing I’ve been working on, the last few years,” Illiam explained. “Not just bridges, but… large engineering work. Repairing dams, roads. You usually do that with magic in Crestmead, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Helis said. Their friend Diamand had taken a job in that direction; another scholarship student, like them, he’d chosen to go into government service in construction. “It’s usually done with teams of mages…”

“It’s not been used much here,” Illiam said. “Most things like that in the North are built the old-fashioned way. Bricks and mortar and a lot of peasants with shovels. It can be difficult and dangerous work, not to mention slow. I had seen a lot of… interesting things done in the South, and I wanted to try and replicate them. Not just structures, either - I still wonder if I could get some of your irrigation and wind shelter techniques to work with our farms.” He paused. “You came from a farm, didn’t you?”

“Yeees…” Helis wasn’t sure whether to be surprised he remembered, or brace themself for him to say something derogatory. “We didn’t use any magic, though. I think you’re talking about bigger places than ours…”

He barely seemed to be listening. “I imagine the climate to the south is better, so you probably didn’t need much help. The land to the west of our holdings is harsh, and crop failures are common. It would make a big difference if I could increase yield even a little bit.” He sighed. “Bridges proved easier, at least to start with. Of course, I was somewhat hampered by the fact that, as you say, I don’t have a trained team. I only have myself. So a lot of the techniques needed… adjusting.”

Despite themselves, Helis found themself a little interested. “That’s a bit more than just an ‘adjustment’,” they said. “You’re trying to do the work of, what - four to six people by yourself?”

“Mm,” he said, dismissive.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Helis said. They’d had to design the kind of spells Illiam was talking about as part of their course; they couldn’t imagine trying to handle that much magic, in that many different moving parts, at once. It was overambitious to the point of being irresponsible.

Then again, in light of his current project, they shouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh, maybe if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Illiam said, airily. They could practically picture the smug tilt of his chin as he said it. “I had it down pretty well by the third attempt. Besides, it was unavoidable. Even if I’d managed to get four or five mages together, there’s no guarantee they’d have been able to work together in that way. It’s not a common skill here.”

Helis’ brow wrinkled. “But… I’ve seen other mages here, in the army ranks.” Mostly men, a scattering of women, their uniform marked out with a red scarf or sash or hat. The common soldiers deferred to them, but nowhere near as much as they did to Illiam. Helis had seem them performing heat spells, wind spells, stick-fast spells - the kinds of minor workings any large group of people needed.  Are they mages or not? they wanted to ask. Why ‘if’ you get four or five people? Aren’t they trained properly?

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but the… culture, I suppose you’d say… amongst mages is different here. Much less collaborative. Much less standardised. A Northern sorceror works alone, or maybe with an apprentice or two if they’re inclined to that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing like the Academy here, or even the sort of smaller schools that teach people to read and write in Crestmead,” Illiam explained. “I learned my Northern magic from my master, Karlin, who learned it from his, and so on. I started when I was nine - that’s pretty normal. He didn’t have a second apprentice while teaching me, but I understand he often did. Some masters can get a bit… stingy, paranoid. They don’t like to share their knowledge too freely. Karlin was never like that.”

“Oh. You… always did seem like you knew a bit already, in the first semester,” Helis admitted.

Illiam was silent, just a beat longer than usual. “You could say that,” he said. “You know, I - ”

He cut himself off - the hands that had been fairly slack on the reins in front of Helis were suddenly moving, pulling the horse up to a sudden stop.

They had just rounded the curve of the hillside. As Illiam had said, they could look down and see the bridge - miles ahead of them yet, a squat and sturdy structure made from the same grey stone as the cliffs it straddled. The riverbed was a long way down.

They couldn’t see much of the town, though, because it and the forest to the east were obscured by a thick dark plume of smoke.

The soldiers in front of them were clogging the road, the whole unit that had been ahead of Illiam’s horse, pulled to an unplanned halt. Raised voices and curses reached Helis’ ears; people were pointing at the smoke, barking orders, shoving the people ahead or behind them.

“This town was supposed to be secured!” someone was insisting, harsh and strident. “Lord Garnier sent - ”

As the army milled, disorganised, there was a sharp whistle, thinned out by distance and followed by a crack. The light that flashed in the forest beyond the town was tinged pale blue, obviously magical in origin. People in the army flinched and swore as more clouds of dust and smoke rose up. As they watched, aghast, a wedge of stone split away from the cliff face and tumbled down into the ravine with a crash.

Illiam hissed wordlessly under his breath, and tapped Helis - more of a shove, really - on the shoulder.

"You’re getting off,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Get off the horse, lackwit, move!”

Helis let go of their grip on the saddle and drew their knees up slightly, uncertain of what to do next. Illiam lifted them unceremoniously around the waist, and they swung their leg awkwardly over the horse’s neck. They made it to the ground in an awkward, flapping fall, their legs nearly giving way under them.

The horse stamped and sidled back and forth, rolling one dark eye as Helis stumbled back. Illiam gathered up his reins. He didn’t even look down at Helis.

“Go back and wait with the rest of the camp followers,” he said, his voice raised over the commotion. “Do not come and find me. Do not cause problems.”

He kicked the horse into motion. Helis shielded their eyes from the dirt he threw up; they could hear him yelling something at the soldiers down the slope. By the time they had collected themself, the crowd of soldiers had parted to allow Illiam and his horse to canter down the hill in the direction of the smoking town.

“Well, now what?” Helis asked aloud, to nobody in particular. They watched the figure of Illiam and his horse, dramatic black cloak flapping, until it was out of sight. Helis didn’t know much about war magic. But they had a hazy, uneasy idea how much damage a single magic-user could wreak against an undefended force. Was he going to fight? Or did he think the battle needed him in command? It still seemed unbelievable to Helis, that men twice their age, generals and leaders, actually took orders from Illiam, who wasn’t any older than Helis themself.

The crowd of soldiers was forming up into some kind of order in his wake, the person who’d been yelling about Lord Garnier unloading a series of profanities and insults on everybody in earshot.

The wagons and the rest of the army had been following Illiam and the advance party, much slower on the hilly ground. Helis had no idea how far away they might be.

They sighed, picked a rock out from between their toes, and set off back the way they’d come.

[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 2: Need you here ‘cause I’m a mess

Emotions are messy, unruly, and a complete mystery to Raven. But she can't leave her friend to endure this alone. Not once she sees the state Gar's in.

Emptiness. One word, but a whole world of hurt behind it. How can Gar feel nothing and the throb of his bleeding heart at the same time?

‘How.’ It’s the only question on his mind.

How could she? Did the months of teamwork and friendship, of welcoming Tara into their home with every reassurance and smile mean nothing to her?

Gar bites down on his lip and tastes blood.

Didn’t their nights spent stargazing, their shared glances and whispered secrets mean anything to her, when they meant the world to him? Was every shy brush of her hand against his fake? Was every kiss a trick?

He’ll never know. The worst part isn’t the betrayal. It’s the fact that she’s never coming back. She’s never coming home.

A scene flashes through Gar’s mind, the memory that plays over and over every time he closes his eyes.

A katana piercing the bandages wrapped around Tara’s stomach, the vicious twist as Slade yanks the blade from the last wound he will ever give his apprentice. Tara’s shocked expression as she collapses, Garfield’s terrified cry as he cradles his first love in his arms. As he watches her bleed out with every throbbing heartbeat and gasping breath. As Tara dies in his arms.

In just a few hours, she betrayed him and died. He lost her twice that day.

The anger Garfield worked so hard to stoke and feed fizzles out, replaced by the sharp ache of pure loss tearing through his chest like a wild beast, ripping into his heart and lungs until he can’t breathe. Why couldn’t he save her? Why wasn’t he enough?

Tears roll down his cheeks, soaking his fur as his shoulders tremble. He wants to stop, to take control of himself and shut down. Anything to stop the pain.

