#without having to pause and catch my breath midsentence

[tj-crochets]

Still no craft updates on account of I feel Bad* but I did get like half a beanie crocheted this weekend? I also have a bat that's haunting me. In that there's a bat design I desperately want to turn into a plushie not in that I am being literally haunted by a bat. As far as I know I am not haunted by a bat but to be fair I'm not confident I'd know? *my heart rate got high enough that made me cough but my asthma was flaring up enough that cough launched me into an asthma attack, which raised my heart rate even more, so basically I used my emergency inhaler and then was on the floor for a while. Feels bad! Do not recommend. I'm okay though just tired

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[zi-i-think]

Asfgh okay literally completely get you with the late Harry potter obsession and the Fred Weasley love. Was wondering if I could request a fluffy X reader one-shot where she's in slytherin/house neutral and tries to confess to Fred by going "well the guy I like is ginger, tall, sporty" etc and describes him perfectly and the dumbass thinks she's talking abt George and tries to set them up? Maybe w a cute ending where he figures it out? Thank you and have a lovely day!!💕

Assumption

AN: I was so excited to write this cause it was just such a cute idea. Hope you like it!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x gn! slytherin! reader

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Fred doesn’t get the hint when y/n basically confesses that they have feelings for him and sets up a date between the reader and his brother.

Y/n didn’t get nervous easily. They were usually quite confident, actually. Which is exactly why these newfound feelings for a well known Weasley were leaving them flustered and uncomfortable.

Y/n had always been friends with the twins, despite being in different houses. The trouble they caused and pranks they’ve pulled together made memories none of the three would forget. But y/n’s crush on the oldest of the two was starting to get in the way. Whenever they saw Fred in class or in the halls, it was like someone let loose a swarm of butterflies in their stomach. It was annoying, leaving them to resort to the only thing they considered reasonable. Avoiding Fred at all costs.

It wasn’t like y/n enjoyed spending less time with her friends. I’m actuality, it was lonely. Quiet. Uneventful.

Sitting in the library, y/n started out the window, looking out to the courtyard. They were supposed to be writing a potions essay, but two ginger heads caught her eye. The twins were hastily walking across the yard with mischievous grins. Likely planning another scheme.

A sigh fell from their lips as they rested their chin in the palm of her hand. Longing to chase after them and demand to be included. But the smile on Fred’s lips made those damn butterflies explode in y/n’s stomach yet again. And they stayed put in their sea and instead diverted their attention to their potions textbook and parchment.

Y/n stared at the pages. And stared. And stared. But they couldn’t bring themselves to read the book. They’re mind fixated on their situation. 

What to do? That was the question. I can’t keep avoiding him. I miss my friends. What if…?

The thought of confessing came up. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Y/n supposed that if he felt the same, perhaps that darn giddy feeling would start to get more comfortable. And if he didn’t, well, then they’d just have to get over it. Easy peasy. Right?

Y/n rolled their eyes at their thoughts and sucked in a breath. Forcing themself to get back to the essay. After all. They shouldn’t be spending so much time worrying over a silly crush. Not when they had classes to pass.

Y/n didn’t see Fred until the next day as they walked to breakfast. The ginger was weirdly without his twin as he caught sight of his friend. Immediately, a smile formed on his lips as he jogged over to catch up with them.

“Well look who it is.” He laughed, wrapping his arm around y/n’s shoulders and pulling them to his side. Y/n jumped in surprise at the sudden intrusion. They knew exactly who it was just by the sound of his voice.

“Merlin, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Y/n scoffed in a playful manner and shoving off the arm around their shoulder. His touch was already making Y/n feel nervous. “Where’s George?” They realized that only one twin was present.

“Forgot to do his Charms homework. Trying to finish it up now.” He chucked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked beside his friend. “We haven’t seen much of you lately. Care to explain?”

“You know. Trying to get schoolwork done.” Y/n shrugged their shoulders. 

“That’s rubbish.” Fred chuckled, looking over at them with a curious look. But, y/n stayed silent. “Come one. You can talk to me.”

The thought came up again. Tell him the truth. So with a deep breath, y/n looked up at them and the two slowed their walking pace. “Alright.” They sighed with a nod. “Just promise that what I’m about to tell you won’t change anything.” 

Fred furrowed his eyebrows and he only got more confused. “That’s awfully suspicious, but I promise.”

Y/n pulled Fred off to the side of the hall and took in a deep breath. “So, I’ve sort of been crushing on someone.” They started nervously.

Fred smiled widely and leaned his side on the wall. When y/n said that his interest was piqued. “Oh? Go on. Do I know them?”

“Yes, actually. Quite well, I’d say.” Y/n smiled, also leaning into the wall. “He’s tall, confident, incredible quidditch player too.” They listed.

“I don’t suppose he also had red hair and a knack for pranks.” Fred continued and y/n nodded softly. A knowing smirk grew on his face now. “I know exactly who you’re talking about.” He pointed.

“You do?” Y/n looked at him hopefully. Holding in a tiny breath.

“Of course I do.” He said confidently. Y/n grinned and straightened their posture, not really sure what to do now. “You know what. Be by the Great Lake tonight at 7:30.” He planed as walked backward, heading to his original destination.

“O- Okay.” Y/n agreed with a light laugh, trying to suppress just how happy they were. Fred sent them one more grin before finally turning around and heading off.

A blush crept onto y/n cheeks and they quickly covered their mouth with their hand. That uncomfortable, fluttery feeling stuck around. But now it wasn’t unwelcome.

A cold breeze swept by making y/n shiver and pull their jacket closer to themselves. They kept a small, excited smile as they walked towards the lake. Winter was quickly approving and the sun hung low in the sky. Its golden rays reflected off the water.

No one else was at the lake yet, leaving y/n alone as they waited for Fred. Taking a seat off to the side and leaning on a tree, y/n tossed stones into the water, occasionally looking back at the path, knowing he’d be coming down any moment from now.

Another stone plopped into the water just as the sound of crunching leaves grabbed y/n attention. “About time you showed up.” They called out before turning around and seeing a person they didn’t expect. “George?”

“Y/n?” He asked back, just as equally confused that y/n. “What are you doing here?” 

Y/n crossed their arms over their chest and tilted their head. “Well, you’re brother told me to be here.”

George sighed and he shook his head. “Fred also told me to be here.”

“That makes no sense.” Y/n scoffed. A visible frown on their face as they tried to understand what they did wrong. Did Fred not want to break their heart so he sent George over instead? No, that’s not it. “Why would he-?” Y/n stopped midsentence, as they thought back to the conversation from before. 

George still looked confused, raising his brows as he waited for y/n to continue with their sentence. “Well?”

“George, where might I find your brother?” Y/n asked him in a curious but also anxious tone.

“Gryffindor common room, most likely. Why?” He answered.

Y/n started walking back towards the castle with haste and George followed close behind them. “I need you to get me into the Gryffindor common room if you don’t mind.” They said, with a hoping look. The twins have given y/n the password before, but considering that it’s been some time since last joining them in the common room, y/n seems to have forgotten it.

“Alright, but do you want to tell me what this is all about?” The younger twin continued to try and cure his confusion.

“Your brother is an idiot.” Y/n answered simply and plainly.

George shrugged in agreeance. “Well, maybe you want to tell me something that I don’t already know.”

The Gryffindor room was usually pretty lively, especially on weekends. Upon entering the room full of Gryffindors, George and y/n were immediately greeted with warm hello’s. Y/n was never unwelcome from the Gryffindors, not for being a Slytherin. They were seen in the Gryffindor common room almost daily. 

Fred looked over at the two and paused in his conversation with Angelina. Leaning into the armrest of the couch he shrugged. “You two are back early. How was the date?”

“Date?” Y/n scoffed. They sounded amused, but the look they gave him was pure annoyance and disbelief. 

George’s face twisted in a sort of disgusted look. “Is that what that was meant to be?”

“Honestly Fred are you that dense?” Y/n grumbled. All of their intentions to speak to him and clear up the misunderstanding were starting to diminish.

