#i was doing what i do best. wandering around avoiding the route for main story to progress cuz what if i miss smth?

[aria0fgold]

This game let me bring the bunny??? YES!!! The horrors got nothing on me, I have a bunny in my pocket.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

mock the meat it feeds on

For the prompt: could you do geraskier "Don't you trust me?" / "You're not the one I don't trust..." with jaskier being jealous over/worried about triss? (in the books+games she does some manipulative stuff to be with geralt.)

I’ve only ever seen the show so I wasn’t too sure about the shady stuff regarding Triss and couldn’t find a simple explanation of it when I tried to look it up so I kinda took a different route because I really like show Triss so hopefully you still like it! Also on ao3!

And I’m gonna tag @roughentumble again!

In all the years that Jaskier has known Geralt, since that very first day in Posada, he's never known him to tolerate cities well, let alone actually enjoy them, which is why his sudden affinity for Novigrad is so vexing. Well, that and the reason for his newfound affinity.

Her name is Triss Merigold. She's a sorceress, of course, because Geralt apparently has a type and much to Jaskier's disappointment it's decidedly not talkative bards, and Jaskier trusts her about as much as he trusts a rabid dog.

The first time Jaskier meets her, he and Geralt are in Novigrad to replenish Geralt's dwindling supply of herbs and elixirs after a string of back-to-back contracts along the northern Redanian coast. They're searching for an apothecary, Geralt in the same foul mood he always slips into when they're forced into larger cities for whatever reason, his enhanced senses easily overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells of the city, making him incredibly susceptible to sensory overload and the consequent migraines that followed.

Jaskier's done his best over the years to accommodate for Geralt's sensitivity, content with either avoiding large cities altogether when traveling with Geralt or taking it upon himself to venture into busy marketplaces or meet with aldermen while Geralt waited on the outskirts of the city. But buying food or delivering severed monster heads to aldermen was a far cry from collecting the necessary ingredients Geralt needed.

Geralt himself was a walking encyclopedia of flowers and herbs needed for his potions, but Jaskier only possessed a rudimentary understanding of them, garnered from explanations Geralt had supplied when Jaskier had sufficiently wheedled him enough for a herbology lesson. Making the potions used by witchers was a precise science; one wrong ingredient or combination of such could result in a potion meant to staunch bleeding instead thinning the blood and preventing clotting or an elixir meant to heal instead being little more than poison.

And Jaskier would rather Geralt not die because he confused puffball and sewant mushrooms.

With no other option and Geralt's supplies running dangerously low, too low for him to risk even thinking about taking another contract, Geralt's reluctantly accompanied Jaskier into Novigrad.

They initially avoid the main marketplace in favor of backstreets and narrow alleyways in search of a more niche apothecary, hedge witches or homeopaths selling their wares out of their small homes. But after finding three small-scale herbalists' inventory severely lacking, they're forced to head to Hierarch Square in the heart of the city where the crowds are busiest.

They're scanning the overwhelmingly busy Square with its many shops and storefronts and throngs of swarming shoppers for a larger apothecary when they stumble onto Triss.

She's standing outside of a three-story house right on the Square, dressed in resplendent orange robes the color of fresh tiger lilies and, unsurprisingly, marigolds. The color, and the bright midmorning sunshine, brings out the bronze and auburn notes in her thick brown hair and highlights the brilliant sage green of her eyes, even at a distance.

She's watering a row of plants in a red brick planter that Jaskier immediately recognizes as healing herbs, yarrow and nettle and chamomile, milk thistle and Echinacea. Affixed just above the door to the home she's standing in front of is a large sign advertising her expertise as a sorceress, specifically one specializing in healing magic.

Jaskier's torn quite evenly between relief at finding someone who should have all the herbs Geralt requires and immediate distrust. Neither of them have very good track records in regards to sorceresses. They tend to want nothing more than to bed Geralt and get him wrapped around their little finger and tend to despise Jaskier solely for the fact that he exists.

If Jaskier didn't know better he'd say they were jealous, his friendship with Geralt always outliving the witcher's whirlwind affairs with his sorceresses. But Jaskier does know better and it wouldn't do to believe such a foolish notion, to think that Geralt truly wanted him more than he did any of his past lovers.

Now, Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, weighing their options, or rather the lack thereof, when he notices Geralt noticing the sorceress, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Without any further warning, he strides through the crowd of busy shoppers with Roach in tow to greet the sorceress with one of his rare half-smiles.

She returns Geralt's smile with a radiant one of her own and him into a quick hug, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. Jaskier can only watch dumbly, feeling like a knife has just been plunged into his heart, reopening old wounds along the way.

After a moment, Jaskier hurries after Geralt, weaving in between people who don't seem to acknowledge his existence, stomping on his toes and elbowing him in the ribs as he rushes over to Geralt. Triss greets Jaskier with a wide smile, more polite than he expects her to be as she introduces herself when Geralt fails to bother with proper introductions, leaning in to give Jaskier a hug of his own.

Brushing a few of her curls behind her ear, she invites them in for tea and quite generously offers to help replenish their supplies as much as she possibly can. They sit in her drawing room that's fragrant with sage and neroli, full of dried herbs and various crystals displayed on a shelf above the large fireplace, sipping the orange blossom tea she pours them in delicate porcelain teacups while she and Geralt catch up.

Jaskier listens attentively as Triss explains how they'd first met in Temeria, about the striga and the witcher who fell victim to it before Geralt had arrived, about King Foltest's scandalous affair with his sister, about how she had soon after left Temeria in favor of setting up shop in Novigrad. She's much friendlier than Jaskier is used to sorceresses being, smiling warmly as they talk and laughing when Jaskier jokes about Geralt being much more tight-lipped when Jaskier had asked him for the story about the striga.

After they've finished chatting, Geralt lists off the various herbs and other ingredients they're in search of at Triss' request. With a radiant smile directed at Geralt, Triss rises from her seat and starts bustling around the room, gathering herbs and flowers and small glass jars to store them in, leaving Jaskier and Geralt to finish their tea.

She's across the room with her back to them, standing at a work table scattered with potted herbs, meticulously gathering leaves and petals, when Geralt suddenly stands and crosses the room to stand beside her, leaving Jaskier alone at the table with Triss' cat, a giant fluffy orange beast of a feline with a smushed face that bats at his hand whenever he tries to pet it. Jaskier watches with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Geralt leans in close to Triss to say something to her that has her blushing and giggling as she turns to playfully swat at Geralt's arm, their faces intimately close.

Jaskier forces himself to look away as they continue talking softly amongst themselves, his honeyed tea suddenly bitter on his tongue. The knife in his chest twists.

Triss sends them on their way an hour or so later after providing them with everything they need, declining any sort of payment when Geralt reaches for his coin purse. With a gentle hand on Geralt's shoulder, orange painted nails a sharp contrast to the black of his armor, inviting them to visit her again the next time they're in Novigrad. Jaskier selfishly hopes they need never again enter the city.

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Quite predictably, Jaskier’s hopes are cruelly dashed and not two months later they're returning to Novigrad to collect a bounty for a fleder that had been terrorizing an old cemetery not far from the city proper. As they approach the city gates, Jaskier offers to take the proof to the local alderman, hoping to spare Geralt the inevitable migraine, but Geralt just grunts something about having another errand to run.

They head to Hierarch Square immediately after seeing the alderman, Geralt's pockets heavy with coin as he leads them directly to Triss' home. It really is a lovely him, a pale cream color with dark wood timbering and a steeply pitched brown clay roof. It's a shame Jaskier despises the mere sight of it.

Triss greets them at the front door with a smile, the warm afternoon sunshine on her face highlighting the scattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She's enchanting in a sage green dress that matches the shade of her eyes, yellow and orange marigolds embroidered along the hem and modest neckline.

She invites them in much to Geralt's visible pleasure but Jaskier politely begs off, lying about needing to pop into Books and Scrolls across the way for a few things and ignoring the look Geralt gives him at the obvious lie. If he truly did need anything from the bookshop, he would have mentioned it to Geralt, something he and Geralt both know but it's the first excuse that springs to mind aside from being brutally honest and explaining that he has no interest in watching them flirt again.

He does actually head across the Square to wander aimlessly through Books and Scrolls in hopes of distracting himself from thoughts of what Geralt and Triss could be currently doing now that they had no audience. He chats with the proprietor for a bit, then indulges himself and purchases a few inexpensive chapbooks of poetry and a new leather-bound songbook, the pages gilded and the top right corner of every page stamped with the image of a charming little nightingale, a familiar symbol to a poet like himself. By the time he returns to where Roach is waiting outside of Triss', Geralt and Triss are still inside.

He scratches Roach behind the ear the way she likes and feeds her a carrot he's been saving in one of his bags for her, sits on the edge of one of Triss' planters and halfheartedly strums his lute, figures he might as well try to make some coin while Geralt's...preoccupied.

He's made enough coin to afford a nice room at the Kingfisher by the time Geralt emerges from Triss' home, a small self-satisfied grin on his face. It's a shame, really. Typically Jaskier would be basking in the rare sight of Geralt smiling but at this moment it just sets his heart plummeting.

Jaskier would like nothing more than to leave Novigrad as soon as possible but it's growing dark and he'd like to indulge in some creature comforts only an inn of fine repute in a large city can offer, rich wine and a large tub and feather mattresses. Geralt doesn't argue, either in too good of a mood from his dalliance or simply because he enjoys said comforts just as much as Jaskier does, leading the way to the nearby inn while Jaskier forces enough enthusiasm to prattle on about how it was one of his own ballads that led to the particular naming of the Kingfisher.

He performs the very song that evening at Olivier, the innkeeper's, request, stealing surreptitious glances at Geralt in the dark corner he's claimed as his own for the evening as he sings of an unrequited love so painful and all-consuming that when the young maiden learned that the knight she so adored had eloped with a gorgeous princess, she threw herself into the sea. It was only the compassion of a sympathetic goddess that saved her from her fate, turning her into a kingfisher so she could sing of her lost love forevermore.

Jaskier thinks of the nearby harbor, with its fishing ships and sailors, and wonders what kind of bird he'd become if he threw himself to the mercy of the sea.

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To Jaskier's disdain, the pattern continues for the next several months.

Any time that they're even remotely close to Novigrad, they make a detour to the city, booking a discounted room at the Kingfisher (the rate generously halved by Olivier who gives Jaskier his drinks for free and always insists he grace them with a performance or two of his ballad about the kingfisher) that Geralt scarcely uses, constantly at Triss' home.

Jaskier splits his time at the Kingfisher, catching up with Olivier or performing with Priscilla, or the Passiflora, baring his heart and soul to the Marquise Serenity's sympathetic working girls who always coo over him and let him wax poetic about the brave, stoic, unfairly handsome witcher who will never return his affection. In the evenings, when Geralt deigns to return to the inn, always smiling the smile of a well-fucked man, Jaskier forces conversation while Geralt plays Gwent with Olivier or other patrons of the inn.

But most of all, he aches.

It's harder, somehow, with Triss. With Yennefer, while just as powerful and ever-present, the jealousy he felt was accompanied by the fact that he simply disliked Yennefer altogether, even before she and Geralt started their weird, complicated, fucked up relationship.

It wasn't difficult to dislike her when she had threatened him, held him at knifepoint, demanded he make a damn wish at the risk of losing his manhood if he refused. She would've easily killed him in her pursuit of the djinn and never lost a wink of sleep over it, disliked him just as much as he disliked her.

But Triss, Triss is sweet and kind, unassuming and about as intimidating as a kitten regardless of the powerful magic she wields. She smiles warmly whenever she sees Jaskier, greeting him with offers of tea and sweetcakes or questions about how he is rather than with snide comments about his age or appearance or his singing.

She's altogether lovely, nurturing and generous and absolutely gorgeous. Someone Geralt deserves. And Jaskier hates it. Hates her, as petty and vindictive as it may be. Hates her kindness and her gentleness and her warm melodic laughter. Hates that the man he loves seems to love her.

He hates her. But not nearly as much as he hates himself.

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Not a full month has passed since the last time they've graced the streets of Novigrad and here they are once again back in the city after hearing word of a siren that's wandered into the busy harbor to prey on merchants from Skellige and local fishermen alike.

Accustomed to sirens hunting in packs, the way fish swim in schools and seabirds scavenge in flocks, Geralt had finished the contract in record time, lugging the siren's head and tail from the harbor to the alderman's home to collect his payment. By now Jaskier knows that it's useless to waste time hoping that they can simply leave Novigrad now that's Geralt job is done.

So when Geralt abruptly announces he has business elsewhere in the city, Jaskier just sighs and informs him that he'll be at the Passiflora in the event that Geralt needs to find him. Rather unlikely given that Geralt will be occupied with Triss for the next few hours. Fucking witcher stamina.

He ignores the odd, irritated look Geralt gives him as they part ways. Like Geralt has any right to be bothered by him seeking out his own pleasure with the ladies at the Passiflora when he's off getting tangled up in expensive sheets with a bloody sorceress.

It's not as if Jaskier's actually going to the Passiflora to indulge in the services offered there. Geralt knows that he loathes the concept of having to pay for a fuck, not when he can seduce nearly anyone he chooses with his charm and wit alone, as evidenced by the scores of married men and women whose beds he's graced.

No, Jaskier's heading to the famed brothel for much more selfish reasons than wetting his wick. To strum melancholy chords on his lute and cry and complain about his one-sided love.

Which is exactly what he does. This early in the day the Passiflora isn't very busy, the ladies milling around the extravagant front parlor with its thick red brocade curtains and exposed wood beams, relaxing on red velvet chaise lounges and large tufted couches big enough to host an orgy on.

They greet him with kind smiles and calls of his name, like they're welcoming an old friend, and he manages a smile that isn't entirely forced. He sits on one of the chaise lounges and begins playing, another melancholy ballad about lost love and heartbreak, the ladies gathering round to listen to him sing, charitably ignoring the way his voice shakes.

He leaves the Passiflora a few hours later feeling a bit lighter for having aired his grievances to his enraptured audience, heading straight to Triss' house to collect his witcher for supper. Roach isn't waiting outside like she typically is but Jaskier just assumes Geralt left her in the warmth and comfort of the Kingfisher's meticulously maintained stables under the care of Olivier's best stablehand.

Jaskier isn't sure what exactly possesses him to actually head inside to collect Geralt, should know from experience to be wary about poking his head in on Geralt and his sorceresses. And yet he strolls right into Triss' home like a lamb to the slaughter.

The drawing room, filled with multiple bouquets of marigolds and orange dahlias, is empty aside from Triss' cat. The great orange beast is sprawled out on its side on the green velvet sofa, watching Jaskier with its pale yellow eyes rather judgmentally. Quite childishly, Jaskier sticks his tongue out at it.

He continues through the house to the kitchen, Geralt's name on his lips, and immediately regrets it.

Triss is leaning against the edge of her wooden kitchen table, nearly sitting on it to accommodate the large witcher standing between her parted legs, knees bracketing his hips. The dual swords, silver for monsters steel for humans, strapped to Geralt's back are all that he can see of him. That and one of his big callused hand as they slip under the rucked up hem of Triss' deep green robes to gently clutch at her bared thigh.

It's like Rinde all over again, helplessly watching Geralt in another's embrace as his heart shatters in his chest with enough force it could shake the earth itself. His entire chest aching like he's just been sucker punched, Jaskier averts his eyes and starts spouting half-formed apologies, stepping backward and accidentally knocking a mortar and pestle off a nearby counter with a loud clatter in his haste to retreat.

It's as he's still profusely apologizing that he belatedly realizes that Geralt doesn't have any scars on his left wrist. Unlike the wrist connected to the hand on Triss' exposed thigh. And that while he saw the broad shoulders and dual swords of a witcher, he didn't spot a single white hair, instead what appeared to be a thatch of dark hair.

He looks up sharply, trailing off, to see Triss hastily pulling down her skirts, cheeks darkened with a blush. And standing beside her is...

"Eskel?!" Jaskier gasps, looking the witcher up and down in shock. He's unmistakable with his dark wispy hair and spiked jacket and handsome smile, not to mention the rather distinctive scars running down the right side of his face.

They've only met on a few occasions, on contracts serious enough to attract more than one witcher. Such an occurrence would typically lead to the witchers trying to beat each other to finish the contract in order to claim the reward for themselves but in the case of two Wolf School witchers such as Geralt and Eskel, it simply led to the contracts being finished quicker than expected, the reward evenly split, and Eskel regaling Jaskier with embarrassing childhood stories about Geralt.

Now, Eskel greets him with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck as though embarrassed about being caught. "Jaskier! You manage to drag Geralt to Novigrad?"

The mere mention of Geralt's name sets Jaskier alight, in an instant absolutely fuming as he cries, "What in the hell is going on here?! I would expect this from the likes of you — he points an accusatory finger at Triss, then turns to Eskel — "but you?! My gods, what's Geralt going to think?! His own brother...! Melitele's tits, how in the bloody hell is going to handle this-this despicable behavior?! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

To his chagrin, Eskel merely laughs, turning to Triss who sends him a confused look. She turns back to Jaskier, still smoothing out her skirts, and opens her mouth, undoubtedly in an attempt to defend her cruel deception.

"I don't want to hear it!" Jaskier snaps, incensed. He throws up his hands in frustration and turns on his heel to stomp back out of the kitchen, through the drawing room, and out of Triss' home, slamming the door behind him, fully prepared to storm across the Square and retreat to his and Geralt's room at the Kingfisher.

He has no plan, no inkling of what exactly his next step is beside waiting for Geralt to return to their room and somehow explaining that once again his sorceress lover has hurt him with her selfishness. The thought of breaking such dreadful news to Geralt is daunting; Jaskier doesn't ever want to be the cause of such pain for his friend.

He may act the careless rakehell when it suits him, ricocheting from one whirlwind affair to another, but even he isn't immune to the sting that comes with being left for another. He's grown attached to lovers time and time again only to be cast aside in favor of someone else, someone younger, prettier, less annoying, the pain always just as sharp as the very first time.

He thinks of the careless way the Countess de Stael had abandoned him for her new lover, of how she had callously ousted him from her home and her life, of how he'd drowned his sorrow in women and wine and a wasted wish on a djinn that wasn't even under his command. Of the horrible pain he feels every time Geralt goes chasing after Yennefer, leaving him behind with his bruised and battered heart still on his sleeve.

He only gets a quarter of the way across the Square, still trying to sort out how exactly he's going to explain the horrid situation, before he quite literally bumps into Geralt, having paid no mind to the bustling crowd around him in his anger.

Geralt's clearly on his way to Triss' home; it's the only reason he ever steps foot in the busy Square, otherwise avoiding it like a plague even he wouldn't be immune to. Jaskier plants one hand on Geralt's chest and points back at Triss' house with the other as he resolutely declares, "You do not want to go in there!"

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts, rolling his eyes and pressing forward, making Jaskier slide backward across the stone-paved street, propelled by the unstoppable force that is Geralt of Rivia. Roach offers no assistance. "I need to see Triss about getting more wolfsbane, I'm out."

"Not right now, you don't!" Jaskier insists, holding up a finger in Geralt's face. Geralt ignores him, continuing to walk forward as Jaskier's boots make a horrendous sound as the soles scrape over the cobblestone. Jaskier lets out an affronted squeak. "Geralt! For once in your miserable life will you listen to me, you stubborn oaf! Especially when I'm trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Geralt echoes, abruptly freezing in his tracks. His hand immediately goes for his swords. "What's in there?"

"Oh, put your swords away, it's not a monster," Jaskier says, though he certainly considers anyone who would hurt Geralt in such a way to be quite monstrous indeed. Regardless, the swords aren't entirely necessary. Jaskier sighs. "I just... I don't want you going in there, alright?"

Geralt narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, little more than a slight squint as he looks at Jaskier, dropping his hand back to his side. "Don't you trust me?"

"Oh please, Geralt," Jaskier scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's not you I don't trust..."

"Jaskier," Geralt says again, patience wearing thin.

Jaskier sighs again, feeling absolutely awful about having to relay the terrible truth to Geralt. At the very least, he can spare Geralt the pain of witnessing it himself, from having the sight of his lover and his brother tangled together in an intimate embrace ingrained in his mind's eye forevermore.

"Geralt, I'm so sorry," Jaskier begins, unable to stop the nervous fidgeting of his fingers, alternating between wringing his hands together and picking at his cuticles. "I... I was looking for you at Triss' and I found her. With Eskel."

He hopes it's self-explanatory enough to be a sufficient explanation, that he won't have to delve into the lurid details, but Geralt simply stares at him expectantly. "And-And, oh Geralt, I'm so sorry. They were in a rather...compromising position."

"And?" Geralt demands when it becomes apparent Jaskier has nothing else to say, cocking a brow. He seems entirely unfazed by what Jaskier's just revealed to him, as though he had simply reported the weather and not an instance of infidelity.

"And? And?!" Jaskier repeats, aghast. "And, I'm sorry that your lover has been unfaithful! With one your own brothers of all people!"

His voice raises without his volition, the slightest edge of hysteria sharpening it. Fortunately, the dull roar of the marketplace around them drowns it out a bit and keeps him from making a spectacle of himself.

Still, Geralt does not react beyond the confused look plastered on his face. Jaskier doesn't exactly expect a jealous outburst or for Geralt to break down in tears but he does expect a reaction of some sort! Anger or resignation or upset. Anything! Something! Not confusion, not this otherwise blank expression.

Jaskier's about to ask if Geralt heard him when the other man finally speaks.

"Jaskier," he begins almost cautiously, like he has something of grave importance to inform Jaskier of and fears he might startle the bard. "Triss is not my lover."

Ooh, lovely, now Geralt's lying to him. It reignites Jaskier's anger with a vengeance.

"Oh, please, Geralt! Despite what you may think I am not an idiot! You hate cities, can barely tolerate them for more than a moment, and yet over the past year, you've made us stop in Novigrad whenever we're even remotely nearby! You spend hours with her doing Melitele knows what while I'm relegated to playing at the inn to earn coin for a room you scarcely even use!"

"You never gave the impression you wanted to sit with us," Geralt answers, as though that's what Jaskier is upset about, feeling unwelcome during their little trysts. "You seemed content keeping Roach company, but you were always welcome, Triss said so herself."

Jaskier lets out an outraged squawk, gesturing aimlessly in his frustration. "Welcome to what?! Watching the man I've been in love with for half my life and his new lover?! Well, no thank you! I may be a glutton for punishment but I am not a bloody masochist and I have no interest whatsoever in subjecting myself to such a thing!"

He barely has a moment to register what he's just said, what precious secret he's just so carelessly divulged, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth the bell tower across the Square erupts into sound, filling the afternoon with the clamor of bells. It's too much for Geralt, much too loud much too fast, the sound most assuredly deafening with his heightened sense of hearing. He immediately winces, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to his temple.

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier says, tone softening as he steps closer to Geralt to lay a hand on his shoulder. Geralt just hums, sounding pained. It immediately spurs Jaskier into action.

Keeping his hand on Geralt's shoulder, Jaskier sets his other hand around Geralt's right wrist, guiding him across the Square and letting him lean some of his rather considerable weight on him. Geralt maintains his light grip on Roach's reins like an anchor, earning a soft, soothing nicker from the mare as she gently bumps her snout against the side of his arm.

"Come now, we'll get you to the inn and get you some peace and quiet away from all this hubbub," Jaskier needlessly explains as he ushers Geralt down a less busy side street towards the Kingfisher. He bites his lip to keep from rambling the way he tends to when he's anxious or nervous, not wanting to exacerbate Geralt's migraine.

Fortunately, Geralt allows himself to be led to the Kingfisher and up the two flights of stairs to their room that's significantly quieter than the busy streets outside without any complaints, only speaking up to insist Jaskier make sure Roach is properly stabled. Jaskier leaves Geralt's side just long enough to ensure that Roach is content in her cozy stable with fresh hay and a few apples the size of his fist.

Returning to Geralt's side, Jaskier sits him down on the edge of the bed, helping him strip out of the heaviest pieces of his armor until Geralt waves him off to finish removing it himself, kicking off his boots in the meantime. As Geralt finishes removing his armor until he's in just his dark shirt and leathers, Jaskier bustles around the room making him some tea.

He boils the water over the fireplace, briefly lamenting the fact that he can't instantaneously boil it with a quick Igni, and prepares the dried chamomile flowers he keeps for just such an occasion. He digs a chunk of ginger root out of the bottom of his bag, grating a bit of it into the dried chamomile; just a touch so as not to overwhelm Geralt's sensitive palate.

He wraps the chamomile and hint of ginger in some cheesecloth as a makeshift teabag, setting it in a teacup Olivier has brought up at his request. The teacup is hand-painted, the delicate ivory-colored porcelain adorned with a ring of forget-me-nots and kingfishers in mid-flight. The irony of both symbols makes Jaskier's chest ache and a hollow laugh slip past his lips.

Once the water's done boiling, Jaskier pours some into the teacup, letting the tea steep for a few minutes before bringing it to Geralt who's still rubbing at his forehead. He instructs Geralt to drink it all then steps out to fetch a fresh pot of water from the kitchens, ferrying it back up to their room as quickly as he can. He dips an old rag, also taken from the kitchens, into the pot of cold water, wringing it out until it's damp rather than sopping wet before folding it and gently draping it across Geralt's forehead, setting his empty teacup aside.

He's holding the rag against Geralt's forehead, hoping it'll help alleviate his migraine to some degree, when Geralt's fingers curl around his wrist. His other hand comes to rest on the small of Jaskier's back beneath the hem of his doublet, reeling him in closer until their chests are nearly molded together, his shins hitting the side of the low mattress and his free hand settling on Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt's expression is significantly less pinched than it was in the Square as he looks up at Jaskier, pinning him in place with his gaze alone.

"Jaskier..." he rumbles, voice like an incoming thunderstorm. "What you said earlier..."

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, the memory of what he'd said outside Triss' washing over him like the rainstorm accompanying Geralt's thunder. Once again his careless tongue has gotten him into trouble, only this time instead of enraging some twopenny duke or sweet maiden's father, he's potentially ruined the most important relationship in his life.

He's said too much, like he always does. Always blathering on like the lovesick fool he is, using all sorts of pretty words and melodies to hide the ugly things he feels, like his jealousy and distrust, his petty resentment towards those whose only sin was that they'd had Geralt in the way that he's always wanted but can never have.

And now it's going to cost him Geralt, the way he's always known it would eventually. A foregone conclusion he'd tried to delay for as long as possible.

Now that Geralt knows that Jaskier's in love with him, now that Jaskier's so carelessly confessed his most well-guarded secret, he's sure to leave Jaskier in the dust the way he's always threatened. And Jaskier will be without the man he's devoted so much of his life to, with only memories and unsung love songs to keep him warm at night.

He waits patiently for Geralt to continue, pressing his lips together as he tries valiantly to steel himself for the inevitable. But bracing oneself for heartbreak is like bracing for a hurricane; being prepared did not alleviate the devastation that was wrought, it only made it slightly more manageable.

"Triss and I aren't lovers," Geralt says instead, and Jaskier just barely refrains from laughing in his face. "We're friends, acquaintances, really. Nothing more."

There's something about the tone of Geralt's voice, some undercurrent of steel and soft thunder, that makes it impossible for Jaskier to doubt the veracity of his statement, not when for all of Geralt's tendency to deflect Jaskier's prying questions he rarely ever lies to him.

Jaskier opens his eyes, looking down at Geralt with a confused frown. "But—"

"Last winter Eskel told me he'd met her on a contract in Novigrad, that they're...involved," Geralt elaborates. A small smile curls the corner of his lips up, it's the same small smile he wears when he teases Lambert or decides to make a joke at Jaskier's expense. "I've been visiting her to tell her about him. Old stories of dumb shit he's done, mischief he caused that led to a hiding."

Jaskier gapes at him, trying to wrap his mind around what Geralt's just told him. Once he does, he can't contain his incredulity. "You mean to tell me that for the past year you've been venturing into a city you despise solely to tell your brother's lover funny stories about him just to embarrass him?! Oh, gods, what am I even saying? That's exactly something you'd do you-you... You bloody muttonhead!"

Geralt's smile persists. "Muttonhead? You're the one who thought I was fucking Triss."

"Of course, I did!" Because you were always off slipping away to go see her at all hours, always whispering and cooing like a pair of lovesick mourning doves! What was I supposed to think? How was I to know you were just trying to embarrass your poor brother!" Jaskier defends, throwing up his free hand, indignation swelling within him before ebbing away to be replaced by a tide of embarrassment. He groans, hanging his head and closing his eyes. "I'm such an idiot, I cannot believe I've made such a fool of myself! Over a bloody misunderstanding of all things! Oh, sweet Melitele, I'm a fucking fool."

He draws in a sharp, ragged breath, raises his chin and tries to brace himself, staring over Geralt's shoulder. "And now... Now I'm sure you'll be taking your leave. Suppose Olivier will let me stay for a bit until I regain my bearings, as long as I perform my song about the kingfisher for him, he really does love that ballad."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, cutting off Jaskier's rambling before he can manage to embarrass himself any further. How very charitable of him. "Why would I leave?"

"Why would you...? Geralt! I just professed my love for you not half an hour's time ago! What else should I expect you to do? Pick me up in your arms and declare your endless devotion to me?!" Jaskier's impassioned diatribe trails off with a deep sigh. Still pressing the damp rag to Geralt's forehead, ever gentle to compensate for every hand that's touched him with nothing but cruelty, he breathes deeply and meets Geralt's eyes. "I told you, Geralt, I'm not a masochist. I would not torture myself with such grand delusions."

"I know well that you do not reciprocate my feelings. I understand, of course, and I've made my peace with it," Jaskier goes on, forcing himself to go on even when he feels his throat tighten. "I didn't intend on admitting it in such a way — in any way, really — and I apologize. I would be happy to continue traveling with you, truly nothing would make me happier, but I understand if you wish to part ways. I would never...hold it against you or any such thing, I swear."

"Did you mean it?" Geralt asks, catching Jaskier off guard. He's not sure what exactly Geralt's referring to.

He frowns at Geralt, sure his confusion is scrawled across his face. "Did I mean what?"

"What you said," Geralt says rather helpfully. Jaskier raises his brows expectantly. He's said a great deal this afternoon.

"When you said you love me," Geralt clarifies, meeting Jaskier's eyes with no trace of hesitation.

Jaskier manages another weak smile, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Of course. With every breath in my body. Every line in every song."

"Jaskier..." Geralt breathes, sounding wounded. His eyes slide shut and he tips his head to the side until his nose and cheek graze the heel of Jaskier's palm. He presses his lips to the spot where Jaskier's wrist and hand, softly kissing it.

Jaskier's breath catches in his throat at the fleeting touch of Geralt's lips, his stubble rasping against the smooth skin of his inner wrist. Hearing the hitch in Jaskier's breath, Geralt opens his eyes, gazing up at Jaskier with those buttercup gold eyes of his that always make Jaskier melt, knees weak from naught but a look.

With the hand he has on the small of Jaskier's back, warm through the fabric of his chemise, Geralt pulls him even closer. So close that Jaskier has to straddle Geralt's knee to avoid falling on his ass.

The movement startles another gasp out of Jaskier. He drops the wet rag with a muted thump against the hardwood floor as Geralt places another barely-there kiss to his wrist, just shy of where his own fingers are still curled around Jaskier's forearm.