Anything to stop missing her.

~~~

“He’s been in there all morning.” Richard sets the TV remote down and sends a worried glance at the hallway leading to the team’s living quarters. “Do you think we should…?”

“He doesn’t wanna talk about it.” Victor passes an empty soda bottle from hand to hand, never once looking up. He tried to reach out to Garfield again yesterday. When he returned, his expression told the others exactly how it went.

Raven’s gaze flicks to Koriand’r as the redhead sighs loudly and props her chin on her hands. “There is truly nothing we can do to help?” She sends Richard a pleading look, undoubtedly wanting to make Garfield another present. It’s a sweet thought, but ultimately futile. Just like everything else they’ve tried.

“Not if he won’t let us,” Victor replies. He finally lifts his head, turning to catch Raven’s eyes. “You tried yet?”

“I’ve been giving him his space.” He wouldn’t want to see me. Not if he turned away Richard and Kori. Not if he won’t even talk to Victor.

“It has been two days since he has emerged from his room,” Kori points out, voice and thoughts drenched in sorrow. She’s right to be worried.

“I’ll try.” Raven stands. “But I don’t think it will help.”

“Will it hurt?” Victor says quietly, gaze returning to his soda bottle.

The question is rhetorical, of course. Nothing could hurt Garfield any worse than what’s already happened.

With each step toward his room, the pain in Raven’s head grows. She closes her eyes and stops to lean on the wall, bracing herself against the waves of guilt, regret, anger, sorrow. And grief. So much grief, in every shade and variation she’s ever sensed, present all at once in a single boy.

Taking a deep breath, Raven centers herself. She closes the distance to Gar’s room and knocks on the door. No answer. Not even a rustle of movement. If it weren’t for the hurricane of emotion flooding from him, she might think the room was empty.

“Garfield,” she says to the closed door. “It’s Raven.”

Nothing changes. Not with the door and not in his mind.

She didn’t come before because he needed time to process and mourn. But now that she’s here… Garfield’s in too much anguish for her to just turn around and leave. He shouldn’t be alone with this.

“I’m coming in.” Raven’s hand rests on the doorknob for a few seconds, giving him a chance to protest. Silence. She opens the door and steps inside, shutting it quietly behind her.

The room is dim. The only trace of light seeps through the half-shuttered window, filtering between storm clouds and raindrops to drench the room in an even gray. Garfield lies on his side in bed, the covers tangled beneath him. He stares out at the downpour, expression distant and blank. Tired. Empty.

Raven closes her eyes again, just for a moment. Her head pounds, her chest tight and aching with the agony pouring from him like the rain from the sky. She forces herself to open her eyes.

“I don’t wanna get out of bed.” Garfield’s voice breaks the silence, raspy and flat. “I don’t wanna do anything.” His dull eyes trace a raindrop trickling down the glass. “That’s never happened to me before,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Raven’s throat feels thick, like a knot has tied the middle shut, and breathing past it is difficult. Her thoughts slow and blur, a numbness settling upon her. This… this is how Garfield feels. The sensations that plague her mimic the heaviness of grief upon his chest, the darkness of apathy draining the color from his being. This is the extent of his pain.

If Raven had the words to comfort him, she’d give them freely. If she knew how to help, she would stop at nothing. But that is an ability her mentor Azar never taught her. A skill she’s never learned, despite the years spent surrounded by caring, whole people who do know how to soothe and comfort. It’s yet another area where she has failed them.

Dark streaks trail the fur on Gar’s face, marking the path of tears. Another falls as Raven watches.

“Why can’t I just hate her?” he chokes. “Why do I have to miss her?”

“Because you care, despite what she did. Because that’s who you are.” It’s the truth. She knows how to give him that, at least.

Garfield inhales shakily. “Yeah. And it’s how I got hurt.”

Without that openness and trust, you wouldn’t be Garfield. But even if Raven argues, she won’t be able to make him believe. Not when he’s still so deeply wounded.

She searches for something to say as Gar falls silent again. He crosses his arms and pulls his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal position. “There’s so much I never got to tell her,” he whispers to himself.

Watching him feels like an intrusion and there’s nothing she can do to help. Raven turns to leave and give him his privacy, but his voice stops her.

“Please.”

When she glances back, Garfield is looking at her for the first time since she stepped into the room. His emerald green eyes, normally so full of joy and mirth, are dark and pained. They reflect the ache throbbing inside him, the one pulsing in Raven’s head.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His words hit Raven like a shot to the chest.

After Tara left, in more ways than one, after what she did to him… He’s afraid to be left alone again. And he’s asking for Raven, of all people, to stay.

The pressure in her head builds until she wants to scream. “Let me get you something to eat.” She needs an escape.

Garfield’s shoulders drop. His head falls back to the pillow, eyes returning to the gray sky. “Sure.”

Just like that, any emotion in his voice disappears as he slips back under the numbness. Another dagger pushed into Raven’s heart. She shuts the door behind her with shaking hands, working to calm her breathing. His pain, his grief… It’s too much.

She walks to the kitchen without thought. Kori looks up hopefully as soon as she enters, Richard and Victor following suit.

“How is he?” Richard asks.

“Not good.” Raven wrenches the fridge open, searching for something Garfield would never turn down, not even in his current state. “He’s depressed.”

The word lies sour and dark on her tongue, the reality of it sending dread rolling over her. Sunny, ridiculously optimistic Garfield, depressed. Beast Boy, the light of the team, caught in the dark of his own mind.

Her fist slams down on the kitchen counter with a crack. “Curse you, Tara,” Raven hisses.

Sharp pain travels up her nerves, the sensation delayed by her anger. Feeling her friend’s wide eyes on her, Raven snatches a container of last night’s garlic tofu and rice out of the fridge and marches from the room.

No one will ever put Garfield through this again. Not on her watch. If she’s the one he’s reaching out to, then Raven will do whatever it takes to make him whole. To bring back the smile to her friend’s face and the light to his eyes. If it means hours of extra meditation afterwards to maintain her control, then so be it. It’s more than a fair price.

“I brought garlic stir-fry.” Raven sets the container on his bookshelf, next to a picture frame turned face down. Her gaze lingers there. It isn’t hard to guess who’s in the photo.

“You came back.” Gar glances at her, then away when she faces him. “I thought that was just your excuse to get away from the mess in my head.” He makes a finger gun and taps it against his temple. “Not that I blame you.”

A shudder runs down Raven’s spine. Her mouth goes dry. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just joking.” His voice is small and quiet.

The dark part of Raven is angry that Tara will never see what she did to him, the shell she reduced him to. Gar cares more than anyone else can ever hope to, and Tara used that. Troubled or not, a victim of manipulation or not, nothing can ever change that truth.

Raven pushes the darkness back and locks it away in a far corner of her mind. Tara is not her concern now. Garfield is.

“How can I help?”

Gar blinks. “You can’t. Not unless you can take away the pain, like when I get beat up on a mission.” He laughs once, a bitter huff.

Raven steps forward. “I can’t.” She sits next to him on the bed. “But I can share it.”

Garfield’s eyes widen and he jerks to sitting, showing the first bit of life she’s seen in two days. “Raven, no.” His ears droop, his brow furrowing. “That’ll hurt you.”

“If you can handle it, then so can I.” The situation calls for comfort she doesn’t know how to give. But her friends do. So she mimics the way she’s seen Victor reassure Kori and cups Gar’s cheek, fingertips finding still damp fur. She lets her concern show, her lips falling into a frown. “And I’m more worried about you, Gar.”

His eyes glimmer. Just a spark, for just a second. “You called me Gar.” Slowly, he shakes his head, gaze still fixed on Raven. “You never use nicknames.”

Despite her teammates’ best efforts to the contrary, Raven always uses their proper first names. It makes it easier to pretend she isn’t as emotionally involved, as attached to them as she knows she is. It’s silly, honestly. She uses the nicknames in her head anyway.

“Yes,” Raven confesses. “I did.”

“I knew you thought it was cool,” Gar mumbles, curling up on his side again. But this time, he lays his head in Raven’s lap.

She freezes for a moment, scrambling to comprehend this new turn of events. Her hand ends up in his hair, so she tentatively smooths it, careful to avoid the knots. She’s never been comfortable with touch. It’s a strange and unfamiliar sensation to her, having experienced it only rarely on Azarath. But she tries to set that aside now.

“Promise you won’t leave.” Garfield’s vulnerable like she’s never seen him. So small and afraid compared to who he usually is. Or maybe he’s always hidden it well, even from her. “I just… I need…”

“I need you here.” His thoughts say what he can’t. “I need you.”

No one has ever needed Raven before. All her life, she has brought this world only darkness and the promise of death and destruction at the hand of her father. But somehow, Gar sees something different. That ability to find the best in people, regardless of who they are… it’s his greatest quality.