The oldest twin furrowed his brow. “Well I thought-”

“Right, you never seem to think do you.” Y/n grumbled. The common room around them got significantly quiet as the curious students listened in to the bickering. Y/n glanced at the numerous eyes on them. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” They sharply turned around, walking out of the Gryffindor room and back out into the hall.

Fred stared after them for a moment, not quite sure where he should go after them. “Well?” George got his attention. “Aren’t you going to go talk to them?”

The ginger nodded quickly and scurried off the couch and out into the halls. Y/n was already walking down the first set of stairs. “Y/n! Hold up.” He called and jogged down the stairs after them. 

Y/n picked up their pace and clenched their fist. “Fred, I’m really not in the mood.” They replied with an annoyed tone.

“I noticed. I just wanted to help.” He finally caught up to them, and when he did, y/n stopped in their tracks to glare up at him.

“So you set me up on a date with your brother when I didn’t even know about it?” They snapped.

“I told you to be there. I assumed that you know what I was saying.”

“Well, you obviously assumed wrong. In that entire conversation, you assumed wrong.” Y/n stared up at him as they gathered the courage to be upfront and to avoid letting the older twin assume wrong again. “I was never talking about George, Fred. I was trying to confess that I like you.”

Fred stood there in disbelief for a moment. “You- You like me?” He said in a question.

“Yes.” Y/n huffed. “You’re just too damn thickheaded.” I relieved chuckled left teh ginger’s lips, only making the Slytherin glare at him even more. “Think this is funny, do you?”

“I’m just relieved.” He confessed. His hands went up to cup y/n’s cheeks and they didn’t move. Instead, they just stiffened at the touch, the fluttering feeling entering their stomach. “I never wanted you to go on a date with George, I just wanted to make you happy.”

Y/n scoffed, but their face softened and a smile grew on their lips. “You, Fred Weasley are-”

“An idiot?” He finished, stepping even closer to the Slytherin. “I know.” Y/n looked up at him with a sparkle in their eye.

“Well? Are you going to kiss me yet or are you just assuming that I don’t want one?” Y/n teased. Fred smiled widely as he leaned down to finally press a soft and longing kiss.

The nervous feeling that y/n felt slowly disappeared. They didn’t feel uncomfortable or flustered. But they still had that giddy feeling. And the fluttering butterflies never left.

[voidstilesplease]

In light of a recent discovery, here's another demigod au ficlet :)

---

It's not that Theo is jealous, he's not, but it's getting annoying how closely Stiles is studying the head counselor for cabin seven, Apollo's cabin: Brett. 

They're gathered around the nightly bonfire, passing chocolates and roasted marshmallows, as they listen to Brett playing the lyre. The instrument is a gift from Lord Hermes to Brett after a fruitful quest (just as Hermes gifted the first lyre to his brother Apollo to appease the sun god of the former's thievery - yes, Stiles, Theo listens to your lectures, thank you). Brett plays the instrument well, and he carries a decent tune to accompany it, all right, but there's no need to stare at his fingers on the strings, is there? It's starting to get to Theo's nerves, honestly.

When Stiles absently takes the s'mores that Theo hands to him, Theo snaps. "What's so captivating about Brett?" He tries to sound curious, but he can't mask the edge on his voice that gives him away entirely. "You've seen him play with instruments before."

Stiles sends him a curious glance, picking up on Theo's tone and then back to Brett's performance. He takes a bite of his treat, smearing the corners of his lips with sticky mallows and graham crumbs. "The strings are glowing, idiot," Stiles says without heat.

Theo scowls at the name-calling but reaches out to clean the smudges from Stiles's face anyway. Stiles mutters a soft thanks and gives Theo a small smile before carrying on with his observation.

When Theo begrudgingly turns and watches Brett strumming the lyre, there are indeed different colors glowing from the instrument as the Apollo boy plays. And if Theo pays a closer look, there's also a pattern to these colors. He huffs. Of course, Stiles will be distracted by this. Something is gleaming, and it has hypothetical value he can obsess about later. Stiles is a goner.

So, his boyfriend is not, in fact, watching Brett or his fingers. But he's still paying Theo no notice, which is the pressing matter here.

"Are you going to be distracted the whole night?" Theo says through gritted teeth.

That makes Stiles drag his gaze back on Theo, squinting his eyes at his boyfriend. The orange firelight from the bonfire dances in his brown eyes as Stiles's mouth turns up in a playful smile, "You're so clingy,"

Theo's answer is a loud scoff. He swivels away, the fire burning just a little more on his marshmallow, detaching it from the stick to plop uselessly on the ground. Theo swears under his breath.

Stiles scoots closer to him, stuffing his food into his mouth and brushing the crumbs off his fingers. He slides an arm around Theo and pulls him close. Stiles props his chin on Theo's left shoulder and grins up at him, immediately forgetting the lyre. Theo continues to glare, dropping a small kiss on top of Stiles's nose before he reminds himself that he's annoyed. Theo still grumbles when he impales another marshmallow on his stick. "Next thing, you'll be asking Brett to teach you how to play it."

Stiles snorts, nuzzling the side of Theo's neck. Stiles is not the most openly-affectionate person, but on the rare occasions he is, Theo takes everything he can. Stiles swallows his food, smiling lopsidedly, "Are you saying I can't learn it myself?"

Theo rolls his eyes.

The reaction earns him a chuckle. "Anyway," Stiles says, turning to the bonfire. "It's just good music, Theo. Brett's dad is a professional singer, so that's why even his singing is not abysmal."

"Is that what 'god of music' is downplayed to now? A professional."

"No, not Apollo, obviously," Stiles sends him a flat look. "I mean his human dad."

Theo pauses, staring at Stiles, uncomprehending.

Stiles catches the confusion on his face after a moment and arches a brow, "What?"

"You said 'his human dad',"

A short nod, "Yeah,"

"I don't understand."

Stiles straightens, "Wait. You didn't know? Of course, you didn't. You're wearing your dumb look."

Theo glowers for the heck of it, "I don't have a dumb look,"

"You do too," Stiles tells him. "But yes. Brett is an offspring of a male god and a male mortal," he says it as if it is common knowledge. It isn't. 

It's not adding up inside Theo's head at all. It's like Stiles is speaking in gibberish, and the gears in his brain are creaking in an effort to translate. "How," he breathes out after a while. "How is that even possible?"

Stiles turns to him, unimpressed, and shakes his head. "I swear you forget you're half a divinity sometimes."

"But it's not-" Theo sputters, wanting to say it's not possible, but of course, it is. Almost everything is possible with the gods. He thought that going two years in this demigod business that nothing will surprise him anymore. But then information like this knocks him back to square one. He finishes with a loud exhale, eyes wide and in utter disbelief. "He doesn't have a mom? That's very weird." Theo manages to croak out.

Stiles whips his head sharply at that statement, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "I resent that," he says. "You saying that about Brett is insulting me too, you know, considering how I came to be."

Theo feels another breath is about to be punched out of him, "What do you mean?" His voice is embarrassingly panicked and desperate. "You have a mom,"

"Yeah, but do you remember who my mother is?"

Theo is almost offended, "Athena! The goddess of battle-" he cuts midsentence, realization dawning on his features. Stiles is merely raising his eyebrows, giving him time. Theo shakes his head, feeling a headache creeping upon him. "She's a virgin goddess." Lifting his head to seek Stiles's eyes, he flails with his one hand, a very Stiles gesture that he's quickly adapting, especially in stressful situations. "Then how-"

As Theo lets his question hang, Stiles shrugs, "I guess we never discussed this. But do you, at least, remember the tale of how my mother was born?"

"Zeus lusted after Metis, a Titaness and a goddess of wisdom, prudence, and deep thought. She was Zeus' first wife, but when she was pregnant with their first child, an oracle of Gaea prophesied that Metis' first child would be a girl and that her second child would be a boy that would overthrow Zeus, similarly to what had happened to his father and grandfather. Zeus took this warning to heart, so the next time he saw Metis, Zeus swallowed her and her unborn child.