Geralt raises his head and Jaskier can't resist the urge to cup Geralt's cheek in his hand, only having to move it an inch or so to rest his palm against Geralt's jaw, his thumb automatically brushing over the sharp cut of his cheekbone. Geralt leans into the touch the same way that Roach leans into scratches behind her ear, full-bodied and surprisingly trusting.

Chests brushing and Jaskier's knees bracketing one of Geralt's, they're dangerously close together. He knows Geralt would never hurt him, knows he could likewise never be able to be truly afraid of him. But Jaskier's heart pounds against his ribcage like waves crashing against the rocky shore, the ebb and flow thundering in his ears like warning bells.

Geralt's face is close to his, only a few scant inches apart, a temptation like he's never known. Geralt's always been a temptation, a constant one dangled in front of Jaskier but just out of his reach, closer than a brother. But he's never been *this* close.

Jaskier's been good for the past twenty odd years. Has resisted all of his selfish urges and one-sided wanting. Hasn't let his hands linger longer than could be deemed friendly, hasn't succumbed to his ever-present desire to just throw caution and consequences to the wind and kiss Geralt with all the passion and longing he's managed to contain thus far.

He's been tortured with temptation over the years, nearly driven mad by it all. By the temptation of helping Geralt out of his armor and sullied clothes, face to face with miles of pale skin and mouthwatering muscle greater men than he would find hard to resist drooling over, ignoring his baser desires in order to help bathe him. By the temptation of waking in a shared bed with Geralt only an arm's length away, if even that far, his handsome features softened by sleep and the early morning sunshine bathing him in rays of pale gold.

But he could never make that leap of faith, could never close the distance between them even for the most chaste of kisses. He was too worried about losing what he already had and cherished so dearly in his pursuit of more, afraid he would lose his world while shooting for the moon.

He wasn't lying when he said he would be happy to continue traveling with Geralt, content to have Geralt in his life as a friend rather than the alternative of not having him in his life at all.

But Geralt's eyes flicker down to his lips for a long moment, a flash of brilliant gold promising treasure far beyond any precious metals or priceless gems and Jaskier can no longer resist the temptation, yielding to it instead.

He leans down toward Geralt at the same moment Geralt raises his head, pulled together like two magnets, binary stars drawn towards one another by mutual attraction. He's not sure who exactly kisses who first or if they simply crash together at precisely the same time, Jaskier's hand slipping into Geralt's hair when Geralt releases his wrist in favor of cupping the side of Jaskier's face in his big hand.

Kissing Geralt is like feeling the first rays of morning sunshine wash over him, like walking in the first rainfall after a long drought. It's like the rush of performing for a large audience at a prestigious event and like the intimate camaraderie formed when performing for just a small tavern full of attentive listeners.

It's honey and salted sea air, steel and silver and snow, blood and ambrosia. Like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

Jaskier never wants to stop. Knows he could easily get addicted to it if Geralt let him, could grow drunk off the bouquet of his lips like the finest wine. And, wonder of wonders, it seems as though Geralt just might.

Because Geralt's kissing him with the same remarkably focused, single-minded intensity he uses when completing an especially difficult contract, when he's sharpening his swords by the firelight, when he's taking care of Roach. Being the object of such intensity is heady, rather flattering.

Geralt's right hand is warm on Jaskier's back, his little finger dipping under the hem of his chemise, using the hand cupping Jaskier's face to guide his head just the slightest bit to the side as he deepens the kiss. His lips are slightly chapped but addictive nonetheless as he curls his tongue against Jaskier's in a way that nearly makes him see stars. Jaskier's knees are perilously weak, knees gone to jelly like the strawberry preserves Geralt fancies so much at the first touch of his lips.

The position is a bit awkward. With how low the bed is, Jaskier's forced to crane his neck at an awkward angle, head tipped to the side to avoid simply mashing his face against Geralt's like a schoolboy having his first snog. He can feel a crick in his neck that's going to plague him for days if he doesn't move but the thought of tearing his lips away from Geralt's is downright torturous and he'd rather stand there forever in slight discomfort if it means he can continue to kiss his witcher for just a moment longer.

But Geralt, ever vigilant, seems to notice the uncomfortable way Jaskier's head is angled, moving farther back on the mattress and pulling Jaskier with him until the bard's crawling on his knees on the mattress, now straddling Geralt's thigh rather than his knee. They're of a height now, easing the way as Jaskier pours all of himself into the kiss with renewed passion.

But even with the lungs of a singer, Jaskier has to break the kiss to catch his breath, chest heaving as he presses his forehead against Geralt's. Geralt shifts his hand from Jaskier's face to his hip as he brushes the tip of his nose across Jaskier's cheek, practically nuzzling him, and mutters, "Never wanted her, Jaskier. Just you. Only you."

Jaskier can't help the groan that's wrenched out of him at the hushed confession, lowering his head for another deep kiss, fisting his left hand in the fabric of Geralt's shirt. His heart feels fit to burst at the confirmation that his feelings aren't one-sided, that his love for Geralt is reciprocated to some degree, enough for him to be straddling the man's lap and kissing the daylights out of him.

A few moments later, he again reluctantly drags his lips away from Geralt's for the sake of breathing, smiling when Geralt grunts almost petulantly as Jaskier pauses their kiss. Catching his breath, he runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, the glide of the silk-soft strands through his fingers both soothing and exhilarating.

Geralt ducks his head to bury his face in the side of Jaskier's neck, peppering kisses down the side of his neck from just below his ear to the collar of his doublet. Jaskier lets out a soft breath, hand tightening in Geralt's hair.

"I... I should apologize to Triss," Jaskier manages to say in spite of the cloud of lust filling his entire body, mind clearing for a moment even as Geralt very lightly grazes his teeth up the long line of his neck. "I said some rather awful things to her..."

"Hmm... Later..." Geralt rumbles against his throat, lips rasping over the sensitive skin and making Jaskier squirm atop him. Jaskier shudders as Geralt starts laying open-mouthed kisses on his throat, wants him to leave a mark, a bruise in the shape of his mouth as proof that this isn't just another midday fantasy or late-night dream, that it's real. He doubts Geralt would be adverse.

"E-Eskel, too," Jaskier says shakily, eyes fluttering shut as Geralt continues showering his neck with attention, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste his skin. He gasps out a sharp moan when Geralt nips at a rather sensitive spot just behind Jaskier's earlobe, apparently not a fan of Jaskier saying other people's names while wrapped in his arms. Jaskier can't exactly fault him for that, dipping his head to press his lips against Geralt's.

The hand on Jaskier's back slips more fully beneath the hem of his chemise, fingers fanned out across the small of his back, Geralt's other hand on his hip squeezing gently. Jaskier shivers again, Geralt's bare skin on his own sending a frisson of pleasure down his spine, heat pooling low in his gut.

He blindly feels for the front laces of Geralt's shirt, humming happily when he finds them. He abandons his grip on Geralt's hair to settle both hands on Geralt's broad chest, sturdy and warm beneath his palms, fingers toying with the laces.

He unlaces them as much as possible, revealing a wide swath of his chest, scattered with old scars and dusted with hair. Jaskier can't resist running his hands over the bared skin, tracing his fingers over familiar scars he knew the stories of by heart: claw marks from a griffin, an old stab wound from a lucky bandit, a slash from the tail spikes of a forktail, all of them part of the man he loves so much, features rather than flaws.

He wants to touch more of Geralt's chest, wants to strip him of his shirt and run his fingers over every scar he can find, press kisses to each one. But he also wants to bury his hands in Geralt's hair again, to brush his fingertips through the silky strands that smell faintly of jasmine bath oil. He wants to cup Geralt's face in his hands, brush kisses across his cheeks and forehead and eyelids and chin. He'd also very much like to get his hands on Geralt's ass.

Years of wanting have left him with so many desires to touch, all of them getting muddled in his head in his haste to accept whatever Geralt's willing to offer even if it's just a few more kisses. But his mind is still clear enough for something to occur to him.

"Oh!" He gasps, pulling back for a moment, panting a bit. He winces theatrically, genuinely contrite. "You may not ever be able to go to the Passiflora again. I may have told all the girls there that you're a heartless cad who's quite thoroughly shattered my heart with your gallivanting ways."

Geralt quirks a pale brow, clearly annoyed that Jaskier's once again put their kissing on hold in favor of prattling on. But there's a smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks up at Jaskier. "Is that what you were doing there?"

Jaskier nods a touch sheepishly, chewing his lip. He runs his thumb over Geralt's bottom lip and the cleft in his chin, feeling a bit foolish as he admits, "You know I don't like paying for sex. I needed a shoulder to cry on. The girls were always rather sympathetic."

"Hmm," Geralt replies, reaching up to card his fingers through Jaskier's hair, brushing his thumb over his cheek. His eyes flicker down to look at Jaskier's mouth, lips pink and kiss swollen. "Somehow, I think I'll manage without their services. Now shut up, Jaskier."

And Jaskier, well, he's more than happy to comply. For now. The sea won’t be claiming him tonight. He’s found his halcyon days.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Come live in ___ ____ next year!

Katya here. I thought I’d post this here, in case anyone wants to apply to live in ___ ____ next year.

I’m a Russian and Politics major—I got involved with the rusalka-selkie incident last year and it opened my eyes to the other side of the University. The rest of my hall didn’t and they remain blissfully unaware. As a cohort we decided to live in ___ ____ together, practice our language abilities and all that.

___ ____ is shaped like an ‘E’. The middle prong is the dining hall, which is open only at lunch. English is forbidden within. It’s full of round tables, with a handful of longer rectangular ones for Spanish (there’s more of them than the rest of us). The tables are marked out with little flags which doesn’t stop the French from trying to invade Russia (they’re famously bad at noticing the difference between broad vertical stripes and thinner horizontal ones). I’m the only one of my friends who seems to notice the smaller table in the back by the broken piano. The flags are of each of the courts and there’s always a representative of each. I’ve stayed away but I think it gets used as neutral ground for negotiations. The students sitting there always have plastic utensils or finger-food instead of the usual metal. Then again there’s three or four students (one of the Wrens, Polyglot, Bibli and sometimes Aspen) who are there every day and whenever I walk by to get to the plate return it sounds like a fourth-grade orchestral class—it was very squeaky early on and now it’s much more melodic in a way that makes me want to go to sleep and that gets annoying given I’ve got class right after lunch.

Also… the dining hall is only supposed to be open at lunch but every other Tuesday unless it’s a full moon there’s some kind of gathering you can see if you look through the glass side walls side on around two am. I don’t know what group on campus wears tree bark and leaves but some of them have antlers and I’m not entirely sure that they’re artificial. The day after the salad always tastes earthier. I can’t quite tell if it’s truly safe to eat.

As for the rest of the building: it’s confusing. It’s confusing even if you can’t see the otherness. The long bit and the turns are two stories, but the ends of the first and last prongs are three stories and there’s a basement with the laundry rooms that connects the whole building. The bits that are three stories are set off from the two-story bits, so that the second floor of the three floor bit is one flight down from the second floor of the two story bit and one flight up from the first floor of it. [There’s another floor on top of the last prongs’ three-story bit no one seems to notice. Whenever I pause and look up the hallway light always flickers and I hear a whisper in my head that shouldn’t be there. I’ve got no intention of going up. I suspect the iron looking stair rail and gate blocking it off were put there for a reason.

Rooms are organized by language—there’s only a certain number of rooms allotted for each so you’re going to have to fill out the applications. They’re perfectly normal but if you stick a faint drawing the alchemical symbol for iron in the lower right corner you might increase your chances. They like to know that there’s at least one person per language who can keep the others out of trouble, just in case. The main benefit is that everyone has their own room and two people share closet space and a bathroom. You can lock the door between the two rooms even! Though you’re best off supplementing the locks if you don’t trust your suitemate—they’re quite easy to undo.

The larger languages have their own common rooms (some with attached kitchens) and are fiercely protective of them. You do not want to invade the Russian common room. The air conditioner tends to start… malfunctioning, one could say. There was one group of French boys who tried to stick it out (why they couldn’t just use their own damn common room…) and the pipes in the kitchen nearly froze and burst. We had to call maintenance and send them off to student health to deal with their frostbitten toes. Better than the Spanish room… those poor German students had to deal with mosquitos for weeks.

It’s a fun place to live! I don’t mean to scare you. As long as you learn the routes and avoid the furnace room you’ll be fine! The routes don’t move around at all, unlike some dorms I could name, they’re just a little less than straightforward to begin with.  And the furnace room is all the way in the basement, so just don’t wander too far from the laundry rooms. The smell from the last chap who got lost stunk up the whole lower level for weeks.

Anyway, I won’t be around or I’d offer some freely given help in learning the building. I’m off to Russia next year on study abroad. Fingers crossed I don’t run afoul of Baba Yaga. Ralitsa promised to introduce me to a domovoi she knows which will hopefully keep me out of too much trouble. Do let me know if you want application help though!

P.S. ___ ____ appears to just be an effect of each language using a different term for the dorm. I don’t think it’s a otherness problem… but someone might want to check into that.

x

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

You could do it with: IDW: Megatron, Ultra Magnus, Max, Rung and Bayverse Optimus?Thanks! You have a good day! :D (2/2)

HI I’M BACK FROM THE DEAD. MY GHOST LITERALLY WROTE THIS. I know it’s extremely late but my writers block has been hitting me during the pandemic while I’m stuck at home so hopefully I did this ok.

@bellisimapormesana

Character wasn’t stated so I’m defaulting to a cybertronian! Reader.

IDW Megatron

He feels you.

Seriously, this poor mech is as pessimistic as you’ll ever get.

Don’t make me bring in the depresso espresso memes.

It took you a while to warm up to those who were pesistant in becoming your friend (I’m looking at you rodimus), so getting anywhere with him is going to take forever.

If your not at Swerve’s cracking jokes and getting into crazy shinanegans while Ultra Magnus just sits there with his helm in his servos, you’re either alone in your berth room or wandering the many halls of the Lost Light.

Normally Megs is too deep in thought to pay attention to notice most walking by, but his optics will set on you when he almost walks into your frame sat on the floor. But you’re too busy observing the stars outside one the windows to acknowledge him.

You would expect him to take a least a few times of running into you to actually realise that your processor was currently far away from being a happy place, but like I said, this guy’s been through shit.

One single look at you. And he knows.

The way your optics are dimmed already give off the tell tale sign that your mind is wandering places. Like, there’s a whole universe right in front of you, galaxies and technicolour planets passing by, you should be dreaming of the adventures you will have, yet you sit here, frame slouched, with a solemn empty look across your face.

Everything seems to stop still for Megatron as he stands there. Memories and nightmares flashing across his processor, bringing back glimpses of emotions that he wished to never feel again.

Everything about you screams loneliness, and he feels his spark shatter at the sight of you.

There is no way on Cybertron that he will let you experience the depression he did.

He won’t force any means of physical comfort upon you, since you could just push him away so easily if you wanted to.

All you hear are a shuffle of pedesteps and a gentle thump as he sits himself beside you, glancing at you once without uttering a word.

Through that single glance, he showed you that he understood, and reassured you that you’re not anywhere near alone in this universe. And he had your back.

Ultra Magnus

When you first boarded the Lost Light, you had blended in amongst the crowd and didn’t really speak up much.

Therefore it took Magnus quite a while to find out who you were.

The poor mech didn’t really have much time to make many friends, since he was too busy either speaking about statistics, or chasing Rodimus throughout the ship to try and prevent any disasters from taking place.

The first time he really noticed you is when you actually started to hang out with Roddy and the rest of the main crew.

He would see you dissappear around corners as you tried to avoid ending up in trouble with your fellow pranksters, or sitting at the bar as Swerve proceeded to die of hysterics at the joke you cracked.

He also saw you exit Rung’s a couple of times as he went in.

The first time he exchanged a conversation with you was at the bar with everyone else.

You were sat between Rung and him as you fiddled with your servos. He noticed that you were quieter than usual as you stared at the half empty energon in front of you.

He hadn’t had the slightest clue of what to say to you as you sat there. He was just downright confused as to why you weren’t being as loud as the others.

Suddenly a thought came to his mind as he recalled something.

While you were well known for being slightly disobedient when you joined Rodimus on his adventures, he was mildly surprised at how well your reports were laid out. You may be a funny prankster but your reports came on the dot, full of the right amount of detail that Magnus would be satisfied with.

So while it may had not been a great way to greet someone, he brought you out of your silent state by praising you on how well your reports were.

You looked up at him, slightly taken aback at the sudden gesture, but you returned it with a small smile and a quiet “thank you”.

He didn’t know straight away of you pessimistic states and episodes, but it didn’t take him a while to realise it either.

He would notice there would be times you would seclude yourself to a quiet space, and he would notice your seat to be empty at meetings every one in a while.

He’s a busy mech, so he can’t always pay attention to you, but in his free time, or when he is walking the halls, he would see if you were on your own or not.

He’d find you at a window or an empty room, and gently ask if you would like to accompany him in going over statistics or organising some files.

“Isn’t Roddy meant to assist you in that?” “Yes but he never does it properly and disappears within five minutes.”

Some things he offers to do with you may be boring, but it’s enough to keep you distracted and on the plus side you get to spend time with your favourite Magnus.

Fortress Maximus

He’s the type of mech to observe people, especially you, from a distance.

While others seem boring or just make him nervous, you’re the one who seems to catch his optic the most.

Because you confuse him.

One minute you’re laughing tears of lubricant out of you optics with Drift as Ratchet storms in, covered helm to pede in pink glitter glue, then the next you’re sat in the dark confines of your berthroom, the only light provided is a dull blue hue from the data pad you’re reading off, eyes absentmindedly scanning across, but never actually taking the words in.

It takes him a small amount of time to properly realise how deep of a state of pessimism you were in when you were experiencing these episodes from time to time, and somewhat understood how you felt, since this poor mech is one sensitive bby once you delve down deep enough.

The next few days are spent with Max confining himself to his own berthroom, making some begin to wonder where he had disappeared off to. Some thought he was just distancing himself (like me because of shitty corONA). But instead his was carefully thinking out some form of plan to try and eventually manage to keep you as your happy self 24/7.

He - somehow - convinced Red Alert to allow him access to a weeks worth of some security clips and gathered a basic routine of when the pessimistic mood would begin to set in by the way your body language started to shift slightly and slowly but surely, you drifted away from the crowd and eventually found yourself in the confines of your berth.

He’s not a stalker I swear.

He sensed your shy nature, and being a somewhat shy bean himself it took him a few minutes of mental preparation, but he managed to stop being a wallflower at Swerve’s when he spotted you come in.

You avoided the eyes of most as you were just there to grab some energon and whisk away back to the earth story you were reading in your berthroom. You eased your way through the small crowd, cringing at some of the loud laughs that reached your audios.

Reaching a clearing in front of the bar, you were about to open your intake to ask for a drink, when you felt a large presence loom behind you.

Turning around cautiously, you were met with a white and blue chest plate.

Your attention was taken away from the loud noises as your audios picked up a quiet “hello” as you looked up to meet a pair of nervous red optics.

Max knew he was big, even for a cybertronian, so he was concerned that his large presence gave off an intimidating demeanour, and it would scare you away.

However, much to his surprise and luck, you gave him a small smile and gave a quiet greeting in return.

You two spent the next few hours in a secluded booth in the corner of the bar exchanging mutual conversation while sipping on different concoctions of Swerve’s drinks.

You were enjoying the new company, basking in the presence of a fellow awkward cybertronian you could relate to. You found it cute as you found him staring at you, only too look away while staring down at the drink in his hands.

On the other hand, Fort Max was internally proud of himself managing to keep you from the depressing depths of your berth and also of you not avoiding any form of social contact for the night.

This carried on for a few months or so. Max kept up the effort to watch over you, becoming alert if you would suddenly leave in the evening or if there was nothing on. He would take another route, and catch your attention before you reached your room, gently asking you to join him on some sort of activity. Whether it was crafting something Rung recommended, or going star gazing.

In some way he would coax you out and put a smile on your face.

IDW Rung

You think you can get away from the observing eyes of god Rung the therapist?

After one appointment with you he could see that you weren’t as happy as you presented yourself to be.

There’s nothing much to say for this guy except for the fact that you keep going to these sessions with him.

You may not want to tell him everything but he tries his best to try and show that he understands you.

Instead of these meets going the same as most others, Rung will have you stay for longer and make it more interactive with things such as making crafts such as model ships, and also will tell you a story about each one.

Hell, he would sometimes book appointments for you, mostly in the evening when you weren’t busy.

You enjoy the company, but it also means poor Rung actually has a friend that talks to him more and frequently visit him.

You’ve never gotten his name wrong once.

And that puts a little smile on his face each time.

If he finds you in one of these states, he won’t say much at first. Just gently holding your servo as you both sit by a window until he quietly begins to tell you a story to get your mind off any negative thoughts.

Bayverse Optimus (aNgRy MaN)

Bruh

He feels you too

He’s lost too many friends he considers family

Has been known to go into pessimistic states himself

But doesn’t know if anyone else experiences these things like he does

When he watches you around base he sees you having lots of fun with the younger bots, pranking Ratchet or practising you abilities in the field with Ironhide.

In his attempt to make sure that no one really finds out or suffers when he’s in this depressive mood, he tends to worry about it in the dead of night when nobody is around.

Or so he thought.

He has takes up the opportunity to walk around base during the late hours, sometimes to sit and take in his surroundings while trying his best to push any bad thoughts to the back of his mind whilst he stargazes.

Only to find that looking at the stars reminds him how far away he is from home, since when he looks up, none of the flickering dots are familiar, and another wave of sorrow hits him.

This would happen almost every nights, unless he needed to rest up for a mission.

One night he was doing the same, recalling both good and bad memories, when his audios picked up a quiet screech, like metal on metal, from behind somewhere.

While it may have just been the wind, Optimus knew he needed to be alert for any surprise attacks from the Decepticons, so he got up as quietly as he could and spent the next couple of minutes attempting to locate the source of the noise.

Another very similar noise had led him up to the roof, but at their point he still didn’t know if this was a threat or not, so he cautiously lifted his helm over, a servo hovering over his blaster.

What he didn’t expect was to spot your silhouette in the moonlight, sat on the edge, staring into space, a solemn look on your face.

He was taken aback slightly at this sudden sight of you, since you were normally so bubbly, and had managed to bring out a low chuckle in him every once in a while.

Relaxed that it wasn’t Ravage skulking around, he was still concerned about you.

He would sit next to you and spend the next hour or so speaking quietly with you, finding out and understanding why you seemed so down.

While he wouldn’t mind staying out here with you for the remainder of the night, you both knew Ratchet would scold you both for not recharging properly, so he took you down silently to your berth, and stayed by your side until you were in deep slumber, then return to his own berth.

This happened almost every night, just the both of you basking in each other’s presence and company, and pointing out Earth constellations into the early hours of the morning.

Enjoy :)

Oppy out.

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Nine

Link to Masterpost

Got this one out for you as quickly as I could, y’all! Hope you enjoy.

~*~*~

The Vaults were everything a princess such as Aelin should avoid. The building was tucked away in the heart of Rifthold’s slums, dim and positively reeking of subpar ale and human sweat among other, far worse scents, and shady deals were being struck in practically every corner available. Small nooks with ragged curtains housed women and men selling their company for the night, and a large unmarked pit was in the center of the main room. The two cutthroats brawling in the center of it made its purpose clear enough.

Rowan truly wished she had allowed him to venture here alone, but he supposed that would rather ruin the point of their visit.

Aelin wandered back over to him, hips swaying in a confident swagger as she carried a mug of ale in each hand. “You could try to look less like an outsider, you know,” she grinned.

Rowan took a deep, calming breath and immediately regretted it. “We are outsiders,” he pointed out. “You have a better chance of blending in than I.”

“Oh, please,” she replied. “You could start by looking less grumpy. Have you smiled in the last century?”

“That’s terrible advice,” he argued. “We’re in a dump, surrounded by hardened criminals. Perhaps you’ll get somewhere by smiling, but it would only look stranger if I did.”

Aelin caught his gaze as she handed him one of the mugs, turquoise eyes searching his for something. Is it going to be a problem? she seemed to ask.

He shook his head minutely. Even among the Fae, he was long used to standing out. He would adapt, as he always did.

That determination didn’t stop him from tugging the hood of his cloak lower as he followed Aelin deeper into the crowd, though.

She weaved her way around the building, every step projecting an easy confidence as she looked at the people they passed with a tiny smirk and eyes that missed nothing. These were not the movements of a princess who had remained in her castle, he realized. No, this was what her assassin had taught her. This was the side of her he had encountered that first night.

It was not Aelin Galathynius he was following toward the fighting ring. No, it was her face, but it was Celaena Sardothien looking back at him through those eyes.

It was truly amazing just how different and yet similar the two were, now that he had spent time with both sides of her. Celaena was everything that Aelin was never allowed to be, all harsh edges and crude swagger as she faced her problems with the sharp blades he knew she had tucked in a surprising number of places given the fit of her trousers. By adopting Celaena’s more catlike grace and dark outfits, she could pass largely unnoticed where Aelin would ordinarily be recognizable by her golden hair and Ashryver eyes.

The determination that shone in those eyes, however, was a common thread between both personas, as was the feral smirk that graced her features as she approached the men who were running the fights.

“Name?” one of them grunted.

“Celaena Sardothien,” she purred. “Looks like an… exciting venture you have here.”

“Are you here to talk or fight?” the man snapped, and Rowan barely restrained himself from baring his canines in response to the implicit threat to her safety.

Aelin grinned and reached toward the man, tracing a single fingertip down the center of his chest. “I don’t suppose I’d get to fight you, would I?” she smirked.

It was clever, what she was doing. However, despite the obvious success she was having in setting the man on edge Rowan found himself unable to approve of her tactics. The man clearly disapproved as well, for soon she was set to fight one of the toughest competitors he had been able to find.

Aelin seemed unfazed as she allowed him to check her for weapons and then slid down into the ring, but Rowan felt a thrill of nerves on her behalf. It would be one thing if she were allowed to fight with magic, or even with her knives, but he knew she had only recently begun to learn hand-to-hand combat. A few weeks’ practice with her cousin couldn’t possibly be enough to win here.

If Aelin shared his concerns, she didn’t show it. Instead she sized her opponent up with a confident smirk, eyes never quite meeting his face but tracing along his form. “Well, this ought to be exciting, don’t you think?” she drawled.

As she circled him, keeping to the edge of the ring, Rowan suddenly realized exactly what she was doing. She had sized him up, and realized that in a competition of brute strength she was going to be found wanting. Instead, she was doing her best to keep her competitor on edge and irritated. It was either going to explode in her face, or it was one of the most brilliant tactics he’d seen.

As she had obviously wanted him to do, he shouted and ran toward her, hands curled into fists. Rowan watched her smirk widen into a full grin before she dropped to her knees, landing one solid hit between his legs and a second to the back of a knee before rolling away.

These were not tactics her cousin would have taught her. No, these would have been taught by her former lover, or perhaps from someone who had come into her guard from a less savory beginning. They way she fought now was not about honor, but survival, and Rowan grudgingly admired her for it.

That did not stop his fingers from curling around the hilt of a knife as the man advanced again, all the more enraged now that Aelin had humiliated him once. Only the rules of their bout, few as they were, stopped him from intervening.

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Rowan could also admit that interfering would likely only enrage Aelin, and he was not stupid enough to do so without a need for it, not now that they had finally reached some level of understanding.

This time Aelin stomped on the man’s foot before whirling just out of reach, using the agility her smaller frame provided, and Rowan allowed himself to grin as her opponent swore. Judging from the way he was moving she had broken at least one bone in his foot, and his anger would make him clumsy while the injury would slow him further.

Rowan growled and the crowd hissed as Aelin’s opponent pulled a knife in flagrant violation of what few rules there were. It would have been within Aelin’s rights to end the match there, but instead she simply grinned and pulled her own blade from her boot.

Rowan felt the tension leave his shoulders at her grin, and he allowed a small smirk of his own to grace his features as they circled each other again. While the man had clearly thought to gain an advantage over her, Rowan knew how Aelin fought with knives and was confident in her impending victory.

Aelin closed ground quickly now that she was fighting in her preferred style, and allowed her opponent’s blade to graze her cheek in exchange for drawing her own across his forehead. It was a smart move; even though the cut itself was small he would soon find his vision impaired, and it would only continue to impede him. It would still be best for her to end this quickly, however, and she seemed to agree with his conclusion. Her next move was to slam the hilt of her blade down on the man’s temple, and she grinned as he fell to the ground unconscious and she was declared the winner.

He watched as she glanced at the crowd, gaze lingering on at least two different people, before she finally climbed back out of the pit and made her way back to him.

“Well, you certainly made an impression,” he muttered as he handed her cloak back to her.

“Didn’t I?” she grinned. “Come on, we’ve been here long enough.”

Though they took a circuitous route to avoid being followed, it was still only a few short minutes until they reached their room for the night. Aelin lit a candle and then cringed, eyes wide with surprise.

Rowan turned, and froze as the candlelight illuminated golden hair and furious Ashryver eyes. “You’ve been busy, cousin,” Aedion growled.

~*~*~

“I’m still angry with you,” Aedion muttered as they prepared for their walk to the palace two days later.

He glared at his cousin as she looked back at him, eyes wide with false innocence. “Must you be? I thought we agreed that you would forgive me.”

“Eventually,” he corrected. “We agreed that I would forgive you eventually. But you snuck out without telling anyone where you were going, and you used my instincts against me. You knew I wouldn’t be able to follow you, not with Lysandra bringing home a child. And even if it’s healed now, you got hurt.”

Aedion had been furious when she had snuck back in with Whitethorn that night, and even more so when he had seen the gash on her cheek. He didn’t expect her to tell him everything, of course, but he had hoped she would at least tell him she was going somewhere at all. Instead he had been left with nothing but blind panic and the inability to leave his mate and their ward vulnerable. The excuse that they had simply been exploring the town had absolutely not lessened his anger, and Whitethorn’s silence on the matter didn’t help either.

Aelin sighed, the light of the morning sun catching and glimmering in her braided hair. “I know you won’t believe me, but it was worth it.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “I don’t believe you, and you had better believe the only thing that will make me believe you is you telling me why you left. And before you say another word, I know you’re not telling me the full story. You don’t have to now, we’re in public. But I don’t want you to think for one second that I think you’ve told me everything.”

He watched as Aelin’s shoulders slumped, and immediately regretted the harshness of his words. If he looked at Whitethorn now he was certain he’d be met with a fierce green glare for the offense; the male had been remarkably protective of Aelin for this whole journey, and the past two days had been no exception. Aedion sighed. “I’m sorry. That was harsh, and perhaps overly so. But you need to realize that we want to help you, and we can’t do that if you’re not telling us what we need to know. Lysandra was terrified, you know.”

“Don’t bring Lysandra into this,” his mate said from where she was straightening Aelin’s skirts. “Lysandra already had it out with Aelin, and can fight her own battles. There, you’re as ready as I can make you.”

Aelin grinned over at him, clearly trying to change the subject. “Think I’m ready to meet royalty, cousin?”

She was, but then he had expected nothing less. Her hair was neatly braided around her head, making it look longer than it actually was, and a small golden circlet was peeking out of the top of it. She was wearing a gown the deep red of Adarlan, with golden accents and a deep blue lining on the inside of billowing sleeves and around her neck. Anyone who even glanced at her would be able to read the message of the choices: she had come to ingratiate herself with the royal family and especially the crown prince.