“I promise,” Raven answers. “I won’t leave.”

Closing her eyes, she bows her head and lowers the walls around her mind.

Emotions seep in, flowing from the broken boy with his head in her lap. Forceful, potent feelings, far stronger than any she’s ever experienced through her empathy before. They whip through her mind in blinding colors, mingling with and amplifying each other, complex and interconnected. When she lets herself appreciate them, they’re almost beautiful, despite the monumental effort it takes to keep them from overwhelming her.

Raven breathes carefully and slowly, the tightness in her chest returning threefold. Inhale… Exhale… The sound is her point of focus as she works to channel the pain from Gar and release it into the void her powers come from, allowing herself to be a conduit.

A hand reaches up to touch her cheek, the contact pulling her mind back to this world. Gentle fingers wipe away a single tear that managed to escape her control. “Rae…”

Raven opens her eyes to see Garfield watching her with concern. Just two days ago, he endured tragedy that no one should ever have to experience, trauma that would break most anyone. Yet he’s concerned for her.

“Get some sleep.” Raven brushes Gar’s hair from his face and he obediently closes his eyes, too exhausted to fight. She feels his tight muscles ease as she pulls the brunt of his emotions into herself, taking the edge off his pain.

The technique is beyond dangerous and it hurts. But if she can offer Gar any comfort, she won’t withhold it. No matter the ferocity of the storm within her.

As Garfield’s breathing deepens and he drifts into slumber for what she suspects is the first time since Tara died, Raven repeats her promise.

“I won’t leave you.”

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 3)

(Previous fic in series: Slow dancing in the Darkness)

(Next fic in series: The Sound of the Sword)

[stillebesat]

Wanted

Sanders Sides: Remus, Roman, Logan, Janus  Blurb: Remus knew one thing for sure. No one would ever want to Want him.  Inspiration: from This Post by @recipe-for-thomathy  Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Medieval!AU  Warnings: Fire (mention), Throwing things, Breaking things, Captivity/Slavery, Weapons Taglist in reblog. 

The door slammed open with far more force than even Remus was willing to use on it. Mostly because he knew from past experience how difficult it was to rehang that door after striping out the screws in the wood and snapping the hinges more than once.

“What did you do?!” Roman demanded, striding into his work space in his full regalia of King’s Guard. 

Huh. Come straight from the palace? That was different. Remus smirked, keeping his attention on the furnace in front of him, slowly spinning the rod and its molten glass load within to keep it from dripping. “Do?” He shifted his feet to get a better angle, the iron chain around his ankle that kept him from wandering away from the shop clinking softly as he moved. “Plenty I suppose.” 

It was him they were talking about, but to his credit he’d actually been pretty productive today instead of destructive. “Made six vases just this morn--”

Roman took out a scroll, letting it fall open. “You’re on a WANTED poster!” 

His heart skipped a beat at that, though thankfully, Remus didn’t drop the rod. He actually liked the neon green glow the glass was giving off this time. Maybe he could use it to create something far more interesting than a boring stagnant flower holder. Maybe he could make another pair of---no. It would be best to stay with creating the same old same old for a few more days at least. No need to draw any attention to himself.  

Remus drew in a shaky breath he hoped his twin didn’t notice as he glanced to the poster held in his brother’s hands.  

It would be best to not think about what he’d done last night. 

A once in a lifetime opportunity. 

A breath of freedom. 

A dream come true. 

His one and only Cinderella moment where it had felt so right to do what he did. 

Like he’d finally found his calling in life.

And if Remus had any dignity or common sense left he’d stomp down on that siren call and wouldn’t seek to draw any further attention or be anything more than a boring humble glassblower’s apprentice from here on out or he was sure his heart would actually shatter if he ever saw that particular smile again. That particular spark in the eye. That-.  

Remus pasted a smirk on his face, forcing the memory away. 

A dream should remain a dream. 

He raised an eyebrow at the figure on the paper as he pulled the rod out of the furnace. “Ehhhh. That’s not me.” He said, moving to the bench so that he could grab a block to continue shaping the glass. 

If it weren’t for the moustache -drawn a little larger than the little bit of hair he currently had on his upper lip thanks to a small accident with fire earlier in the week, Remus would have thought it was a portrait of Roman since the figure’s hair lacked the tell tale silver streak that marked him as an evil twin.  

No. Roman was the one with the muscles. The one with the handsome smile. With the knighthood. With his star rising insomuch that even foreign dignitaries were falling over themselves to stay in his good graces.

Remus...was just…himself. Stringy hair, crooked smile, multiple scars criss-crossing his entire body from previous beatings and accidents in the forge. Who only had enough strength in his limbs to work glass instead of far more durable, sturdy, and useful materials like wood or iron. 

After all, Glasswork was quite the useless skill when they were in the middle of a war with the neighboring country and needed blacksmiths to create more weapons rather than glassblowers to make pretty cups for parties.

No. Remus let out a slow breath, placing the block back as he returned to the furnace to ensure his current project didn’t harden before he was finished. 

There was a reason why the silver streak had marked him instead of his twin as the evil one. The bad guy. The one who could do no good despite the very obvious proof that Remus could accomplish some good or else no one would be buying the glass objects he created. 

No one seemed to mind that he’d been marked as evil so long as he didn’t go too crazy in front of the patrons when they came to get their stupid little paperweights, flower vases, dinnerware, and sun orbs.

Of course the cursed chain around his foot did a lot to assuage any of their fears of him running rampant. 

If only they knew just what he had done last night. Just where he’d gone. How he’d freed himself from the stupid chain for a few hours to bring--to bring---a gift….to---

“Not--” Roman took a step forward, armor clanking. “It looks JUST LIKE YOU!” 

“Looks just like you too, or did your big fat egotistical head forget we’re identical?” Remus shot back.

Mostly identical. Even if he didn’t have the moustache, Remus was certain people wouldn’t ever mistake them for each other. As kids...probably, but he’d never know for sure since his--their mother chose to leave him out in the woods to die and be found by slavers instead of doing the sensible thing and dropping him off at the orphanage with all the other rejected evil halfs. 

Roman had only been a thorn in his life for the past six months or so after stumbling into the shop while breaking up a brawl that had started at the pub up the street. That was hardly enough time for them to even begin to get to know each other, let alone their quirks. 

Even then, with their on and off brief interactions, Remus knew that Roman only kept coming to see him more out of a morbid fascination of how his life could have been different if he’d been the one born with the silver in his hair rather than wanting to form a genuine familial connection with his long lost twin.

Roman scoffed, resting a hand on his sword. “You know it can’t be of me! I know better than to risk interrupting the peace talks going on at the palace!” 

Remus rolled his eyes, returning to the bench. Peace talks. A freaking ball was now considered a part of those never ending peace talks? They might as well parade the visiting Prince and his entourage around the streets again every day for a month instead for all the good those peace talks were doing. 

At least the foreign Prince was someone different to look at when he did come through town.

And…despite the rather accurate portrayal...Remus couldn’t see why a Wanted poster would be created for him. It wasn’t like he’d hurt anyone. It wasn’t like anyone knew who he was. Not when he’d come in disguise! He hadn’t even talked to anyone beyond---and that was only to explain his--the...gift. 

Unless showing someone how they could see far more clearly was now a crime. No. Remus had had his moment to shine and then he’d returned to the forge like a good obedient mutt to his hovel and destroyed the evidence--most of the evidence--without anyone being the wiser.

“Remus. I know--”

 “No you don’t!” He snapped. “For all you know, maybe we have a third twin brother running around because why would you think it would be me on that Wanted poster, Oh Highly Favored of the King, when I obviously can’t go anywhere?” Remus purposely kicked his foot so the chain trapping him in this place rattled, the sound echoing through the air as he picked up his second favorite tweezers in a shaking hand. 

Not that he intended to use it. No. Not now.

Wanted. 

His brother had managed to...emotionally compromise him and that wasn’t good for working with glass. No it was only for destroying it. A pity. He truly had liked the color on this one.

Remus kept his head down, acting like he was still working as he rolled the pipe back and forth to keep the shape intact. “When, unlike a certain free born goody-two-shoes, I’ve never been wanted in my entire life?”

The Master Glassblower didn’t even want him. Remus had only ever been considered a tool to be used until it wore out. A slave brought in to be worked to death and only taught glass blowing because the greedy old miser wanted more product on his shelves and had to admit as he aged that he couldn’t keep up with demand nor stay near the heat of the forge for as long anymore.