After a time, Zeus developed an unbearable headache, which made him scream out of pain so loudly that the entire world heard it. The other gods came to see what the problem was. Hermes realized what had to happen and directed Hephaestus to take a wedge and split open Zeus's skull. Out of the head sprang Athena, fully grown and in a full set of armor. Due to the way of her birth, she became the goddess of intelligence and wisdom." [x]

Theo blinks at Stiles. Stiles blinks right back.

There's a quiet tension between them as Stiles waits for Theo to speak. Then, dully, Theo says, "You did not spring out of Athena's skull."

Stiles, for his part, looks a little bit sheepish, at least. He gestures at his siblings nearby, confirming, "We all did."

Theo doesn't know how long he gapes, but one thing is for sure: he'll never see Stiles the same way again. He's dating a literal brainchild - a gift. It's part astonishing and part ludicrous. And Theo thinks he just fell in love again.

He sits on the log, unmoving and stunned that he doesn't notice his marshmallow falling off of his stick again.

Theo feels a nudge from his right, prompting him to move. He snaps his mouth shut and turns, still in a slight daze, to see Boyd, son of Hephaestus, procuring a screwdriver from the magical tool belt around his hips. It's enough to clear his head, and Theo takes the object and looks at it uncertainly, "What's this for?"

Boyd smirks, making a twirling gesture with his finger, pointing at his temple. "So you can fix the loose screws in your head," 

Stiles doubles over in laughter at his side.

•••

Sometime later:

"So, does this mean we can have a child coming out of your skull, too?"

Theo barely misses Stiles's dagger.

~•~

[chaniters]

Not afraid of heights

Been wanting to get back into writing for a while

New Sidestep named Ash, some new storylines in the works but getting back into a writing mood is HARD!

Did a short Chargestep scene just to get started.

Triggers: Self-harm, negative thoughts.

_____________________

“Ash!!!”  The voice calling is like a bucket of cold water. You can sense the static already…

“I’m coming up!” you look down, and there he is, climbing the metal ladder.

Goosebumps as you look down in disbelief.

How did he find you up here? Why now? How do you get out?

There’s only one ladder and he’s going to be blocking it when he comes all the way up.

You slide to the side, making some space for him, as he finally comes all the way up, standing on the catwalk, panting from exhaustion looking down at you.

“What are you doing up here?” you question him.

“Was… going … to ask you …. the same … thing” he manages, dizzily and out of breath.

“Just sit down before you fall” you reply, irritated.

No snarky reply, he just sits by your side, holding on to the railing as you are looking down, on to the sea, and the city, and the cars below.

The catwalks above the side of the Millenium bridge used to be open for adventurous tourists, but then the company in charge of it decided the insurances required were too expensive and simply closed it all down.

“Wow, this view…” he lets out.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Pickup lines already?”

“It wasn’t…” he stops midsentence and just laughs “I’m just asking! Honest.”

“I can’t hear anyone’s mind from this distance. Up here, I can be alone.”

“Oh… Didn’t know… Guess I ruined that?”

You give him a brief stare.

“You’re fine,” you say, not exactly sure why.

He seems relieved to hear that, looking down at the sea and the river again. The wind is picking up in strength, and the bridge creaks around you both.

So appropriate.

“Why did you come up here? How did you find me?” you ask and have to repeat the questions to be heard over the windy noise.

“I was worried!” he half-yells.

“About...?” What does he know?!

“You’ve been missing for months! I went looking for you! Thought you might be in trouble!”

The answer gives you pause.

Disconcerting, like everything about him.

Almost annoying. Almost. 

A band of seagulls flies by, trailing a fishing boat. They dive down trying to steal some of the fresh catch, the feathered devils.

“You didn’t need to be worrying about me. I can take care of myself” you let out, after a few moments.

“Look, I’m just glad to see you’re fine. Almost didn’t believe it when Sentinel told me you were up here!”

“You’re an idiot. And Sentinel’s a snitch.”

“Rude. Also, I asked Sentinel to look so it’s on me!.”

“Why do you care? I’m not even part of your team!” you lash out.

“First, we’re friends, second, I wanted to thank you after the whole Void thing and you don’t have a phone. Third, you’re totally part of the team.”

You keep pushing back and he just gets closer, as usual. It’s harder and harder to respond to this shit.

“Alright I’m sorry” you surprise yourself saying. “Is that what you wanted me to say? Maybe I should have told you I’d be busy for a while, but things just… happened”

He gives you a faint smile, the wind making a mess of his hair. You don’t apologize often. 

“You should have told me. But as I said, I’m glad you’re ok. Now do you want to tell me what happened?”

You look down, conflicted.

Eventually, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer.

“Come on Ash, we’re friends. What’s wrong? Are you in trouble? I can help you, you just have to ask.”

“It’s…” you start talking but your tongue refuses and alters course at the last second. “You can’t help me. I’m sorry, I can’t explain”

“I’m here. I won’t judge, whatever it is. You just have to tell me”

But you can’t.

How could you explain you just spent all the money that would have bought you a new life in Mexico on the laser treatment that didn’t even work?

Tattoos still there, bright orange. Mocking you.

How could you explain that you tried to cut them off in a rage and got drunk for days while dealing with infection? Tell him you got rid of every mirror in your apartment?

Make him understand you hate yourself, and your body more than ever?

“I can’t,” you reply, hopeless, leaning on his shoulder.

He doesn’t push. A single peck on your forehead as he holds you close, looking down at the parting seagulls.

You don’t cry. You don’t want to cry, not with him next to you.

So you kiss him instead.

He’s surprised, kissing you back even before he knows what’s he’s doing.

Kissing doesn’t solve anything, you know that, but it’s all you can do.

Hold on to life, as hard as you can.

Keep telling yourself the same thing. Don’t.

Jump. ------------

If you want to read more: My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[evefletchr]

fallon tries to top from the bottom, and fails (yes i know you’ve done it before i want more sue me)

nsfw warning! 

------

"What - what're you doing?" 

Stretched out comfortably between her girlfriend's legs, holding most of her weight up on one elbow propped against the mattress, Kirby pulled back from the other woman to squint accusingly as her legs tightened around her back.

"What?" Fallon asked breathlessly, dipping her head a little to focus. "Nothing. What're you doing?"

"Wondering why you're trying to put me in a WWE reversal," she replied easily, reaching back and softly prying Fallon's legs away from her torso until they fell back to the bed.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Did you want to get on top?” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice any longer, using her free hand to swipe her hair back from her face as she waited for the brunette’s answer. 

“That’s not - no, why did you stop?”

Grinning, she leaned in and kissed her, then worked her way down her jaw before speaking again.

“Because you were trying to push me over.” She spoke just below her ear, tickling her intentionally so that she could feel the smile on her face despite her obvious attempts to stay stern and serious.

"You're such an asshole sometimes, for no reason, you know that?"

Rolling her eyes between kissing her neck, Kirby shook her head then wedged one arm between their bodies, travelling down to slip her hand under the waistband of Fallon's underwear.

"Okay," she 'suggested'. "Quiet, now."

She heard Fallon's breath catch, an almost imperceptible little sound of agreement coming out of her, and just like the magic, the snark had vanished.

Outside of her bedroom, staff milled about, getting ready for the anniversary party, but it was quiet where they were, safe behind a locked door. They’d have to get ready too, soon, but for the time being this was the only place they needed to be.

"This wasn't exactly what I thought you had in mind when you asked if I wanted to pregame," Kirby told her after a moment, pulling back just enough to press an affectionate kiss to the other woman's flushed cheek.

"I -" She stopped midsentence, arching closer to the redhead when the fingertips that had been barely pressing against her curled, sliding inside of her one at a time and setting off fireworks behind her eyelids when she squeezed them shut.

"You...?"

"Stop teasing," she hissed, twisting her hips and then grinding down onto her hand. "We don't have that much time."

"We have plenty of time," Kirby replied, leaning back a little and pressing her weight to Fallon's leg, pushing them open further. Shifting a little to accommodate her, the brunette grabbed her wrist and held her hand still in its spot, switching their pace and letting her head fall back contently again.