“You almost look presentable,” he teased, tugging on a loose strand of her hair.

“Och!” she cried, batting his hand away with a grin. “I don’t know why I asked you, you’re as insufferable as ever.”

Her reaction was just as much a message as anything else she ever did. By teasing back the way she did, she was telling him without actually saying the words that she was giving them an opportunity to reach level ground once more before they traveled to the palace. He had lived with her long enough to read the message hidden in her actions, and he quietly nodded. He had said all he could for now, and only time would convince Aelin to open up further.

A glance over Aelin’s shoulder granted him a glimpse of Whitethorn’s nod of approval, and briefly he wondered just how much she had told the warrior and how much he had found out on his own. He obviously knew more than he was letting on, but he was clearly defending Aelin just as he had been for weeks.

As Aedion stood and opened the door, he decided that it would be maddening if it didn’t make him so godsdamned happy that his cousin had someone else looking out for her as well.

Their journey to the palace was brief, and before long they were waved through the gates by the guards. Aedion glanced up at the building that was to be their home for the next several weeks and stopped in his tracks, openly staring.

It was one thing to hear that the upper levels of Adarlan’s palace were constructed of glass. It was quite another to actually see it. The first several levels, forming a building approximately the size of Orynth’s palace, were made of the same stone as much of the rest of the city. The glass extension nearly doubled the size of the building, sitting atop the stone like a gleaming crown and catching the light of the sun. Aedion cringed internally at the idea of living and working in such a distracting location, and took a moment to hope that their assigned rooms would be in the lower levels.

Several of the guards led them into the building, and in just a few short moments they were in the throne room and being greeted by the crown prince himself. Aedion stood to one side, hands loosely clasped behind his back as would be expected of him, but his eyes swept the room for threats.

Before all else, even with everything that was unsaid between them, he was Aelin’s protector and he intended to do his duty.

~*~*~

Dorian offered to escort Aelin and her escort to their rooms personally, every inch the welcoming crown prince he was expected to be, and smiled as Aelin took the arm he offered to her. “I hope your journey wasn’t too hard on you,” he said as they walked. “I know you set a fast pace.”

Aelin smiled back at him in a way that meant she had quite the story to tell, he was certain. “It was certainly an adventure,” she admitted. “This is the furthest I’ve been from Orynth in years, ever since we lost my parents.”

“It was hard on Terrasen,” Dorian acknowledged. “It made sense for your regent to keep you close, where you could be guarded while you came of age.”

Aelin nodded. “Such a depressing discussion, though. I’d much rather talk about your father’s improvements to the castle.”

Dorian laughed. “Truthfully? I spend as little time in the glass portion of the castle as I can get away with. You’ll all be living in the lower levels as well,” he revealed, and he smiled as the rest of the group breathed sighs of relief. “It’s not much further from here, I know you all must be exhausted.”

The first room, which had been prepared for the two warriors Aelin had brought with her, was the room that would best suit for the child they hadn’t been expecting to travel with the group. One of the warriors, who looked similar enough to Aelin that he presumed him to be her cousin Aedion, joined the girl. The woman who had traveled with them remained in that room as well, leaving only Aelin and her tutor. “I wasn’t certain whether to expect you, Prince Rowan,” Dorian admitted, “but I am glad we prepared for the possibility.”

The Fae prince smiled, though there was no humor in it. “I aim to surprise,” he replied. “It’s gotten me far in life.”

“I see,” Dorian muttered. “The room next to Aelin’s was meant to go to her assistant, though it appears she is staying elsewhere. It is already prepared, if you wish to stay there instead.”

The warrior nodded in response and slipped into the room, leaving only Aelin to escort to the next door. “I had a few surprises brought up for you,” Dorian admitted.

Aelin grinned, turquoise eyes sparkling with excitement. “Did you, now?”

Dorian only opened the door to her rooms and quietly gestured for her to enter, wanting her to see rather than spoil the surprise.

He was not disappointed when she reacted with a gasp, hand covering her mouth as she saw the stacks of books he’d selected from the library. “We don’t have quite as wide a selection regarding ancient history as the Library of Orynth,” he disclosed, “but I found what I could. I know you like your books older than most can remember.”

“I love it,” Aelin replied, a small tremble in her voice as she delicately traced the spine of one of the manuscripts. “I’ll enjoy discussing these with you, I think, if you’d care to.”

“I would be delighted to hear your opinions on my selections, of course,” Dorian grinned. “I would expect nothing less.”

As he watched, she began sorting through the small collection. That wasn’t his only surprise for her, though, and she blinked up at him when he told her as much. “I’m not certain how many more surprises I can take,” she confessed. “And to think it’s only my first day here.”

“There’s only one more today,” he reassured her as he moved closer to the desk. “I’m not certain of the customs surrounding courting in Terrasen, but here in Adarlan it is customary for a prince to give his intended a token to affirm the negotiation. Even though we have our own understanding, I thought it best to adhere to the custom.”

Aelin nodded. “It would certainly be advantageous. This will only work for both of us if we’re convincing.”

“I thought along similar lines,” he agreed as he pulled a plain golden ring from his pocket and took her hand.

Aelin stared at him, eyes wide enough that he could see the ring of gold that highlighted their blue shade, and he rushed to explain. “Our history says that this ring was brought across the sea by one of your ancestors, and brought into the Havilliard family by marriage centuries ago. It seemed only fitting to return it to a Galathynius, regardless of how our little arrangement ends.”

The corners of Aelin’s lips curled into a smile. “Such a thoughtful courting gift, Prince Dorian,” she mused. “Why, people will start to talk.”

Dorian laughed. “I believe you revel in the attention. Regardless, it would be terribly hurtful to reject it, so I’m afraid I must insist.”

The ring had been forged and sized for a man long ago, and so Aelin’s thumb was the only finger it would reasonably fit on. However, this realization only made her grin, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief. “I will treasure this, then,” she said as she looked down at it, “as a most thoughtful gift from someone I hope will remain a dear friend.”

“As a prince, I feel obligated to say it would benefit both Terrasen and Adarlan for us to maintain close ties,” he replied. “As a man, however, I will admit I hope so for more personal reasons as well. You’re the first person I’ve met outside of my tutors and advisors willing to discuss history and literature alike with me, and I’m selfish enough to want it to continue regardless of what happens.”

Aelin smiled. “Well, if I’m lucky I can make decent headway into the first of these by the evening meal. Perhaps we can discuss it further then.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Dorian said as he moved back toward the door. “I’ll make certain someone helps you find your way to the dining room.”

As Aelin hummed in acknowledgement and opened the first book, he smiled and left her to get settled in. Everything was going according to their plan, and he couldn’t be more pleased.

~*~*~

The first text Aelin had opened happened to recount the creation of Doranelle, and Aelin was enthralled from the first words. For all that she had given her tutors a difficult time as she grew up, her lessons in history had long been her favorite. Whether it was the history of Terrasen or of its neighboring lands, it had been the one subject in which Aelin had truly excelled.

As she had grown older, and especially after her parents had died, she had become more interested in learning about Doranelle in particular as well. She had promised her mother that she would never go there herself, but she had known on some level that someday representatives from Doranelle would come to her, and she had wanted to be as prepared as she could be.

Of course, that day had come and she had quickly realized there had been absolutely no way to prepare herself for Rowan Whitethorn.

As she turned the page, she thought that perhaps she ought to discuss this history with him. Although it was incredibly unlikely that the male had actually been around for Doranelle’s creation while Mab and Mora yet lived, as someone who had been born and raised there perhaps he would have some insight she would miss as an outsider. Not only that, but he would be able to tell her what it was like there now, and that was just as important as the historical context of the city.

She carefully closed the book as she heard the door to her room open, and she glanced over, expecting that perhaps it was Lysandra or even Rowan come to check on her. Instead, she saw a young man wearing the dark uniform of Adarlan’s royal guard. As he closed her door behind himself she studied his close-cropped chestnut hair, and as he turned around she met warm brown eyes.

Perhaps this was who Dorian had sent to make certain she would be able to find her way around, though it was early yet. “Well met, guardsman,” she called, hoping that her acknowledgement of his presence would prompt him to say what he was doing in her rooms in the first place.

“Your Highness,” he responded as she finally pieced together his features and a portrait she had seen what seemed like ages ago. This was Chaol Westfall, the captain of Prince Dorian’s guard and rumored to be one of his closest friends. Lysandra’s dossier had noted some of his familial ties, but those were less important to her in this moment than the fact that he had risen to captain at such a young age. Either he was promoted due to his friendship with the prince or due to impressive skills, and the way he walked strongly suggested the latter to her.

“Dorian mentioned he was sending someone. Is that why you’re here?”

Captain Westfall squared his shoulders, one hand straying to the hilt of an impressive-looking sword. “Partially,” he replied. “Chaol Westfall, Captain of Adarlan’s royal guard. As captain of the guard, he asked me to make certain yourself and your escort were comfortable and to show you around the palace. However, that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Aelin asked, a single eyebrow raising in question. “Did one of my people give one of yours a difficult time?”

“That remains to be seen,” the captain replied. “I’m hoping that my inquiries can be resolved quickly and quietly.”

“I believe that would be advantageous for all involved,” she said carefully, “and I will do what I can to answer your questions.”

“Then you will have my thanks, though I doubt you will want them,” the young captain said as the warmth left his eyes.

“Oh? Is there something I’ve done to cause offense?”

“One of my guards reported a disturbance in the city two nights ago, and I went to investigate,” he began. “The perpetrator was claimed to be a young woman with golden hair, going into the worst part of the slums and entering an illegal fight. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a matter for the royal guard, and I would’ve left it alone. However, Dorian had given me descriptions of those we were to be expecting to arrive at the palace so that you might pass through the gates more easily. So I went to investigate myself, just to make certain that we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

He stepped closer, and Aelin did her best to keep her surprise off of her face. “My question for you, Your Highness,” he continued, “is what exactly you were doing in the Vaults two nights ago.”

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

One-Shots and Story Hooks

One thing Ravnica campaigns are rarely without is conflict. On a good day, somewhere between nine and ten of the Guilds will be having an issue with one another in some way, shape, or form. This is good for adventuring parties because it means there’s always something to do. While coming up with a session can literally be as simple as picking two Guilds and building off their general reasons for not liking each other (which is as easy as picking a fight on the internet), sometimes you need help. You need something to kickstart those creative ideas again.

Fortunately, the artists over at Wizards of the Coast have had over a dozen sets/releases to craft not just the main storyline of Ravnica, but unique little one-offs as well. They come with absolutely stellar artwork to help build the atmosphere of the City of Guilds, and wonderful bits of flavor text that are prime jumping-off points for your story ideas.

So here are four story hooks taken straight from Ravnica cards to incorporate into your campaign. You don’t have to follow these prompts exactly, but if they spark some ideas of your own, run with them.

Watchwolf

Ravnica can be lonely & intimidating for a Druid. With so much of the world made up of pavement and skyline, one’s connection with nature can feel like a long-distance relationship. You’d be hard-pressed to find a tree outside the Conclave without venturing into Rubblebelt territory. Furthermore, what animals do inhabit the big city have been almost unilaterally conscripted into service by one Guild or another. Azorius hawks, Boros hounds, Gruul boars, Selesnya cattle; to say nothing of the terrifying creations churned out from Guilds like the Simic, Orzhov, or Rakdos.

Even the rats seem to have loyalties.

I was browsing a Tin Street stall for watermelon seeds when I saw it. A wolf, staring right at me from a bridge nearby. I looked around but didn’t see anyone it seemed to belong to. Boros dogs wear armor, Ledev dire wolves are never without their rider, and if it was Gruul it would almost certainly have some sort of clan markings. Could it be a wild one?

Noticing my gaze, the wolf made its way over to me. It avoided the crowd with a comfort you don’t see in wild animals. This wolf definitely belonged to someone in the city.

A few of the merchants were staring at us. Even if it was trained, it was definitely making them nervous. The wolf nipped & tugged at my tunic with its mouth. Not with aggression, but with urgency. Spend enough time with animals, you learn to spot the difference. I bought my seeds, tipped the shopkeep generously, and brought the wolf to a quieter part of the city to speak with it.

Who are you?

Watcher

A watcher? Curious.

What do you need, Watcher?

Help

What help do you need?

Lost

You’re lost?

Watcher shook his muzzle.

Where’s your owner, Watcher?

Taken

Taken? Taken by whom?

Watcher told me.

A what?

Role Reversal

This was definitely one for the books. Even for the Senate, seeing a Sphinx up close is extremely rare. Seeing one at your desk filing a complaint about another Sphinx is unheard of.

“They are Uthlon the Wise. A model among their peers for stoicism, moderation, and sound judgement.”

“And you’re filing a complaint against Uthlon for....”

I checked my notebook.

“....Getting drunk and painting rude words on the temple of Azor.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll look into it.”

I expected a response. There’s always a response when people get angry enough to file a complaint. However, instead of shouting or threats, the Sphinx Agammemnos stepped back from my desk and perched down a few feet away. They were really going to wait there until I looked into this. My lunch was sitting an arm’s reach away. I sighed deeply. I hated this job sometimes.

Then, another Sphinx came in and approached my desk.

“I am here to file a complaint regarding Uthlon the Wise.”

I took my notebook back out.

“For the crime of shouting out ‘River’.”

I had to ask for that one again. Apparently, they were asking someone a riddle, as Sphinxes do, when Uthlon the Wise popped up and shouted the riddle’s answer. For that, I might seek out this Uthlon the Wise for the sole purpose of giving them a medal. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind when another Sphinx, this one rubbing their head and moving as though drunk, wandered in.

“I....am here to....file a complaint.”

“Regarding Uthlon the Wise?”

The Sphinx looked pleased. They do love when someone can guess what they’re thinking.

“Uthlon the Wise hit me over the head with a club.”

I’d just finished writing that down when more Sphinxes came strolling in. I’d never seen this many in one place, not even in Isperia’s court. Then I saw the strangest thing of all. A goblin came in, calmly walked up to my desk, and told me in the best Common I’ve ever heard from a goblin:

"My name is Uthlon the Wise.”

For the love of the Guildpact, what is going on here?

Mass Manipulation

There they are. I thought I made my instructions clear to dress the part. One way you can always spot a Dimir is by their shabby taste. They’re so concerned with being able to keep things hidden in their clothes that they can never wear anything that fits them properly. Orzhov assassins, by contrast, always dress to kill. We turn the art of killing into an actual art. And here this tit comes showing up at the finest diner in the Precinct wearing that awful trenchcoat. Ghosts, I should have hired that Ochran. At least they know not to be seen.

The only reason I’m resorting to this alley skulker is because I need the job done quickly and on the cheap. If this imbecile ruins my appetite, I’m docking the price of the meal from their pay. Then again, if I do that, I wouldn’t be paying them at all.

Seems fair to me.

“Dreadfully sorry I’m late.”

“If this is how you run your business, I may just take mine elsewhere.”

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty.”

The server came over to take our orders, but because of this idiot’s tardiness, my main course would have to wait while they ordered drinks.

“Would you like to see our wine list?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

Ghosts, I should have hired the Rakdos. This whole day is already a loss and it’s only breakfast. Why did I ever think these fools could be trusted with something important?

The server poured water from the pitcher while I waited.

“So, what’s the job?”

“What’s the job? The job is everything! How you present yourself! How you treat your clients! How you behave in high society! How am I supposed to trust you with a contract when you can’t even show up on time for a breakfast?”

They just sat there, drinking their water. Not even the decency to look ashamed. I’m going to put a word in to the Judge for another purge, this is unacceptable. We shouldn’t have to put up with these dredges.

Finishing their water, they clinked their glass on the table.

The whole diner was suddenly quiet. Not the awkward, shocked quiet of society types pausing to listen. I’ve lived in this city for almost 70 years and I’ve never heard anything like this kind of silence. Every single person froze in their place, some halfway in the motion of eating or talking. Then, every single head turned in our direction at once.

“I was afraid it might come to this. I know you have things to do, so I’ll be brief. When I ask you for the job, I don’t need your background or history and especially not your personal take. I know how uptight you Syndicate types are about contracts & paperwork & details and all that nonsense. I just need the deed and the name of the person it’s being done to. That’s all.”

Every face stares at me with blank captivation. Not a single eye blinks. Not a single mouth draws breath. Including mine.

“But first, let’s talk about the pay. For starters, since the target is probably wealthy enough to afford protection, the rate will double. Second, since you clearly have trouble keeping your mouth shut, you’ll need to be kept under supervision until the job is done, so the rate will double again. Lastly, since the reason I was late was because I was debating whether or not to poison your drink, let’s double it again and call it a deal.”

I swallow hard. I should have never gotten involved with House Dimir.

“Seems fair to me.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s the job?”

Debtors’ Transport

This one will not be easy. This isn’t your standard smash & grab in the Bulwark where the Wojek are too busy busting Gruul skulls to chase after a gang of thieves. Everyone in the city has thought of it at least once; rob the Orzhov. The problem is, everyone knows what happens to anyone who tries; best case execution, worst case servitude. The air surrounding the Orzhov Guildhall is saturated with the ghosts of poor souls still paying off their debts to the Syndicate centuries after death. It’s not a fate you wish unto anyone, least of all yourself.

But still....the temptation is right there. An Orzhov transport, one of those big bloated ones that look like someone took a person, removed their bones, and then blew them up like a balloon. Walking right through the plaza. Every week, same time, same route, same cargo. An enormous sarcophagus filled with more coin than your average Ravnican citizen will see in a lifetime, and the moans of the latest poor soul who fell too far behind on their payments.

From the street separating the haves & have-nots of Precinct Two, around the Hall of the Guildpact in Precinct One, then a straight shot along Plaza Avenue to the Orzhova Church. Roughly one hour to walk five miles of city and deliver the cargo into the greedy hands of the Ghost Council.

They aren’t subtle about their business, but they aren’t subtle about security, either. At least four Advokists and Knights for a light haul, double that for a bigger one, and if they’re really hauling a score you can expect a trio of their fully-plated Giants as well. Not to mention the gargoyles they have perched on roofs for every single street along the route. And the transports themselves aren’t exactly known for being well-tempered when something agitates them.

But you rip off a score like that and your entire crew can afford to buy a mansion on a floating mountain.

Assuming you get away, of course. That’s always the rub. There are few things the Syndicate take more personally than being robbed. You rob a score like that, they don’t just send the Order of Sorrows after you, they send the Angels. The executors of Orzhov justice who don’t sleep, don’t stop for lunch, don’t stop for anything until they find you. At least when the Firemane kill someone it’s an exciting way to go. Better death by immolation than spending every night listening for the sound of feathered wings dropping a scythe down on you.

But if you did it right, made sure no one saw you, made sure no one could trace it back to you, it could be done. It can be done.

But who would be willing to take the risk?

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 8

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Abuse, Kidnapping Attempt, Non-Consensual Touching Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

The walk to Valentino’s office… or… headquarters… or lair… or whatever you wanted to call it was uncomfortable at best. Angel guided you through the streets of Pentagram City, making sure to deviate from the main roads by taking back alleys and seedy shortcuts to ensure that you remained unnoticed by Hell’s residents. You were afraid to ask how he knew about the obscure alternate routes, but considering his profession, which you had learned was an adult film star who alternated as a hooker, you supposed that he would be well-versed in that sort of thing. 

“Listen, toots. If anyone asks, I didn’t set this up. Got it?” the spider demon urged, hustling down the alley.

“Why would that matter?”

“Because!” he snapped, slowing down so that you could keep up with his long legs. “I don’t wanna be the one who catches shit when the little princess realizes you snuck out right from under her nose. And I especially don’t wanna take the blame when Smiles discovers you’re gone.”

“What difference does it make if Alastor finds out?” you asked, perplexed. “I mean, I can understand Charlie. She’s giving you free housing, and you’re already on thin ice with Vaggie, but Alastor doesn’t have anything to do with you being there.”

He cackled maliciously. “Babe, you really are too much. Whether you wanna admit it or not, Smiles is obsessed with you. If he finds out that I took you to Big Vee, someone he’s not too fond of, I might add, he’ll probably eat me - and not in the way I’d like him to,” he added, grinning salaciously.

Much to your horror, you then began approaching a building with the words Porn Studios plastered on the front in bright red letters.

“Val… works in the porn industry?” you inquired, a hint of contempt in your voice.

“It’s a thriving business, baby. If you were looking for a ‘respectable’ establishment, you ain’t gonna find one a those in Hell. Get used to it.”

The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Valentino ran Hell’s gritty underbelly, and if he was in charge of the porn and prostitution industries, surely he was in a place of power.

When you reached the empty lobby inside, Angel motioned for you to sit in one of the chairs. “I’ll go an’ let him know you’re here. Sit tight.”

The moment he disappeared through one of the doors, a slight sense of dread fell over you, causing you to stir uncomfortably in your seat. Wringing your hands nervously, your thoughts began to wander. Did you just make a huge mistake? Should you have put your trust in Angel? Why didn’t anyone else mention Valentino as a trusted source before? 

It was too much. You shouldn’t have gone there. A feeling in your gut was telling you to run and avoid this place at all costs.

Just as you had gotten up to leave, Angel came back through the doors. “He’s ready for you, toots. Come on back.”

“Angel… I--” you started to protest before he cut you off.

“You wanted answers, didn’t chya? He’s not known for his patience, babe. Come on, let’s go.”

Against your better judgement, you followed him back, swallowing thickly and trying to keep your nerves steady.

As you approached a large wooden door, Angel knocked twice before holding the door open for you. Hesitantly, you walked past him into a large office with tacky decor. Risque pictures lined the dark purple walls and a giant furry pink couch sat in the corner. Beneath your feet was a zebra-skin rug, which you were sure had been an inhabitant of Hell at one point.

At the very end of the room was a large and intimidating desk with a tall chair behind it that was faced away from you. Once you were just a few feet away, the chair swiveled, revealing a red-eyed demon adorned with a fancy flush coat and heart-shaped glasses. His outfit made him seem much less sinister than you were sure he probably was.

“Well, what do we have here?” he hissed, cracking a fanged smile. “Angie, when you told me that you were bringing me a living human, you didn’t say that she’d be so… delicious.”

Angel chuckled awkwardly, brushing past you to stand closer to Valentino.

“Don’t be shy, sugar. Come a little closer to Daddy and let me get a good look at you.”

Struggling to hide your grimace, you took a few more steps forward. Feeling his eyes scanning your form, you crossed your arms defensively, as if trying to physically hold yourself together.

The demon hummed thoughtfully before he stood up from his chair, gliding smoothly around his desk before he stopped directly in front of you.

Holy shit. He was tall. Even taller than Angel.

Pursing his lips, he circled you, inspecting you like a vulture honing in on its prey. Eventually, he stopped in front of you before demanding, “Sit still for me, sugar.”

He then placed a large hand over your chest, not in a sexual way, but as if he was trying to feel your heartbeat. Closing his eyes for a moment, you felt a strange tingling sensation where his hand was only briefly before he pulled it away with a smile plastered on his face.

Stepping away from you, he leaned back on his desk in a casual position before addressing you. “So, my little worker bee here tells me that you’re looking for some insight. That right?”

Unable to speak, you nodded your head.

“Walk me through what happened. Give Daddy all the intricate little details, baby. Don’t leave anything out.”

You wrinkled your nose as his use of the word daddy. It was incredibly off putting and didn’t at all appeal to you, but you went along with it anyway.

Clearing your throat, you started to speak, your voice shaking. “W-well… I-I was out shopping with my friends, and I saw a television that was a few decades old… probably from the seventies, at least. The remote control was next to the t.v. I picked it up, turned it on, and suddenly I was thrust into this place. That’s all I can remember.”

“Hmm,” he hummed aloud, tapping his index finger on his chin. “How very peculiar.”

“Whadya thinkin’, Val?” Angel Dust pressed, just as intrigued.

“Angie, baby… why don’t you run and get Vox. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear this little human’s story.”

“Y-you sure, boss?” Angel asked, hesitating.

Valentino narrowed his eyes at the spider. “Are you really going to waste my time with stupid questions?”

“But… you said this would be discreet-”

SLAP

You winced as Valentino backhanded Angel Dust, causing the spider to stumble back, holding his now tender cheek with a shocked expression on his face.

“Remember your place and do as you’re fucking told,” the demon snarled, baring his teeth at his inferior. “Now.”

Frowning, Angel Dust gave you a subtly apologetic glance before sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone with the pimp.

Even though you were genuinely upset at how Valentino treated Angel, you couldn’t bring yourself to act on your anger. When you had lost your cool with Lucifer, it was different because you were surrounded by Charlie and Alastor and you had the luxury of voicing your outrage, as foolish as it may have been. In your current predicament, however, you were utterly alone and at the mercy of Valentino. Clearly, you were out of your league. 

“Um,” you stammered, practically trembling where you stood and wanting to ease the quiet tension. “Wh-who is Vox?”

“He’s an associate of mine,” the demon purred. “Something tells me that he’ll be able to enlighten us to your little predicament.”

“Really?” you pressed, partially intrigued, partially terrified. “Why do you say that?”

Before he could respond, another voice could be heard approaching. “Seriously, Val? You’re gonna send your whore to fetch me like I’m some kind of bitch who’s at your beck and call? You can’t just-- oh.”

The new demon froze as he entered the room and laid eyes on you. The sight of him was just as alarming to you as you had been to him. Rather than a zoomorphic creature, it was like he was a cross between a human and a television set. He was about as tall as Alastor, sporting a striped tuxedo with a black and red striped shirt underneath. His red bowtie prominently stood out in comparison to grey undershirt.

On top of his flat-screen t.v. head, he had a black top hat with sound waves etched into it. His eyes were red with one of them containing black rings around the pupil. His entire appearance was unsettling to say the least. 

“And who do we have here?” Vox asked, his tone immediately changing from irritated to seductive.

You hadn’t realized that Valentino had moved next to you while you were distracted by Vox’s entrance. He entangled one of his fingers into a strand of your hair, twirling it around his lengthy digit, causing you to flinch. “This is the human that we’ve been hearing about all over the Seven Rings,” Val whispered close to your ear. “She has quite an interesting story. Why don’t you be a doll and tell my associate here what happened to you, sugar?”

Inhaling a shaky breath, you repeated your story about the television set. As you spoke, Vox’s eyes widened in shock as he exchanged glances with Valentino who had a menacing smirk on his face. As you finished your story, Vox had a similar expression to Val as he eyed you hungrily.

“Excuse us for a moment, won’t you, baby? Daddy’s gotta have a little chat,” Val snickered as he pulled Vox aside and stepped into the room adjacent to the one you were in.

You briefly wondered what had happened to Angel Dust until their whispers brought your attention back to them. Unable to stop yourself, you stepped closer to the doorway, listening in on their conversation. It was difficult to make out anything that they were saying, but you caught certain things here and there.

“...didn’t think that it would actually work! By the time I heard that there was a human…”

“...exactly what we wanted. What’s even better is that she came to us…” 

“...not going to go quietly. Her little friends at that rancid hotel…” 

“...just do it. We’ve waited too long for this…”

From what you had heard, you weren’t at all liking where this was going. Everything inside of you was telling you to run.

Just as you were looking for an escape, the demons came back into the room with venomous grins on their faces. “Going somewhere?” Vox asked, interpreting your actions.

“I-I need to get back. The others will be looking for me soon, and I--”

“Now, now,” Valentino cooed as he towered over you, running a finger down your arm. “You just got here. It would be rude to leave so soon.”

All of the courage that you had gathered over your time in hell had immediately dissipated. There was no way that you could overpower two demons. It was clear that you were at their mercy. “Please…” you begged, still looking for an exit. “I was just looking for a way home. I didn’t mean--”

“Don’t worry, fleshling,” Vox soothed with false sweetness as he also caressed your face, giving you unwanted chills. “We’re going to get you home. But first… we’re going to have a little fun with you.”

“W-what do you mean by fun ?” you asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but trying to buy time until you could come up with a crafty escape.

“Oh, don’t you worry, sugar. We’re going to take good care of you,” the moth demon purred as he continued to fondle your clothes. “You’re ours now.”

“You know, I do really hate those who can’t show a little more respect to those of fairer means,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. Never did you think that you would be so relieved to hear that eerie static-filled voice.

Valentino and Vox immediately went rigid, but kept their hands where they were on your body. “It’s rather distasteful,” the Radio Demon continued, emerging from the shadows. His eyes were radiating a crimson glow and his smile was even more malevolent than you had seen it in the past. “Like bad meat.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Alastor’s antlers seemed to lengthen in height and width. The dark circles under his eyes appeared once more and his pupils turned to dials as his teeth elongated to emphasize his already terrifying grin. “If you would, kindly remove your hands from her.”

“No one asked you to intervene, Bullwinkle,” Vox snapped, tightening his grip on your arm.

“What?” Valentino asked, suddenly distracting and quirking a brow at his cohort. “Bullwinkle is a fucking moose.”

“So what? They both have antlers,” Vox countered, shrugging. “Who fucking cares?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would be a fascinating lover’s quarrel,” Alastor teased, earning a growl from the other demons, “But I really must be on my way.”

“No one’s stopping you!” Vox pointed out, baring his electric blue teeth. “But you’re not taking the fleshling with you.”

“If you refuse to relinquish the human to me, I’m afraid I’ll have to take a more aggressive approach. I’m sure no one wants that,” Alastor remarked, tilting his head mockingly, his frightening appearance still in place.

“You really want to threaten us?” Valentino questioned with a chuckle, his eyes flashing from behind his heart-shaped glasses. “We’ll annihilate you.”

“Oh, ho, ho,” Alastor laughed, straightening his monocle. “As much as I would enjoy proving you wrong, I’m afraid you’re confused. You see, I’m here to ensure that the human remains safe before she is claimed by Lucifer. He has very specific plans for her, and, as I’m sure you can imagine, he won’t be thrilled if he finds out his prized possession is being held hostage in this… fine establishment,” he sneered at the last part of his statement.

The two demons exchanged worried glances with one another, hesitating before speaking. “Lucifer wants her?” Vox pressed, eyes darting between you and his partner-in-crime.

“That’s correct,” Alastor replied, not bothering to mask the smug undertone. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell the King of Hell that his shiny new toy is being soiled by two clueless brutes. Would you?”

“Fuck,” Valentino grumbled before gripping your shoulders and thrusting you back into Alastor, where you landed harshly aganst his chest. His arms immediately wrapped around you, his clawed fingers digging into your shoulders posessively. 

Vox glared at Val with disbelief as he stammered, “You’re just handing her over?! She’s the key--”

“Shut the fuck up, Vox,” Valentino snarled, narrowing his eyes and giving him a subtle, unspoken warning. “It’s not the last we’ll see of her.”

Fuming, Vox remained silent as his eyes flashed at Alastor. Valentino then bent down, his eyes boring into yours as he whispered, “We’ll see you soon, sugar.” Sitting up, his lip curled as he addressed Alastor once more.  “Now get out.”

With a flick of one of his ears and no other words exchanged, Alastor relinquished his hold on you and escorted you out, moving so quickly that you had to practically run in order to keep up with him. 

“Alastor,” you addressed him breathlessly, “Just… wait a minute--”

“Not here, darling,” he urged, still moving with urgent haste.