Lucky him, Remus had actually shown a talent for the craft. He could only imagine the sloppy blobs that would be on the shelves now if the Glassblower had bought any of the other slaves on the auction block. 

So long as it meant more gold in his coffers the Master hardly cared whose work was selling. And when the war happened, he’d allowed Remus to keep the shop open while he was off aiding the war effort in the forges nearer the front lines. 

And with him left in charge of the shop...it meant that Remus had finally been able to create what he wanted to create. To experiment. No one was there to stop him. To tell him what to do. To care. 

“What do you mean you’re not wanted?” Roman took a step forward rolling up the poster. “I--”

Remus snarled, hurling the molten glass like a spear in his twin’s direction, watching as the glass on the pole shattered upon impact with the wall, before focusing on the way Roman had stilled, hand flashing to his sword, eyes wide.

Give him a break. He knew better than to throw something directly at his twin, not if he didn’t want to die on the spot for attacking the King’s own personal guard. 

He turned away, tossing the tweezers onto the bench. “If YOU wanted anything to do with me brother you wouldn’t have left me chained here when you first found me!” He clenched his hands as he crossed his arms, resisting the urge to continue destroying things. “You wouldn’t keep coming back to stare at me like I’m a freaking circus act while you pretend you want to get to know me. You. Don’t. You Never Did. So DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT I’M WANTED.” 

No one had truly wanted to see him. Not even with that particular unbelievable encounter last night. It didn’t mean a thing and would never happen again. A shooting star only ever shown for a blink of an eye before going out. 

“Remus.”

Roman had no right to sound so--soo pitying!! If he’d wanted to change things he could have. But he hadn’t. 

“No need to rub it in Mr. Perfect. I know I’m not wanted. How could I ever forget when Evil Twin has been my label my entire life?! So take your stupid Wanted poster and Get. OUT.”  

Get out before he lost the remaining shreds of his self control and actually hurt him. 

The door behind him creaked as it slowly opened. 

“Remus, please. You have to know that wasn’t--”

So Roman did want to see the forge destroyed today. Fine. FINE. He snatched up another rod with a snarl and whirled only to drop to his knees, rod clattering to the ground as he pressed his face into the dirt, heart pounding harder than a hammer to an anvil in his chest upon seeing just who was standing behind his brother.

In retrospect the uniform should have clued him in that his twin hadn’t come for a social visit. Or alone. 

“Ah.” Roman cleared his throat. “My High King Janus. Visiting Prince Logan.” He said formally. “May I present to you...my twin brother, Remus, apprentice glassblower to Apollos, a Master Glassblower who has gone to the front lines to assist the other Smiths there.”  

Remus closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together. He was so screwed. No wonder the portrait in the poster had been so accurate despite his disguise. The High King could see deceptions around him as easily as a bird could fly. Of course he’d see an evil twin in disguise and keep an eye on him. Especially after what he’d done--but Remus had been sure he’d escaped notice right after---after----

And to have the Prince--Prince Logan...right here...in his shop---he hadn’t expected to ever see those glorious green eyes again, let alone see the Prince still wearing the glasses that Remus had created and gone to the palace to give him last night.

“So.” 

Remus flinched as footsteps approached him, the silky voice of the High King ringing in his ears. 

“This is our little forge rat who disrupted the ball last night?” 

Disrupted?! Remus fought back the protest rising in his throat, fingers digging into the dirt. Sure he’d stolen the Prince away for a moment to ensure the glasses properly fit. That the Prince could see through them. But he hadn’t disr--He’d been very careful to be good! Even created a fashionable enough garment with colored glass in order to blend in with all the nobles decked out in gemstones so large and heavy it was a wonder the richies could move at all. 

He jumped as warm fingers trailed down his cheek. 

“I would hardly say he was disruptive.” Prince Logan remarked as he lifted up his chin, the corner of his mouth twitching when he met Remus’s eyes, his own no longer narrowed in a squint but wide open with wonder as he traced the lines of his jaw. “Nor would I say that you’re not wanted either, Remus.”  

Remus gulped, heart pounding even harder in his chest. It wasn’t fair how his name on the Prince’s lips made fuzzy embers spark in his chest.  

Logan gently tilted his head back, his thumb running along Remus’s moustache. “There was a reason why I stayed up all night with the royal painter to ensure that your portrait was accurate. And that was so I could find you as soon as possible. But I see,” His green eyes sparked with delight, his other hand raising to adjust the thin wire frames sitting on his nose. “That I was not quite as accurate as I wanted to be, but I suppose that can be forgiven considering my distraction at how clear the world has now become for me thanks to you.”

“You are certain.” High King Janus asked, hands hidden in his gold silk robes, head tilting to study Remus like a hawk studies a mouse as Roman came to stand beside him. “That he is the one you seek, Prince Logan? That he is the one who gave you...sight?” 

“He is.” The Prince confirmed without hesitation. 

The High King raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to...believe that one born with silver in their hair could be--”

“Remus is the best glassblower I’ve ever encountered, my King.” Roman said, raising his chin as the High King turned to him, unafraid to look him in the eye. “If anyone were to create the ability to see from blown glass, it would be him.”

More fuzzy embers fizzled around Remus’s stomach as he side eyed his brother. Roman...actually thought he was good? At glassblowing? He’d never said anything before--

High King Janus hummed, waiting until Roman broke eye contact before again returning his eagle stare on Remus, golden eyes glinting in the light of the forge. “Considering your own skills, Sir Roman, I would be unsurprised that your other half would be just as creative in his own right. Even more so if he is to be the bridge that finally brings peace to our kingdoms.” 

Remus blinked, fidgeting in place, his fingers digging into the dirt so he wouldn’t try and touch the Prince because he liked his hands too much to lose them. “Bridge?” He asked before he could also tell his tongue that talking was a very good way to get it removed with a hot poker. “What bridge? I can’t--” Surely they didn’t expect him to build a bridge from glass! How would that even work to bring peace? The thing would shatter with one wrong strike of a horse’s hooves! 

Logan smiled. “You can, Remus.” He said before gesturing for Roman to come forward. “Free him.” He commanded.

Surprisingly, his twin didn’t hesitate, quickly moving forward with his sword drawn as he focused on the chain around Remus’s ankle. 

It really wasn’t fair to hear his name spoken like that! Like he--like the Prince actually cared about him. 

Remus fought to hold still, to not look away from Prince Logan’s forest filled eyes to see what his twin was doing with the lock and if it was the same method he himself had used last night to free himself.

“I want you to come with me.” Prince Logan said softly, stroking Remus’s cheek as he maintained eye contact. “To my kingdom. Let me show you how much we want you there. Need you. Your gift with glass, there are so many of us, so many who would fall to your feet to see as you’ve shown me to see. Come with me, Remus.” He dropped his hands again to Remus’s dirty ones, squeezing them gently. “And I will guarantee that you will not regret it.”

Remus made a noise of disbelief, frozen in place, unable to comprehend that these...that the Prince---No one wanted to be around an evil twin!

And yet.

Prince Logan had yet to draw away or show disgust or revulsion upon discovering that he was the evil half.

“If you go with him, the war will stop.” High King Janus intoned. “Both sides will withdraw. Peace will finally be reestablished in both lands.” 

The war would stop? Over him? It didn’t--

Remus drew in a shaky breath as the chain around his ankle that had been his constant companion the last four years fell away with a soft clank for the second time in the past twenty-four hours as Roman took a step back with a faint smile his eyes shimmering with--was his twin actually about to cry? Over him?!  

“But you--you don’t even know me.” Remus whispered as the Prince pulled him to his feet, guiding him outside to the waiting royal carriage. To--to dare he say it? To freedom if he so chose to take it.

“No.” Prince Logan agreed, giving him another smile as he once more adjusted his glasses, the lens flashing in the sunlight. “But I want to.”

[whimsicallyreading]

The Death of Me

Part Two-

Danika stares at the gelatinous pony on her bedside table with empty eyes. It’s lifeless gaze kept a constant vigil that she found strangely comforting, especially after Ruhn Danaan ordered her ass home.

Now she was basically a prisoner in her own room. Sabine and the 33rd had already wrung all the information they could from her. Bryce’s piece-of-shit father hadn’t even bothered to show up at HQ.

She would rake him for that.

To ignore your child in life is one thing. But to ignore your daughters death and allow the CC Media to run wild with the stories as they have been? It was disgusting. It made her ill. He would pay for his negligence.

But first, she had to talk to Ember.