“Hurry up,” she insisted, keeping her voice hushed. “Ugh, this isn’t working. Can you just -”

Kirby lifted her head from the other woman’s neck just in time to have it pushed downward, and couldn’t help but laugh at the messy execution.

“What’re you doing? You’re just going to shove me down there and I’ll what? Just carry on?”

“Oh my god,” Fallon breathed, considerably less happy-sounding than she’d been moments earlier. “Are we doing this or not?”

Remedying her oncoming grouchiness by kissing her gently, Kirby nodded slowly.

“If that’s as close to a ‘please’ as I’m going to get, then I suppose so.”

“It is,” Fallon all but snapped back, before her girlfriend pulled her fingers free and tugged her underwear down her legs for her to kick aside. 

Raising an eyebrow but saying nothing, the redhead shifted her way down the bed and then, just to hear the gasp of surprise, hiked her girlfriend’s legs up over her shoulders quickly and without warning before getting to work.

Groaning appreciatively, Fallon carded her fingers into her hair and pulled her even closer still, her grip tightening warningly every time she paused or readjusted herself.

"Okay -" Kirby pulled back abruptly, wiping the corner of her mouth with one thumb and fixing the other woman with a look of sheer frustration. "Can you stop p-"

"Did I say you could stop?"

Both of her eyebrows shot up in surprise, immediately silenced by her own shock and confusion.

“I -”

Fallon’s bare heel dug softly into her back, sliding upwards until she had enough leverage to use her leg to slowly push her girlfriend back down towards the duvet.

“Again. Slower.”

Trying not to smile, Kirby let herself be pushed back down and slid back into her spot, taking the advice of ‘slower’ and pressing one tiny kiss to the inside of her thigh before dragging her lips upward to their target. Fallon’s fingers tightened into her hair - much more gently, organically, this time - and she giggled, quickly stifling the sound.

“Cute,” Kirby mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear. The compliment was genuine, but taking her down a peg was an added bonus.

She didn’t give the brunette a chance to say anything snarky back before flattening her tongue to her and pulling her legs a little closer still. The weak-handed attempts at sternness were laughable at best - Fallon’s in-charge vibe rarely worked within the walls of their room when they were together. The stern tones and harsh demands worked much better in the office or while organizing something around the manor. Now, though, she was sprawled out on top of her bed with her silk robe splayed open, hair tangled and cheeks flushed - it was difficult to be too intimidated by her.

“Exactly like that,” Fallon finally spoke after a moment, her words so shaky that it was almost as if she’d picked up a stutter.

Knowing it was unnecessary, Kirby let her voice rasp when she repeated: “Yeah? Just like that?”

The additional verbal teasing was something she’d become incredibly adept at over time - it wasn’t that outright dirty talk or degradation was the other woman’s go-to turn on but a few well-placed comments here, or a ‘good girl’ there would have the brunette practically melting in her hands - or this case, mouth.

If Fallon had anything to say about it, it lost the battle to an outright whimper, so, mercifully, the redhead pulled away and sat upright.

“Fallon,” she chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna ask again - did you want to get on top?”

The brunette locked eyes with her for a moment, steel-blue almost darkening from what looked like anger, but Kirby knew better as ‘irritated defeat’. When she spoke, her voice sounded powerless; meek.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

[nancywheelxr]

Hello, would you mind writing something where mike calls them up like “hey it’s been like 28 years yeah it’s dead and not coming back wanna hang out” and no one dies and nothing bad happens to anyone and Eddie wasn’t married so he and ritche GET MARRIED😭 thank you I would appreciate it

Hello there! I don’t mind at all, I love this prompt, and while they don’t get married because Mike calls them to come back to Derry and not Vegas, I do hope you like this, anon!

*

“You must be wondering,” Mike says over the chatter in the restaurant and everyone falls quiet, looking at him with unashamed fear. Since the phone call, most of the memories are slowly coming back and Richie can’t say he likes where this is going, “why I called you all back here.”

Mike pauses, lets it hang in the air, the drama queen.

“It’s been 28 years,” he points out, “IT’s not coming back.”

The whole room seems to exhale. Richie sags in his own chair, watches as the others all go through visible stages of relief; there’s still so much shit they don’t remember about that summer, about that fucking clown, but just hearing it’s not coming back is enough to lift a weight they didn’t even know was on their shoulders.

“Pennywise,” Bev whispers, then looks around the table, grins, “IT’s really dead, then?”

“I gave it a whole year just to be sure,” Mike nods, and shit, right, when everyone left, Mike stayed. That’s. Richie can’t imagine living in this town for another 30 years, especially with IT looming like a dark cloud over his head. “But there’s been nothing, it’s all quiet– that year, we did it, we killed IT.”

Saying it aloud is like breaking a spell, like that finally makes it true– there’s no more clown, that thing is dead, they can breathe, and Bill insists on toasting to that, to Mike, and Ben insists on paying them all another round, and Stan is trying not to choke on his laughter, and for the first time since, fuck, ever, probably, Richie thinks something is perfect.

He catches Eddie’s eyes and they share a grin, and Richie wonders how he could forget that. How can anyone forget Eddie? His chest feels tight and warm, and his heart tries to climb up his ribcage every time Eddie falls against his side laughing– Richie feels thirteen again and in love with his best friend.

The fortune cookies come soon after, a neat pile they dig into with the giddiness of actual thirteen years old about to make fun of the corny phrases. That kinda shit never goes away, he thinks, but maybe that’s just Richie.

The love of your life is right in front of your eyes, says his and no shit, Sherlock, Richie could have told them that. Although Eddie is at his right, so he would say love is more like, at his periphery? But hey, semantics, right?

“Hey, what did you get?” asks Bev at his other side, grinning like she must have read it over his shoulder and knows very well what was written and what went through his head. They really didn’t give her enough credit for being a little shit.

“Some follow your dreams crap,” he replies easily, waggles his eyebrows at her, “what did you get?”

“To be found, stop hiding,” she shrugs, crumpling the paper then thinking better of it, refolding it into half. “Solid advice, I give it a 7 for the cryptic vibes.”

The thing about small towns is that after they all pay the check, say their goodbyes, and drive off in separate rental cars, they all end up in the same inn because it’s the only inn in town that gives less someone got murdered in this room vibes.

That’s not to say, of course, that someone didn’t get murdered in those rooms, because with this town, you never know.

In any case, they all snort and roll their eyes and go upstairs to sleep for like a week, except for Richie, still too keyed up to turn in, and for Eddie, who finds him behind the bar, rummaging for something that doesn’t look like it might leave him blind.

“You’re not using that thing to open the wine,” is what Eddie decides to start with as he sits in one of the stools, and he’s talking about the disgustingly rusty corkscrew Richie found under the counter, and it’s such an Eddie thing to say, Richie nearly drops the bottle, “it’s just asking to get tetanus at least.”

Richie gives him a look and holds up the corkscrew. “You mean this?”

“Richie,” Eddie warns.

“What,” Richie rolls his eyes, pretend he’s not enjoying Eddie’s eyes on him, “unclench, Eds, there’s alcohol here, right? So it all probably cancels out.”

Eddie makes a face, shakes his head. “Jesus,” he mumbles, “I can’t believe this shit.”

“Here, here,” Richie pushes a glass to him, watches him immediately knock it back. There’s no one else in the hotel, all their friends are probably passed out by now, and the city is a lot quieter than Richie remembered. If he had been waiting for the time to be fucking brave or whatever, this is it. Here Eddie is, pouring himself more wine, and here Richie is, and it’s been 28 years but there’s no one like Eddie, no one Richie knows how to love like Eddie.

To be found, stop hiding, says a voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Bev– Beverly who agreed to fucking dance with him freshman year and stayed rehearsing in school until near sundown because neither of them knew how to fucking dance and asked Richie if he was in love with Eddie not because it was getting obvious or anything, it’s just that she’s good at telling this sort of stuff and told him it was okay, she wouldn’t tell anyone, but it was okay.

Well, shit, Bev, look at Richie now, how’s that for not being obvious?

“Hey, you know that stupid fortune cookie,” Richie says, unthinking, “I didn’t remember them being so fucking accurate.”