After nearly fifteen minutes of power walking, you had reached the hotel. The moment the door shut behind you in the lobby, you glared at the Radio Demon while struggling to catch your breath. After a few moments of tension, you asked, “Is that really what you think of me? A ‘shiny new toy’ for Lucifer’s entertainment?”

Alastor, who had returned to his far less threatening appearance, simply smirked while twirling his hand and summoning his microphone before leaning on it casually. “No, sweetheart. That’s not all I really think of you.”

“What the fuck, Alastor,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “You’re a god damned enigma! Is this how you get your rocks off? You tormented me when I first got here by making not-so-subtle threats and touching me constantly like a weirdo. Then you suddenly became nice and supportive, and after Lucifer, it  seemed like you were actually going to help me, only to then make it seem like you’re just biding time until you can hand me over to him! What’s your game?! Is this how you drive your prey crazy before you slaughter them? Why are you such a creepy bastard?! What did I ever do to you to deserve these mind games?!”

Yikes. You didn’t mean to let all of that spill out at once, but you couldn’t help yourself. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. What’s worse was that during your rant, Alastor just gawked at you, seemingly unfazed. If anything, he was entertained, which only made you more upset.

After a few seconds of silence and him just staring at you with an amused expression, you emphasized, “Well?! Answer me!”

He then sat up straight, making his microphone disappear into a cloud of smoke before approaching you. Just as you were about to snap at him again, his long arm circled around your waist, pulling you close while cupping your face with his hand, running his thumb along your cheek. Before you could comprehend what was happening, his lips were on yours, moving against you in a deep and sensual kiss, making you forget the world around you.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1

[blazingopus]

Pull Me Under - Stardust Crusaders

When I set out to write this story, I did not intend for it to be so emotional. I guess that’s what you get when you take inspiration from a song about Hamlet. Please enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGRgAULYgWE

All that I feel is honor and spite

All I can do is to set it right

My alarm sounded, sending a shot of adrenaline through my body. Not a lot, just enough to wake me up. I reached over and shut the thing off. Pulling myself out of my futon, I crawled over to the sliding paper door. Pulling it open, the cool morning air rushed in and birds greeted me with song. Much longer, and the frost would start setting in. I would need my winter bedding before too long.

I stuck my head out of the room, trying to hear any movement or conversation in the compound. It was a large series of buildings grouped around a large garden, so knowing where people were was a bit hard. Still, it couldn't hurt to check. Especially with Joseph and Muhammed Avdol staying with us. Though, I think it would be pretty easy to find Joseph if I needed to. His normal speaking voice was louder than most, and he had a habit of yelling all the time.

I slowly stood up, trying to let my body figure out what it was doing. My joints don't like to work first thing in the morning. Once I worked the kinks out and my body was responsive, I went to the bathroom and got ready for school. I put on my required uniform. I missed the public school I went to in New York, where I could wear whatever I wanted. But then again, the teachers there didn't really care about their students. Where education was very lax in the States, schools were cutthroat in Japan. Everything depended on your grades and how you ranked. To be honest, I didn't know which one I preferred.

When I was done, I straightened up my room and headed outside. The buildings on the property were connected by a series of porches and bridges, all circling around the main garden. It was based on traditional Japanese architecture, and was intended to evoke the feeling of a sprawling castle.  I wandered over a few buildings where the kitchen was set. I leaned against the doorway and looked inside.

Inside, Holly was busy with breakfast as she usually was. Today she was making a more American breakfast, as opposed to the traditional Japanese meals she enjoyed cooking. This was probably because her father was staying. She hummed to herself as she turned the food in the pan. I didn't see anyone else in the kitchen, either because they weren't awake or hadn't found their way in.

Holly noticed me, waving her spatula at me. "Good morning, (Y/N)!" She smiled wide at me. "Breakfast will be done in a minute."

I knelt at the low table. "Good morning. Anything going on today?"

"Just the usual," oil sizzled as she cooked. "I hope to catch up with my dad today. We talk on the phone all the time, but it's just not the same."

"I bet." My parents used to go on business trips all the time, so I could understand the sentiment. My father was a member of the Speedwagon Foundation, so he traveled a lot as a translator helping on different assignments. He was also a bit if an intermediary between Joseph and the Speedwagon Foundation. My mother also worked under him, though not in the Foundation. She helped the Joestar name become synonymous with real estate. To be honest, it was probably because of Joseph that they got together in the first place. Travel was important to their work, and the phone was my only link to them sometimes. But it was never as good as when they were home again.

"It feels like forever since I last saw him," she thought out loud. "How long has it been? It must have been a few years now..." She started counting on her fingers.

I looked down at my hands. I tried to keep the emotions under control. "Six. It's been six years."

"Yes! I remember now!" She scooped up the food and placed it on a platter. "Let's see, six years ago..." She placed the food on the table in front of me. "That was when he brought you in after the..." She stopped just before she finished the sentence.

"I told you, you don't have to avoid it around me," I did my best to keep my eyes from filling with tears. "That was the accident. The one my parents died in."

Holly was silent for a moment, taking in my expression. She knelt down in front of me and took my hands in hers. "Dad said that he and the Speedwagon Foundation would be investigating what happened. I'm sure he will have some information about their deaths."

I nodded, but I didn't really believe her. It was the same story she always told me. If there was any information to be found, it would have been found years ago. Yes, everything around their deaths had been very strange, but that all could have been crazy coincidence. Had I known that they would end up dead, would I have come with them? It was the first trip where I would be with the both of them, so I was so excited to go. But then again, I would have been left alone again in our home in New York City, for a very long time.

Holly looked deep into my eyes. "I know you miss them very much, (Y/N). I miss them too. I think about your mother every day." She squeezed my hands. "She was one of my closest friends."

"I know. I remember." This wasn't the first time she went down memory lane like this. I knew the story. But it didn't change the emotional weight her words had. I could feel the tears bubbling up.

She smiled, a hint of sadness behind her eyes. "When Dad brought you here, you were like a daughter to me from then on. I love you so much. I don't know what I would do without you, (Y/N)."

I closed my eyes, letting a few dears run down my cheeks. Damn, I thought that this stuff wouldn't affect me this bad once I got old enough. I felt arms reach around me, pulling me into a hug only a mother could give. I let the warm embrace envelop me, breathing in her signature perfume. I don't know how long we stayed like that, but it wasn't long enough. She released the hug, wiping the tears from my eyes before going back to her cooking. I did my best to clean myself up before anyone walked in. When I thought I finished, I grabbed some food Holly had placed on the table, letting the flavors wash over me.

It wasn't very long before Jotaro wordlessly stalked into the kitchen. He crossed the room and pulled out the toaster. Plopping in a few slices of bread, he pushed down on the lever in one long motion

"Good morning, Jotaro!" Holly sang as she flung her arms out to hug him. After she collided with him, he nudged her off with a few curses under his breath. "I made breakfast! Make sure you eat before you head off to school!" She collected herself and went back to what she was doing. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! You have to start the day off right!"

Jotaro grumbled as the toast popped up out of the toaster. He stuck a slice in his mouth and brought the rest over to sit next to me. He plopped down, munching. He didn't have a plate, of course. He didn't need a plate to eat toast. Plates were for plebeians.

"Hey." I said. He gave me a nod before taking another bite of toast. I didn't like to talk much when I was eating, and neither did he. I went back to my food.

I felt his eyes on me, longer than I was used to. I looked up from my breakfast to see him staring at me. "What's wrong with you? Are you okay?" He asked bluntly.

I blinked. Did I not wipe all the tears off my face? Were my eyes still red from crying? Whatever it was, I didn't feel like talking about it any more than I already had. "No, I'm fine," I croaked out between bites.

His eyes lingered on me with some suspicion. He knew me too well by this point, but he didn't push the subject. He took another chunk out of his toast, scowling a bit more than usual.

When we had finished eating, we gathered our things and got ready to leave for school. Jotaro and I met at the front of the complex as we usually did every morning. We were about to leave before we heard a voice call out behind us.

"Don't go yet!" Holly jogged up to us, still wearing her pink slippers. She stopped in front of Jotaro as he turned around, "You forgot your goodbye kisses!" She leaned forward, up on the tips of her toes to reach him. She was still a few inches too short.

"You're such a bitch," Jotaro shoved her off. "Stop treating me like I'm still a little kid." He walked away without looking back.

"Okay!" She called to him with her usual cheeriness, a big smile on her face.

I looked back at Holly and shook my head. "He'll grow out of it," I whispered so Jotaro couldn't hear. " I'm sure this is just a phase. He used to adore you when he was younger."

"I know," she sighed, gazing at him with nostalgia in her eyes. "He's still the same boy that wanted me to watch him score his goals, and begged me to make him the same dinner every night."

I leaned in, giving her a brief hug. The scent of her perfume filled my senses. "Just be patient with him. He'll come around eventually."

"You're right," she said into my ear. She kissed my forehead and pulled away. "Watch him for me, okay? With all the trouble he gets into, I worry about him. "

I nodded with a smile. "I always do, Holly." I turned and ran to catch up with Jotaro. He didn't acknowledge me when I matched his long strides.

We walked the usual route to school, letting the comfortable silence surround us. It was how we liked it. That was how it stayed, until...

"Jojo?"

"Is that Jojo?"

"Hey, Jojo!"

"Jojo!"

"Over here, Jojo!"

The fangirls. They annoyed the hell out of the both of us. These girls saw Jotaro as prey, a way to gain status by taking the badass as a boyfriend. Once they figured out that I was just a "sibling," and not a girlfriend like they assumed, they started using every dirty trick to get his attention and affection. Jokes on them. Because of the number of girls fawning over him, there was immense competition. Fighting could turn violent at times. But they usually distracted each other, so we didn't have to intervene much.

A dark haired girl latched onto Jotaro's arm, butting in between us. I tried my best not to get aggravated as she nudged me aside. "So Jojo, where have you been?" Her voice sickeningly sweet. He ignored her and kept walking. "You've been out of school for four days! What happened?"

His only response was a cold glare, a warning to her. Despite his cold and menacing demeanor, all it did was make her blush and stare wistfully into his eyes. I scoffed a bit. She was probably more in love with the fantasy of him than the actual Jotaro. In order to do that, you would have to get to know him, and that was something these girls would never do. If they did, they would find out that he was a human, not the brooding god they were hoping for.

Another fangirl elbowed the brunette away from his arm. "How dare you!" she accused, her red hair vibrant in the morning sun. The only thing appealing about her, really. "I don't like how friendly you are getting with him."

I closed the gap between Jotaro and me. I wouldn't call their actions "friendly." They were much too aggressive, too selfish. The two girls chattered behind us, slinging insults at each other with increasing intensity.

I gave Jotaro a questioning look, asking him if he was still alright in one expression. He responded with an aggravated look. Not an uncommon thing with him. But I could tell these girls were getting to him. I looped my arm around his, partly to reassure him, partly to keep anyone else from getting to him.

Behind us, the two angry fangirls were becoming louder and more agitating. Their bickering reaching a terrible crescendo, voices hitting higher and higher notes. I was about to say something spiteful and bitchy, when I felt Jotaro twist around suddenly.

"Shut up!" He shouted. "You're so fucking annoying!" This wasn't his breaking point, but I knew this was his last warning to them. I turned and shot them a glare, trying to add to the aggressive message. It wasn't long before they were swooning again, faces flushed and letting out sighs. I shook my head and focused on walking.

The girls continued to walk behind us, a little farther behind and little more quiet. We continued our walk with the entourage trailing behind. We came to a long set of stairs, the divider between the suburbs and the main city itself, the tall skyscrapers framing the morning sky. We passed under the tall red gate and descended the stairs. Branches passed by as we took step after step, brushing against my arms and legs.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a fountain of blood splash across the stone. I felt Jotaro push me away, and I watched as he began the long fall down the stairs. I shouted his name, trying to pick myself up. I heard the girls behind me panic and scream.

This couldn't be happening. It all came out of nowhere, everything changing so fast. It seemed like a nightmare. Whether it was or not, I had to do something.  I stumbled to my feet and tried to summon my stand, thinking desperately to figure out a way to stop his fall.

Jotaro must have had the same idea, because he summoned his own stand and used him to grab a hold of some of the branches passing by. They bent and warped, slowing his descent until he rested at the bottom of the hill. I stopped what I was doing. I grabbed our bags and went down the stairs as fast as I could without falling myself.

I met him at the bottom of the hill, letting out a sigh when I saw he was alive. His face was white, his breaths ragged gasps for air. He stood up and brushed the leaves and sticks off his clothes. He looked around like he was trying my figure something out.

"What happened?" I quietly asked. There was a long gash in his knee, blood oozing down his skin and seeping into the fabric of his pants. I reached into my bag, looking for a handkerchief. I thought I had one, but I guess I was wrong.

He shook his head. "I don't know. Something's not right," he said in a low voice, almost as if he was afraid someone would hear him.

"Jojo!" The gaggle of girls finally made their way to the bottom of the stairs. They circled us, asking all sorts of questions. Some were trying to get closer to Jotaro, offering to hold his hand to prevent any more accidents. He ignored them and looked through his coat, looking for something to tend his wound with.

I felt eyes on me, dark and devious eyes. I looked around me. Descending the stairs was a student around our age. His uniform didn't match our school's standard, being green instead of blue. His hair was bright red, almost unnaturally so. A white scarf wrapped around his frame like bandages for the dead. He was almost as tall as Jotaro, and his face was cold and stony. He stopped in front of us, reaching into his pocket and to bring out a square of cloth.

"You seem to be injured," he said, quiet and monotone. His eyes were dangerous and empty at the same time. "Use this. It will stop the bleeding."

"Thanks," Jotaro took the handkerchief. His eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

"And you," the stranger turned to me. Everything about him seemed so off, like he wasn't human. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. "It looks like you scraped your elbow." He pointed at my left arm.

I looked down at my elbow. The outer layer of my skin had been shredded, letting blood seep out between the little that remained. Now that I was looking at it, it instantly started to hurt. It must have happened when Jotaro pushed me away.

"It would be a shame if your wound got infected," he turned slowly and robotically, walking away with a strange stride.

"Hold it,"Jotaro called out. "You didn't let me thank you. What's your name?"

The stranger stopped, swiveling a bit. "My name is Noriaki Kakyoin."

"You don't look like you are from around here," I spoke before he could get away. "You're not wearing the proper uniform if you were a student."

"I'm a transfer student. I moved here two days ago." He lurched forward again. "See you around." He walked away without saying another word. Jotaro and I stood there for a few moments, trying to figure out what had just happened.

After a while, we finally made it to school. The girls said their goodbyes and wandered off to wherever they needed to go. When they had all left, I looked at Jotaro. His cut was still oozing. It might even need stitches. His injury was worse than he was letting on.

"Let's head to the nurse's office," I said quietly. "Your leg's still bleeding, and I need a bandage for my elbow." He gave me a slight nod, quiet as always. I walked off, leading the way.

We walked through the halls of the school, finding our way to the door with the white cross decal in the window. I swung it open, letting Jotaro stalk in after me. The nurse noticed us as she chatted with two other students laying cots across from her. She turned to us with her perfectly practiced smile.

"Jotaro, (Y/N). What a surprise," she let a bit of sarcasm slip in. The boys she was talking to had confused looks on their faces. "What can I do for you two, so early in the morning?"

I let the door close. "We had a bit of an accident. Can you patch us up?"

"Accident?" One of the boys spoke up. "Most of your accidents send people to the hospital." A smirk etched itself into his face. The other boy chuckled.

The nurse waved him into silence. "What kind of injuries do you have?"

I showed my elbow. "I only need a bandage." I motioned to Jotaro. "He needs more attention then I do. He's been bleeding pretty badly for a while now."

She looked between us. She reached into a drawer, pulling out the appropriate sized bandage. She walked over and carefully placed it on my injury. "You should be alright, it doesn't look that bad." She turned to Jotaro and gestured to a chair. "You will have to take a seat. I'll need a better look at your leg."

Jotaro silently did as he was told, leaning a little too far back into the chair. The nurse looked back at me. "If you don't have any other issues, you had better head to class. I don't want you creating any more trouble for yourself." She gave me a smile before heading back to work.

"Don't get your hopes up, lady," the other boy mused from his cot.

I glanced over at Jotaro. "I'll see you later, then." He gave me a slight nod. I turned and walked out of the door.

I stood outside the office, wondering what I was going to do next. I had a backlog of schoolwork to get caught up on. Holly pulled me out of school when Jotaro decided to not leave jail. Family emergency, I guess. To be honest, I was getting tired of school, and I didn't want to deal with it all today. Thing was, Japanese schools don't like it when people are up moving around, or in places they deem are off limits to students. What to do...

Well, I had packed a few snacks this morning. The roof was off limits, but if I was sneaky about it, I could hang out up there for a while. A nap would be nice as well. It was a nice place to waste time. I made up my mind and headed to the set of stairs leading to the roof. The door to the roof was always kept locked, but I had a way to get it open.

I snuck up the stairs. I had to work fast if I didn't want to be seen. When I reached the top, I pressed my hand against the door. I felt my stand materialize behind me. It reached forward with thin, needlelike fingers. They slid into the gears of the lock, pressing and pulling on the mechanisms. With a few expert motions, the lock gave a small click. I tugged on the knob and felt the door slowly swing open.

I stepped into the bright sunlight beaming down from above. I quietly let the door click shut, the lock resetting. I looked over the rooftop, trying to find a place where I couldn't be seen but still sit in the sun. After a bit of searching, I found a place that would work. I tried to make myself comfortable and brought out my snacks.

I chuckled to myself a bit. Japanese culture would say this was delinquent behavior. American culture would say that I was just being a normal mischievous teenager. Whatever it was I was doing, it felt kind of good. I opened a bag and took out one of my favorite foods. As I looked over the edge of the building I started munching a bit, watching the birds as they came and went.

I felt a rumble from the building under me. My first thought was earthquake. They happened often enough here. Thing was, this didn't feel like an earthquake. The trees didn't move much around me. Something had happened from within the building. God, I hope Jotaro wasn't getting into more trouble. But then again, there could be utility issues going on. Pipes bursting or the furnace giving out.

I started to pick up my things. Whatever it was, I needed to get off the roof. It would be a long fall if the building should collapse, even if it was just part of the structure. Getting caught was also not fun. Where would I hide after this? There aren't many places in the school where teachers didn't search regularly for misbehaving students.

I felt a few smaller quakes under me. Panic started to set in. I rounded up the rest of my stuff and ran to the door. My stand manifested, beginning its work on the lock. Damn it, why did it take so much longer to unlock something when you don't have any time? It fumbled around more than it should have, making silly mistakes.

The building started shaking again, more violent this time. It continued to gain energy, so much so that my stand couldn't keep hold of the lock. Suddenly, I heard the windows shatter and implode. Shards rained down to the ground and clattered against the concrete. The walls and floor began to crack. I watched as parts of the roof began to sink, small parts crumbling to the rooms below.

I took a moment to take a deep breath. I had to get out of here, and quickly. I couldn't do that if I was panicking. I looked at the door in front of me. The quake had caused the wall to warp and crack. Some fairly large ones ran around the door. I had to be careful about this. The wall could fall over any time if I was too reckless.

My stand inserted its fingers into the mechanism again, this time very slow and deliberate with its actions. Every movement felt like a dance with death. After a very tenses few second and a few more clicks of the lock, the door swung open with little effort.

With a little smile I called off my stand. So far, so good. I pushed open the door before it closed again and locked itself. Cautiously, I tiptoed into the foyer. The bells were ringing in alarm throughout the entire school. The walls were crumbling. All the windows had been shattered.

I should have been paying more attention. I had let go of the door, letting sling close like I would normally do. It was the force that caused the wall to give out. I heard the crumbling and the moaning. I whipped around to see it looming over me, beginning its slow descent to crush me. Panic set in, and I threw myself out of the way. The wall crashed and broke apart as it hit the floor. Debris hit me in the arms and  torso. Dust filled the air and began to settle on my hair and clothes.

I took a moment to breathe. Had I been a second too slow, I would have been crushed. Another close brushed with death. I looked around. The wall had made a lot of noise, and it could have alerted someone. A few minutes passed by, and no one came wandering by. Somewhat relieved, I picked myself off the floor.

I carefully wandered down the stairs. If the wall could give out, the staircase definitely could. I needed to head to the first floor where the nurse's office was situated. After I found Jotaro, it would be best to get out of the school. Teachers would naturally be suspicious of us. Besides, the whole place was a death trap now.

I successfully made my way down two stories without the building collapse around me further. I hopped off the last step and rounded the corner, creeping down the hall. The bells had started to cause ringing in my ears. I had to avoid teachers and other students. I didn't want any more trouble. I made my way to the nurse's office, swinging open a door sitting on its last hinges.

The inside of that room had the worst damage in the whole school. Entire walls had been ripped out, the ceiling was falling to pieces. The windows had been blasted out, and the equipment and furniture had been rendered unrecognizable. I took a step inside and took a look around, searching for any sign of Jotaro.

In a corner of the room, the nurse was lying unconscious. Her blouse had been ripped open and her blood pooled around her. I carefully walked over to her, looking her over. Her wounds seemed superficial. If I didn't know any better, I would say that she might have been sexually assaulted. But things had been too strange around here to give any definitive answers. I didn't have the strength to move her, and I could hurt her just as much as I could help. It would be best just to leaver her.

I stood up and looked around. A figure moving around outside caught my eye. I moved to the empty windows to get a better look. Jotaro was walking to the front gate, a body slung over his shoulder. What the hell was he up to? Did he kill someone? I had to get to him. But I couldn't walk out the front door. I managed to hop though the window without cutting myself on the glass. I hit the ground and ran over to him.

"Jotaro, wait!" I huffed, pounding against the pavement. He gave me a slight look. It was all he could do and not lose the body on his shoulder. I slowed down to match his stride. "What happened? And who is that?" I gasped out.

He didn't say anything for a few moments. "He tried to kill me."

"What?"

He didn't speak again. "He attacked me in the nurse's office. The coward used the nurse against me, using her as some sort of puppet. I put an end to it."

I looked over the body. It was the transfer student we had run into before. Had he been the source of Jotaro's accident? I glanced back up to him. "Did you kill him?"

He shook his head.

I sighed. "Okay, so what are we doing with him?"

"I'm going to show him to the old man. He might know something about him. He might have something to do with DIO."

I took a few moments to think over what he said. "Alright. I'm coming along too. I can't let you have all the fun."

We arrived home soon after. Jotaro shifted the limp body on his shoulder and we entered the front building. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "This place is too big."

I instantly understood what he meant. "I'll go look for Joseph. You hang tight until I come get you, okay?" He paused a moment, but gave a reluctant nod.

I walked throughout the compound, opening doors to rooms they might be in. They had to be somewhere. I passed over bridges and slid open doors. It wasn't long before even I was getting irritated.

As I was opening another door, I heard conversation a little bit down. That is to say, I heard Joseph's booming voice. Unless he was crazy, he was talking to someone. Probably Avdol. I walked down a few doors and opened the one into the tea room.

As I slid the door open to find Joseph and Advol sitting on the floor, sipping on some hot drinks and deep in discussion. When they saw me in the doorway, they stopped and looked at me quizzically.

"(Y/N)," Joseph looked up at me. "What's going on? I thought you were at school."

"I was," I looked around to see if I could find Jotaro."But something came up. You're going to want to see this."

I popped my head out the door an glimpsed Jotaro. He was talking with his mother, doing what they normally do. I waved him down. He saw me and came over, Kakyion still bleeding over his shoulder.

"See what?" Joseph asked. He put away his tea set, which he was using for his disusting instant coffee. "What happened to you? Why are you covered in dust?"

Jotaro appeared in the doorway beside me. Joseph and Avdol took in the sight of us both. Me covered in plaster and rubble, Jotaro drenched in his own blood and the blood of our mysterious transfer student. He walked in and laid Kakyoin out on the floor in front of them.

"Do you know him?" Jotaro asked. "He tried to kill me." He then gave the abridged version of what happened in the nurse's office. I walked in and stood beside him as he talked.

Joseph thought it over, stroking his beard. "I hate to say this, but there's no chance he's making it out alive. He has a few days to live, at most."

"What do you mean?" I piped up. "Jotaro might have beat him senseless, but that couldn't be enough to kill him!"

"It's not Jotaro's fault." He leaned forward and pulled back Kakyoin's bangs. "Look!"

In the center of his forehead, just along the hairline, a thing that looked like a pimple with legs pulsated and moved. This wasn't regular teenage acne. This was something evil.

"What is that thing?" Jotaro asked with disgust. "Is that what made him swear allegiance to DIO?"

"Yes," Avdol said calmly. "It's called a flesh bud. It is constructed from DIO's cells. It may be small, but it has the power to control the mind of it's victim."

"CHARISMA!" Joseph announced with passion and fury. "DIO wields the same power that leads soldiers into battle, and believers to follow corrupt cult leaders! Kakyoin is only one of his lackeys! There will be many more, and they will not stop until we all are dead!"

"Then just remove the bud," Jotaro said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Joseph shook his head, his voice serious again. "That won't work. Removing it could cause severe injury to his brain. He would be subject to a fate worse than death. In the end, the bud always consumes the brain totally and completely."

During the conversation, the gears in my head had been turning and grinding. It was a bit of a long shot, but if Jotaro was set on saving Kakyoin's life, we didn't have much of a choice. "What if..." I said slowly, "I used my stand to separate the bud from his brain?"

"You never mentioned you had a stand," Avdol replied in his low voice.

I stood there a bit awkwardly. "I... never felt the need to bring it up. It's not very strong, and it doesn't seem very capable of fighting. It's very useful though. I think I'll be able to separate it from his brain, but my stand won't have the strength to remove it completely."

Jotaro summoned his stand. "That won't be a problem." His stern eyes bored into mine. "Get the damn thing loose, and I'll take care of the rest."

I nodded and summoned my own stand. I knelt on the floor, situated just above Kakyoin's head. Jotaro did the same on the opposite side. I reached out and held Kakyoin's head between my hands to keep him steady, with Jotaro mirroring my actions. Then, my stand reached out with its long fingers, sliding them between the flesh bud and the hard bone of his skull. They felt deeper and deeper, carefully feeling around the pulsing parasite. It slowly pulled the deep root of the bud away from the soft tissues of his brain. The stand's fingers plunged deeper, until there was no more root left to find.

"I think I got it," I said, the stress coming through in my voice. My stand held its fingers in place, waiting for the next part. "You'll have to finish it out, Jotaro."

He nodded. His stand reached out and grabbed the external part of the bud. The tension hung in the air, breathing it in as we tried to remain calm. The stand pulled the pulsing bud, exposing the root beneath. The legs began to slide out of the wounds they created.

One leg shot away from the bud. It hit Jotaro in the hand, writhing under the skin and working it way up his arm. I gasped as another dislodged itself and collided with my wrist. I could feel it sink under my skin, sliding over the muscle up my arm. Joseph and Avdol exclaimed beside me. As much as I wanted to panic and yank it out, it would kill Kakyoin. Any mistake would be lethal. I just had to trust Jotaro would succeed.

Kakyoin's eyes flashed open. They roamed over our faces and the stands as they worked.

"W-Why?" He managed to get out. "Why would you do this?"

"Don't move," I commanded. "This will all be over in a minute" Yeah, one way or another.

Jotaro's stand was still struggling against the flesh bud. I could feel the tentacle slide under the skin in my neck and into my face. I looked up to see the one in Jotaro had almost reached his forehead. I had to stay steady. I took a breath in to calm myself.

With one final pull, the bud was pulled free. Jotaro's stand took hold of the tentacles that had wormed into our bodies and pulled them out with a slurping sound. He launched the bud into the air.

"Overdrive!" Blinding yellow light erupted from Joseph's hand. With one swipe, the bud shrivelled and withered away. It left nothing but dust and the memory of the horrible thing. I didn't think his stand could do something like that.

I sat back and let my stand dematerialize. I rubbed the wound on my wrist. It was oozing blood down my hand. I hadn't expected the bud to fight back like that.  I let out a ragged breath. I slowly stood up and walked to the door to breathe in some fresh air. I could feel Jotaro make his way beside me.

Kakyoin slowly sat up and rubbed his forehead. Blood was running from the hole drilled into his brain. I could tell he was a little out of it still. How much was in control the past few days? How aware was he of his own actions? His blurry eyes made their way over to us.

"Tell me..." He wracked his brain for the right words. "Why did you save my life? After all that I've done..."

Jotaro walked past me, stepping onto the porch. He let the sun hit his face. "I don't really know." He said curtly.

I shook my head. 'Because you're a good person,' I thought to myself. Whether he realized it or not, under that sulky and angsty exterior was a heart of gold. He deeply cared about people. I think he had a problem showing it.

Holly rounded the corner, a bowl of medical supplies in her hands. She was basically a nurse at this point. There were so many times she had to patch us up after fights or scrapes or accidents. She knelt down in front of Kakyoin and began work on cleaning him up. We quickly filled her in on what happened to get him into such a state.

When she had finished and had him bandaged up, she sat back in satisfaction. "There," she nodded to herself with a smile. "All done."

Kakyoin looked at his hands, avoiding eye contact with anyone. "Thank you. For everything," he said quietly, almost too low to hear. This whole ordeal must have been hard on him.

"From what it sounds like, you've had a very eventful day. You better stay here and rest up for a while." She turned to Joseph. "Papa, get a futon ready for him," she ordered

"Huh?" He looked at her with a confused look. "Why do I have to? I don't like sleeping on the damn floor anyway." He crossed his arms and looked pouty. "In fact, get that stupid thing out of my room and replace it with a real bed!"

"No way," Holly replied stubbornly. "You are in Japan now. And in Japan, we sleep on the floor."

This was going to go on for a while. It would probably be best to attend to the patient. I knelt down next to Kakyoin. "Do you have any family you need me to call? I'm sure they will worry about you."

He looked at me with a stunned expression. I could see the hesitation behind his eyes. "Yes, here." He took a pen from his pocket and looked for something to write on. He settled on a piece of bandage. He scribbled a number down and bashfully handed it to me. I gave him a smile and stood up.

"Holly's a beautiful name! I gave it to you MYSELF!" Joseph yelled, being much too loud for such a small room.

I walked out the door, passing Jotaro. "Yare, Yare..." he muttered before following me. He wandered his way back to his room, while I made my way to the nearest telephone. The sounds of argument followed me as I travelled around the compound.

I stepped inside the kitchen and picked up the receiver off the mounted base. I held up the bandage to get a good look at the number. The ink had bled some, almost obscuring the digits. I dialed the number into the phone.

As I listened to the phone try to connect, I thought to myself. I would have to use a different name to not confuse Kakyoin's family. An American name would only tip them off. Someone picked up the phone of the other end.

"Yes, Hello. My name is (Y/N) Kujo...

"HOLLY!"

I woke up to his sleepy, rambly yelling as he paced up and up the compound. I had planned on sleeping in. It seemed Joseph had other ideas.

"You gave me Jotaro's pants! Where the hell are mine?"

I sighed. Flipping the covers off me, I pulled myself out of bed. We had decided that it was too risky to go back to school. It was the perfect place for ambush, as yesterday proved. I dragged myself into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Jotaro was going, but I think that was just to get away from all the craziness at home. It was getting to be a little too much. Can't say I blamed him. If anyone could deal with idiots and enemies, it would be him.

"No! My daughter has one name! HOLLY!" Joseph's voice echoes across the compound.