~~~

Lunathion’s Party Princess gets taken down a peg!

Notorious partner in crime, Bryce Quinlan massacred in the up-and-coming Alpha’s mutual residence.

~~~

Danika new it would be a rough phone call. She knew that the woman on the other side of the phone would be grieving. That grief makes people act out and say things they don’t mean.

Still, the guttural cries on the other side of the line shocks her. It evokes the first twinge of emotion she’d felt outside of her own pain in days.

Guilt.

“What happened, Danika?” Her surrogate mother sobs over the speaker. “They won’t tell me how it happened. I don’t even know when they will release my daughter’s body for burial.”

The weeping increases in intensity, as Danika bites back her bitter thoughts. Ember would likely never get to see her daughter’s remains. There was nothing left. No fixing the damage done to Bryce’s frame. She was cracked like a shell and vacated, the autopsies they would need to perform would only further ruin her flesh.

“I can’t tell you anything yet,” Danika consoles. “There’s a lot I don’t know, but I will find out the details. In the mean time...I know this is a lot to ask-“

Danika chokes over the words. Emotions were never her strong suit. On an average day it didn’t matter, people knew it was her nature to be blunt. They took no offense to her crass personality. Even if her words hit a mark, who would say anything to her?

Ember was different. She cared for the woman who’d loved her like she was flesh and blood. Who mothered the person that was her soul friend. Danika didn’t want to cause Ember any more pain than she was already going through, but this request would not land lightly.

“What is it?” Ember’s voice rasps over the phone.

Danika pulls air deeply into her lungs and closes her eyes. “I need you to stay away from the city.”

Silence.

“It’s dangerous right now. I don’t know why Bryce was targeted. If there is any link between you and the killer whatsoever I don’t want you in their line of fire.” Danika knows she rambling, but her composure couldn’t exist in the blanketed quiet.

“I promise I’ll take care of everything. I’ll figure out where Bryce is and make sure she gets home to you. Paperwork, medical issues, I’ll take care of it all, Mama Ember.” The promises she makes are big, she’s not even sure she can fulfill all of them. “Just please, stay back and keep safe.”

More silence. Danika’s stomach is rolling and she’s not sure if Ember is ever going to reply when a new voice sounds from the device.

“Danika, it’s Randall. We understand what you mean. Ember is just- processing right now.”

The loving, vibrant man who mailed them chocolate croissants, and could out shoot every member of the city’s aux units sounds hollow. None of the normal jovial inflections or calming vibrato. Randall sounds like he’s been choking down glass. “We will stay in Nidaros.”

Danika’s shoulders curl in relief. “Thank-“

“On one condition.” Randall cuts her off commandingly. “You bring whatever is left of my babygirl home, Danika. We don’t want her body dumped in that river.”

He wetly sniffles and something shatters in the background.

“I promise,” Danika whispers, feeling like a small child again. “I promise.”

~

Bryce Quinlan’s questionable lineage could be to blame!

Could halfbreed Bryce Quinlan’s vanir parent play a roll in the brutal death she received over this weekend?

“A bastard daughter is never a good look to a powerful vanir,” says councilwoman Sabine Fendyr

~

Connor and Bronson had a grip on either of her arms as she tries to refrain from clawing her mother’s face off.

“You bitch! You had no idea what you were talking about,” Danika spits, and it only makes her blood boil further when it misses the mark.

Sabine was too poised for a woman who’s daughter was actively trying to kill her. She fiddled with the rip that Danika’s claws left in the shoulder of her expensive suit, and raised a manicured brow. “I only spoke the truth. Are not most young demifae deaths due to domestic disputes with the vanir parent?”

“For children, yes!” Danika can feel her wolf pushing under her skin, begging to take control. “Bryce knew her father, he has no interest in her whatsoever. You are distracting from the actual killer.”

“Danika, I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Sabine steps closer, only to stumble back as Danika’s wolf releases a throaty growl. “It looks like a home invasion. Things are missing from the apartment. Quinlan was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“No,” Danika half growls, half whimpers.

“Someone wanted a token from one of the most powerful alphas in all of Midguard.” Sabine continues. “Bryce, with no magic to her name, no way to defend herself got caught up in the mess. It’s unfortunate.”

“You called her a halfbreed,” Danika can’t force the tears back anymore. They run in rivulets down her cheeks, and Connor leans his face against her shoulder as he cracks too.

Sabine shakes her head, “It’s what she is. I raised you to be more logical than this, Danika. You can leave when you regain some semblance of composure.”

The door clicks behind her. She’d locked them in her room. Danika growls and storms over to the door, grabbing the knob with clawed hands. The wood gouges, and the hinges creek as she shakes the lock.

It doesn’t budge.

Bronson walks up beside her, currently the calmest of the three of them but equally downtrodden. He eyes the door, and with one swift movement, kicks the door and sends it flying off the hinges.

“Screw her,” Bronson mutters under his breath.

Connor is sitting on her bed, head in hands. “They are dragging her name through the mud.”

Danika purses her lips, but she can’t disagree. The headlines were only becoming more inflamed.

Bryce Quinlan’s History of Public Indecency

~

Reed Redner claims that Quinlan attempted to solicit him for a chance to stick her hands in the family fortune!

~

Does Jesiba Roga’s apprentice manage her dark dealings in Lunathion’s Meat Market?

~

Leaked! A photo of Bryce Quinlan with Prince Ruhn Danaan. Secret lovers or vengeful baby daddy?

“She’s going to pull the aux units off the case,” Danika breathes out. “She is already setting up an alternative story to pacify the media and her family.”

Connor shakes his head, “her family will never go for the home invasion shit.”

“They won’t,” Danika agrees. “If she pulls the wolf aux off the beat, that only leaves the Fae or the 33rd looking into this.”

“So we gave to work with the 33rd or the faerie squad? Great.” Bronson rubs his face. “Just great.”

They would have to work with one or the other. When Sabine pulls them, they will lose access to all of the research equipment and aux recourses. Danika would not sit idly while Bryce’s death was swept under the rug.

“Let’s start with the Fae. Ruhn is as invested in this as we are, he may be of some assistance.” Danika pulls out her phone to texts the rest of the pack.

Fury Axtar- Danika. What’s going on? yesterday at 8:07

Fury Axtar- I heard. I’m coming. yesterday at 8:10

“Well, it looks like Fury is on her way. We’ll have more help than we thought,” Danika texts Fury to come to the packhorse, not the apartment.

“Do you think she could do something about these articles?” Connor gritted through his teeth, his phone white-knuckled in his hands. Alerts had been popping up on their news apps all day. They’d tagged everything with Bryce’s name thinking something useful may come up, but it was all gossip and slander.

“That’s not really Fury’s expertise,” Danika thinks out loud. “Declan Emmet may be able to help with that.”

“Anything to get this shit taken down,” Bronson’s wolf flashes in his eyes. “Her family doesn’t deserve to be bombarded with this shit.”

“Bryce wasn’t like this,” Connar rakes his hand over his scalp. He was already looking sallow from lack of rest. There was a hollowness to him, that Danika could feel echo in her own soul. Neither of them would forget what they’d seen

“She wasn’t. We will fix it,” Danika makes another promise. “All of it.”  

Bronson and Connor tip their heads in respect. They trust her as their alpha to lead them. Bryce was honorary pack. All of them are grieving and looking to her for guidance. To avenge the lost member of their family.

All Danika can do is assure them and hope she’s telling the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cursebreaker29

@firestarsandseneschals

@julemmaes

@tillyrubes10

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

@kingandfireheart

@fredweasleyhasadhd

@vanzetanze

@wordsxstars

@highladyof-erilea

[beebubb]

William grossman: becoming a pasta

(also i mention my OC amari here but they're just friends and roommates here. No romantic things)(also this might be kinda long and I mention some stuff about my creepypasta AU so if you don't wanna be confused you can check it out!)

Like I mentioned in an old post, will and LJ went on a lot of self discovery adventures for Will.

It was always will's dream to become a popular killer like Jeff but sense he couldn't actually bring himself to kill someone, he would doubt himself a lot and would sometimes just be so upset or angry at himself

Will: maybe coming to the underworld was a mistake.. I shouldn't have come here...

LJ: come on bud! There's gotta be something here you're good at!

They had literally tried many things.

Will worked for a surgeon for literally a day before he got fired. He couldn't bring himself to dissect someone. Yes he had seen dead bodies before out on the street but he couldn't bring himself to be the one to actually commit to doing it

He also tried to be a bounty hunter/hitman but, ended up quitting immediately after he was told to kill a family

He even worked at a black market that was hiring someone to just care for the oragans they sold. It was going pretty well but, lets say it was will's first time seeing an actual beating human heart

Will: what else could I be good at?!? Everything here involves killing! And I can't even kill someone if it depended on my damn life...

LJ: you could still try for your dream of being a slender proxy!

Will: but being a proxy involves killing! Maybe I should just go back to the human world... I don't even have my mark! I didn't get a permanent smile like Jeff or red bleeding eyes like ben!

Amari: I don't have any cool marks either!

Will: but atleast you got skulls shapes on your eyes! I didn't get anything! Maybe I just wasn't meant to be here...

Amari hated seeing will so upset. She knew his dream was to work for slenderman, and obviously, she wanted him to achieve it. She got lucky and worked for him from time to time, so she was sure she could talk to slender and see if will had a chance.

How he met slenderman

Amari went to see her boss a few days later. AKA slenderman. She explained to him his situation and, he actually wanted to meet him!

Slenderman isn't judgemental like many in the underworld think he is. He can see potential in someone even at their lowest.

She obviously went to the apartment to tell will the good news

Amari: will! You aren't going to believe this but i talked to slenderman about you and....he wants to see you!

Will: what?!? Are you serious?!

Amari: yep!