“What d’you mean?” Eddie frowns, squints like he’s the one who should be wearing glasses, “mine was some corny shit about nature, love, and patience being the best medicine, which is bullshit, you should always go to a hospital to get a real doctor with real medicine–”

“I’m trying to make a point here,” he interrupts him, waving the piece of paper in Eddie’s face.

“Well,” Eddie bats his hands away with a scowl, “get to the fucking point, then, I’m just saying those things are dangerous, what if people decide to take them seriously–”

“I’ll get to the point if you let me fucking finish, Christ, and I’m trying to follow their stupid advice, so, you know–”

“Why? Why would you do that? You’re the one always making fun of them–”

“Because– okay, look, I have a point here, okay! It’s not my fault yours was some dumb fucking inspirational quote–”

“All fortune cookies are dumb inspiration quotes, that’s like the whole fucking point, Richie–”

“Well, that’s not my point, so there you go–”

“Oh, excuse me, then, what’s your fucking point–”

“My point is that I’m in love with you, asshole!”

“That’s what I– uh,” Eddie stops midsentence like Richie’s words only now reached him, and Richie freezes, realizes there’s no going back now, he can’t take it back, not even if he wanted to, this is it, the truth is out, and he is out, and this is the most nerve-wrecking thing he’s ever done, and– “well, you could have lead with that,” says Eddie and kisses him.

It’s a little awkward because Richie is still behind the bar and there’s a whole counter between them, but Richie is kissing Eddie and he’s dreamed about this for 30 fucking years without even knowing, and maybe this makes him a bad person, but he wouldn’t change a fucking thing– not Pennywise, not the horror, not the fear– not when all that brought him here, to Eddie.

And it’s not at all how he had imagined this would go– it’s better because it’s real.

[rose-director]

Blooming Roses, part 1

Content warnings:

Masks

Face covering

Momentary loss of breath

Neural connection

Hypnotic theming

Corporate setting

Cyberpunk

Description:

A new hire at Rose Cybernetics is given their final interview.

~2800 words

Story:

The megalithic building stands proud against the concrete and glass towers beside it, making mortals of titans. Sheer, elegant, imposing; the structure kisses the sky, inspiring awe in those who observe it. This effect becomes overwhelming in its courtyard, where these same observers are rendered ants in a temple of giants. You let a breath fill your lungs, feeling it sweep out through your anxious smile. Here it is. Rose Cybernetics.The sliding doors of the atrium open with a hissed breath as you enter. You knew that the company did its best to impress its visitors, but if the scale of the building hadn't already set an imposing stage, its lobby would finish its show. Seeming as though it was open to the air, the 'ceiling' of this enormous space rests comfortably at the top of the building itself. From this, a tiered array of circular floors wrap along the outer walls like a serpent's coils. Light permeates the structure from a myriad of sources, all carrying a natural hue that - if what you've heard is accurate - mirrors the color of the sky outside. The sterile whites and greys of the building carry accents of saturated color across its industrial carpeting and in stripes along its walls. Of a similar color set, furniture that seems more like modern art gives the entire area an almost organic quality. The structure itself, though, is complemented in its unique qualities by those within. Figures all around you work busily, writing on whiteboards, collaborating in clusters of various sizes, darting from group to group, and delivering items as though their need was known preemptively. Interestingly, these forms all appear dissimilar from each other. They represent myriads of body types, clothing styles, and gender presentations, yet they all wear a sleek cover across their faces; a brushed, dark curve that obscures all facial features while displaying imagery of its owner's choice. Pulling your attention from your surroundings, you return to your task. A desk labeled 'check-in' sits at the atrium's center, and inquiring there seems to be the place to start. "Hello, welcome to the Rose Cybernetics Center! How can we help you?" The person at the desk carries a spritely, delicate voice, and their words appear across their faceplate as they speak. Almost as if understanding your hesitation, the words 'she/her/hers' flash across her screen. "I- um, hi," You've practiced this interaction many times before, but trying to get words out when you're already off-beat is a bit like trying to tame a tiger while wearing rollerblades. The staffer looks at you again, tilting her head curiously in a motion that dangles her blonde ponytail against her shoulder. It's unsettling to interact with someone with no face, yet looking into her faceplate is somehow calming all the same. Rippling waves of various colors splash across the black of her display, soothing cool tones that remind you of northern lights. You take a breath to settle your heart, acclimating yourself to the unusual sight, and try again. "I'm here for my in-person interview. I-I heard that you'd be expecting me?" Even without seeing her face, you get a good sense of the smile under her faceplate as its colors take on a gentle warm hue. "Of course, applicant 3B90, right this way." The staffer stands and walks out from behind the desk, as another worker wordlessly takes her place. You find yourself unsettled by the exchange; it almost felt more mechanical than human. Suppressing a shudder, you follow the staffer as she leads you to one of the elevator wells built into the side of the building."If you don't mind, um," you speak, immediately cursing the way your words always drift away midsentence. "How can I help you, applicant 3B90?" The warmth associated with her smile appears again, easing some of the anxiety in your chest."It's ah. Sydney, please. What's your name?" "Oh, I'm sorry, Sydney. I'm GIU-2CE5, but you can call me 2C if you like!" As with all of her words, these too float across her display, as does a small '^-^' emoticon afterward. Having gotten more accustomed to the way she emotes, you see the way her tone seems to perk up at the opportunity to share this particular bit of information."Sure," you say as she guides you into an elevator and presses a button for one of the middle floors, "that's your employee number, or um. Whatever, but how about your name?" She pauses for a moment, and you can see her faceplate's slow visualization stutter briefly as she thinks. "Nope, but 2C's my nickname!" It's painfully clear to you that she likes that 'nickname' at least, and you doubt you'll get further on this line of questions, so you let it go with a sigh. "2C it is, then." Okay, maybe it *is* a bit cute to see her get excited about something so simple.The elevator dings and she leads you out through its doors, grabbing your hand to pull you along. The contact is startling, but you don't seem to mind too much as you shrug and let the enthusiastic girl drag you along. On these lofted floors, full glass windows look out on the open atrium while the walls of offices and cubicles emerge, finally welcoming you into something more familiar. She pulls you into an office, empty except for two chairs and a small cabinet, and gestures for you to take a seat. You comply, settling into a piece of furniture that has no business being as comfortable as it is. 2C takes the opposite chair, crossing her legs. "Okay, Sydney, I'll be conducting your interview! Let me know, and we can go ahead and get started." Hearing this surprises you. Sure, you keep an open mind when it comes to most things, but getting interviewed by a front desk greeter for a network administration position is almost surreal. "Alright, so what is this, exactly?" 2C's 'smile' flashes again, and she cheerily explains the Rose Cybernetics hiring process. You know most of this stuff already; the company runs a series of difficult online challenges that lead the way to their application portal. From there, you don't need to submit a resume (thankfully, since yours is in desperate need of some TLC), but they do ask you to solve a problem in realtime over an internet call. If you've shown your skill, they speak with you in a brief remote interview to learn more about you as a person, then give you one final in-person meeting. This last interview, to your knowledge, is a formality; they'd already told you to bring everything you needed to move in, after all. It's at this point where the details get fuzzy, though. As much as you've searched for information about what this would even be, you'd found nothing but missing links and dead-ends. "This meeting is a different kind of test! We're going to hook you into our internal network for a moment, and see how you take to it." She reads your confused look, and the waves on her display bubble lightly, almost in a light giggle. "What do you mean? Will I have a laptop?" You watch as the laughing effect grows. She holds up a hand as if to ask for just a moment, then stands and walks over to the cabinet. Sliding out a slim, black box, she strides back over to you and places the box in your lap. It's blank, unadorned, and made of showy cardboard. You start removing the lid, suction keeping the base from falling as it slides slowly, and an idea of what might be waiting inside dawns on you. Tossing away the newly-liberated lid, you stare directly into the item you'd been expecting and dreading; a faceplate, returning your stare.Just above the glossy covering, embedded into the packaging foam, a small bolt-like object sits ominously. You've already seen the faceplates, but this thing..? It makes the whole situation even more concerning. "Don't worry about that receiver - for now, just put your faceplate on - I bet you'd look so cute! Oh, I'm so excited, I get to see what your display shows before anyone else!" 2C's demeanor is a confusing thing; her screen jumps and reacts to her mood, and so does her voice, but her body language and physical responses - while present - are significantly muted. Her posture is almost perfect, and her movement is unsettlingly smooth. Just one more uncanny part of this business, you suppose. Considering your current situation, you catch yourself worrying about the results of this interview again, for very different reasons this time. Your eyes widen with anxiety, as your heart beats faster in your chest. "Sydney, look at me, okay?" her faceplate's coloration shifts back to those comfortable blues and greens. "Putting the faceplate on won't do anything permanent." Her hand is holding yours. "It'll press against your face, make a tight seal, and beam everything its cameras pick up into your eyes once it starts up." She's holding both of your hands now. "When I press the receiver to your neck, it'll let you control the faceplate with your mind, just like I do!" Her display wiggles in a playful pattern for emphasis. Her hands are soft, reassuring. "Once you take them off, it'll be back to normal, okay? Just a taste now, that's what this interview is for." You nod, thoughtlessly. With 2C's hands still holding yours, you reach to the faceplate in your lap. Her reassurance pools in your chest, and after slowing your heartbeat with a couple of deep breaths, you press the dark shape to your face. It's cold, almost like your face is pressed against a window, and begins to shift against your skin. You can feel it exerting a suction force, and for a terrifying instant, you realize that you can't breathe. As you try to pull in a breath, a refreshing current of air wafts in through its respirator, and your brief panic recedes. At first, your vision is blank. Another few deep breaths go by, and imagery starts to flow back into your eyes. Dim at first, most likely to keep you from being immediately overwhelmed, slowly building until your surroundings resolve around you again. You've needed glasses, apparently; the world around you appears sharper now than before, and much more detailed. Looking over at 2C, a small blurb of information hovers over her head. It's a single word; 'contented.' You'd figured that she was just good at reading emotions, but this was cheating!"H-have you been reading me from your s-screen this whole time?" you stammer. "Oh, no, not quite. That info comes from your receiver. I'm just good at guessing!" The panel shifts to 'proud,' before progressing to 'flirty.' You're about to comment on it, when she decides to continue. "By the way, that faceplate looks so so cute on you!" Your cheeks redden, and you're, surprisingly, thankful that the unlit display is covering your face. You still have almost no idea why the company would require wearing these things, but the anonymity is surprisingly refreshing. "O-okay, I've handled the mask-faceplate-whatever, I'm good to keep going." 2C's faceplate lights up a monochrome green as she tilts her head, and you see metadata confirming that it's posed as a question. You nod again in response, and she stands up to walk behind you. Your anxiety builds at the thought of a person directly behind you, but it subsides as chilling metal touches your skin. The mechanism's electromagnetic fields warp your thoughts, pulling at them as though they were elastic. The tension builds and builds as your mind becomes a coiled spring, the receiver forcing it ever tighter. The force, the pulling, the pushing; it feels like everything that makes up your mind is about to explode. "Relax," 2C's voice cuts through the swirling forces and mental struggle, "just let go, let the flow of information sweep over you.” “Relax.” At her last word, your entire being stalls, before sinking into a state of extreme ease. All of that tension, so overwhelming moments ago, courses through your body, letting you accept this new pathway for information to travel through. As you pick up the pieces of your consciousness, you shake your face from the empty stupor it carried a moment ago - thanking your mask once again - and actively sift through the data streaming into your brain.The Rose Cybernetics building is already impressive from a visual perspective, but looking at it for what it is, the glowing connected consciousnesses of every mind in the structure lighting up before you, you feel your jaw drop automatically. Your gaze returns to 2C, whose current emotions register as 'pleased.' [You can talk to me like this now, you know.] The thoughts sound like her voice, and you jump as you hear them. [It's strange to start with, I know, but this is how we all communicate here; much faster.] Realization dawns on you, and without prompting, your thoughts pour through the connection between you. [How do I respond- oh wait I'm responding now this is amazing but hard to control how do I sto-] flows out of you, in combination with a variety of related emotions, images, and half thoughts. You spend the remaining interview time experimenting with this paradigm shift in interaction, communication, and existence that's somehow both entirely new, yet confusingly familiar and natural. After only a few minutes, it feels as though 2C understands you on a deeper level than anyone you've ever met, just as your understanding of her reaches that same depth. She explains that for the sake of getting you used to this, she's the only one linked to you. She shares - with enthusiasm - that after you've had enough time to acclimate to this shift, you'll be able to open connections with anyone and everyone in the entire facility. Her excitement bounces through your mind, and you can't help but let that positivity bubble up until it begins to play across your faceplate, too. Your display is a lot less abstract than 2C's; instead of the amorphous waves against a black background, your faceplate decorates itself with images of the cosmos. Galaxies, nebulas, constellations, all proudly used to emote in a way that words never could. It feels freeing, strangely enough, wearing a screen like this. It's a window, you think, glasses for the mind. You can feel 2C thinking to herself, the sign to expect a burst of new information broadcast from her mind to yours. As you do, you can't help but think just how cute she is! So excited over being called 2C; of course, if someone called you 3B90, you'd probably melt too. It's confusing to you, looking back, why you thought that names were so important. After all, designations are just so much more convenient! [You were broadcasting that, 3B,] 2C's smug feeling drips between your connection. Your blush returns to paint your cheeks bright red, and you notice another - somewhat less innocuous - response between your legs. She waits, perfectly aware of the effect her words carried as she feels it flowing through her mind from yours, before continuing. [I think that our interview was a success! Come back tomorrow, and we can get you fitted with a permanent set.] [I have to take it off?] [It'll be alright, just one more day.] Through your mental link, she sends you more feelings of relief, complemented by a physical hug. She looks up at you for a moment questioningly, before you nod gently, confirming your begrudging acceptance as she pulls the receiver away from your neck. With all that meta-information gone, you squeeze against her even tighter to compensate. As your mask falls away, you feel strange; naked even. Leaving the office room, stepping into the elevator, and giving your goodbyes to 2CE5 all serve the singular goal of making you feel that much more alone. For a brief moment, you consider just how strange it is to be feeling these things at the hand of your new employer, but at this point, you're in far too deep to do anything but shrug. "Before I- um... go, will I see you again?" you stumble out the question, mouth once again failing you. 2C's smile lights up her faceplate again - stars, it's so beautiful to see - and a giggle creeps out too. "I wouldn't be too worried about that, 3B! After all, I'll be your new supervisor!" Hearing your designation excites you in a way that feels almost enchanting, and you blush deeply in response. The part of you that might have questioned why she of all people would be your supervisor remains muted, as the excitement of the prospect tingles down your spine. Only a few hours ago, you would have scoffed at yourself, but now you can't help but be excited; tomorrow is your first day at Rose Cybernetics.

[x688plsloveme]

Whumptober Day 6 - Alt Prompt 1 - “Wake Up” (Butch)

“ake up! Wake. Up! C'mon Katie!”

Katie groggily opens her eyes, immediately seeing Butch’s worried face and hearing emergency alarms in the distance. Panic shoots through her like lighting, causing her to sit up to fast and become dizzy. When her vision refocuses, she sees Butch standing above her looking mildly irritated. He heaves a sigh of relief when he sees that she’s finally awake and hurries to explain everything. “Kates. Listen to me. Your father and sister are gone, they left the vault, and the overseer’s gone crazy over it! He’s locked Amata up, and I heard the guards talking about tracking you down. You need to leave the vault." He looks imploringly in her eyes. She's never seen him look like this before. "And you need to leave now.”

That woke her up quick. She looks at him disbelievingly and asks him, “You’re not pranking me again, are you?” She could see his sincerity, but she still couldn't believe what she was hearing...

He sighs and leans into her space even more. He knows there are people coming for her and he needs to get her out of here. “Listen, everyone knows I like joking around, but I would never play with something like this. Just-!" He takes a breath and calms down. "Just listen to the alarms and you tell me.”