I stood in front of my closet, trying to figure out what I was going to wear. I was tired of the school uniforms. I looked around for something more casual. When I finally found something, I slipped it on and headed outside. Holly would probably be done with breakfast by now. It would be nice to eat next to the pond this morning.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Joseph's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. This wasn't what he usually sounded like. His voice was full of sadness and despair. It sent shivers down my spine. Something terrible must have happened for him to be like this. I ran across the compound toward the source of the cry.

I came to a halt in front of the kitchen. Intense conversation was happening between Joseph and Jotaro.

"We have to find DIO!" Joseph was saying. I had never heard him sound like this. "The only way to break this curse is to find him, and kill him!"

What?

I stepped into the kitchen. I felt my stomach tighten, my throat close. Before me, Joseph and Jotaro seemed to be at each other's throats. Behind them, Avdol was kneeling on the floor, cradling Holly's body. She was sweating from fever, her breaths coming short and haggard. Strange vines were starting to wrap around her.

I looked between everyone, not knowing who to ask. "What happened? What's wrong with her?"

No one said anything. After a while, Advol was the one who spoke up. Everything about him was serious and level headed. "Her stand is making her ill. It's too powerful even for her. If we don't find a way to stop it, she will die."

My blood went cold, then began to boil. No, not again. It can't happen again. I grabbed a hold of the doorframe to steady myself. This can't happen. I won't let this happen.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up to see Joseph towering over me. His face was etched with concern. "(Y/N), go get her bed ready, and something comfortable for her to change into. We need to move her out of here."

I gave a small nod. I walked towards her bedroom, feeling like the world was spinning around me. It felt like anger was taking hold in my heart as I got her futon ready and picked out her favorite nightgown. I watched in silence as Holly was carried in. After everything was settled, I broke away from the little group. Anger was causing me to shake a bit, and I didn't like it when people saw me out of control. I walked away as Joseph started to bring in a collection of cameras.

There was a little alcove of trees that sat right next to the water. It was easily accessible, while staying somewhat hidden. It was perfect for times like this. I sat myself down on the soft ground. I let the sounds of the bamboo fountain and the birds ease me. I folded my legs under me. I glared into the water below. Despite my best efforts, emotions started to bubble up from the depths of my soul. Emotions I hadn't felt in a long time. Emotions I didn't dare deal with, scared of what would happen if I did.

I don't know how much time had passed when I heard footsteps coming my way. I continued to stare into the water, pretending like I didn't hear them. Maybe they would go away if I didn't make myself known. I not ready to give up being upset.

I was extremely annoyed when Joseph meandered into my grove. "There you are. Jotaro said you might be here."

'Lovely,' I thought to myself. Of course, I couldn't be alone with these people.

He sat down next to me, hitting the ground with a groan. He rubbed the small in his back. "Sitting on the ground so much is starting to take its toll on my old body. I don't understand how the Japanese can do this all the time."

I didn't look at him, not really wanting to acknowledge him. "Did you find anything with Hermit Purple?" I spat out, very monotone.

He thought for a moment, pulling on his gloves. "We might be able to narrow down where DIO is. Jotaro was able to use his stand to draw a fly that was in one of the photos. Avdol is researching right now in the library. He thinks he can pinpoint where DIO is hinding.  We're just waiting for him to get back to us."

"Oh," I muttered. I wasn't wanting to contribute to the conversation much, and I wanted Joseph to go away.

I could feel his eyes on me. "Are you okay, (Y/N)? You seem to be taking this pretty hard."

I could feel anger rise up inside me again. I turned my head with a dramatic glare. "So is everyone else. That tends to happen when people have a dying relative, right?" I let the attitude come forth.

His brows furrowed immediately. "Don't get testy with me, (Y/N). I'm trying to help you here."

"I don't want you to help me!" I snapped back. "Just leave me alone."

Joseph sighed and rubbed his neck. "I'm only doing this because I care about you. You're not acting like normal."

"Like you would know how I act normally."

"I've know you since the day you were born. I watched you grow up. I think I know you pretty well."

I shook my head. I didn't want this. I was so upset. All I wanted was to find DIO and end him. Make him suffer as I have suffered. Grind him to dust. Bring his head back on a pike and show it to Holly when she woke up. Let her go back to living like she did before. My heart ached, but my body was consumed with hatred.

I felt Joseph's hand on my shoulder. I reluctantly met his gaze. "(Y/N), every one of us is determined to save her. I promise you, we'll kill DIO and bring Holly back to normal. You'll see."

I felt the world spinning without me. Something forced its way to the surface, something I had never known before. "You make a lot of promises," the words formed slowly and concisely. My mouth moved on its own. "But you never seem to go through with them. You promised you would find out what killed my parents." I felt control slipping. "It's been six years! SIX. YEARS. You haven't told me anything in all that time! My mother was your best employee! She was your daughter's best friend! My father was your intermediary to the Speedwagon Foundation. I'd think you would owe them more than that."

Joseph's shoulders sank. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was going to tell you everything and give you some sort of closure. The thing is, the more I dug into it, the more I found it was more complicated than I first thought." His eyes pleaded with me. "I didn't tell you anything to keep you safe. You parents were involved in some dangerous things. Things the Speedwagon Foundation keep very secret. If I told you, well. I didn't know what would happen."

I clenched my fists. I could feel myself begin to shake again. "Do you even know how it feels? To lose your parents, and not know what happened to them? How could you do this to me?"

His voice was soft. "Let me tell you a little story about myself." He adjusted himself on the gound. "I didn't know who my parents were until I was eighteen. I was raised by my Granny Erina and my Uncle Speedwagon. I didn't even recognize my mother when I finally met her."

I sat in silence, not knowing what to say or do. Joseph hesitated, like he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say.

"She knew the entire time, of course. She was the one who ended up training me and helped me defeat the Pillar Men. It wasn't until after she thought I had died that she told me what happened." He took a deep breath. "My father had been killed by one of DIO's zombies, left over from his battle with my grandfather Jonathan. She was scared for us both. She gave me to Granny Erina to take care of, then she went into hiding. She focused on her Hamon, so that something so terrible would never happen again. The entire time, no one told me anything."

I let his words sink in. He hadn't told me this before. Of all his grandiose stories of crashing planes, fighting ancient vampires, intense training with his friend Caesar, finding his wife Suzie Q in Italy, he had never mentioned any of that. Was it too painful? Or did it just not come up? Whatever had possessed me started to die down, leaving an empty feeling.

"I'm sorry, I... You never told me. I'm just so worked up. Holly..." I couldn't control myself. Tears started sliding down my face. "You guys are all I have left. I can't... I can't..."

The overwhelming concoction of emotions overtook me. The tears came so fast and so strong. Joseph pulled me into a hug, letting me sob into his chest. He rocked me back and forth. He stroked my head with his human hand. It was the first time in a long time that I had been so vulnerable. I clung to his shirt as I bawled and bawled.

When my tears had run dry, he pulled me away so he could get a good look at my face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here," he handed it to me.

I took it and began to clean my face. It was so wet, with what I could not tell. I didn't think I would get so emotional. This wasn't usually like me.

Joseph looked off in the distance like he was watching for something. "I'm sorry for all the pain I caused you, (Y/N). When all this is over, I'll get that information about your parents for you. Does that sound okay?" He waited for my answer.

I gave a small nod, handkerchief still pressed against my face. I looked down at his shirt. It was wet with all the tears I had shed.

He gave me a small smile. He slowly stood up with a groan. "I had better go see what Avdol's found anything. When you're ready, I think it would be a good idea for you to meet back with us. I think Jotaro has been worrying about you." After another nod from me, he quietly strolled away.

I sat next to the water, letting the last few tears slide down my face. I had never intended to get so emotional. I had hoped to drive him away so I could continue to languish in my emotions. I... Never thought he would end up telling me something like that.

I rubbed my face. Why had I gotten so upset in the first place? Why did I have to go digging up old hurt to use against Joseph? My past made me upset, for sure. But usually not that much. I had attacked him for something he had no control over. But then again, I didn't know that. I just... I don't think I was as at peace with myself as I had once thought. I didn't do any of the healing that was required to lay it to rest.

Did I still feel so angry and feel compelled to hunt down DIO? Yes, definitely. I would do whatever it took to make sure Holly was safe. I'll trade seven lives for one if I had to. Maybe more. The difference was, it didn't feel like it was consuming me. All I really felt was honor. Honor and spite.

I didn't know what had come over me before. Love? Hate? Fear? I couldn't tell. I didn't want to lose Holly. She was like a mother to me. Not that she could replace my own mother. But she had come into my life in a vulnerable time in my life. She had become important to me. Life wouldn't be the same without her.

I stood up and began walking back to Holly's room. I should check on her. I never got a good handle on her condition. The guys also probably made some headway in finding DIO. If they did, I wasn't going to let them leave without me. I wanted to be one of the reasons DIO comes to an end.

I wasn't okay. I didn't know if I was going to be okay. But if I had to sacrifice myself and my sanity to save Holly, I would do it in a heartbeat.

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 7

Inuyasha sighed out, a barely-visible puff of air appearing before his face as he walked along the length of the gate outside of the schoolyard. He felt abnormally exhausted this morning, and like anyone, he blamed it on the fact that it was Monday, the clouds were dreary, and he may have been up late playing video games. He had a chemistry test this afternoon, and he could only hope to wake up a little more by then to properly focus.

He’d caught her scent just before entering the building, his attention blindly following his nose as his eyes scoured the grounds for her. She wasn’t that far off, standing in a misshapen circle with Sango and three other girls, one of them enthusiastically telling a story that had the lot of them giggling. That smile, the rosy color of her cheeks, the way the tip of her nose was a light shade of pink from the chill of their morning, it was all like a buzz of caffeine for him. The more he watched, the more he listened to the melody of her laugh, the lighter he began to gradually feel.

Kagome was wearing black tights beneath her charcoal uniform skirt this morning as opposed to the knee-high socks she usually opted for, sparing her legs from the small nip in the air. Over her white button up, she donned a dark, knitted sweater, the baggy sleeves shielding her fingers. But, her neck wasn’t covered. Sure, her hair was worn down, waving over her shoulders in their natural order, but what good was that compared to something literally manufactured to keep heat in? The dummy was just asking for a cold. Whatever combatant thought that formulated in his head deliberately went ignored as he turned away from the building to walk toward her, a horrible fluttering expanding throughout his abdomen. Sango’s gaze met him first as he approached, then Kagome’s as the group of girls’ chatter died off into a curious and muddled silence. God, he didn’t think there was anything capable of rivaling the annoying sensation in his stomach at the moment, but when she smiled wider at him as he stopped just a foot or two before her, his heart gave a thunderous pound that he worried would wound his ribcage. His cheeks went hot, then his nose, then the remainder of his face, and the thought of his evident blush only made him heat up furthermore. Her greeting was soft and happy, bringing him to huff out, his jaw clenching, and his amber eyes drifting off to the side. As planned, Inuyasha removed the muffler from his neck, untwisting it so he could hand it over. From his peripherals, he gathered that she was confused, not immediately taking it from him, so he decidedly did the damn job himself before he ended up spontaneously combusting from flames of embarrassment. Carefully, the hanyou looped it behind her neck, twisted, then looped it again so it bunched properly to keep her warm, her raven hair billowed beneath. 

She was staring up at him with large eyes, her pink lips pinching together then growing into a shy and appreciative smile. Son of a bitch, she was fucking cute.

He walked away, heading toward the entrance of the building without a single word, and Kagome’s blush maddened as her friends made hushed and cheery noises at what had just happened.

“So, what? Are you guys together now?”

“When did you two even become a thing?”

“Wasn’t that Inuyasha? I’ve never seen him not mad.”

“Nah, he still looked mad. Just a flustered sort of mad.”

“And to think just a couple days ago you were worried.” Sango teased.

“Yeah, but y-you know happened.” Kagome said, feeling like she was standing under an intense spotlight.

“Uh, we don’t!” Eri stated, bringing the attention back to them. “Hello, hi. Details, please.”

“Oh, look at the time.” Kagome pulled back the sleeve of her left hand to look at the invisible watch along her wrist, beginning to walk backward toward their school building. “I need to - I’ve gotta - I mean, class is starting soon, so yeah. Bye.”

Sango laughed, waving and knowing full and well that her friend was heading to catch up with her favored half demon. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell us?”

“Sorry, guys.” She shrugged, smiling. “The best friend privilege is knowing, and the code is not spilling business that isn’t mine to spill.”

Kagome wandered over to his locker in the third row, spotting him just as he closed the small, metal door. He glanced over, his eyes never leaving her as she sauntered his way, and though his cheeks continued to reveal some of his timidness, a soft smile on his lips further ignited the spark between them.

“I don’t need it back if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“After school. Keep it until then.”

“I actually came to walk with you. If that’s okay?”

“You don’t need to ask, dummy.” Inuyasha replied, though there was the hint of tension in his tone. He gave a notch of his head to lead the way, shoving his hands into his pant pockets to appear as casual as possible. She walked at his side, just as close as they’d walked on Saturday night, and he found it to be a source of comfort. Progressively, his preservation melted away with her warmth, wanting less to hide his affection behind a barricade and wanting more to give it to her so she’d always smile like she had before. 

“So, uh, how’d you do on your last math test?” He asked as they began their ascent up the stairs and to the second floor where their classes were.

“Oh, I totally forgot! I meant to show you!” Kagome opened her book bag at her side, pulling out the quiz after wiggling it free from between two notebooks. She held it out, positively beaming and excited for him to see her accomplishment.

Inuyasha took in the “B” next to her name before taking the paper into his grip, a smile of his own forming as his pride for her swelled. “This is the best one yet! Soon you’re not even gonna need my help.”

“I don’t know about that.” She quickly countered, a little nervous at the sound of losing any easy opportunity to see him outside of school. “I still struggle a bit. And, I mean, you do call me a dummy.”

“Not as an insult.” He chuckled, handing the test back to her so she could shove it back into her bag.

“It originated for a reason, and then just became an endearment of sorts.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.” Inuyasha said, still smiling. He glanced at her, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, shielded behind a small grin. Was she looking for validation? He felt something click in him, like he didn’t actually need to question what she wanted. The quick rebut she’d served just a moment ago to his comment, the look she was giving, the warm sensation building in his chest - it made it easy not to second guess his intuition. This was an understanding he’d been privileged to receive from being with her so often, from falling in love. Not a part of him desired to resist what surprisingly and so simply came to him right now, the back of his hand grazing her knuckles until he hooked one of her fingers with his own. They both stopped walking, and he pulled her closer by another inch. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere; we’ll still study together. Maybe you’ll even end up tutoring me.”

“Doubtful.” Kagome muttered with a shy smile, her finger gently clutching his in return.

“Which part?”

“Me tutoring you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He chuckled, her responding giggle like a gift. The bell rang and he knew the halls were about to get busy as everyone filtered through to class. He took the opportunity he had, never letting go of her finger. “Tomorrow? I’ll walk you home and we can study.”

“Okay.” She nodded, smiling.

Using his free hand, Inuyasha twirled some strands of her hair around his finger, ones that were short, and framed her jaw, and weren’t held captive by the muffler like the rest of it all still was. “Come on, dummy.” He grinned, leading her to her class with a yank on her finger.

—

Sango puffed out her cheeks in a mock pout, standing by a tree with her arms crossed over her chest after school. “Call me repetitive, but I still cannot believe you’re ditching me for a boy today.”

“You’re repetitive.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not even ditching you,” Kagome laughed. “I said he’d be walking with us. You’re the one who chose to walk home alone.”

“Excuse me, look me in the eyes and tell me I’m third wheel material. I dare you.”

She laughed a little harder from her best friend’s dramatic exasperation. “He’s walked with us before, Sango! It’s just like every other time.”

“Bull and baloney! The last time he walked with us was before you guys got over the majority of your romantic constipation.” Sango ignored the weird look that took over Kagome’s expression, proceeding on with her argument without hesitance. “Things are better now, you’ve both gotten a clue - thank god - and moves are being made. When he said he wanted to walk you home, he meant he wanted to walk you home. Therefore, if I tag along until we hit my route, he’s gonna be uncomfortable up until then and I’m gonna be the cockblock.”

“What? Not even!”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, you’re just gonna avoid us forever now? This is it? Whenever Inuyasha wants to come with, you’re out?” Kagome grinned, leaning her head to the side in a playful challenge.

“No, of course not. Not forever. When you guys are in an established relationship - and by established, I mean passed the mushy crap - then I’ll make my return. Maybe even sooner if I land myself a stud, because then I wouldn’t be a third wheel.” Sango shrugged.

“You’ve got one guy in mind that can’t even talk to you passed ‘hello,’ so that could take a while.”

“See you on the flip side, my main gal.”

“You realize then that this isn’t me choosing a guy over you, but you choosing your pride over everything?”

“You bet, but I’m still blaming you.”

“You know what? I’m gonna do you a favor.” Kagome cocked a brow, her smile shifting into one of deviousness.

“What? No, wait. No. I know that look, and I hate it. What are you gonna do?” Sango’s face twisted in suspicion, her brows furrowing deeply as Kagome turned about, seemingly searching the school grounds. She had a sinking feeling in her chest as a scheme had obviously just popped into Kagome’s head, and who had she just mentioned? Bad, not good, very bad. “Kay, I swear to Zeus if you -“

“Oh, there they are!” Kagome beamed, practically skipping her way over to the pair of far-off boys.

“I have no best friend!” Sango hissed, quickly ducking herself to hide behind the tree.

Inuyasha’s golden stare transferred from his friend to her as she approached, the plain expression he held while Miroku talked changing to a gentle grin. He notched his head in a silent greeting while his friend finished his sentence.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She apologized, stopping before them, a little closer to Inuyasha than in the center.

“Nothing to worry about.” Miroku kindly dismissed. “Since you’re here, let me ask you something: Do you prefer me with or without the rattail? I need a lady’s perspective.”

“Oh, god no, definitely without.” Kagome answered a little too quickly, giving a small grimace when she realize how rude it could have come off, especially as Inuyasha stifled his snorted laugh. “I mean, it’s your choice, of course! I just think the style is a bit outdated. And, this shorter cut suits you much better. Were you thinking of growing it back?”

“Wow. Not anymore.” Miroku blinked, pinching his lips into a tight line.

“Thank you.” Inuyasha boasted, like he’d finally gotten his way. He gave another small nod to Kagome, gesturing in the direction of the gate. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Hang on, I have a question.” She said, stopping Inuyasha before he could lead her off. She looked over at his friend, watching him go from feigned defeat to slightly curious when he realized it was for him. “I’m sorry if this is none of my business, but do you mind if I be a little upfront for a moment and ask how you feel about Sango?”

“Oh god, you’re gonna break him.” Inuyasha murmured beside her.

“No, I promise I won’t tell her anything. I’m just wondering.” Kagome assured.

“You mean, I haven’t made it painstakingly obvious?” Miroku asked monotonously, his grin devoid of any real emotion.

“So, you like her?”

“Something like that.”

“Why haven’t you asked her out?”

“Remember that time, a few months ago, when I stopped you guys on your way home from school?”

“Yeah.”

“I was going to try and get her number then. I had a classic pickup line planned and everything, and yet the only thing that came out of my mouth was her name. I can’t function around her. I panic around her. I freeze, I sputter, and I shave a few years off my life every time I’m around her. You see my problem?”

“Okay, you’re not good with girls. It’s fine, you’ve gotta start some-“

“I’m fantastic with girls, you take that back!” Miroku retorted defensively.

“Really? You can actually claim that right now?” Kagome earnestly asked.

“You really think you have the room to talk when you two still aren’t even dating?” Miroku chided, pointing to both Inuyasha and Kagome. He didn’t even have time to flinch before Inuyasha slugged him in the arm, his pained groan gurgled and deep. “Okay, withdrawn!” He clutched the offended spot, respectfully ignoring Kagome’s embarrassment as he continued speaking to buffer the awkwardness. “Look, there’s just something about her that fucks me up. Little-by-little, I’m talking! I’m getting better! I’m growing! I’m not always melting down like I used to! I’ll get there eventually!”

“What if I make it a little easier on you?” She offered with a simple shrug.

“How?”

“Give me your number and I’ll give it to her. That way, you don’t have to stress yourself out by asking for hers, and that’s one objective down.”

“Wait,” Miroku tilted his head skeptically. “Are you - are you saying she’s interested?”

Kagome feigned a believable frown. “Actually, I don’t know.” She lied. “Sango’s a pretty private person. She doesn’t often talk about her feelings, even to me. I’m just doing this to help you out. You’re a nice guy, and I’m her best friend. Easy in-between.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“No catch?”

“She said no catch. Just do it.” Inuyasha griped. “You’ve been going on and on about this since last year, and now you’re gonna question the opportunity?”

“Because, there’s gotta be a catch! She owes me nothing - you owe me nothing. So, why do me a favor?”

“No catch.” Kagome repeated, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m just a nice person. If you want to do it yourself, by all means. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or push you to do something you don’t want to do. But, if I do it, we eliminate the potential to wreck yourself even more in front of her, and then the ball’s in her court. If she’s interested, she’ll text or call, if not, then nothing happens and you have your answer. Besides, I think she’s already headed home, so I can talk you up a little and say you wanted to give it to her today but she’d already left so you gave it to me to pass on.”

“No catch?”

“No catch.”

“No one’s that nice.”

“I am. Oh, and just think. It’s always easier to talk through text because you have time to think through what you want to say before you say it.”

“He’ll still mess it up.” Inuyasha quietly mentioned.

“Nah, I don’t think he will.” She said, smiling, redirecting the conversation back to Miroku. “Then, you’ll adjust, realize Sango’s super easy to talk to and there’s nothing to be nervous about, and talking to her in person will be as normal as talking to anyone else.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah okay. You drive a hard bargain, Higurashi.” Miroku eagerly opened his bag, bringing out his notebook and opening it to the first empty page. “Inuyasha, your pen.” He requested, holding his hand out as the half demon pulled his pen from his front, pant pocket. Taking the writing utensil and clicking the ballpoint end out, he began scribbling along the upper-right corner.

Kagome could tell it wasn’t just his number he was jotting down, but she didn’t try to peek, instead giving a quick side-glance to Inuyasha and winking so he knew she had this planned. Miroku tore the edge of the paper, folding up his little note and handing it over to Kagome which she happily took and slipped into the small pocket at the front of her book bag.

“Say something nice about me when you see her.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Now, can we go?” Inuyasha spoke, taking back his pen and sliding it into his front pocket once more. Kagome smiled, giving a nod and waving goodbye to his best friend before walking off with him toward the exit. As soon as they were out of the gate, and effectively out of earshot of Miroku - who had to stay behind for his stupid student council committee - he shot her a sly look. “What was that all about?”

“Just helping things along.” She replied, giving a measly shrug.

“Ka-go-me!” The shout was menacing and chilling, over-enunciated for full, grounding effect, and bringing Kagome to look wearily toward a fuming Sango who was running right toward her. Hastily, she dodged around the half demon, using him as a shield to protect herself from the temperament of her best friend.

Inuyasha stood stiffly between the two, thoroughly confused and unsure whether this was actually something he should literally be in the middle of.

“No! Wait! Don’t be mad, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Kagome proclaimed.

“What did you say!?” Sango asked, brows pinching together but no real malice to her tone. She was frantic for an answer, and naturally defensive, but Kagome should have known better than to pull one of Sango’s own stunts on her.

“Nothing about you!”

“Freaking liar!”

“No, I swear! I didn’t! In fact, the one question he asked about you, I lied about and turned the subject back on him!”

“And, what was the subject, Kagome!?”

“About whether he liked you or not!”

“Oh my god! You can’t just ask someone that!” Sango cried, shoving her face into her palms.

“What!? On Saturday, you said -“

Sango shushed her, the noise high pitched and tense. “I know what I said, but that advice wasn’t for me!”

“If it’s any consolation, he said yes!”

“He did!?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her.” Inuyasha mentioned, turning his head to peculiarly glance at her from the side.

“Oh, because it wouldn’t be obvious when I gave her his number?” Kagome retorted, not yet coming out from the shelter his body provided.

“What?” Sango asked, slightly shocked.

“Yeah, see,” Kagome fished the folded up paper out of the pocket of her bag, sliding her arm around Inuyasha’s waist to hand it over. Her friend snatched the note like a monkey snagging a banana from its handler, unfolding it to read its contents. “I didn’t read it, I promise. He really wanted me to give that to you.”

Sango studied what was written, her cheeks becoming a bright shade of pink before lowering the small shred of paper to peer at Kagome, her eyes large and pleading. “Did you seriously ask him for his number for me? He’s gonna think I’m desperate!”

“No! I offered to give you his number for him! I told him I didn’t know if you liked him, but I just wanted to do him a favor.”

“And, he fell for that?”

“Yup. Whatever else that says is all him. I didn’t suggest a note, just the number.”

Sango quickly handed the note to Kagome, making sure Inuyasha didn’t glance to read it, her hand held open for Kagome to return it when she was done. 

I’m sorry I’m weird around you. I literally get dumbstruck by your beauty. I don’t want to mess up anymore, so here’s my number. Give me a chance. - Miroku.

Kagome beamed, slipping the small piece of paper back into Sango’s palm. “So, what do you think?”

“I don’t know. He really has no idea how I feel?”

“Look, I can honestly tell you he didn’t suspect a thing. You can go into this whatever way you want, and the guy wouldn’t know the difference.” Inuyasha testified, leaning his head to the side in a careless manner.

“You,” Sango pointed up at the hanyou’s face, a scowl forming on her own, successfully intimidating him as he flinched back an inch. “Will keep this conversation to yourself, got it? I mean it. Don’t tell him anything that happened here.”

“How are you so scary for a small chick?” He held his hands out defensively in front of him.

“My dad’s a cop.”

“Ah.”

“Believe me, he won’t say anything.” Kagome assured, finally coming out of hiding. “So, are you gonna text him?”

“You’ll find out when your friendship timeout is up.” Sango sneered, pursing her lips and crossing her arms.

“How long!?” Kagome pouted.

“To be determined.” She shrugged, walking off to take a different route home.

“Determine!”

“Two hours.”

“Hours?”

“You’ll be busy anyway, so you won’t even notice.”

“Sango!”

“Bye!” She waved from behind, crossing the street.

“You guys are weird.” Inuyasha remarked, walking on ahead.

“You really won’t tell, right?” Kagome asked, upping her speed to reach his side again.

“What? That Sango likes Miroku? Nah.” He confirmed, his tone level as he gave a small shake of his head. “I kind of figured you wouldn’t just do Miroku a favor out of the blue like that. Even before you winked.”

“So, you blindly backed me up?”

“Yup. Stupid, huh?”

She smiled, turning her head so he wouldn’t see how happy it had made her. The muffled chime of Inuyasha’s phone went off in his pocket, bringing her attention back his way as he pulled it out, his brows giving a small twitch together as he whispered an apology to her and answered.

“What’s up?” She couldn’t hear who was talking on the other end, but she continued walking at his side, minding her business to the best of her abilities, even when Inuyasha grumbled. He stopped walking, pinching the back of her sweater with his free hand to make her stay with him, his head lolling back in exasperation. “Yeah, fine, I’ll go check. I swear, you’re getting too old to leave the house.”

He hung up, grimacing deeply. “My uncle thinks he left the stove on and he won’t be back until late. I can run home real quick and I’ll meet you at your place. That okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kagome nodded understandingly. He flashed a small grin, his pace hastening slightly as he walked ahead to the corner, about to cross to the right where she’d just go straight. She watched him stop even though it was perfectly safe for him to go, an unsure expression on his lips as he pressed them together, eventually turning back to her as she finally reached the corner, herself.

“Unless, um, unless you just want to come with me? It’ll be a quick stop.”

Her smile grew brightly, her nod coming before her brain could actually initiate the response. When he smiled back and notched his head for her to follow, she couldn’t help the wild flutter that made home in her belly. She’d never been to his place before. She was excited. 

As if things couldn’t get any better, he’d grabbed her sleeve, pulling her closer to walk at his side again. In all honesty, she’d expected him to let go once he’d gotten his way, but he didn’t. He held onto her sleeve, keeping her with him as they walked, the silence undeniably comfortable. Kagome wondered if it would be okay to actually hold his hand. Would it make him shy away? They practically held hands yesterday, so they may as well, right? Was this the way he preferred it, or should she make the move? Maybe she’d try it slowly to properly read the situation. Because, she really, really, wanted to hold his hand.

Carefully, she angled her hand upward, her forearm following through as necessary, so she could brush the side of his fingers with her own. He didn’t look at her, nor did she look up at him, their eyes straight ahead or on their surroundings. His hand didn’t inch away, and his grip on her knitted sweater slackened, even more so as she brushed his fingers again. That second time, though, she slipped one of her fingers in the curve of his hand, then another when he welcomed her in, helping to build her courage. Inuyasha dropped his hold on her sleeve entirely, taking her hand in his, accepting the way she entwined their fingers and steadily following suit with his own grip. 

Maybe it was due to her infatuation with the boy, but she sincerely felt safe with her hand in his; protected from everything uninviting the world may put before her. After a moment, her embarrassment even faded away, far quicker than she’d ever expected it to. His hand was large and hot, engulfing and wonderfully gentle, his nails never a threat to her, but his unexpected tenderness was, his thumb smoothly rubbing back and forth over the back of her palm, threatening to provoke an eruption of butterflies in her abdomen.

“It’s this one.” Inuyasha said, guiding her through the small, front gate and pulling his small set of keys out of the pocket of his bag. Begrudgingly, he pulled his hand free from hers to open the door, letting her walk through first before following in and shutting it behind him. “Come on.” He walked up the hall a bit, her small, padded footsteps close behind him as he took a left into the kitchen, seeing the stove was off all along. 

“False alarm?” Kagome giggled.

“Better safe than sorry with that guy.” He groaned.

“Your home is nice.” She smiled, turning about to look at the small amount of decoration in the kitchen. It was a man’s home, that was for sure; it didn’t have a typical woman’s touch to it. Nonetheless, it was comfortable, kempt, and rustic.

“Well, it’s his. Totosai’s.” Inuyasha corrected with a dismissive shrug, sauntering back into the hall and toward the living room, making sure she followed.

“You live here, don’t you? And, he adopted you, so I’m sure you’re more than welcome to call this place yours.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I feel out of place.”

“You’ll only make yourself feel more out of place the more you say things like that.”

The half demon turned to her, brows furrowing speculatively. There was no animosity behind it; in fact, his smirk prodded her to elaborate.

“Like, okay say I’m feeling insecure about my looks. I don’t feel very pretty or attractive, and it’s weighing on me. I look at myself in the mirror and then I tell myself I’m ugly. Not just once, but I end up telling myself that on a regular basis. The insecurity will definitely sink through a lot faster than it would if I maybe told myself the opposite. I’d believe it wholeheartedly then. And after that, I’d never feel comfortable in my skin, or my dresses, or skirts, or jeans, or maybe even my frumpy clothes. No amount of makeup would do the trick, either, because what I did was empower my self-consciousness. I didn’t do myself any favors by allowing myself to think my negative thoughts were true. I, instead, made my own situation worse. Why do that? Insecurities, on any level, are natural, and sometimes it’s hard to convince yourself of the opposite, but it’s so much more worth it to try. And, you’d be happier when you come out.” She took a step closer to him, smiling. Inuyasha merely gazed down at her, no air of discomfort about; he simply listened. “Your situation - it’s understandable. I’d even be so bold to say it’s natural to feel out of sorts sometimes. This wasn’t the home you pictured living in as a child, and those feelings don’t need to go neglected. But, this is a home you’ve been welcomed into. Your uncle signed the papers and brought you here. I’m gonna assume you have your own bedroom, and furniture, and your clothes fit you properly so he’s definitely providing for you. You’ve got a key, and look -“ Her grin grew larger, her enthusiasm a little too pronounced as she turned to the mantle and spotted a candid picture of Inuyasha as a pre-teen, sitting on a park bench with much shorter hair. “He’s even proud to have photos of you on display. This is definitely your home.”