Will: holy shit!! Let me take a quick shower then!

Will took a shower and once he was ready he followed amari to the slender mansion.

Once they got there, masky did the regular check for weapons on him (it's normal for them to check new people that go into slenderman's meeting room just to make sure of any weapons or suspicious items)

Will was calm but was holding in his inner fanboy.

"I can't believe I'm seeing slender's most valuable proxy!!! Holy shit!!!"

LJ wasn't all that excited sense he already knew pretty much every pasta and knew what it was like living in the mansion/manor.

LJ: "what a hassle...."

LJ wasn't really aware of all the dangers the proxies tried to prevent. He just saw it as a way to show off their wealth and to think they were better than others

Once they were clear, masky took them to the meeting room

Even if will wasn't sure if he could get a chance working with slenderman, there was one thing he was definetly certain of.

Get their autographs

No way he was gonna waste his visit to the slender mansion and NOT get their autographs.

Masky: you may go inside

Will: um....could i get your autograph please?

Masky: oh, yes

Will: yes!! *takes out a scrapbook he made* here!

Masky: *signs in* there

Will: thank you so much!!!

LJ: come on! You look like a dork!

Will: ok ok! And I'm not gonna waste my visit and not get their autographs *goes into the meeting room*

Once they got in they were immediately greeted by slenderman

"Glad you came here william, please, take a seat"

William was so excited by seeing slenderman in person but was also terrified about what he would think of him.

Will became really shy and nervous while talking

Slenderman: so i heard you were interested in working with me later on but you had a few doubts on your own abilities, could you tell me more?

Will: i um....*fidgeting with his fingers*

LJ: he wants to be a proxy but he has trouble actually killing someone. So we wanna know his chances of actually becoming one

Slenderman: ah I see, well I'll have to look at some other assets, do you have any school documents?

Will: *nods and takes out a folder with his school papers*

These kind of meetings were actually pretty common so slenderman already knew what to look for in school documents

Will's grades weren't that good tbh

He had many subjects he struggled with. On his report cards, pretty much every subject had D's and C's, and the occasional F's. Only is P. E he had a B.

Slenderman usually looked for atleast a B average

Though the only straight A's that will got, were in chemistry

Slenderman: I see you're proficient in chemistry, how come that's the only subject you get A's in?

Will: well um.... It's pretty much the only subject that I like....

Slenderman: may I ask what your under realm mark you for when you arrived here?

Will: i didn't get anything...

Slender seemed kinda surprised at his answer.

He opened up a locked drawer on his desk and took out a heavy book and went through the pages and stopped at one with a picture of a hand with lines

Slenderman: may I see your hand?

Will: uh... Sure? *shows him his hand*

Slenderman seemed really intrigued with will's hand.

LJ and Amari were extremely confused.

Amari knew pretty much the process of these type of meetings but when she was applying as an apprentice for slenderman, slender didn't ask to see her hand like he did with will

Once slender was done checking will's hand, he looked through more of his records

LJ: um.... So what do you think? He has a bit of potential right?

Slenderman seemed lost in though for a second but replied

"William, have you ever took any.... Magic classes or considered taking one?"

The three of them were surprised.

Like, magic? They knew that magic existed in the underworld but why would he think will would Want to study it?

Magic is a really complicated subject and depending on what element you were granted or want to control, it takes a lot of discipline and training and it is rarely recommended to the top students at the institution sense it was pretty much college level

LJ: why do you ask that?

Will: yeah I mean... I'm barely passing and I don't know if my grades are even good enough for me to graduate this year.

Slenderman: well i don't know how you didn't see this before but, look

Slenderman turned the book to their direction

LJ and amari were shocked

LJ: will you?!?

Will: *looking at the book and at his hand* wait....holy shi-i mean oh my god! I have powers?!

Slenderman: i looked through your records and i see you're part of the grossman family.

LJ: uh yeah he had a great grandpa but how does that explain this? He never had any sort of contact with magic

Slenderman: maybe not him exactly but, she did

Slenderman pulled out a picture from isaac's record folder (all demons and rulers from hell and the under realm have a record of their citizens) and pulled out the picture of a woman

Slenderman: she's ida grossman. Isaac grossman's great grandmother. She was killed for practising witchcraft. It would explain why will was granted magic here in the under realm.

LJ: sense he has this power, how come i never saw it before? I've been with him ever sense he was born!

Slenderman: well his power is still undeveloped sense he never had any proper training or took any classes. He has the mark on his hand but if he wants to actually use his abilities, he'll need to start practicing.

LJ now understood, and was happy for will

LJ: how can he start?

Slenderman: well,i have a proxy named sherry that knows about this, she could be will's tutor. Also I have been really interested in getting an apprentice with magical abilities but it has been difficult finding one, but if will wants to work with me then..

Slenderman took out an apprentice application

Slenderman: I could take him in as my personal sorcerer

LJ: well, what do ya say bud? Do you wan-

Will: yes!!!!!

Will didn't even think twice on his answer. Of course he wanted to work as slenderman's apprentice in magic.

He felt like his life had literally no direction but now everything was changing. He felt more confident than ever

LJ: do these classes have a price or somethin'?

Slenderman: it's usually 50 per class in a normal school but it depends if my proxy wants to charge for them or not sense she teaches them individually.

Will: oh....

Amari: ah don't worry i can pay for them!

Will: you don't gotta do that!

Amari: it's fine! You're my friend, we should help each other out

Slenderman: so I'm guessing that it's settled then?

Will: yeah!

Slenderman: alright then, I'll just need a signature of your parent or guardian on the application

LJ gave his signature

Slenderman: thank you. Well you're ready to go. All you need to do now is finish your last month at the institution and once you're done, I'll have amari bring you here again to start your training.

Will: yes! Thank you! Um one more thing, could I get your autograph sir?

Slenderman: oh yes of course!

Once slenderman signed his notebook they thanked him and were free to go

Who knew that will was more special than many thought he was.

I hope you guys liked this! I'll be making more parts!

Also i know will wasn't really developed in the Creeps comic so I kinda let myself create his character more.

Also this was inspired by a headcanon I saw where will was granted powers so I wanted to include that into his character.

[sovonight]

(sith exile au)

recruit

potential

approval

rejection

truth (end)

✧ — ✧

"The academy has felt your absence for too long," Sion says. "As have I."

"I have had other business, Darth Sio—"

"No need for formalities, Cela," Sion says. "We're alone."

Jaq can barely conceal his look of disgust. Sure, they're alone—if Jaq and the soldiers stationed in the landing bay don't count as people. Cela doesn't look like she approves of what Sion said either, but she also looks like she's been through this dance with him before.

"Revan is waiting for us," Cela says, choosing not to acknowledge Sion's words. "Shall we—"

"I've brought you a gift," Sion says. "It waits for you in the hold of the ship."

"I'll receive it later—"

"You'll receive it now, before it perishes," Sion says. He stalks around her, observing her. "Revan was right… you've allowed yourself to grow weak. How unlike you."

Cela's lips are thin with annoyance, but she doesn't say another word. She leaves for Sion's ship. Jaq follows, itching to insult Sion with her behind the guy's back, but Cela stops him with a hand on his chest.

"I'll go alone," Cela says. Her hand lingers on his chest for just a moment, before she pulls away. "Show him in. Revan will grow impatient."

"He can show himself in," Jaq says, but Cela gives him a minute shake of her head: this is an order. Reluctantly, Jaq watches her go, clinging to the sight of her form until she disappears into the depths of the ship.

"So eager to chase after your master," Sion comments, from closer than he had been. "Your devotion marks you more slave than apprentice."

Jaq grimaces. He had felt Sion's presence creeping up behind him—he just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

"It's called loyalty," Jaq says. "And at least I chose my master. I doubt you even know what chains you."

He's shooting blindly, here, but his words find their target when Sion growls.

"You know nothing, fool," Sion says, his cracked lips twisting into a snarl, "Least of all your master. She barred you from following her; that should tell you as much."

"I respect her boundaries," Jaq says, "Unlike some."

"And so you remain ignorant," Sion says. "I have fought to know her. I have proven my strength. And when the time comes, I will be the one to claim her—to save her."

Save her? Jaq has to laugh—and he does.

"All she needs saving from is your attention," Jaq says. "Do yourself a favor, and—"

"You're still here," says Cela, coming up beside them. Jaq turns to address her, as does Sion, but Jaq beats him to the punch.

"Lord Sion here wanted to wait for you," Jaq says. "I said Revan wouldn't like it, but he insisted on it."

He expects the growl before he even hears it. "You—"

"I see," Cela says, interjecting before Sion can respond. "How considerate."

Jaq watches out of the corner of his eye as Sion quickly bites the rest of his words back. Predictable.

✧ — ✧

Hours after Sion has left the base once more, Jaq finds himself with Cela in the quiet of her quarters at dusk.

"He was fun," Jaq says. "I can see why you keep him around."

Cela sighs.

"Revan sees a use for him, and I know better than to question her."

She's rearranging her folded robes for the fourth time. Sion must really bother her.

"That gift," Jaq says, "Did it at least make up for the visit?"

He expects a simple answer, one to dismiss Sion's shadow from their day, but Cela turns away, the edge of her expression gone cold.

"No," she says. "…I refused it."

✧ — ✧

Cela's late.

Jaq has never known her to be late, not without prior warning. He checks his comm: on, and still functional. He checks the corridor outside the training room: occupied, but lacking her presence.

He takes the turbolift, passing every floor above, until at last he arrives at hers, and enters her quarters. He calls her name, only to find the edge of her familiar robes spilled from the dark shadow of her room, in which she has—