Katie hears the commotion outside her room-the ear splitting alarms and voices shouting for everyone to stay inside. She massages her temples and mumbles, “Lord preserve me...”

She nods without looking at her friend and starts gathering supplies. Her favourite vault suit, her first aid kit, the cap she got from Stanely, and her stack of comic books. “Alright Butch. What’s the plan?” She sees him get a bit nervous and pull something out of his jacket and holds it out to her. She sees what it is and sucks in her breath in surprise. “I smuggled this gun out when we were being taught how to use the shooting range last year." He holds it out to her. "Take it.”

Katie hesitates but grabs the weapon before she can think too much of the implications of it. She knows she could never kill any of the people in the vault, but she doesn’t know what could be outside. The redhead takes one more sweep of the room and spots her bb gun. Memories of practicing with Jonas and Butch in secret makes her smile. Then her father's kind smile as her handed it to her all those years ago flashes by. And finally she wonders why her sister and him left. She grips the gun tight and makes a silent vow to find out no matter what. She steels herself and looks at Butch with a new determination in her eyes.

“Alright. What now?”

He can't keep her gaze with how serious it is and tries to distract himself with fiddling with his switchblade but still catches her question. “We gotta get to Amata and Jonas. One of em will know how to get outta here.”

"Well then let's hurry." The two nod at each other. Butch grabs her hand without thinking too much other than that he knows they'll need to stick together and they run out into the halls. Normally, Katie would be embarrassed with her childhood friend and crush grabbing her hand like that, but now is not the time to be thinking of that kind of stuff. She has to focus on getting out of here and finding her family.

When they make their way over to Officer Kendall, he’s already distracted by radroaches, and the two are able to slip past unnoticed. They are stop dead when they hear a scream that comes from Butch’s home.

"Ma!"

Neither of them thinks twice before sprinting in to help. They find Ellen getting attacked by several roaches while calling out for her son and it doesn’t take long for them to be dispatched thanks to her trusty bb gun. Butch had left the room to get medical supplies since they both knew how terrified he was of roaches. When he comes back he's overjoyed to see his mother relatively unharmed. “I didn’t know you were such a good shot pipsqueak! If you weren’t here I probably would’ve chickened out and she’d be a gonner. I really owe you one.” He is close to tears with relief and hugs Katie tight. Seeing that he should probably stay with his mom to check for any more injuries and calm her down, he pulls away and smiles at his friend apologetically. “I think you’ll have to go on without me for now Kates. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.”

The redhead nods in understanding. She knows how much Butch cares for his mother. She also knows she’ll be more than fine alone. She’s always been the most sneaky out of all the vault kids, so there’s no way she’s gonna be caught by anyone and they both know it. That doesn’t mean she’s not nervous about going ahead on her own though, she just hopes that Butch will end up catching up before she has to leave for good.

She goes to leave before she's stopped by Butch grabbing her arm and turning her around. Her eyes widen when she sees him holding out his Tunnel Snakes jacket out to her. The usual bravado is gone from his face and is replaced with an unfamiliar sheepish look. His head is slightly bowed so he looks up at her through the hair dangling in front of his face and smiles.

"I told you I'd get you one eventually, right?"

He barely finishes his sentence before Katie grabs him into a crushing hug. She wipes her eyes and takes the jacket. "Thank you so much, I'll keep it safe I promise." He rolls his eyes and laughs, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He looks more worried than anything. "It's your safety I'm worried about here Kates. That'll help you out with the roaches more than that flimsy vault suit will anyway." He grabs her hand one more time and squeezes it before letting go. He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it. "We'll meet up at the entrance okay? Stay safe."

The pair split as Butch goes to tend to his mother and Katie soldiers on to find Amata and Jonas.

A ton of close calls and a lot of hugging between her and her favourite vault robot, mechanic, and security officer later, sees Katie sneaking closer and closer towards the overseer's office. She stops when she sees a very familiar body on the ground.

"Jonas!" She rushes to his side and immediate tries to administer stimpacks to her barely alive surrogate brother before she's stopped by him grabbing her.

"Katie...sweetheart-" He coughs up blood midsentence but still manages to smile. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you darlin'.

"Jonas I have stimpacks please-" She can't keep the tears in this time, they all rush out like a dam has finally been breached. Her hand trembles as he grabs it to stop her from wasting the stimpacks.

"Shh kiddo shh. Not even those will- ugh! Ah... N-not even those will help now so listen to me carefully. I have a tape that your dad entrusted to me. He told me to give it to you so you'd know that he and your sister are safe but..."

He uses the last of his strength to hug his favourite person in the world. He can die happy knowing that her and her family will get out of this hellhole and live. "It doesn't l-look like I'm gonna be able to watch it with you..." His grip slackens and she starts panicking even more. His voice is faint when he says, "I love you so so much Katie....never...forget..that..."

"Jonas? Jonas!! Please God no why! Why him!? why...." She allows herself another moment of grief before shakily getting up with the tape and Jonas' glasses in hand. She pockets both and after a final quiet goodbye to the person that helped raise her in so many ways and leaves.

It doesn't take her long to hear voices from down the hall where the vaults "jail" is. She sneaks closer to better hear what's happening.

"I told you! I don't know anything!" That's Amata's voice. Now she knows why Butch was the only one to wake her up. She was being held here.

"Now be reasonable, Amata. Officer Mack may enjoy this, but I don't. Just tell us where to find your friend so we can talk to her." The overseer. Aka Alphonse Almodovar. Ugh. A prick through and through. His cold calculating voice always sent a chill down my spine.

"I only sent Butch to her because I was worried. What does she have to do with any of this anyway?"

"Probably nothing. Which is why you need to tell me where she is, so I can talk to her." He pauses for a moment listening to her cries and sighs. "One more time."

"Yes sir." "Is that officer Mack..?"

Katie only has a second to wonder what that means before she hears a loud slap followed by Amata's scream. That's it. She's heard enough. She knew that bastard was no good, but to go so far as to hurt his own daughter? Complete and utter trash.

Katie gets the gun out and turns the safety off without a second thought before barging into the room. The Overseer and Mack turn to look at her. She aims the gun at Mack and he scoffs though she can see the wariness in his eyes. "Like you'll do anything with that. Do it, I dare you." Amata slips away while everyone is focused on the gun and Katie smiles sweetly.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." She lowers her gun slightly and shoots the man in the foot. He yells and falls to the floor. She makes sure to knock him out for good measure. "Not surprised that it came to that, but at least Amata will be safe," she thinks and before she turns to leave, she glances back at The Overseer.

"Oh and one more thing. Never lay a hand on my friend again or you'll regret it." He seems to understand, so Katie rushes out to look for Amata.

She finds the girl crying in her room, so Katie goes to sit next to her friend and lays a comforting hand on her. "I know you're not alright, so I won't ask, but will a hug make you feel better?" Amata laughs bitterly a bit but does accept the hug.

"Thanks girl. You always know how to make me feel better. I guess I should tell you why I was in there in the first place."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No. It's important and I want you to know." She looks Katie in the eyes so she knows she's serious. At her friend's understanding nod, she continues. "I'll make this quick. So Butch probably already told you that your father and sister left the vault. Apparently your dad was going to leave without either of you, but she overheard him and Jonas and wanted in. Jonas...God. Jonas didn't-"

She sees her friend's face and stops. "Oh god Katie you didn't..." At her friend's nod her face crumples even more. "I'm so sorry."

All the memories she's had with him over the years suddenly come flying back all over again and she can't stop the tears. He was with her longer than anyone and to have him so suddenly ripped out of her life...she couldn't put words to the anguish she was feeling in the moment if she tried. It was now Amata's turn to hug her friend.

"I know it's a lot, but you have to still get out and find your family. There's a tunnel in my father's office that will lead you to the exit. I have the key, you just need the the terminal passcode. I'll stay back and try to calm down my father and throw any security off your scent." She pauses to give her friend one last hug. This is probably going to be the last time they see each other in a long time. "Please be safe Katie."

Katie wipes her tears and composes herself as best she can. "Thanks Amata. You be safe too. Your father seems a little unstable at the moment." The girls laugh and smile at each other before going their separate ways.