Quickly, flustered Inuyasha walked the few paces over to the picture and slammed it down. “Alright, alright. You made your point.” He drawled, looking back at her. “You’ve got a motivational speech for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.” She giggled.

“Mind if I go change out of my uniform real quick?”

“Go for it.”

Inuyasha walked out to the hall, leaving Kagome in the living room, his stomach feeling heavy while his chest fluttered with something uncertain. He’d stopped at the frame of the entry, his hand braced on the polished wood as he looked back at her over his shoulder, watching how she didn’t even seem to notice he was still there. She was carefully resetting the picture of him that he’d planted facedown, the pads of her fingers smoothing over the edge of the cheap frame. 

“Is that what you were feeling?” The half demon asked, his tone husky. Kagome turned to him, slightly surprised, but the notch her head gave told him she didn’t immediately grasp what he was referring to. “Saturday. When you were sad. You mentioned insecurity. Was it because you didn’t feel beautiful?”

Kagome’s nerves flared dully, a small lump beginning to form in her throat. His amber eyes appeared gentle, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d thought of that night since. The shake of her head came slow at first, hardly there, but then grew into something more steady and honest.

“Will you tell me?”

She swallowed, her lips parting slightly. She still wasn’t fully comfortable talking about it, the humiliation remaining fresh, but he wanted to know and her reservation was superficial. He’d been opening up to her, trusting her, and she should do the same. He’d dropped whatever he was doing and ran to her that night. Literally ran. He calmed her down, he walked her home, he held her. Just him asking, revisiting the topic, had her feeling warmly invited to rely on him with her emotions, despite the minor apprehension holding her tongue. And, if the logic of the situation wasn’t enough, the patience he was exuding as he stood in place and waited for her to speak was. There was no caution in his expression, because there was no caution necessary between the two of them at the moment. The feeling she was receiving from him was almost the same as what she’d tried to procure during her little speech just moments ago. Safety and comfort. And, though Kagome wasn’t suddenly confident in spilling her vulnerability - as anyone would naturally feel - it wasn’t hard to let him in.

“I -“ The hesitance wasn’t planned, but she breathed to push passed it, her eyes inadvertently shying to the ground. “I wasn’t quite sure how you felt about me. I was constantly going back and forth with myself. After a while, it became too much and, um, yeah. That’s what Saturday was all about.”

Inuyasha tensed slightly, entirely unsuspecting of what she’d just stated. He’d racked his brain numerous times since Saturday night, since seeing her cry and feeling the way she clutched onto him for support, pretending he knew the deep ins and outs of Kagome’s mind so he could try and figure out what, exactly, she’d been feeling so he was better prepared to help her out of it should the situation occur again. The typical scenario that pops into a person’s head when told another is feeling insecure is looks, and he felt rotten just thinking a girl as gorgeous as she didn’t feel comfortable in her own body. He’d almost taken it as absolute confirmation when she’d brought up the hypothetical scenario just now. Another idea was her grades, or her future - because she’s in her final year of high school, and what senior isn’t panicking about their future at the moment - or maybe even something pertaining to her family. More specifically, playing backup guardian to her younger brother to help her hardworking mother out. That could easily weigh on a person, and he wouldn’t blame her for crumbling out of sight from the pressure. Inuyasha was almost prepared to make a list of the many positive attributes this one girl holds so he could help her see what he sees; so he could hopefully prevent another breakdown in the future. For some reason, he never thought it was about him. Not with how she was the first to walk into his arms, or with how she called him when she was fighting off tears. After that night, she must have understood how he felt about her, but that’s only three days of security. It made sense now that he thought about it; the half demon wasn’t known for his open displays of affection. There had never necessarily been a person he wanted to be openly affectionate with until now. As he had been coming to terms with his own emotions, gradually forcing himself out of his damaging and abrasive habits, somewhere along the lines he’d just assumed she knew. And, only ended up confusing her. That’s a good chunk of time that they weren’t on the same page, and he had no fucking idea. If she needed more obvious gestures, he could provide that. It was nerve-racking, but he would do it for her.

“Well, I hope you feel better now, because that’s a stupid thing to get upset about.” He watched as she seemingly took in his response, a small smile curving her lips, comprehending his language. “Wait for me, I’ll be right back.”

He came down the stairs, adjusting his hoodie as he went, spotting Kagome at a bookshelf at the far end of the living room as he came back through. Her brown eyes were glued on a photograph, never peering away to look at him as he approached.

“My dad.” He spoke, stopping just inches behind her.

“You look so much like him.” Kagome seemed almost astonished by the resemblance.

“Just the hair. I think I look more like my mom.”

“And the jawline.”

“And the jawline.” Inuyasha chuckled, nodding as he agreed.

“Is that your uncle with him?”

“Yeah, that’s the geezer. Come on, let’s go.”

She smiled up at him happily, following him out the door, waiting for him on the sidewalk outside the gate while he locked up. As he strode back over to her, he gave the shoulder of her sweater a small yank to lead her down the path he took to her place, his fingers casually sliding down the front of her arm until he reached her hand, tangling their fingers as they’d been before.

Their notes and homework assignments were sprawled on the floor of her bedroom between them, mostly used for reference when necessary as he quizzed her with random questions, a movie playing on the tv for soft background noise and their backs resting against the side of her bed.

“Wait, you already asked me that one!” Kagome complained, scrounging through the papers before her for the answer.

“Yeah, you got it wrong the first time, and you still can’t remember the answer I gave you.” He responded, his tone brassy but amused, breathily chuckling as he watched her go from one sheet of scribbled notes to another.

“It’s here somewhere.”

“You never wrote it down.”

“Dang it, Inuyasha!”

“Not my problem!”

“You probably distracted me.”

“It isn’t hard to do.”

Quickly, he protected his face with his hands, laughing as Kagome chucked a small, decorative pillow at him.

“So funny.” She mocked, reaching over and grabbing his notes from beside his knee. “Oh.”

“Hm?” His ear closest to her flicked, waiting expectantly for her to give him the answer.

“Oda Nobunaga.”

“So much for being a history buff, huh?” He remarked.

“You’re so sassy tonight.” Kagome laughed, putting his notes back where they once were.

“Okay, chemistry question: What’s the formula for hydrochloric acid?”

“Do you even know that off the top of your head?” She countered, grimacing.

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“What a nerd.” Kagome murmured, once more shifting through her study material. She sighed out slowly as she searched, her face scrunching like usual, and bringing the paper closer to her face, neglecting the glasses on her nightstand. “H-C-I.”

“Good. Since you’re looking at it, phosphoric acid?”

“H-3-P-O-4.”

“Mhm. Now put the notes down. The next question I ask, you should know by now.”

“Oh no.” She grumbled, complying.

“It’s easy. Say you borrow ten-thousand dollars from the bank. By the time you pay it off, you’ve paid a total amount of ten-thousand, four-hundred. What’s the additional four-hundred represent?”

“Oh, interest!”

“Good. See?” He smiled. “One last question and then I’ve gotta go. You ready?”

She hummed an affirmation, nodding as she turned to fully face him.

“It’s gonna be the toughest one. You get it right and I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

Kagome smiled eagerly, whispering an okay as she waited.

“Alright, you sure?”

“Come on.” She half-whined, the anticipation spiking. She wondered just how hard the question was going to be considering he used a reward as incentive.

“Okay, what’s sixteen divided by two?”

“What? It’s eight.” Kagome laughed lightly, brows furrowing in query.

“Yup.” He feigned a defeated sigh, shrugging and gathering his notes together. “Fair is fair. You busy Saturday?”

“No, I’m free.” She smiled, thrown off since she was sincerely expecting a tricky question.

“Great, I’ll take you out on our date then.”

She perked, her expression faltering minutely out of surprise but then growing into one of subtle elation. “Date?”

Inuyasha picked himself up off the floor, bringing the strap of his bag to rest over his shoulder. He glanced down at her as she followed suit and stood, shrugging his brows and smiling slightly in a meager response to her question. “See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you out.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He said, opening the door to her bedroom and giving her head a gentle shove backward. “I’ll text you when I get home.

—

He crossed the street, seeing the designated meet-up spot in the short distance, the sun still barely keeping the sky illuminated. Hues of fading orange and pink danced on patches of clouds overhead, a deep indigo overriding the majority of the sky. He didn’t see her at the statue, and he was glad he’d beat her; he didn’t like the idea of her sitting alone waiting for him. As he approached, he pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his black jeans, making sure she hadn’t texted.

His stomach was in absolute shambles, his nerves riddled and wired. Their first date. It was about time, yeah, but that didn’t make the ordeal any less unsettling. He’d never technically done this before, so his worst fear was fucking it up. He tried pretending it was just another ordinary hang out so he’d calm down a bit, but he knew that wasn’t true. This was a date. He was finally taking Kagome out on a date. He figured when they got the ball rolling, it would be a lot smoother since being around each other was easier than he’d ever imagined it would be, but up until then he felt just about ready to puke.

To busy himself as he waited, Inuyasha adjusted his grey t-shirt beneath his jacket, making sure it didn’t look too wrinkled or disheveled. He knew people were technically supposed to dress up for occasions such as these, but outside of his school uniform, he refused to wear another button up unless absolutely necessary. It wasn’t his style. He still looked appropriate, and he vaguely remembered the way her eyes lingered on him the last time he wore this shirt around her.

“Well, well, well.” Inuyasha’s gaze, heating instantly, shot to the side, landing on the tall, slender delinquent that ambled over. He’d been so distracted waiting for Kagome that he hadn’t even fucking noticed the scent of the motherfucker. “Look who it is.”

“Fuck.” Inuyasha breathed, the word dragging out hoarsely. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to leave me alone tonight.”

“Who do I look like, Jakotsu? Gonna take a lot more than that to buy me off.”

“Not tonight.” Inuyasha’s tone was clenched and assertive, staring straight into the dark eyes of the man that continued to approach.

“Why? What’s on the agenda?” He asked, carelessly. An arrogant smile expanded on his face.

“I’m serious, Ren.”

“Yeah, see, the last time we saw each other, you shoved my face into a brick wall. I’m not feeling very understanding at the moment.” He sneered.

“You came at me first.” 

“And, it wouldn’t keep happening if you’d just fix the mistake you made.”

“It’s on my to-do list. Right there next to making you kiss my ass.”

“You son of a bitch.” He swung his fist, but Inuyasha dodged in time, swerving around to the backside of his opponent and giving the quickest look around the surrounding area to make sure Kagome wasn’t in the vicinity. Multiple times he’d gotten out of these fights unscathed, and he hoped, fucking hoped, he could do the same right now.

“I gotta say, not a really good way to convince me to leave you alone.”

“Figured you wouldn’t, anyway.” Inuyasha’s shrug was barely visible, waiting for Renkotsu’s next move. He wasn’t the strongest fighter, but he was a tactical one. He liked to bait Inuyasha along, or whomever he was up against really, getting their tempers to flare so their fighting strategy was sloppy. In addition, he was, unfortunately, fast and nimble on his feet, and even though Inuyasha was good at swooping himself out of the way, Renkotsu was better at getting back in his. 

The hanyou was pushed back, but the stumble was short-lived as he grasped his bearings and threw his fist into the punk’s face, feeling the sting of his knuckle colliding with Renkotsu’s tooth. His lip must have pinched between, because blood was quick to trickle free, painting his mouth crimson as he smiled and laughed.

“You’ve gotten soft, dog boy.” He remarked, his hand hovering beneath his chin but not really even trying to stop the bleeding.

“Shut up.”

“Since when do you hold back?”

Since he was steadfast determined not to come out of this with a single indicator that would tip Kagome off or ruin her night.

“Come on, what’s changed? You been whipped or something?” He lunged, faking right but snagging Inuyasha on the left, clutching the front of his jacket and tossing him headfirst into the statue. 

The pain just above his temple was sharp, instantaneously growing unbearably hot as he picked himself up to a proper standing and felt the light leakage of liquid sliding down the side of his face, the sensation dulling and becoming hardly noticeable over the headache pressing him. There was a physical spike to his temper, his blood beginning to boil as a growl bubbled in his abdomen. Of all the members of that dumb squad, Renkotsu was the most annoying.

Something in Kagome snapped, having watched the guy attack Inuyasha. She knew this sort of stuff was happening, but it was indescribably different when she witnessed it first hand. Shock transitioned to anger. Anger transitioned to infuriation. Infuriation transitioned to irrefutable outrage, and that was that. Her next move wasn’t subconscious; she knew exactly what she was doing. Kagome ran at them, speeding up, sprinting as quickly as her legs would go and shoved the bastard as hard as she possibly could. He was sturdier than his lanky body suggested, only stumbling back several feet before his glare met her challenging scowl. Arms braced around her waist before she could lunge again, a husky voice she knew was Inuyasha’s telling her to “fucking stop,” as he pivoted on his heel and tucked her behind him. That didn’t halt her, though. Demands for him to move were grunted from her mouth as she pushed his arms away, trying to climb her way around his protective stature.

“What the fuck is that, your pet pomeranian!?” Renkotsu jibed, finally taking a moment to wipe the mixture of saliva and blood that dribbled down his chin, and spitting off to the side.

“Funny coming from a guy with premature balding!” Kagome barked, finally getting Inuyasha to let her go. He stood close, though, and she knew he was prepared to snag her out of harms way if anything happened. “Who the hell are you!?”

“Who’s asking?” He smirked.

“His pet pomeranian.” She cocked a brow tauntingly.

“You’re feisty. I like that.” He chuckled. “Name’s Renkotsu. And, you’re interrupting a private conversation between the actual dog and I.”

“And, what problem could you possibly have with him!?” Kagome fumed.

“Many.” Came his brusque reply.

“Kagome, look -“ Inuyasha spoke low, only to her, amber eyes shifting from their offender to make sure he didn’t move any closer, to the side of her face - because her sight was glued straight ahead. “Just wait for me in the park. I’ll be right there.”

“What’s he saying? Trying to act like the hero and send you off?” Renkotsu teased. “He deserves everything that’s coming for him. You know what he’s done?”

“Yeah, pissed you off.” Kagome said, her tone dismissive. “I’m gonna tell you upfront that nothing you say about him is going to change my mind from thinking you’re the little bitch here.”

“If I were you, I’d reel that attitude in, little girl. You don’t know what you’re getting into.” Renkotsu warned, his amusement dwindling away. It wasn’t difficult to determine he was a hothead, easily set off by name-calling and back talk, and he didn’t take kindly to challenges against his pride.

“Am I supposed to be scared?”

“You will be if you don’t back the fuck off. I’ll give you thirty seconds to leave.”

“And, if I don’t?”

“You’ll have to watch me kick your boyfriend’s ass. Then, maybe, I’ll take you and -“

“Finish that sentence, Renkotsu! I fucking dare you!” Inuyasha growled dangerously.

“Get her to leave, Inuyasha!” Renkotsu ordered, his voice on the edge of getting even louder.

“We’re both leaving.” Kagome said with the tone of finality, grabbing onto Inuyasha’s wrist.

“The hell he is!”

“You’re from that group of assholes, right? The one Inuyasha left? Which means you’re just carrying out orders from the top. Well, tell what’s-his-face to suck a dick and to handle his dirty work, himself.” 

Inuyasha shot a look of surprise at her, a smile spreading over his lips, and turning back to look at the bald delinquent, he notched his head in appreciation of Kagome’s profanity.

“You gonna let your bitch fight your battles, mutt?”

He shrugged, still thriving off her recent jab. “She’s doing a pretty good job. How could I not?”

“You know damn well if I take this back to Bankotsu, he’ll have us out for her, too. Shut her up.”

“Bankotsu?” Kagome grimaced, blinking bemusedly. “Are you guys siblings or something?”

“No?” Renkotsu asked more than stated, his brows furrowing deeply.

“What’s with the similar names, then? That can’t just be a coincidence; it sounds so fake. Is that your actual name?”

“They don’t go by their actual names.” Inuyasha mentioned. “It’s one of the common measures they take to help protect their real identities. All of them have a code name ending in, ‘-kotsu’.”

“Seriously? Are you kidding me?” Kagome laughed audaciously, looking Renkotsu straight in his dark, narrowed eyes. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but twinsy names aren’t intimidating.”

“It’s not what’s in a name,” He began, walking inward, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly, evident from the muscles flexing at the crook of his mandible. “It’s how you present yourself. I’ve never been one for hitting chicks, but a motherfucker just might now.”

Inuyasha swapped their grips, now the one clutching to her wrist and directing her to angle behind him with a firm tug.

“I gave you the opportunity to leave, but you wanted to push your luck. I don’t like women getting involved, but oh well. Fuck me, right?”

“Yeah. Fuck you.” Inuyasha seethed, the scowl returning to set on his features. “If you think you’re ever going to touch her -“

“And, what are you gonna do?” Stopping with a foot’s distance between them, staring into the golden eyes of his original target. “Because you’ve been so successful in warding the rest of us off? You, of all people - if we can even call you that - should know by now that we don’t give up so easily. Now, she’s in the mix. Should have made her leave when you had the chance.”

“Are we done here?” Kagome questioned, her tone sharp. His eyes flickered down to her, a single, thin brow shrugging in insolence.

“Sure. I like that dress, by the way.” He grinned briefly before pursing his lips and spitting on her, his saliva still holding a tint of red and landing in the center of her breasts to stain the pastel pink she donned.

Kagome, though repulsed and disturbed, immediately grasped Inuyasha’s arm, pinching her nails into the sleeve of his jacket so he wouldn’t retaliate. His muscles were flexed and he’d been ready to swing in her defense, and even though he could easily overpower her, he didn’t fight against her. His indignation remained rigid, though, especially with the creep standing so close to them, and she knew, by the way he glared at Renkotsu, by the furious air wafting about him, by the way his shoulders were squared and his fists were tightly clenched, that he wouldn’t hesitate to attack if Renkotsu made another move.

“See you around. Both of you.” He smiled tauntingly, turning on his heel and walking away.

It wasn’t until he disappeared around the corner that Inuyasha’s shoulders deflated, a heated sigh leaving his nose as he slowly, but gently, pulled his forearm out of Kagome’s grasp. She was still angry, but with each breath she took, progressively getting steadier and deeper, her temper was fading away. Finally, Inuyasha turned around, facing her, a frown of disapproval marring his handsome face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” She inquired, her attitude still prominent.

“Jumped in like you did! You could have gotten hurt!”

“And, you’re mad at the thought of that, right?”

“You’re damn right I am!”

“Well, I got mad seeing it happen to you! So, I did something about it! It’s the same thing!”

“No, Kagome -“

“Yes!”

“No! It’s not supposed to work this way!” Inuyasha stepped in, leaving mere inches between them as they argued.

“I don’t care how it’s supposed to work! What does that even mean!?”

“That I don’t ever want you pulling a stunt like that again, got it!?”

“Excuse me!?”

 “He might have hit you, stupid! You can’t take punches like I can!”

“So, that makes it okay to just sit back and watch the show!? Like you’re some kind of punching bag!?”

“I would have handled it!”

“Then you should have!” Kagome yelled. “I heard him; he said you were holding back! Why were you holding back!?”

“Because you don’t like when I get into fights, Kagome! I didn’t want you to know this was happening! He came out of fucking nowhere, and I was trying to fend him off before you showed up!”

The tension in her brow decreased exponentially, his words ringing in her ears. She felt like an ass for doubting him that way, but still, no matter, she wasn’t sorry for pushing the jerk away from him. She would never be sorry. “It’s not that I didn’t think you could handle it. I knew you could have. I just got so angry and wanted to help.” Kagome calmly admitted.

“Well don’t.” Inuyasha said, authoritatively. “I don’t need your help.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care what you think you need or don’t need right now. It’s irrelevant.” He flinched to counter but she beat him to the punch, holding her hand up to silence him. “You’re saying it because you don’t want me in the middle or getting hurt, I get that. But, it’s the exact same way I feel about you, so you and I are only going to end up going in circles about this. You can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t force me to just watch your head get thrown into cement without reacting.”

In all honesty, he’d forgotten he’d been hurt in the heat of it all, more concerned about protecting Kagome than anything. He hadn’t expected her to come flying in like a bat out of hell, fully prepared to square off with one of the lowlives of the city. Especially, for his sake. Once he saw her, he just reacted. Probably the same way she had. “Now you’re involved, though. That’s exactly what I didn’t want.”

“We’ll handle it.” Kagome said, unconcerned. To get a better angle on his cut, she leaned her head to the side, reaching up to gently hold his jaw and bring him down near her height. He showed no resistance, his long lashes fluttering softly as he closed his eyes.

“It’ll be fine.”

It really wasn’t all that bad. It looked like the bleeding had about stopped, but it should still be cleaned and bandaged. Releasing his face, she reached for his hand, pulling him in the direction she’d come from.

His grip on her palm tightened as they approached her home, noticing her mom’s car out front, and the living room and kitchen lights on. If she saw them, him specifically, with dried blood on his head, she’d know the night was disastrous and he’d put her daughter in a dangerous situation. He couldn’t have that. He’d already felt like a failure, but to have someone else think that, too - Kagome’s mother, no less - would be mortifying. Kagome’s attention drifted up to him at his notable discomfort, stopping with his cue.

“Your mom…”

“She’s a nurse, don’t worry.”

“No, I - I don’t want her to see this. I don’t want her to know what happened.”

The realization was evident on her face, but she didn’t look disappointed, her head turning to glance at her house before turning back to him.

“Climb up to my window. I’ll let you in.” She smiled.

“You sure?” He asked, and she nodded immediately, letting go of his hand. Before she could move further, he stopped her, pulling off his coat and handing it over. It made the idea of their date more believable if she came back with his jacket, plus it’d help hide the detestable stain. As she situated it over her arms, he reached down to grab the bottom of the zippers on both ends that landed at her thighs, lining them up together and zipping it for her. Kagome smiled appreciatively, turning around and heading inside.

Inuyasha snuck around the front toward the far left end as soon as she shut the door, grateful the curtains were pulled shut. As soon as he reached the tree he used for footing, he leveraged himself up, climbing until he could silently step onto the small roofing of the second story. Her room was still dark as he waited for her at the window, and though everything was muffled, he could vaguely hear her and her mom talking from downstairs. The specifics of their conversation were hard to distinguish, but he knew Kagome’s cheery tone from her upset one, and to him, she sounded happy. Probably fooling her mom into thinking everything was perfectly fine, despite the fact that she was home so soon after leaving.

Her footsteps grew closer, shuffling along as soon as she reached the top landing of the stairs, and even as she entered her room, she didn’t turn on the light until the door was closed. Her greeting smile was natural, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the hell she managed it. Kagome had every reason in the world to be upset right now, but she truly didn’t seem like she was. And, as she hurried over and unlocked the latch for him, sliding the window open, he was engulfed by the powerfully sweet scent of her that stayed locked up in her bedroom, thoroughly muddling any residual, negative thoughts from the evening.

He shut the window on his own, nodding when she mentioned she’d be right back and taking a seat on the floor with his back resting against the bed. Kagome was true to her word, returning less than sixty seconds later with a small first aid kit in hand.

“No, I told you it’d be fine.” Inuyasha chuckled quietly, taking the initiative to turn on the tv to drown out their voices.

“Cut’s need bandages.” Was her simple reply, not even sparing him a glance as she shuffled through her dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of leggings and a fresh shirt.

“The cut’s already healing. It’ll most likely be gone tomorrow.”

“Humor me.” Kagome rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she tossed her clothes on the bottom edge of her mattress. “Close your eyes, please.”

Without hesitation, he complied, turning away for added effect. The ruffling of his jacket sounded heavy as she removed it, the material of her dress considerably lighter in comparison. It wasn’t the coldest night they’d had recently, but he still found Kagome brave for wearing it - long sleeved garment be damned. Then, an ache twinged in his chest. She’d worn that for him. And, the gesture hadn’t only gone to waste, but the dress was probably ruined now and he’d never be able to appreciate her in it.

At her signal, he opened his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully look at her, regret taking its hold on him. It wasn’t his fault, he knew, but that didn’t help any. How could he make up for this mess? How could he make her happy like he’d intended to tonight?

Kagome sauntered over, crossing to his right and then sitting at his side, thigh-to-thigh, facing him. The first aid kit was in hand, and she set it on the floor beside her, opening it and taking out some cotton balls in a sandwich baggy before turning to him. She seemed so gentle, her hands light when she pulled his bangs out of the way to asses the cut before doing anything else. As if feeling his unsubtle stare, her brown eyes drifted over to his, curious and large, then shied downward as the smallest of frowns tugged on her lips. Kagome dropped his hair, her hands falling to her lap before she bowed her head slightly, hovering over his shoulder.

Sometimes, you could say those three words to let a person know how deeply you feel for them. Sometimes, you could speak your profound emotions with more, or less, verbally, or physically. And, so badly did Kagome want to figure out how to properly express it all to him. To know Inuyasha, to have him sit with her, hold her hand, tell her things no matter the context, was a privilege she was scared for a while she’d never get to experience. Inuyasha, in his own essence, was such a wonderful gift. To have him care for her, and convey how much he cared through tumultuous anger weighted her heart. Maybe not in the moment could she appreciate the gesture, or clearly see his reasonings, but now that things were calmed and they sat so close, touching, trusting, she understood. How lucky she was. On the surface, Inuyasha was brash and hard-headed, he presented himself in a carefree manner, but truthfully, he was the most beautifully delicate person she’d ever met. 

Finally resting her head against his shoulder, Kagome breathed out slowly, taking in the faint and generic spice of a man’s body wash on her inhale. Funny enough, of all the guys she’d noticed it on, it smelled best on him. What had come over her was the sudden and dire need to tell him everything she felt for him. It had hit her like a freight train; intense and insatiable. Something, she needed to say something to subdue the fire igniting her nerve endings, but as she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was a whispered, “I really like this shirt.” 

Of course, then, she laughed at herself. Typical of her to chicken out.

Kagome could feel his head come a little closer to hers, his cheek gently brushing against her hair as he said in return, “I know. I wore it for you.”

She smiled. He couldn’t see it, but she smiled.

“Are you okay?” Inuyasha asked, and she quickly sat up straight, forcing herself to appear fully recovered, as if nothing had ever fazed her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Kagome replied, moving back to her prior task without delay. After opening a small bottle of peroxide, she doused a cotton ball with the liquid. “Could you hold your hair out of the way?”

His expression spoke volumes on how useless he found the gesture to be, but still, he did as she asked, eye roll and all. She gently rubbed the cotton ball over the small wound to clean it, then around the surrounding area to wipe the dried blood away. His attention was roaming over her, and she tried not to pay attention to the way it alarmed the butterflies in her stomach, focusing on her task. It was like his ember irises were actual, flickering chars, and wherever his eyes landed, she felt a pleasant, burning sensation. Her cheek, her lips, her chin, her neck, her collar bone, her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her lips. All alight. 

“Some first date, huh?” Inuyasha remarked, his tone dull.

Kagome’s soft smile in response was unintentional but genuine, dropping the dirtied cotton ball on top of the bag it came out of, and as she chose an appropriate bandage, she shrugged. “That doesn’t matter to me. I mean, we could have chilled and watched tv and slapped the first date title on that, and I would have been perfectly happy.”

“But, instead you got to see me in a fight. Kagome, I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” She asked, opening the bandaid packaging and carefully holding the very edges of the adhesive strips. She angled it properly over the cut, gently sticking it down and smoothing it out. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, the way I see it, I got to yell at one of the jerks that’s been terrorizing you. Trust me, it was a good time.”

Inuyasha laughed, flinching as she rubbed her fingers over the entire bandage. “Ow.” He said playfully, instinctively grabbing her hand and pulling it away. She giggled and mumbled an apology, using her free hand to smooth down his ruffled bangs as he let them go. “By the way, we need to talk about your profanity. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that. ‘Suck a dick’? Is that peak Kagome temper right there?” 

“I tend to lose my filter when I’m mad.” She exclaimed.

“You’ve got quite a vocabulary on you. It’s impressive. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He mildly joked.

He was still holding her hand, his grip adjusted to rest it against his chest, his thumb tenderly caressing over her skin.

“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?” Kagome asked, her voice softening to take on the hint of bashfulness.

“Do I look like I’m mad at you?” Inuyasha responded soothingly. He leaned a little closer to her body, relaxed, warm. “I just - I really didn’t want you getting involved, Kagome.”

“It was kind of impossible not to.”

“I know. I get that. Now, I’m just gonna worry about you whenever we’re apart.”

“They’re not like an actual gang, are they?”

“No, they’re just like you said; a group of assholes. They tend to take their crap out on others and act like they’re tough. Some of them, though, are something to be concerned about. Statistically speaking, they’re not all gonna grow out of this phase. They’re on a gateway path, and I wouldn’t doubt if Bankotsu already had dirty affiliations.” Inuyasha said, letting go of her palm as he leaned even more towards her center, his right hand now braced on the floor by her legs in a casual manner. The closer he got to her, the more comfortable he found he felt. So comfortable, in fact, that he thought nothing of the way her fingers busied themselves in the loose tendrils of his hair along the sides of his face.

“How long were you with them?” Kagome asked.

“Not long enough to actually do anything I’d regret, aside from the obvious.”

“So, you were never actually one of them.” She stated. It felt like reassurance to the stress he already carried about having made the mistake of walking with them in the first place.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind blanked. Not in a hopeless way, but in the sense that there was nothing that needed to be said. As he basked in her confidence in him, calmed by the tips of her fingers continuously running through his bangs and loose strands from his ponytail, he realized that neither of them were going anywhere. What the hell was he waiting for?

There was no apprehension in his lean, the fingers of his free hand curving around the side of her neck and beneath her hair, intentionally holding just before meeting her lips. Kagome leaned in the rest of the way, her mouth soft and molding against his perfectly. And, she smiled into his kiss, giggling breathily, happily as they broke.

“I want to be with you, Kagome.” He spoke, tone husky, just as content. “You and I.”

She nodded, feeling so full and light at the same time it was difficult not to be consumed by her elation. 

“Yeah?” Inuyasha smiled, almost teasing because he could tell how shy she was getting from the fresh and deep shade of her cheeks. Again, she nodded, her head ducking slightly. “Is that a yeah?”

“Shut up.” Kagome laughed, taking the initiative to kiss him again, his sigh hot against the side of her cheek while he firmly clutched her to him.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[queerchoicesblog]

Living The Dream

So, folks: as announced, here the first chapter of a new story for the wlw writing project I embarked on. This one is set in the Sixties, the golden age of travel, and our main character is a Pan Am stewardess, one of the era’s most stylish job. I had fun writing this and I can only hope you will have too reading this!

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word! 