"No!" Jaq cries, rushing to her side. He can see no marks upon her, or signs of struggle around her, but she's collapsed, crumpled to the floor like a discarded cloak. Beyond her outstretched hand lays a fallen holocron, only partially activated; he tears his eyes away from it, frustrated that in such a moment he would notice something so useless.

Her face is too pale, and her body too cold, but he holds her in his arms, pressing his fingers to her neck to feel her pulse. He stills his breath, waits, and—

—Nothing. Or he isn't sure. He has never not been sure.

"Don't die on me now, Cela." His voice trembles; he hates it.

He just needs to find her pulse. He'd do anything for it. Anything, to hear her voice, to have her look upon him again, to see her give him that secretive smile once more—

A pull, light and almost inquisitive, acts at the edge of his awareness. And he understands.

"Go ahead," Jaq says. "I can take it."

✧ — ✧

Cela exists in the most pleasant dream.

She's held close to the beat of a steady heart, with kisses gifted upon her hair as she rests her head, quietly, in the crook between a familiar neck and shoulder. When he rests his head against hers, swaying them closer, she melts, nestling in and losing herself in his familiar scent.

"Jaq....” But as soon as she voices his name, he fades away.

She wakes, to the cold familiarity of her quarters. His scent is gone, his touch, his low chuckle, until she can find an excuse to seek them out once more.

But then, when she sits up, she finds the object of her dreams at her bedside.

Jaq's head and shoulders slump over her blankets, one of his arms folded under his cheek, and the other reaching out beyond it, so that his hand may hold hers. She looks over the edge of the bed—he's on his knees, and had likely fallen asleep that way.

She can't remember why he's here.

"Jaq?" She says.

"Mmph," Jaq says. "Five more minutes." He adjusts his makeshift arm pillow, shifts, and finds the softness of her thigh. Her face goes hot.

"Jaq," she says, nudging his shoulder. "Wake up."

A furrow forms in his brow, deepening with each shake she gives him until—

"What? What's so important that I—!" He opens his eyes complaining—but when he sees her, all such words fall away. "Cela. You're back with me."

"Yes, I'm here—ah!" He embraces her, gathering her in close in his arms as he squeezes her tight. It's more stifling than her dream, but not altogether unpleasant. The relief radiating from him washes over her, warming her from within.

Never before did she think that dreams could cross into reality. "What warrants this?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Jaq says. She tries not to miss his warmth too obviously as he turns away, picking something hitherto concealed by his form up from the floor. He shows it to her: a holocron.

Yes, Cela remembers—she'd gone access it, a typically trivial task, but seeing as its only partially activated, she must have failed. If she had to guess, she'd overestimated her remaining strength, and she'd pushed forth more Force energy than she had left.

But that means she shouldn't feel better now than she did the day before. She looks to Jaq; he's waiting patiently for her answer, but also not particularly waiting at all, just relieved to see her. She must have passed out. And in that desperate state, only one thing would have revived her.

"…Cela?" Jaq prompts. As her silence stretches on, Jaq's expression only grows puzzled. She doesn't want that—she wants him to say that he's figured it out. That he'd managed to deduce her secret, one kept so well that only a select few Sith Lords know it. She wants him to tell her that, he had to work quickly, but he brought her a straggler from the force cages where they hold their Jedi prisoner.

But there are no Jedi left, and her secret is yet kept. There is only him.

"Oh," Jaq says, as she stays silent longer still, "I get it. I know you prefer healing, but there wasn't enough time. I'd never been on the other end of it, but I—"

"You have to go," Cela says.

"What? No!" Jaq lets the holocron drop to the side, where it rocks once upon her bed and hits the wall by her blankets. She'd scold him, but he has eyes for nothing but her, and a concern she hadn't noticed earlier etched deep into his features. "You've been out for too long—I'm not leaving you on your own."

For a moment, she imagines it: letting him stay, and care for her, as she recovers. But she cannot trust the emptiness at her core to act as her heart does and spare him.

"If you value your life, you will," Cela says. She closes shut her heart; it will only lead them to ruin. "This is an order: leave me, now."

"I won't. I'm here to help you. You might not like it, but you can't always save yourself," Jaq says, his emotion building with every word, into a storm she no longer recognizes. "I don't know what's eating away at you, Cela, but I want to! I can't help if you don't let me in. I'd almost lost—you'd nearly died before you'd let me—"

Cela pushes him away, and though Jaq fights it, she uses the very Force energy she'd stolen from him to hold him by the throat. She staggers out of bed, still weak, but determined.

"Let you save me? You were always meant to be an instrument of my will, nothing more. Did you think that I returned your feelings? Your dreams, your desires? You are nothing to me but a failure of an apprentice. Leave."

She throws him out of her quarters, but she’s too weak to make it any more than a push that sends him stumbling out of her doorway. Before she can command the doors to close shut on his image, Jaq catches his breath, and she hears the last of his words.

“Fine,” Jaq says. "Then I'm no longer yours."

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 5

Four steps in my shoes

Four feels strongly.

In general, as a rule, but also in this specific situation, where sweat sticks his hair to his forehead and the pegasus boots chaff from constant overuse. From the slight burn of his arm muscles that nonetheless keep swinging the Four Sword.

Amazingly, the emotion at the forefront of his mind cannot be easily and neatly assigned to one facet of him. Annoyance isn't exclusive to any one side of him, quite the contrary. And the 'you can go die!' disdain is a taaaaad too specific as well.

White paws sweep at him and barely miss the top of his head. Would have hit Ezlo, if this had been his first adventure. The pang of nostalgia doesn't help his focus much.

Small bursts of magic and swings of his boomerang sting enough to keep his enemy on the backfoot. Behind him, a few roots twist enough for an opening beneath the trunk. If he can just...

The paw slams inches away from where he was standing a second earlier.

Urgh. It had to happen after they marched all day in search of civilization, didn't it?

Well, nothing to it, Four adjusts his sword and glares back at the slitted eyes trailed on him.

Which is when the loudest, most thunderous bark he ever heard rips the air in half and hammers in his eardrums. The white monster (cat) yowls in fright, fur straight up in horror, back arched, and it sprints right up a tree.

Wolfie is a familiar sight, and a welcome one at that.

But some instinctive part of him that is more Minish than Hylian can't help grip the Four Sword tighter.  From this perspective, Wolfie has more in common with Wild's divine beasts than a regular animal. His claws look about as tall as Four himself. And at the moment, the wolf is displaying a mouth full of fangs that promise a painful death.

He doesn't blame the cat for scampering. He's seen what those fangs can do to a throat. Or a wrist. Or an ankle. Not, really, he thinks the cat shows great wisdom in getting the hell out of Wolfie's range.  

But, because he is a Hero of Courage, he flips the sword in his hands, sheathes it and waves his arms.

“Twilight!”

The shift is instantaneous, and a little amazing to witness. The ears perk up, the posture straightens from its crouch, the teeth all disappear behind the black lips. It's a flip of Pacci's cane, a turn on a rupee, and there's the big beast their group loves.

“You okay there, Smithy?” Twilight asked, sniffing him for signs of injuries.

It's strange, hearing Twilight's voice coming through the sort of mental-bond-language of the Minish. Useful though. He's not certain he currently possesses the patience for some games of charades with a wolf.

“No injuries.” He puts a hand on the damp nose even as a burst of hot air washes over him. “Just a bit out of breath.”

“Right.”

It's not a doubtful tone, but there's some Time-patented exasperation in there.

“I would have been fine, you know?” says the part of Four that is a bit younger. “I dealt with lots of monsters even at this size.”

(Not Wolfie size though, that he thinks might be beyond him when shrunk.)

The flat look he receives makes him want to squirm.

He's too controlled for that.

“Yes, yes, I know.” He waves off the implied question. “I thought the innkeeper's cat was still inside.”

“He was. But after he mewled a bit, his owner let him out. And when I didn't see you... I had a feeling.”

Four wants to hit his head against a tree. Animals always were more aware of the scent of Minish magic. Many eyed him curiously when he walked through town. He should have known the cat would want to stalk after him. Probably thinking he knew where a village was hidden. He's going to have internal arguments about this all night.

“Cats are all bastards.”

To Four's amazement, Twilight's tail curls between his legs, his ears drooping. He rather looks more the guilty dog part than the majestic beast he insists he is.

“... But they're so cuddly.”

“When you're bigger than them, maybe,” Four deadpans. “Sneaky little shits.”

Twilight's whine is absolutely ridiculous and enough to make him snicker.

“Fine, fine. I'm not deaf, I hear what they say. Not as bad as cuccos, though.” Twilight's gaze wanders off to a faraway place. “Nothing is as bad as those psychotic birds.”

They lose a moment reliving their trauma over the feathered fiends.

Twilight shakes it off first. He lies down, his body like a hill of dark fur before Four, and hints at his back. Any protest Four might have had before dies in the face of his aching legs. He can fight off monsters at this size, but it's unreasonably more complicated. And he is not in the mood to stab spiders in the face tonight.

The fur is silky under his fingers, which is comforting but also a bit of a pain. Climbing means parting the coat of dark hairs and finding grip against skin. Sometimes, the body under him flinches or trembles, like Twilight is fighting off the urge to roll over. Four imagines it's quite similar to tickling. So he hurries up and makes his way up to the top of Twilight's head. Between the ears and roughly around the markings on his forehead.

Satisfied, Twilight stands, and the whole world blurs like he's still using his pegasus boots. A few more steps are needed before Four's body adjusts to the speed, and then he can relax. Twilight's safe.

And, he notes, not heading straight for the inn.