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I like this time of the day. The in-between hours separating one day from another, the slow yet inexorable metamorphosis of night into dawn. Life seems to flow differently during these hours as if our bodies, used to be heavenly asleep when night comes, were forced to adapt to a new rhythm: sometimes it works, sometimes it's simply a poor mimicry of ourselves. The craziest scene happen during night shifts, after all, and I'm sure it's no coincidence. I'm not always lucky to be present to myself in moments like these. Most of the times I'm too busy to pay attention to the wonders of these dreamlike hours. I blow out the smoke of my cigarette: for once, I can. Sitting at a table on the cafe terrace, I look down to the stream of passengers moving beneath me. They wander like in a haze trying to make out the right direction to go. They're tired, jet-lagged: a kid is crying his heart out in the arms of his mother, causing a businessman nearby to sneer and speed up his pace to avoid such nuisance. A man is anxious, out of the blue he starts running probably cursing the little delay that slowed him: will he catch his flight? A group of foreigners is checking and double checking a map, someone is sleeping on a bench and a little girl is looking out into the night sky hypnotised by the tail lights of a plane flying away.

I like airports, their peculiar poetry. It's quite lucky since you could say they're my home. I still struggle to fully convince myself that yes, my dream did come true. Some nights I fear I'd wake up one day and find out it was all just that, a wild feverish dream, not my reality. Luckily, that day never comes. Mom and Dad fry eggs and bacon in a diner not far from Kansas City; my brother and I will always remember how tired they looked when they crawled back home but also how big their smile was when they produced a box of fries or a couple of milkshakes just for us. We both helped during the summer, wearing aprons and serving tables. They let us keep the tips and we spent them all in ice-creams and movies. Now I'm sure no costumer leaves without being told - maybe more than once and with great pride - that their daughter is now a stewardess of the Pan American World Airways. I still remember the day I received the good news: Mom cried tears of joy and even Noah dropped his tough act and pulled me into a tight hug, whispering how happy he was for me. My sweet little brother. Now at my parents' diner a picture is hung at the wall side by side with a framed stellar review by a local newspaper: Noah and I hugging each other and smiling to the camera in our favorite booth by the window. I'm wearing my dashing Pan Am uniform, he's in a brand new US marine attire. He was drafted one week after John F. Kennedy was shot, the picture was taken on our last family reunion around Christmas. Noah wasn't happy to go to war, he was scared. "I wish I could join you to New York and find a job in advertising maybe" he frowned when my parents were sleeping and we sneaked away to the back porch as we used to do as kids. Noah was good at drawing, the creative type. God knows how I would have loved to have him around, to keep me grounded and remind me of the reassuring warmth of sibling affection. To keep him safe. I moved to New York right after I got the job; Noah was still in high school back then, I had to go alone. They all promised to visit as soon as they could when we parted at the airport. And that's when my new life started. I was on my own in the big city, breathing in the wind of change. I wonder if that's how every girl feels when they leave their boring provincial town behind and make it big. I moved into a small flat downtown: not much, but big enough to contain all my hopes and dreams. The training supervisors were particularly strict and took so very seriously their duty to asses whether we were stewardess material or a lost cause. First, a medical evaluation then a grumpy lady would weigh us and fix our girdles: I wondered if I would have been able to breathe normally on a plane and I was not the only one by the look on the other girls' faces. The interminable daily classes on how to strip our face clean of makeup and start from scratch still haunts me just like the day I was told my hair weren't okay, an in-between length that didn't impress the ladies in charge: I had to choose between wearing a chignon or a wig. No way I would have gone for the latter! Our appearance had to conform to a certain code and I soon learned there are so many requirements to meet to be eye candy. But it wasn't all about our exterior, even if we were often reminded that our aim was to look runaway ready. The Pan Am stewardesses must have that savour faire that makes them unique, legendary. So aside from the standard training (what to say on board, what to do in case of emergency, first aid classes) I had to learn how to pour wine with that special twist of the wrist and pop champagne open without it exploding as well as how to cook and elegantly garnish certain menu dishes in no space. And I assure you, the standard for scrambled eggs in first class were so different from everything I had learnt at my parents' diner, even if the time I spent there gave me a head start. Once I completed my training, my career finally began. I was assigned to Us bi-coastal routes for the time being but I felt different already. People looked at me differently, especially when I walked through the Pan Am terminal in white gloves and my uniform designed by Italian stylists. The gleam of admiration and wonder in their eyes set my heart on fire: aside from my parents and Noah, nobody had ever looked at me that way before, not even my best friend. I take a sip of coffee and smile thinking back at my beginnings. Despite the hard work, I was constantly in a dreamy state of mind. A Pan Am stewardess made it to the cover of LIFE that year, I still have a copy of it. The journalist enthusiastically claimed that girls like me were not only icons of beauty and grace but also the peak of the femininity to come. "See these ladies? They're not just stewardesses, they're a whole new breed of women". I must admit that to some extent we are: we're so different from our mothers and the Angels of the hearth of the lady magazines. We wear heels and fine makeup, we speak several languages and see the world. We're emancipated and sophisticated: we are women of the world. My face didn't make it to LIFE but little girls and teens stop me and ask me tips, how can they be as elegant, as put together, what they have to do to land this job. They want to live the same dream. A little girl of five once asked if she could take a picture with me. I had some time left so I squatted down and placed my bowler hat on her head making her flash the brightest smile to the camera her father was holding. Before parting she handed me my hat and looked me right in the eye, whispering in awe "I wanna be like you when I grow up". And then she wrapped her arms around my neck in a grateful hug. I told the cute scene to my mother over the phone: she sounded touched and joked that she didn't know her daughter ended up being a starlet of the silver screen. "Remember us when you're famous, love" Dad added from another room. I missed them, I still do at times. But I would never go back: for the first time in my life I found a place where I truly belong here in New York. I met friends that could understand my hunger for more, to discover the world. I love the parks and lights at night, the buzz of the city that never sleeps. Most importantly, I love my job, even when I'm so busy all I do is hopping on and off planes, going back home, sleeping eating my breakfast and doing it all over again. No matter how hard I need to push myself to meet the Pan Am standards, I've always felt liberated, free here. As if this was what was meant to be, where I was meant to be all along. The day a gorgeous neighbor knocked at my door with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a charming, flirtatious smile on her lips, I had no more doubt. Here is where I was meant to be.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 01

Summary :

Based on @fedoraspooky​‘s Puppet AU.

Lukas is a student in need of money. He manages to find a job in a famous television studio as a stagehand. However, his situation changes greatly when the directors give him one of the main roles of a new TV show for children. Lukas has to fit into this new and unknown world, meeting all the other actors, all while dealing with his student life. What could possibly go wrong?

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/57259018

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New fanfiction on A Hat In Time ! I hope you're all well and safe in this very hard period.

I had started this fanfiction for a while and I figured that posting it might help to make me write more. I work a lot with motivation/encouragement, so posting it might be one of the best ways to motivate myself.Anyway, I hope you'll like this story! :D

Don't hesitate to leave me a comment/like/reblog if you do, it'll help me a lot!

Happy reading !

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Chapter 1 - “What the absolute fuck?”

Lukas Pryce had seen many strange things in his short life, especially as a college student: people doing incredibly stupid stuff during parties (not that he went to a lot of them), students watching porn in the lecture halls, wandering drunk students in the middle of the night… But this right there? This was way weirder than anything he had ever seen before.

“What the absolute fuck?” thought he young student, as he tried to take in the sight in front of him.

He was standing up in an entrance hall of a famous movie studio, the Dead Bird Movie Studio. To be honest, Lukas never really understood where the name came from and never really thought much about it until more recent events. All he used to know was that they made a lot of stuff, from movies to TV shows, and even musicals! It was strange to think that a single studio could manage such different genres and still doing a good job with them. The student never thought he would ever step in a place like this, but his life had recently taken a route very different than what he expected.

Several persons were running in front of him, most of them carrying fire extinguishers. A fire had apparently started in the middle of a shooting and smoke could be seen through the doors leading to the filming stage. No one was noticing him, as they were all preoccupied with the current situation, and Lukas almost thought about leaving. But he couldn’t, as much as he wanted to.

Being a college student, especially a law student, was hard. In a system where students were in debt and had to pay a lot of things, Lukas couldn’t afford to lose one of the only job opportunities he could get in his two years spent at the university. While he did have nice parents who helped him to fund his studies, he didn’t like the idea of depending too much on them, especially on studies which were quite expensive.

So, yeah, he needed the money too much to consider leaving.

Lukas tried to get closer to the people, hoping to stop someone long enough to know if he should wait and come back later. Well, it did seem like the most reasonable solution, yes, but he had lost too many job positions because of his hesitation. Maybe he would look like a complete idiot, but if it meant he would get this job, then, he didn’t care!

-“Hum, excuse me?” he asked, as he managed to grab a someone’s arm, stopping them from doing whatever people did in case of fire emergencies. It was a blond man in his forties, and he was very much angry from the sudden interruption.

-“What are you doing? Let go of me, there’s a fire in there!”

Lukas tried to get more of him, but the man pulled his arm from the student’s hand, who didn’t really know what to do with himself. It was a bad time to go to this job interview, after all.

“Maybe I should just leave and go back later?” he thought quickly, turning away from the reception desk. He could call the studio later to reschedule the interview. Sure, Lukas never liked phone calls in the first place, but hey, what can you do against a fire emergency? It was better to leave this place, call back later and have another chance next week. Or at least, he hoped so.

However, before he could push the exit door, two voices interrupted him. While most of his surroundings were loud and full of agitation, these voices were even louder, cutting short all of Lukas’s inner monologue. The young student stopped in his tracks and threw a glance behind him, more than curious about what was happening on the other side of the room.

Two figures entered the room, apparently arguing with each other in the most intense way. One was a tall and sturdy black man, while the other was an older and smaller blond man. The former was wearing a set of very excentric clothing, while the latter was wearing a black costume, as well as a black cap on his head, which was hiding his eyes underneath. Both made big gestures with their arms, as they bickered. Something about them felt really familiar to Lukas who, for a brief moment, didn’t understand why. It was only when he heard their voices through the general brouhaha that he remembered: they were the famous directors of the Dead Bird Movie studio!

-“Was it really necessary to have that many sparks in the last scene?!” asked the sturdy man -DJ Grooves-, pointing the smoke coming into the room with both hands.

-“Of course it was!” replied the older one, much louder, stomping his foot on the ground. This was the Conductor. It wasn’t his real name but the old director never accepted to tell his real name to the media. He was mostly known as “The Conductor” and all of his movies were signed this way. Well, so were DJ Grooves’s, but the latter’s real name usually appeared somewhere in the credits.

They had recently started to work together on several projects and, while those became extremely famous blockbusters, it was said the two directors had problems working together in the past. It had seemed to improve through the years, but Lukas remembered reading an article somewhere, dealing with the direction problem on their latest movie at the time. While they were both very competent, they also had very different ideas and visions about movie-making, which made the filming quite difficult sometimes.

The argument kept going despite the agitation around them. In fact, most of the people in the room were avoiding them, by distancing themselves as much as possible from the duo, passing from one side to the room to the others by doing a detour in order not to be noticed.

-“It was? Darling, everything caught fire! I know you like action, but this was way too much!”

-“Pfff, as if you knew the basics of action movies! I know what action scenes need! Mind your own part of the movie, the music!” he said, putting a strong and ironical emphasis on the last word, as if he was mocking it. Which, in retrospect, was probably the case.

-“Excuse me? Conductor, darling, we talked about this: music is as important as action! A movie without any good music is worthless, just as it is without good and measured action!”

The bickering continued for a while and Lukas couldn’t help but stare at the two directors. They didn’t seem to hate each other as much as they did in the past, at least from what he had seen on TV, but it was quite impressive nonetheless. They both had strong personalities and those didn’t mix well together.

Lukas didn’t know what to do. He instinctively opened his shoulder back to take the job poster out of it. It was about a stagehand position, which didn’t need a lot of experience. It demanded to know how to fix set materials and to know how to sew -which he did-, nothing hard, really. What matters was the pay at the end of the month, pay he very much needed for his studies.

He hesitated a moment: should he step in? Most of the people here seemed to avoid them as much as possible, maybe there was a reason for that? However, if he didn’t do anything, he would get back home without any more job than before. What if someone showed up not long after he left and got the job? He didn’t want to take the risk.

Lukas needed that money.

The student took a deep breath and walked towards the two bickering directors, feeling his heart sink in his chest. Not only was he approaching celebrities, but he was also going to interrupt them to ask for a job! In a way, this was an extremely bold move, which contrasted tremendously from his usual behaviour. In any other situation, he would have chosen to leave, not to bother them, try later… But he wanted this job and he was ready to step out of his comfort zone to get it!

He finally arrived next to the two men, who absolutely didn’t notice him in the least, continuing their previous argument about the (un)necessity of using such or such pyrotechnic. Lukas felt eyes land on him: some workers seemed to notice his intent of interrupting the two directors and silently shook their head in his direction, telling him to give up, that he would end up regretting doing it eventually.

But the student didn’t listen. Instead, he cleared his throat, first once, then twice, this time a bit louder. The two directors immediately stopped talking and turned in his direction, surprised by the sudden interruption.

-“Hum… Excuse me, I- I saw that you were looking for a stagehand and I‌ came for the interview,” he started, unsure. Lukas wasn’t afraid to approach people, usually. But this wasn’t a usual situation: he was facing two famous movie directors! And interrupting them in an argument during a fire emergency!

… Suddenly, the whole thing didn’t seem like a good idea anymore.

The two men were now staring at him, probably not knowing how to answer. Lukas felt very nervous, being stared at that way. He felt like they were examining him from top to bottom, as if he was just an object.

All of a sudden, the Conductor let out a huge sigh and, still very much angry, quickly grabbed one of the fire extinguishers from someone’s hand. He then pushed it violently in the student’s arms:

-“You know what, fine, you’re hired!” said the old director curtly, before turning away to leave like a sulking child: “Go put out the fires with the others!”

Lukas remained unmoving, too shocked to react right away. Next to him, DJ Grooves let out a tired sigh, maybe because he was used to that kind of things. When the Conductor noticed Lukas’s non-reaction, he stomped his foot once again and pointed to the room from which came the smoke :

-“Now!”

Lukas jumped at the harsh order and turned to the stage room as fast as he could, extremely confused by what had just happened. Did he just… Get the job? That easily? There had to be a catch somewhere!

But here he was, passing through the door, only to find something on fire in the middle of the stage, surrounded by several people trying to put the fire out. Without thinking much, the student ran to meet them, almost falling down because of the weight of the fire extinguishers. No one seemed to notice him as they were all focused on the danger in front of them.

Lukas then joined their effort, disabling the safety lock on the device before spraying the fire.

Surely, this was just an exception… The working conditions weren’t going to be any weirder, were they? Lukas felt doubt growing in him, as the flames became weaker and weaker as seconds passed.

What did he get himself into?

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End of the first chapter ! I hope you enjoyed it ! :D

Chapter two is still a WIP at the moment, but that might change in the near future! My other fanfiction, Reliving An Old Nightmare, is my current priority, but I might continue this one if I'm in need of change! 

Thank you for reading !

Chapter 2 =>

[myownwutheringheights]

Detour: A Mandalorian Story

AN: A Mandomera one shot (for now), that has been spinning in my head for a time. Planning a NSFW sequel, let me know if you want it! #soft

Warnings: TW: pregnancy, and Din in Oberyn’s gold robes ;) 

The Crest hadn’t received a message in several months. But that particular day, or night, (time seemed to ebb at a different speed while flying in space), while searching for the Child’s origin planet, he received three different beeps, three different encrypted messages, three different scattered message sources.

To any Imperial, New Republic or Guild fool, it would seem all unrelated. The time the messages were received would show either hours or days between each message, confusing anyone who sought to cause harm or pry to deeply. And they’d only see two messages; the third vanished from the system almost as soon as it had been received by the man who needed to see it.

To a Mandalorian, the messages all came from the same source, one at a time, from the same location and said the same thing; come now.

“OM-451 is in need of care.” The first message read. Din Djarin’s turned his head 

“Arrive as soon as possible.” Was the second message. Yes, I’m trying to. Get on with it, he thought. The Child giggled behind him.

The last message was a set of coordinates, that he memorized quickly, knowing they’d vanish and he’d not receive them again.

“Ready for a detour? There’s someone who needs to see us.” He said looking back to the green child, who made a happy sound, it seemed, at the prospect of a new adventure. He entered the coordinates and saw the path ahead. “Batuu.... Outer Rim.” Maybe not his first choice to have resettled the Mandalors, but beggars also couldn’t be chooses; especially since they’d had to move because of him.

The Mandalorian altered the flight pattern and set off into hyperdrive. “Please be alright...” he whispered through the voice modulator as they flew the charted course. The Child cooed at the movement through hyperspace, but the Mandalorian could only think of one thing, and that was making sure that his Mate was safe.

Batuu was an eclectic planet. It was a place where people stopped, gathered supplies, and left. It meant it would have everything his people needed. It was a jumping point for travelers of all kinds. Few stayed. Locals went back generations. And those who were new to settling there were trying to lay low and not be found. It had a bit of everyone and everything, including rumors of illegal Coaxium runs and Jedi lore and artifacts, along with elements of both Empire and Rebel bases. Perhaps it was a better place for the remainder of his people to hide out than he originally thought; Mandalores were a dull afterthought compared to all that.

Even so, after docking his ship and bringing the Child with him and setting out in the market, looking for signs of his kind, eyes turned and focused on him and the shining beskar metal armor. Oh yes, the Mandalorians were here. The eyes said they’d seen others of his kind.

Din made his way through the crowded covered market. Lanterns hung all about casting different colors and glows. Various creature sounds echoed about, and smoke rose up from the cooking of the street food. Everywhere was the sound of machines and droids. He picked up the Child and kept him close in the mass. The best thing to do was wander. His people would alert him at some point and show him the way.

They likely already knew he was there...

He watched the hive mind of the people, and he avoided that path. He saw the route to the cantina and went the other way. If he needed work, then he’d go there. For now, his eyes were on the antiquities shop that had little traffic, but the merchandise shop had a large covered back area, more than what was necessary for the shop. Above the door was a Mandalor crusaders symbol. It was old, and to those unaffiliated, it would go unnoticed. The door hissed, opening, and he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed were the old Sith and Jedi symbols. And the old languages and images on the wall....ancient things. Things that could send a shiver up the spine. He walked slowly up to the main counter, looking up at all the objects around him and above his head. The Child cooed once more, mouth open to show his little teeth as he looked about in awe at all the items cluttered in the shop.

He recognized the face of the man behind the counter; he was a Mate to one in the covert. The man looked up. “About time.” There were no further statements made. Behind the counter he pressed a hidden button, and a set of stairs descended into the hidden Mandalorian underground homestead.

“Is she alright?” Din asked, voice steady as he moved to the steps and prepared to descend.

“Sickness spread through the underground, as it does when we move the Covert and acclimate. But she will be alright....Winta will be happy to see you.” Din gave one nod and headed down the steps, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, the staircase lifted back up. He walked under the archway with the Kry’bes symbol, and it felt like home.

Mandalorians nodded to him left and right, life bustling here, hidden underground with his people. The ones uncovered were Mates, and all masked and unmasked were at work in some way. Everyone had a purpose and a place here, or the system they had created would collapse. Cooperation was key above all else. He didn’t see Omera, or Winta, and he moved faster. He headed down towards the small apartments, searching for the one that belonged to his Mate.

OM was crudely marked from a knife into the wall. He touched the mark. Omera. He knocked once, twice. He waited for permission to enter or for the door to be opened. A Mandalorian never stepped foot into the housing quarters of another, in case they were unmasked, or their Mate was in any type of compromising position. But he knew this apartment was his when the door opened and Winta grabbed him in a hug he didn’t know how to return just yet.

“You got the message!” She hugged him tight and then reached for the Child.

“Are you alright Winta?” He said touching her shoulders. The young girl nodded.

“I’m fine. It’s mama...she’s really sick....” His eyes tilted towards the ‘fresher, and he handed Winta the Child.

“Watch him, I’ll be right back. I need to check on your mother.” His voice was soft through the voice modulator, trying to be gentle with the girl. He touched her under his chin in a basic caring gesture and she responded gloriously, nodding in understanding and not feeling brushed aside, knowing her mother needed care. Besides, she was eager to care for the small green babe, carrying him to the small dimly lit gathering room. He looked around; the entire apartment was dark and cool. If not for Winta’s laugh and smile, the place would seem empty of all life. 

Din stepped into the ‘fresher and closed the door. It hissed shut and he was met with warm steam, and the smell of exotic healing oils. They were highly sought after and valuable; his people were in short supplies. If his Mate had been given some, she surely was considered valuable to the group, but also...she was very ill. On the hooks, he saw two robes; his that hadn’t been touched in months, and hers. They were the finest objects in his possession besides his beskar, that had been a trade object from a mission an age ago that he hadn’t parted with. The second robe had never been needed till Omera agreed to be his Mate. He touched the golden fabric with his gloves, and he heard her heavy cough before he saw her in the tub. “Winta?” She asked, having heard the door. Her voice was scratchy and soft. 

Steam pods were going off, resting on the corners of the tub and burning the oil into the warm steam around the room and filling the senses, intended to clear them and calm them. The water was colored with spinning colors of blue and green, and flecks of gold, fizzing from salts put into it, again with the intent to cure and to calm. He saw her long black hair covering the swell of her breasts, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the swell of her belly.

Under the helmet his eyes went wide in shock at the sight and the news that had been kept secret till now. But his presence on the outside was unflinching. His head tilted to the side. “Well. That’s new.” Omera gasped, startled at the voice she hadn’t expected but always longed to hear. 

Omera’s hands were rested on her swollen abdomen, moving her fingers over it in a steady pattern, the soft sound of trickling water followed her movements. She smiled softly, and the light of her joy reached her eyes and brought a spark of life back to them. “You found us.” He stepped closer and into her view. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the water. A blood vessel had burst in her eye from cough, leaving it red. As she sat up to draw closer to him, she was wracked with another fit of coughs and the Mandalorian was brought to his knees at his Mate’s side. She wrapped her arms about him, water dripping over him.

Her hands instantly lifted to touch his helmet, needing to see his face. He touched her hands and put them down and he stood. He gripped the sides of the helmet and slowly unmasked himself. The feeling was still strange, to part with his helmet even in her and Winta’s presence. It reminded him of the first time he had shown her his face, on the day they’d said the words and vows that made her the Mate of a Mandalore, and one of his people. He’d never imagined taking part in the Ritual. She, and their children, were the only ones permitted to see his face. His gaze now settled on her as he undressed from the layers upon layers of gear. Piece by piece he stripped himself down, out of the unnamed Mandalorian gear, to become Din Djarin, her Mate, before her eyes. It took time to remove first the beskar armor, then the protective layers under, and the rest of of clothes. Piece by piece, she saw more of her mate till he was bare before her. Her hands reached out to him, eager, silently asking him to join her, needing him by her side after all these months.

Now fully naked, he stepped into the tub of warm, healing water. Omera’s hands lifted to caress his face. His eyes closed on instinct at the gentle touch. She touched his cheeks, and moved her fingers over his facial hair. Her fingertips brushed over his lips before moving up to comb through his black hair. No words were spoken or necessary as his forhehead touched hers, and they rested there for just a moment. It was their moment, their reunion. But Din needed more contact. Sick or not, he leaned in to kiss his Mate. It was a long time coming, months....her belly showing the passing of time since their last night together on her planet, on his ship, when she’d chased after him with Winta, saying they’d not leave him. In the nights that followed, he’d had to teach her and Winta as much as he could to prepare them for the life ahead. They’d had to rendezvous to a meeting point with other Mandalores and tell them to take her and Winta: that they were part of the Covert, and to keep them safe and valued like any other Mate and offspring, while he continued to travel and keep the Child safe, till every one of his bounty fobs was destroyed, or the Child’s home was discovered. The memories played like a holo in his mind but he came back to the here and now with her. She tasted like medicine, and yet the taste of what was inexplicably Omera lingered. His fingers lifted to tangle into her incredible hair, wet and the ends moving weightlessly in the water. Their tongues danced together as the kiss was deepened and heated, breath mingled and warmed them both up even more. There were soft gasps and sighs of reawakening bodies, yearning bodies. Even in her illness he felt her move closer in longing and stars how he wanted her. But Din finally broke the kiss, and Omera took his hands and pressed them eagerly to her belly.

“Are you happy?” She asked, searching his gaze that he could usually hide behind a helmet.

“Yes. And terrified.” He said with brutal honestly. He’d never expected to claim a Mate, to have children. But Winta and the Child waited outside, and their own babe kicked in her belly under his fingertips. “Are you happy here? And with this?” He said looking around, referring to her new home. She was used to more freedom, to the outdoors. Here, secrecy was their survival. It was so different from the life she and Winta had led.

“Yes, I am.” She reassured him, squeezing his hands. Her smile was warm and he swore it held some type of magic. It was like nothing Din had ever seen. “They did not care that they’d never met us; your people took us in and we were instantly treated as one of them. I’ve never seen such loyalty.” 

“You said you would not leave....” He countered, recalling the fight. He always wondering if she would regret her choice to follow the Way as a Mate. She thought for a moment. Yes, she had said that. But her smile only returned. 

“Homes change...paths change. Winta is my home. And so are you, Din Djarin. So is this one,” she said, their hands on her belly. “This is the way,” she whispered, hesitant to say it for the first time.

“This is the way.” He answered her with firm confidence in support of her bravely speaking the words. He touched his forehead to hers once more, filled with pride at hearing her initiate the phrase, as was her right as a Mate. He touched the silver ring on her finger, taken from a piece of his beskar breast plate, as was tradition and crucial in their culture.

“Will you stay?” The question every Mate always asked every Mandalorian when they came home. “The medic told me she’ll be the first born of the covert on this planet...” 

“She?” Din’s voice was soft, hands continuing to move over the baby bump. She nodded, still searching for his reaction. He barely reacted, it was still just taking in the news. But then he leaned in and he kissed her forehead, and he made it linger, and it was the softest thing she had ever felt. 

Omera beamed, and held him as close as she could in the water, her arms wrapping around his strong back. Just as Din had never imagined such a future, she had doubted she’d find love again, and never imagined carrying another child. And so she responded to his touch, despite how weak and sick she felt. But when she coughed again he gave her space and helped her to stand in the tub. “Come, you need rest.” Together, they got out of the swirling colored water. 

He wrapped a gold robe about her, and then himself. “I’ve done nothing BUT rest,” she muttered in agitation. The corner of Din’s mouth curved in a knowing smirk. 

“But you still need it, and you’re not going out there where you could spread the illness to the rest of the covert and the foundlings.” 

Omera sighed, turning off the steam pods and taking his hand in hers as they left the ‘fresher together. “I know you’re right. But you haven’t answered my question. Din...will you stay? I know it will be come and go. But will you stay?” 

He caressed the silver band on her ring finger once more, and he gazed down at his own mate band. He rarely saw it, it was mostly covered in his gloves. Din hadn’t been prepared for the joy and pride he’d felt at watching a small piece of his chest plate be cut off and melted to form a ring just for her, and just for him. The chest plate covered the vital organs and the heart and as such was the proper place to take ancient metal for the Mated rings. Omera’s eyes were curious and still very much waiting for his answer. “I’ll stay. Till you heal and after the baby is born, for the first few months....as long as it’s safe -” She threw her arms around Din in joy as the Child and Winta played. It was more time than most Mates got for one stint of time. He held her firmly, protectively in his embrace; of course he would stay as long as he could. Then he hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the small bedroom, while the two children continued to play. 

Omera coughed again, deep and gasping, her hands tightening around the fabric of his robe as he hurried to bring her to the bed, laying her down and propping her up onto the pillows so she could catch her breath. He found the medicine that had been provided and he got her two med tabs. Din found himself looking around; he hadn’t been here yet, it was still unfamiliar surroundings. His focus and gaze turned back to his Mate; he could assess his surroundings later. As Omera’s breath returned to normal, her hands moved over the golden fabric of the robe in a more intimate manner. 

“Incredible...I feel like this yet I still want you...” She whispered. Din lifted her hand and kissed her palm intimately with a promise. She closed her eyes at the sweet contact. It had been too long.  

“As do I....there will be time. As soon as you are well.” His voice was low, husky in want for the beautiful woman in front of him. Away on the Crest, he’d thought of her more than even he wanted to admit. His work required focus; but now that he was back with the covert, and with her, Din could let go, just a bit...just a bit. And the part of him that let go was all for her, wanting her, wanting to pull the covers over them and rip the robes off their bodies and have her again and again. But not yet. No. Not till she was better. He touched his forehead to hers once more, closing his eyes in longing, before kissing her again. There would be time, he thought once more to himself. There would be time for them to have each other, to celebrate the act that brought forth the little one inside her. His hand coming to her belly, where he felt a firm, strong kick, as if the child was answering his thoughts. The couple smiled together, and he was in awe of what he had and what he felt. 

“You really are happy...” Omera said, touching his hand over her, settling back into the bed, letting out a little hum of contentment as the little girl kicked once more announcing her presence in the galaxy. 

“Yes. I am.” He answered simply. And it was more than enough. 

He heard the Child and Winta giggle...he saw Omera smile and lean back further against the pillows to rest. He would stay, see her healed and see his daughter be welcomed to the covert. He would...he would be a father. And he was flooded with a strange rush of feeling....since he had sworn the Creed he had been on the move. Running, fighting, hunting. Never settling, never staying, never taking off his helmet. The concept of home was both foreign and long past. It had seemed unnecessary, and if nothing else, well out of reach. 

But in this moment, hidden underground on this strange planet, Din felt for the first time since he was a foundling, that he was truly home. 

[arahul-abyssia]

Flight

Nintember Story #4! ( @starprincesshlc , @jklantern ). There are many more stories in a world than the grandiose ones we are usually privy to, many of which may not even cross paths with the heroes or villains. Sometimes, viewing a comparatively mundane tale in a fantastical world is a nice change of pace.

(Also, update on the situation with these stories: This one’s going up late because my life has been rather chaotic recently, and I’ve decided that the next story will be the final one, encompassing the last ten prompts, rather than two more with five each, as I’ve been doing.)

~~ Flight, Fear, Jungle, Brotherhood, Song ~~

“So you’re up here again, huh? Still dreading tomorrow?”

“Oh, was it that obvious?”

Of course he was up on the hill. Why wouldn’t he be up on the hill? It’s not like that was where his life was going to end tomorrow, where he’d have to stare the void in the face and somehow not only not break contact, but venture through it. Why shouldn’t he be at that point of no return, attempting to fill himself with as much bravery for the next day as he possibly could?

“Hey… flying can’t be that bad, right? It’s what your body was built for.”

“Yeah, but not my mind.”

“Really? Have none of Master Teba’s lessons helped?”

“If they have, I haven’t noticed. And it’s not like I can practice, because I need to ‘conserve my strength for the big day.’ ...Look, Tevara, I appreciate your attempts to help, honestly, but I think I need to be left alone for now.”

“If you say so, Rynn. Just know that I believe in you; you’re stronger than you know. ...Sav’orq!”

And she walked down the slope, toward the stable where they were staying, her face and gait as bright as ever.