“We noticed the looks, you know,” Twilight says, because he's one of those busybodies that can't help mother cucco everyone around him till they are 'right as rain over a spring'.

“So?” he replies, even, practiced.

(Zelda had questions, at first, then orders that were swiftly obeyed, when in her sight. He hasn't told her that yet.)

“... How many of them do that?”

Do what? He wants to ask. The inn's owner had been quite polite, very careful in avoiding certain words around Four. Indeed so careful that Four could feel their syllables get more and more defined by the innkeeper's silence.

“Whisper?” he settles for. “A few. I'm weird, I know. Shorter than some kids, but can lift a hammer to forge. Own my business outside Castle Town, only shows up for groceries, talks to myself sometimes and stares at empty spots on shelves. I don't know, I suppose they expected me to apprentice beforehand, but there was a kingdom to save and what did that matter then?”

He punches the ground next to him before remembering too late it is Twilight's head.

The growl doesn't last. But the first few words he says are a bit more bitten out than the tone implies.

“There's a kid in my village. Younger than you. Couldn't lose the baby fat in his face for the longest time.” Twilight snorts, and his tail wags a bit. “And he's smart, really smart, a lot more mature than his older brother too.”

Four has a feeling that's partially due to the older brother's personality, but holds his tongue.

“People whispered behind his back. 'That boy is so creepy.'”

“Fey-touched,” Four says before he can hold back the red in him.

That one hurt. He's picked up habits from the Minish, he's aware. Little things like leaving keystones lying around for other kids or tiptoeing minish rings in the grass. But for those differences to matter so much, he hadn't expected until the first time the words had been floating around him.

“Ah,” Twilight says, followed by a whole lot of nothing.

Crickets around them sing. He can almost see some Minish putting a collar on the bugs to bring them home for a concert. Moving from behind stalks of grass, praying to the moon and the goddesses.

Then, Twilight says: “That takes me back.”

Four stumbles through the fur, his hands grasping on some new strands, but he can't tell if his unbalance is due a jolt in their steps or to the enormity of the idea. Twilight, the stereotypical rancher, seen as an outsider?

He tries, but all his brain conjures up is a much shorter version of Twilight dragging goats by the horns. That and dancing (badly) to the melody of a grass whistle.

Even from his spot atop Twilight's head, the eye roll is obvious despite being out of sight. “The only Hylian in a village of Humans?” he drawls. “Found as a toddler lost in the woods? Hardly able to speak for a while?”

Oh, Four thinks, that'd do it.

“They don't have the right to say that to you,” Twilight growls. “You're their hero.”

He could bask in the warmth. Lets himself lie down on Twilight and forget all about the events of tonight.

Curiosity wins, or well, violet does. “What did you do?”

“Nothing special? Just stayed the same and let them talk.”

Four's eyes bug out. “That's it? Nothing? How does that change anything?”

“When you're you, Four... When you're a good person regardless of rumors and whispers... Idiots don't stop talking, but the ones that are worth it stop listening.” A wolfish grin breaks out on Twilight's face. “Besides, you should have seen their black eyes after Rusl heard them say it to my face. After that... well, they could have called me the King of Evil and it wouldn't have mattered. Knowing you got someone in your corner's better than hollow praise from idiots.”

Four blushes.

He forgot for a bit, and he'll apologize to Zelda when he sees her, but it's true. Whenever he recalls that moment, the guard's words aren't ever the same. The phrasing lost all its power, outshone by the impassioned defense and the sheer anger wielded by his friend.

His back straightens. And he allows himself some childish pride in having the Princess of Hyrule in his corner. What do they have to beat that?

Twilight rumbles a laugh. “So... yeah, ignore them. Put them in their place if you want, the goddesses know you have the strength to do it, but that won't change their minds about anything. If you want some peace of mind, discard the idiots.”

Companionable silence falls between them. Four doesn't feel the need to speak after that bit of reassurance. They circle the woods, avoiding Hylians late on the road and monsters alike. Twilight's seemingly content just taking him on a ride, and Four's loath to admit he wants the moment to last a little longer.

They're not too far back from their starting point when he decides to ask: “About that kid?”

“Malo?”

“Yeah, him, how does he deal with it?”

Twilight does not answer right away. He first jumps over some large, gnarled roots and growls at a fox that seemed a bit too curious about the smell of Minish magic. Four's grateful for the time to calm his pounding heart.

“Well, Malo just stares at them until they get uncomfortable. Then he asks them what they're looking for. It never seems to affect him too much.” – discomfort hits at that, and Four can't tell why – “But, well, it also happened in front of me, you know? And I take after my Pa. So I might have knocked a couple of heads together in Casle Town. Followed by a strong talking to. Not that Malo appreciated that I ran off some of his customers.” A sigh. “That kid, I swear.”

Four grimaces. That type of 'customers'. Will think they bless his forge with their presence, praise him to all ends, then turn around and whisper. “I'm sure he's grateful inside.”

“Eh, I hope so, but it's his call in the end. Can't live his life for him.” Some muscles roll, and Four gets the impression of a shrug. “Speaking of, what do you want to do, Smithy?”

The question takes him by surprise, and it's silly that he didn't expect it.

He knows that Twilight would spend the night outside with him if he asks. They're no strangers to outdoor camping and the woods of his era are less dangerous than most. Wolfie would intimidate most if not all the creatures that live inside it.

But it would be illogical to sleep in the woods when they have more than enough rupees to pay for some rooms in a local inn.

Four is reasonable. It's one of his trademarks as a Hero. Mature for his age. Calm. Collected. It's how he's taken seriously as an adventurer. Why would he shatter an illusion that useful? Over some mild ostracization?

'Serve it cold,' says one quarter of him.

Another sides with Twilight. Their big brother made a good point. They couldn't be bothered by every single ungrateful person out there. They'd always exist, so let them stew in jealousy and paranoia and fear. He has the favor of the Princess, his best friend. What does he need anger for against a countryside shop owner?

But, the blue in him counters with an hammer-like argument: 'No, the best revenge is both.'

The others would be a little mad, he thinks. A little.

He's usually mature enough not to get in trouble. He's due for some insanity and explosions. Wild would back him up here. And it might be his voice in his head that pushes the words out of his mouth.

“So, not that I haven't listened to a word you said, but, hypothetically, if I needed help knocking heads together...”

“How many heads? Wars mentioned an interesting technique he learned from his sparring with some Sheikah general the other night. Though, if you'd rather, I can say, without boasting, that a lot of grown men weep at this form. It's embarrassing for everyone, I tell you.”

Four snorts, struck by mischief. “We're going to need to find a stump. I might have a plan.”

Yes, Four contemplates, the glint of wolf fangs under the moonlight is just as terrifying as he figured it would be. He can't wait.

                                                        ***

Legend is silently debating with Sky over the right to punch the innkeeper in the face. It's a fierce debate communicated entirely through raised eyebrows, scrunched up nose, muted snarls and meaningful looks.

The others' patience is steadily fraying at the edges. It's especially noticeable with their youngest. There are fireworks going off on Wind's face. The knife cutting his slab of meat to pieces steadily stabs into it every time the innkeeper's mouth opens.

“And where are you fine young men traveling to?” he says with a customer pleaser smile.

'Fine young men'. Ah! There's a thing he didn't say about Four. The fucking nerves of this man.

“Far,” Time replies, his tone even, but his expression thoroughly unimpressed.

“Ah, yes, of course...” the innkeeper says agreeably. “You, huh, you'll be going with the, ahem, with the boy, I imagine?”

How dare he sound hopeful? And 'boy'?! This man's livelihood is owed to the smithy! And he doesn't even have the excuse of mind control!

A hint of shame tickles the back of his mind, when he had first heard the innkeeper talking. He had sounded nothing like the ones from his era, who sometimes refused him entry outright on the basis of old and false accusations.

This current attitude was, technically speaking, a strict improvement over that.

But does the man have to come alive and become so at ease serving them food whilst the Hero of this land take a walk outside? Alone, at night?

Legend grunts into his mug. The rancher left after the smithy, so that ought to solve the 'feelings' question. A bit of a stick-in-the-mud he might be, but Twilight's one of the few he would trust to help navigate difficult feelings. He's got the patience for it, unlike a lot of them who tackle everything the way they do a dungeon, with reckless abandon.

Yet, in the cozy warmth of the fire in the hearth, over the hesitant plucking of the minstrel's chords, a howl suddenly calls to the moon.

They, alone, do not tense.

The howl echoes a second time, much louder. Closer.

The innkeeper shoots them a desperate look, but Legend suddenly realizes that he is blind, and possibly deaf. He has no reason to stand up, much less draw his sword. And, would Farore look at that, his condition is contagious!

The hinges creak as they inch open.

If Legend were not so experienced, he might have been nervous. But he's better than that. He leans back in his seat, places a hand on Hyrule's shoulder, and sips his ale.

There in the doorway, cut in shadows with the moon as backdrop, riding on a large grey wolf, Four raises both arms high in the air.

“Fear my unnatural power,” he says with as ominous a voice he can produce.

Warriors snorts, cheeks reddened by alcohol, and he gives a thumbs-up to their smith, despite the owner's pale complexion.

The mugs left on the table begin to shake. Oh, this is gonna be good.

It starts with a pair of squirrels and a owl, neither obeying their instincts in favor of swooping inside the inn. Followed by a handful of moles, fireflies and stray dogs.

In a flash of white, the inn's cat bolts inside the inn, meowing, till it reaches its owner's legs and climbs onto him. It perches itself on his bald head, seconds before the first deer bounces inside the building.

Epona breaks the first table.

But the three raccoons lunging after his cat are what make the owner scream.

Legend guffaws in his ale.