Rynn spent most of the afternoon and evening in a quiet dread, having to force himself to eat something and struggling to fall asleep that night, which was already hard enough with the roughness of whatever they used to make the hammocks. A part of him wished the morning would never come, but come it did, and just after the sun had fully risen above the horizon, he was there on Whistling Hill alongside his friend, their parents, and the so-called trial director that he had met only once before.

“Alright, Rynn. You know the route: once you’re sent into the sky, fly southeast to Faron Jungle, then head directly eastward; just beyond its eastern edge is Tuft Mountain, past which is Lurelin Village, your destination. Land in the designated location to complete your Trial of Flight. When you are prepared, give your word and assume the starting position.”

Rynn took one final look at the three that has come to see him off: his dearest friend smiling with as much confidence as ever, her mother’s face embodying a kindness only time can bring, and his own father’s eyes filled with encouragement, even if the rest of his face didn’t show it. Nothing could ever truly eliminate the fear he was feeling, nor bring him the courage he lacked, but perhaps their expressions, and unending support over the past years, would be enough to get him through the imminent ordeal.

He took a deep breath, then spread his wings out and loosened his talons. “I… am ready.”

The director brought out a small piece of Sheikah technology, shaped something like an angular banana, which Rynn assumed was the device he had been told would be used to launch him into the air. The imposing Rito aimed it at the ground below Rynn for a few seconds, then brought it into the air.

“On my mark. Three… Two… One… Fly.”

On the final word, he activated the device, creating a large pop-like sound and an enormous updraft centered around Rynn. He barely had time to register what was happening before the wind caught his wings and he was sent into the sky. Every instinct in his body screamed to close his eyes and return to the ground, but he fought it, determined to do what he had to do.

Near the top of the updraft, he felt another wind blowing eastward and so adjusted his wings to catch it. In the distance, Rynn could just barely see the lush and unique greenery of the Faron Jungle. He noted its direction, then quickly turned his head to the sky before him. As frightening as the empty open air was, far more so was the distance between him and the ground, and he wished to avoid looking at any part of it as much as possible while in flight.

The wind was powerful but not at all turbulent, so all Rynn had to do to maintain his course was flap his wings occasionally and keep the rest of his body in the ideal flight position, making small corrections as necessary. His stomach was still churning, as though it were full of butterflies that had just drunk nectar from swift violets, but he was making sure progress. Within a short time, he was beginning to pass over the jungle, noting his approach on one of his sporadic and short glances downward. The fear within him slightly alleviated as he thought, Perhaps this won’t be so bad.

And then, as if on ironic cue, the winds suddenly picked up. Rynn had certainly practiced in more unstable air, but he was nowhere close to accustomed to it, and thus what had just been a breeze (in multiple senses of the term) was now much more turbulent. All the fear that had slowly left him was now returning in full force, stronger than ever. His vision began to blur and he started flapping his wings frantically, the directed reason and focus in his mind being rapidly replaced by panic. He felt his lower body being constantly blown out of position by the wind, his feet and tail feathers shifting about wildly in the gale. He had just enough time to notice the sudden grey in the sky and a round object hurtling towards him before a searing pain shot through his left wing, and he was falling, waving his other limb about in a desperate attempt to slow his descent.

He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, but he found himself waking up on a muddy shore of a pond, his lower half still submerged. After blinking a few times, he attempted to push himself to his feet, but another bolt of pain struck his left wing when he tried to put weight on it. Instead, in a haphazard manner he rolled himself onto his back, then sat up, trying to gain a sense of where he was as the haze cleared from his vision.

From the look of the vegetation, he had no doubts that he had fallen directly into Faron Jungle, likely having had his fall broken by the tree cover before falling into the pond, then drifting to its shore. There was a large cliff to his right, but in every other direction was only more foliage. The only sounds besides his breathing were the noises of the local wildlife, the occasional crash of thunder, and the fall of rather heavy rain.

In his surveying, Rynn once again put too much weight on his left wing and nearly cried out in pain. Bringing the limb up, he found that most of its feathers were damaged or missing, and the front end of it was twisted and bent at an odd angle. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it was certainly injured enough that he wouldn’t be able to use it.

He took another moment to sit and wait while his head properly cleared, then pulled his legs out of the water and brought himself to his feet. His clothes felt utterly soaked and his feathers felt wholly waterlogged, despite both being designed to wick away water. Though he knew it wouldn’t help much, he tried to shake off some of the wet and wipe away the grime that covered much of one side of his body and clothes.

From what he had been told about the jungle, he knew there was a travel path that ran through it, crossing its main river (“Floria”, I think?) a few times and connecting the rest of Hyrule to the mountain and village on its southeasternmost shore. With the cliff nearby, he figured he would have the best luck in finding the path if he traveled directly away from it, and so, clutching his left arm close to his body to keep it steady, he set off.

As he walked, his mind wandered again to the events that had knocked him from the sky. He had no clue what the round object was, but he did think it odd that the winds had picked up so quickly and a storm had so suddenly appeared. Rynn had been told that they specifically had picked this day for his Trial of Flight because his route would consist of clear skies and relatively agreeable winds. Had they been mistaken? Had an error occurred somewhere in the process? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have the energy or focus to think about it either.

The canopy of leaves above did well to block the brunt of the rain, but many droplets still got through and hit him, doing nothing to fix the problem of how drenched he was. Strangely, though he was certainly unnerved by his current situation, he did not feel much at all of either fear or panic, and he was not sure why.

It’s… probably just because I’m too tired to feel anything…

Eventually, he came upon a thicker patch of vegetation where some mid-sized animals were rooting around for food. Based on their tusks and round furred bodies, Rynn guessed that they were some sort of boar. He changed his path to go around them, hoping that they would not even notice him. However, this was not to be, for one of his talons broke a branch on the ground beneath him only moments after he turned.

Rynn was met with small glittering eyes, each pair staring at him unflinchingly. He didn’t know if they were sizing him up as a threat, nor did he want to know. He began running in his new course, panic welling up within him once more as his vision started blurring once again. He began to feel light in the head, as though he were quickly running out of energy. Bursting from the foliage, he stumbled and fell onto much brighter earth, everything fading to black as two forms approached, one distinctly horse-shaped and the other some large and rotund biped.

His next experiences blurred together as he faded in and out of consciousness. Most of it was dominated by the sounds of hoofbeats, rain, and a rushing river. Besides that, he heard the occasional concerned murmur in a woman’s voice and urgent back-and-forth shouts at least once; he never could make out what they were saying. Eventually, he felt the air change, the humidity of the jungle being replaced by a clearer and saltier breeze, and he faded into a deeper sleep.

The next time consciousness returned to him, everything was far clearer. Rynn found himself in a round room of various brown tones with a curved and sloped roof, the telltale orange light of dusk streaming through the windows. He tilted his head to the side, seeing two Hylians talking quietly. They seemed to notice his shifting and turned to look at him. The darker of the two smiled and said, “Ah, so you’ve woken up. Welcome to Lurelin Village!”

“...What… what happened to me?” Rynn whispered, too tired to make his voice any louder.

The other woman, dressed in adventurer’s clothes and with supplies and weapons to match, answered. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. You stumbled onto the path through Faron Jungle just in front of my friend and I, then collapsed. When we tried to talk to you, you were completely unconscious, so we put you on my horse and rushed to the Lakeside Stable. They didn’t have the proper supplies to give you medical attention, so we were sent here instead.”

“You’re in our Medicine House right now. Your wing was fractured, but I’ve set it and bound it, as you can see, and once you’ve rested enough, I’ll have you drink this”--she held out a vial full of some sort of blood red liquid--“which should expedite the regrowth and repair of the wing, and you’ll be good to go by midday tomorrow.”

Rynn turned his head to face the ceiling again, slowly blinking as his thoughts swirled. “I… I see…”

“Ordinarily, I’d ask you what you were doing wandering around Faron Jungle with no adventuring gear to speak of, but I imagine that’s not what you were originally doing. You’re Rynn, right? The Rito whose flight exam was supposed to end here today?”

He nodded silently.

“Thought so. After we contacted the stable near the starting point (thank the goddesses that Sheikah communication box thing worked), we overheard something about the situation, and not too long after, two other Rito men arrived, insisting that they must see you. Their, uh, ‘attitudes’ and ‘levels of energy’, I guess, were a bit… too high, and you needed to rest in quiet, so Phenea had Gudek block the doorway. Last I checked, at least one of them was pacing back and forth outside.”

There was a noticeable lack of light coming in through the slits in the door, as they were blocked off by the rocky back of a Goron, which Rynn deduced was both this ‘Gudek’ and the rotund figure he had seen back on the jungle path. Phenea, then, must have been on the horse’s back at the time.

“I see… then, let them in, please.”

The doctor seemed to want to protest, but clearly decided not to, as Phenea got up and knocked on the door, telling Gudek that the Rito could now be let in. The Goron shifted out of the way and opened the door, and Rynn’s father and the flight director swiftly walked in. They stared at him for a moment, then the former seemed to try to rush in to hug him before thinking better of it.

“Rynn… I’m so glad you’re safe. When we got word of what happened, I… well, I began to imagine the worst. We flew over as quickly as possible…!”

“Yes, I must say, that experimental flight-enhancing Sheikah-tech worked particularly well, even in spite of all its… little issues. ...Would you happen to know or remember what damaged your wing? Was it the fall?”

Rynn had to push his mind a bit, but he remembered the event clearly enough, to the point that it would likely be etched in his mind for a long while. “Some sort of… large round object came flying at me as the storm was beginning… it might have had those Sheikah-tech markings?”

At this, the doctor spoke up. “I’ve heard of recent experiments with technology that can create weather. I’ll contact the Hateno Tech Lab about it tomorrow, assuming that communication cube thingy still works. I’d do it tonight, but it’s getting a bit late.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” said the flight director. Rynn and his father followed suit.

“Oh, speaking of the time: tonight we’re having a massive bonfire party, it’s part of an old tradition. No one really knows what it’s for anymore, but it’s a lot of fun, so we continue to have it every two months or so. You guys should come and watch! It’s when some of our best dancing and singing is shown off.” Throughout the invitation, the doctor gained a level of excitement and wonder that Rynn did not think doctors were capable of.

The other two Rito thought for a second, then shrugged. “I mean, I suppose since we can’t go home until tomorrow, we might as well have some fun.”

“Hmph. It’s not really my thing, but… well, I wanted to head back, but I think I want to be there for that message to the Lab: if there are going to sudden weather changes from here on, I think I, as a manager of flight, deserve to know what the hell is going on in all of that.” The director’s voice was slowly getting louder; he clearly cared quite a lot about his work, even if he didn’t show it.

“That settles it then! In the meantime, though, I’d like all of you to leave: Rynn still has resting to do, and an overstuffed Medicine House won’t help with that.”

It looked as though everyone else wanted to protest, but they quickly turned and left one-by-one. As their footsteps faded away, Rynn heard something about Phenea and Gudek telling them about the dances and songs, because they had “been to a lot over their travels,” and the flight director rapidly excusing himself to use the communicator to update the stable at Whistling Hill, specifically Tevara and her mother, on the whole ordeal.

“You rest up now, Rynn. When you’re ready, your clothes are on the table right over there--we washed and dried them right after we cleaned you (I hope you don’t mind)--and the rest of the stuff that was on you is just next to it. Take this healing potion right before you go to bed for the night. You got all that?”

Rynn nodded softly; he could already feel sleep trying to take him once more.

“Good.” The doctor set the bottle on the table, then exited the house, as Rynn’s senses faded away, in a manner far more peaceful than the previous two times.

When he next awoke, the sun had fully disappeared, but a bright firelight was illuminating the room. Rynn pushed himself up, careful not to put any weight on his fractured limb, then put on his clothes and exited the house. Down near the shore was the largest fire he had ever seen, with a pile of burning wood at least twice as high as any person. A ring of individuals was engaged in what seemed to be a very intricate dance, while a wider audience sang along joyously. Near the back of the audience circle he could see Phenea and Gudek talking non-stop to his father and flight director, seemingly to their slight annoyance, if their postures were anything to go by.

Rynn smiled and began walking towards the bonfire. For once in quite a long while, he realized, he felt quite content and, amazingly, entirely devoid of fear.

[sunmisgirl]

EXO Reaction to Fight With GF

For 🍎 anon: If reactions are open, exo's reaction to their cold gf growing even colder and distant during an argument? Cold meaning they don't open up easily, not temperature lol anyways thank you in advance and I love your writing!

Nina’s Note: Thanks so much for your patience, darling. I hope you enjoy it! I chose to go an angst route with this. I lowkey don’t think I fulfilled what you requested but I tried 💀 some members’ reactions are longer than others.

Xiumin:

Usually Xiumin is even-tempered during an argument. However, he notices how distant you’ve become over the past few nights. He’s tried countless times to brighten your mood and forget about the argument but instead you refuse to open up to him. The extended silence during dinner one night makes him irritated and he remarks,“You’re not making this easy for me.” 

“Of course you’d say that,” you mumble to yourself and reach for your drink. “Could you repeat that?” Xiumin challenges with a steely glare across the table. Setting down the cup with a heavy sigh, you meet eyes and reply, “Everything's always about YOU. We’re not a team anymore. I feel ignored in my own relationship. It’s almost like I’m an outsider looking in. You’ve been so distracted lately you forgot about my birthday.” Your voice gets unsteady so you stop talking and look away from Xiumin. 

His glare immediately softens upon realization. He knows how special birthdays are to you especially being far away from your family and friends. You push the chair back and stand to walk towards the front door. “I need some time to myself. I’m already used to it,” you utter before storming off for a walk into the somber night. Sitting on a bench at the local park, you curse yourself for leaving your cell phone behind. The light wind tousles your hair while you silently reflect on the relationship wondering when things got so difficult between you two. 

Suho:

Suho surprised you with reservations at your favorite restaurant. Your careers keep you two occupied so this was a perfect opportunity to catch up on lost time. Deep down you have slight uncertainty about your career choice but you’ve always been one to follow your heart. Lately you’ve experienced a few hurdles at work and share them with him which isn’t easy to do since you keep things to yourself. 

He tugs on his collar and flashes you a small smile before starting one of his famous lectures. You know Suho means well and only wants you to succeed but it would be nice for once if your partner could support your wishes instead of seeing everything from a business perspective. You scowl while he rambles and absentmindedly poke the food on the plate with a fork. “Maybe if you didn’t daze out like this you wouldn’t have problems at work.” 

“Perhaps I’m tired of hearing the same rehearsed speech from you,” you reply in a bitter tone. “It’s just suggestions, dear. Don’t take everything as criticism,” he counters. You slam down the silverware and snap back, “I hear this speech at least once a month. I’d expect my partner from all people to respect my choices and not question the path I chose.” 

Grabbing your purse, you exit the restaurant highly distraught drawing attention from nearby patrons as they watch the scene unfold. Suho awkwardly clears his throat and swirls the wine in his glass trying to hide his evident embarrassment and regret.

Lay:

You’re incredibly proud of Yixing’s achievements (especially with the solo tour) but that means he’s home a lot less and the apartment is starting to feel emptier without his presence. Whenever you try to sneak a call or text at work, he doesn’t reply or tells you he’s busy rehearsing for different stages. You can’t help but feel frustrated by the lack of communication between you two. 

After a rough day at work, you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for an entire week. It just so happens Yixing decides to contact you during his free time between rehearsals. He sends a few texts expecting a quick reply but they get ignored. He then tries to call you but reaches voicemail after a few rings. Confused by your silent treatment, he video calls much to your dismay.

After accepting the call, he greets you excitedly and rambles about the progress of the tour but suddenly notices your unusually quiet demeanor. “Is everything alright?” he asks with genuine concern in his eyes. Still affected by your bad day, you reply, “I just find it shocking you finally decided I exist and contacted me.” Yixing furrows his eyebrows and responds, “I haven’t forgotten about you. Work always keeps me on my toes--” 

You interject, “Yeah, I know. Work work work. It’s always the same story with you. I guess I’ll let you go since you seem busy.” “Wait I--” he begins to speak but you abruptly disconnect the call. That night you stay awake feeling guilty and selfish for arguing with him but plan to apologize later in the week once the bad mood fades away.

Baekhyun:

Baekhyun drove you home one night but the date ended with heartache rather than bliss. He felt quite awkward around you lately. It’s almost like walking on eggshells. You didn’t laugh at his jokes anymore, car rides were always quiet with the radio playing as background noise, and you didn’t share exciting news with him like you used to. 

He tried prying a response out of you one last time while parking outside of your place. Unfortunately emotions flared and yet another spat began in the car. You huffed in frustration preparing for the next ten minutes of bickering, but instead, Baekhyun demanded you to get out of the car. 

“I don’t have time for this right now. I try everything to make you happy and all you do is push me further away,” he explained with a face set in stone. Rolling your eyes, you exited the vehicle and shot back, “Do what you always do, Baek. Run from confrontation. That’s what you’re best at anyways.” He drove off the second you shut the passenger door and gripped the steering wheel agitated with the state of your relationship.

Chen:

Chen heavily sighed for what felt like the tenth time that night. Your relationship was stuck in the ‘honeymoon phase’ for a while until frequent disputes ruined your bliss and drove you two further apart. Your demeanor changed completely, growing more distant and keeping to yourself. The time spent together diminished within weeks despite sharing a place. He couldn’t imagine a life without you let alone a few arguments destroy your connection. 

For weeks, Chen searched for the perfect engagement ring, the best statement to express his everlasting love. Once he finally gained the courage, he decided to leave work early one day and surprise you at home. He never expected to walk in and find your belongings already packed and a few suitcases beside the doorway. You emerge from the bathroom with slightly puffy eyes from crying earlier in the day and immediately halt when you notice Chen standing by the front door. 

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you mutter, eyes cast down to avoid his questioning stare. His lack of response and the silence in the apartment only increase the tension. “We’re obviously not working out anymore so...” you trail off and gently grasp your suitcase handle. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.” Chen steps closer to you, his pleading eyes shining with tears threatening to fall. “Please don’t leave. We can get through this.” The sorrow building within you prevents you from replying. 

You can only shake your head in disagreement and brush past him to exit the apartment, your own eyes forming tears at this point. He stands there speechless with his hand in his pocket twiddling the engagement ring with his fingers. He walks over to the window and silently watches you enter the taxi downstairs, the yellow vehicle driving away with the love of his life.

Chanyeol:

At this point you’ve lost count of how many disputes you and Chanyeol had this month. It’s even more awkward that he stopped by tonight for your planned weekly movie marathon. He hoped by coming over he could squash the tension between you two. However, that plan wouldn’t work when he noticed the separate bowls of popcorn and stacked pillow tower dividing your seats on the couch. 

Ironically you chose a movie where the main characters broke up because their relationship turned toxic. It killed Chanyeol to consider breaking up with you but the arguments slowly took over your relationship and you’ve gotten more distant. What was once built on love and support quickly came crashing down. Instead of focusing on the movie, his mind wandered to how he’s going to break the news to you. His limbs felt heavier, his mouth started to dry, his heart began aching at the evident outcome of this night. 

Chanyeol reached for the remote to pause the movie and turned to face you. He grasped your hand before saying the next few words that broke both of your hearts. “We can’t stay together. We’ve outgrown each other at this point.” You opened your mouth to respond but he continued speaking. “When was the last time I made you smile? Or laugh? You can’t even remember right? We’re both miserable in this relationship.” 

He spoke these words but his eyes pleaded with you to save the relationship. The truth was you’ve grown tired of the constant spats and considered breaking up too which is why Chanyeol’s heart broke more than yours when you agreed to end it.

D.O.:

The sour mood from this morning’s argument lingers in the car when Kyungsoo drives you two to dinner that night. He hates when you fight and tries coaxing you out of silence by sprinkling in compliments during the drive. He even sings you one of your favorite songs but all of his attempts go ignored. With a frustrated eye roll, he remarks, “Sometimes you’re so difficult to be around.” 

Shifting in your seat and glaring at him, you retort, “I could say the same thing about you.” Kyungsoo senses another fight brewing and stops talking. His fingers impatiently tap the steering wheel desperate to reach the restaurant already.  Becoming exasperated, you cross your arms and demand him to stop the car. He soon reaches a red light and that’s when you dramatically exit the car, slamming the door behind you and walk in the opposite direction. 

He turns around watching you leave and shouts, “Stop acting like this!” However, he’s well aware of your stubborn side and sighs in defeat as you continue walking to clear your mind. Other drivers in the lane begin honking once the light turns green but he ignores them. Kyungsoo looks on wistfully knowing you need your space and will find your way back to him. You always do.

Kai:

Kai grows concerned when you don’t embrace him as often as you used to, your greetings becoming more stale. There’s obvious tension between you two but neither of you choose to address it. He’s slightly nervous your relationship is going to take a crashing halt and decides to have a serious talk with you before he leaves for his scheduled photo shoot. 

Unfortunately, he chose the wrong moment to have this discussion because it transforms into a huge argument. The frustration evident on your face as unfiltered thoughts fall from your lips. Kai abruptly leaves your place and arrives at the photo shoot a few minutes late, the venomous words shared between you two still lingering in the depths of his mind. 

Once the photographer calls him over to begin the shoot, he tries his best to block out the negative thoughts. His face remains etched in pain, revealing whatever was plaguing him internally. Murmurs from staff on set compliment his attitude and focus during the shoot. The photographer praises Kai in every shot pointing out how expressive he is but little does everyone know you’re the source of his pain.

Sehun:

The shared apartment is usually filled with laughter or terrible shower singing, but lately it’s awfully silent and tense. Sehun lost count of the days you haven’t spoken to each other. Living in the same apartment but still feeling like complete strangers. 

Arriving home from work one night, you find him in the kitchen drinking a glass of water and watching you carefully. Deciding to take the leap, he utters, “You could’ve told me you were planning to end this relationship.” Surprised that he broke the silence, you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and ask, “What are you talking about?” Sehun sighs and leaves momentarily to retrieve the airline ticket he found on the nightstand. 

Instead of answering him, you scroll through your phone to show him the texts from your bestie expressing her excitement to see you for a few days. He instantly feels terrible for jumping to conclusions and starts to apologize, his heart growing weary from the lack of warmth and love in the apartment. “Save your breath. I’m so tired of this,” you interject and storm away to the bedroom slamming the door behind you. 

Sehun decides to sleep on the couch that night too ashamed to speak to you after assuming the worst and plans to rebuild your relationship. The next morning, he awakes in a groggy state but nonetheless determined to put a smile on your face. However, when he rushes over to the bedroom, he’s met with a neatly made bed, empty drawers, and your copy of his apartment key on the sheets.

[teamhook]

A Chapter A Day... Savage Heart CS AU

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the awesome @ilovemesomekillianjones​

Cover by @xhookswenchx​

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 26: New Friends and Allies

Emma keeps a steady pace after leaving Rufio behind. She'd almost turned back on several occasions but if she did, she may never see her family again. She would remember the route taken and beg if needed to go back to retrieve the boy. Killian wouldn't deny her.

She rides the horse in full gallop as long as she can. Later she switches to a trot and a few walk breaks in between. She pays close attention to her surroundings, admiring the view.

She had never left Misthaven before. Her mother had offered to send her on holiday alongside Milah countless times but she had never accepted. She enjoyed her time with Cora preparing to be the perfect wife for August.

Emma wanders away from the road and into the woods. She needs to find some water for both of them and maybe if she is lucky she can find them something edible. Maybe she should let her horse lead. Survival instinct must kick in at some time. There are horses in the wild and they survive perfectly fine on their own.

She's afraid to get lost in the woods and there is also a possibility she will be recaptured if she stays on the main road.

The scenery is beautiful. The trees seem to almost reach the sky and the wildflowers are vibrant and fragrant; it looks like a rainbow layout on her feet. Her thoughts drift home. She follows and the horse is grazing on some grass. She looks around the trees and shrubs and notices a path. It seems like a well-traveled trail. She doesn't want to disturb the horse, but slowly approaches him to not disturb his meal. She ties his rope to the closest tree.

She walks toward the trail and keeps glancing back to make sure the horse is there and no one is following her.

Emma followed the trail and keeps walking. The further into the woods she walks the more calming and beautiful it is. She has never walked for so long and soon she stops dead in her tracks. There is a deer drinking water from a creek. She is so enthralled and slowly kneels down to avoid the deer's attention. Then without a warning, she hears a swish pass her right ear and hit its target as the deer slumps to the ground.

She is standing there blinking away the disbelief. She turns to look at the perpetrator and yells at him. "You could've hit me!"

"I never miss."

"You never miss? Are you crazy?" She notices the wolf standing next to the man. The silver wolf snarls at the offensive comment made at his master. Emma steps back slowly.

"Don't worry. He is gentle, he is just hungry." He pats the head of the animal that locked his one black and one red eye with her.

"Yes, he looks very sweet."

"He is." He smiles at her. "Just don't make any sudden moves around him." He walks towards Emma leading the way for the silver wolf close behind him.

Once he reaches her he guides his pet to Emma and slowly extends his hand for her to place hers on his. She does so slowly. The wolf slowly nuzzles her palm and licks her.

"He likes you."

"I just hope he doesn't like me enough to eat."

"Oh no, he is domesticated. Well at least as much as he can be. I rescued him as a pup."

She looked unsure.

"I do apologize for scaring you."

She tries to play it off. "I was not scared I was just surprised; I was admiring the beauty of nature."

"I agree with you, nature is beautiful. I missed it so much, I gave up my life in town to find solace in a little cabin, not far from here. I have always been more of a hunter than anything else."

"Oh, and what life did you give up?" she asks genuinely curious. They walk as he guides her.

"Well, I used to be a lawman in a town not far from here."

"But you missed all this and you left," she says as she pointed to the scenery.

He simply nods his answer.

She suddenly stops, "I left my horse back there, I think." She points to the opposite direction they were headed.

"Then we should go get him. I'm sure we will find him." He changes direction. "I don't mean to be rude but you don't seem to belong here. I'm sorry I don't have the best people skills."

"I know. You almost killed me with that knife. And you are right, I don't."

"I already told you, I never miss. So, tell me how is it you got here? Of course, if you don't mind me asking." He has noticed the wedding band on her hand.

"I was taken on my way to visit my parents by some men."

"What? Are you alright?" He looks her over to assess injuries. She doesn't appear to have any, but she does look dirty.

"I escaped with the help of a friend. I was on my way home but I didn't want to tire my horse and I may be a little lost now." She admits her predicament with a nervous chuckle.

"I could help you go home. I could also look into the men that took you. Do you remember where you were held?"

"I just want to get home."

"Alright, then we will go retrieve your horse and get you home. Where is home?"

"Thank you. What should I call you? Maybe, crazy man that almost killed me?"

"Graham Humbert."

Emma thinks she recognizes the name but fails to recall from where."And what should I call you?"

"Emma Jones, I'm from Misthaven."

"It is an honor to meet you. Now let's get you home."

Emma stops. "Wait, what about the deer? You said that you were both hungry." She points at him and the wolf.

"We still have enough back home for a couple of nights and besides we need to get you back to Misthaven. It will not be long before you are reunited."

Killian loses his death grip on the ransom letter; Tink bends to pick it up.

"Killian, are you sure? She looks at the letter and hates that she cannot understand its contents.

He gives her a grim smile and nods his confirmation.

"What are you going to do?"

Milah's ears perk up to listen to the answer to the question. It is the moment of truth. She knows he will pick his ship and realize that Emma means nothing to him.

"Isn't true love more important than a few planks and a sail? TInk, she is my home. I will do whatever is needed to get her back."

Milah can't stop herself, "You are willing to give up your ship for my nitwit cousin? Are you crazy? She is not worth it, she doesn't love you. I love you. Let them keep her and we can be together."

"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be with your husband?" Tink snarls at her.

"TInk, I have to go see Archie. I have to hurry, time is of the essence. As for you Milah, you need to go home to your husband. I'm going to go get my wife," he says as hope finally fills his heart.

"Are you truly willing to trade your ship for her?"

"Aye, without a second thought, I would and I am."

"But you love that ship; you cannot trade it for her!"

"Milah, I love my wife. I think I may have loved her since I first laid eyes on her. I was just too stubborn and too angry to see it."

Milah blinks back tears as she storms out of Killian's home after hearing his decision. If he thinks he is going to have his happy ending with her cousin he is wrong. She subconsciously walks to the same road Emma had been taken from as a fury engulfs her entire being. Emma had everything growing up and now she has taken her love.

Milah startles as she hears footsteps approaching her. She looks up to see a man walking toward her and she wipes away her tears. He looks like he has lost something.

"Excuse me, Miss, do you live around here?"

"No I don't, my cousin does." She points to the direction of Killian's house.

"Why do you ask?"

"I have been tasked with finding a kidnapped woman and I was curious to know if there had been any witnesses to the act but so far I have not found one."

"Oh, you must be the Sheriff. Sheriff Nottingham, if memory serves. My husband went to see you. My cousin is the one that was taken."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"No worries, I will be giving my husband glowing reviews on your search for her."

"Your husband seems very fond of your cousin."

"He feels guilty."

"Ah, for her marrying the pirate," Nottingham spits the word. "You don't seem too distraught over her disappearance."

"Why Sheriff Nottingham, are you accusing me of not caring for my cousin?"

"I never said that, but there is something there, and dare I say it, Mrs. Booth, I find you to be a very interesting woman. I feel I should keep an eye on you."

"That is good to know." She smiles coyly as she walks away. She knows that he may come in handy.

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked@profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87@snowbellewells@hollyethecurious@kymbersmith-90@branlovestowrite@thejollyroger-writer@shireness-says@ilovemesomekillianjones@thisonesatellite@thesschesthair@winterbythesea@stahlop@resident-of-storybrooke@superchocovian@lfh1226-linda@artistic-writer@thislassishooked@shardminds@winterbaby89@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd@gingerchangeling@laschatzi@wellhellotragic@xemmaloveskillianx@courtorderedcake@pirateherokillian@optomisticgirl@darkcolinodonorgasm@sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426​

[foxtophat]

hey i said i was gonna get this up today!!!!

so with this chapter's conclusion i can safely say that i've officially written everything that i set out to write with mercy!  this chapter was literally a skeleton that shaped eighty percent of the entire story, so i'm glad i could finally flesh it out and put it out there!!

there's still one more chapter to go, which will be more or less an epilogue for the main story. after that, i think i'll try to get a couple of other fandom fics going (ones that are ACTUALLY nearly done, not half-ass done like mercy was when i decided to start posting lmao) and then i can set up a schedule to write some more for this universe

anyway, for now i just want you to read and enjoy.  this chapter is all about john's ptsd, and it made me sad, so i hope it makes you sad too heheh

as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, casual mentions in meatspace or idle daydreaming about different ways this chapter could go are ALL super welcome and adored. i love you guys, you've been so kind to me <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

the usual: below the cut is the full chapter text if you don't wanna go to ao3, but you should, ao3 is way easier to read on

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd really be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has something to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He could go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick really doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!" the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any choice , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to build something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

"Knew," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody else ?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means safe ." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it eventually. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does not want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat chance Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the other hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and sure, bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a bunker. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come on," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a prisoner, and I certainly am not a child."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you really think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision he forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright disappointed, and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick does wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't you I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. You're the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't stopped having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom when they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine why. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would love it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on himself. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he never should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It is gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just leave now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as handling it by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood everywhere. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the less time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick really doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell out of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick wants to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they do need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck that all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is welcome to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — crying, and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. "Please."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was alone, the whole time, he said I wouldn't be alone —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.