Before she knows it, our lovely protagonist is at the terminal that holds the vaults most secret information. It doesn't take long to hack into it, heck her father's only a doctor and his was way harder to break into. She skims some info but mostly just downloads it all to her pipboy to read through later. Her eyes catch on a picture of what looks like a giant metal wall and she sees the caption talking about how it's a short walk away from the vault. And the date that shows that they discovered this only 25 years ago. Her mind reels at the realization that the propaganda that was shoved down all their throats since childhood isn't exactly true. But she also knows she can't dwell on it too long so she stores away that information in the back of her mind and opens the tunnel that Amata told her about.

Descending it is scarier than she thought it would be, but she gets by with only seeing a few radroaches along the way.

Finally she reaches the entrance to the vault and while she states at the giant steel door that separates her from the wasteland outside, she's slightly overwhelmed. She gets knocked out of her daze when someone grabs her arm. She goes to hit them in the face until she sees who it is.

"Kates it's me! Butch-man! Don't damage the goods!" She stares at him with a blank face and he starts to get worried until her face suddenly falls and she throws her arms around him once again.

"Butch I'm so glad you're alive! I wouldn't know what to do if I lost another person dear to me." Tears are falling down her face for the upteenth time that day and now the greaser is more worried than ever. He pulls away to look at her properly and asks, "What's wrong? What happened to you, you don't look injured or anything..?" He trails off when he sees her face and all she has to do is mouth the word Jonas for him to pull her back into his embrace.

They stay like that until Katie stops crying, knowing that they'll have a few minutes with all the locked, heavy-duty doors in-between them and the guards. When she's completely spent she clears her mind of everything and pulls away completely. He makes sure to keep his hand on her arm however.

"I am glad that you are safe Kates." He gives her a bittersweet smile. "Now go on and find your family." There he goes again giving her that look from earlier like he wants to say something but is too scared to say it. She can't wait around to find out though the guards will be there soon and she doesn't want to put either of them in danger.

"Y-yeah. I guess I'll just go now." She goes to the console to open the door and sees that Butch is looking around like he still has something to say. The door's open now though, so she goes to step toward it and right before she steps past the door she hears a mumbled, "fuck it," and is shoved up against the wall to her left and immediately feels the pressure of one of her best friend's lips on hers. It doesn't take her long to relax into it as she shuts her eyes and grasps the front of his vault suit while he holds her close.

Their eyes flutter open at the same time and she sees his eyes soften at seeing the same emotion he's feeling reflected back at him and kisses her on the cheek. He doesn't move when he speaks. "I've wanted to do that for a long time doll. Sorry for being so sudden, but I felt like if I didn't do it now, I might not get the chance to and that didn't sit right with me."

The girl of his dreams smiles genuinely sweetly up at him and takes his hands. "This isn't the last time you'll see me Butch. I'll be back and I'll take you with me and we can go on adventures and leave the memories of this place behind together. But before that. I want you to help Amata here, Lord knows she'll have enough trouble as is with her father..."

Butch let's go of her hands and steps back. "Of course! I get it. Go and make a name for yourself. Find your family and I'll stay here to fix this mess so you won't have to worry about us for awhile yet. Just promise you'll come back for me. You know you'll get bored without me there to annoy you." He winks at his last statement and Katie rolls her eyes.

"Yes, yes, you're annoying. Got it." He feigns offense and they both chuckle. They gaze into each other's eyes until they hear voices from outside one of the doors. With one last peck, Katie sprints past the door and heads towards the door at the end of the cave she's found herself in. Before the vault door closes, she hears Butch say one last thing to her. "You better come back safe and sound Kates! Nothing better happen to you! I mean it!"

Even in a serious situation like this, she can't help but giggle. That man could make any situation humourous. She's so lucky to have caught his eye. Now all she needs to do is come back to him and hope that they're both alive then. But first comes her family. She looks straight ahead at the wooden door, takes a deep breath to brace herself, and steps out into her new life.

Finally got it done whew. That took me so long I really hope this posts well

[eternalstarrlight]

You Mean Your Crush Is!?

As Felix tries to kiss Ladybug, Chat Noir appears and ends up finding out some very interesting information about his Lady...

Based on a previous post I did after being inspired by the Felix promo... Figured, why not share before the episode airs?? Lol Enjoy! 

                                                  ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

Ladybug’s eyelids squeeze tight as Adrien closes the distance between them. Her mind races, trying to figure out a plan to get her out of this predicament. More than anything she wanted to run away, but he had her pinned up against a wall. Quite literally.  

It just didn’t make any sense; she’d never seen Adrien act this way before! And as much as she’d normally like to kiss him… this didn’t seem right… he didn’t seem right.

She swallows hard, she didn’t want to hurt him, but the best way out of this was probably to give him a quick shove… but just as she’s about to execute her plan, he’s torn away right before her eyes.

She blinks, eyelashes fluttering with confusion as she tries to regain her focus and comprehend what’d just happened. Her gaze zeros in on the culprit behind the disappearance and she gapes as she identifies the familiar black spandex of her partner.

Standing near the edge of the roof, Chat Noir had a white-knuckled grip on Adrien’s shirt… and he certainly did not look happy… no, not at all. In fact, he appeared to be seething with anger.

She gasps as everything suddenly makes sense. Oh no… He must’ve seen--

Chat’s voice draws her from her frantic thoughts, “What do you think you’re doing!?” The demand is clear as he gives the blond model a rough shake. He doesn’t wait for a reply before his eyes dart worriedly to hers, “Are you alright, My Lady?”

She stares at him silently for a moment, a bit taken aback at how quickly his look of rage had melted into such a soft look of concern. His emerald gaze burns into hers as he awaits her answer. Has his eyes always been such a lush shade of-- She give herself a mental shake and reminds herself to breathe, “I-I…“ thoughts still a bit jumbled, she flounders over her words. “I-I’m fine,” she finally says after taking an few seconds to assess herself.

She notices the way his shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh of relief before he refocuses his attention to Adrien, “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to force yourself on a woman!?” His voice was hard as granite, and a queasiness settles in her stomach as Chat’s fist clenches even tighter on her classmate’s shirtfront, “I outta throw you straight off this building you piece of--”

“No!” Without thought, the word flies from her mouth as she stumbles a step forward and her hands raise placatingly in front of her, “Don’t hurt him!”

At her passionate outburst, Chat’s head whips toward her, eyes wide in shock.

She inwardly sighs at how this must all appear to her kitty... His reaction was more than understandable; afterall, he’d just witnessed her being semi-accosted, so what possible reason could she have to stop him from fulfilling his threat? Might as well tell Chaton the truth…  or as much of it as I can, anyway… She takes a quick breath before trying to explain, “W-What I mean is…” She winces at the information she knows she shouldn’t be sharing, “I-I kind of… know him.” 

Chat completely freezes and his eyes glaze over with an emotion she can’t quite place… He’s so still she swears he could be mistaken for one of the wax statues at the museum she’d just visited the other day with her friends.

When he finally speaks, she barely catches his words they’re spoken so low, “You do?”

She gives a hesitant nod, glancing around the rooftop to avoid Chat’s searching gaze. I hope that doesn’t give him any clues to who I am… Despite the nervousness, the concern for her classmate keeps her talking, “Adrien usually isn’t like this, perhaps if we just talked—”

Her leather clad partner’s gaze swings back to Adrien, almost as if he’d forgotten he was there. Chat peers from her to Adrien, back-and-forth several times, as if trying to piece out some unseen puzzle. His eyes finally find a resting place as they locate hers, “My Lady, this guy is not Adrien Agreste.”

Her eyes flicker from her partner to the boy held in his grasp as her brow furrows with confusion. Did her kitty’s eyes need checked? That was clearly Adrien, the one who’s face was plastered on posters all over Paris. Wait… Her eyes squint as searches “Adriens’” face with careful scrutiny… No, there were differences. Like the shape of his eyes, his jawline… If she thought about it, even the way he’d spoken to her earlier had been different… Chat Noir was right, this wasn’t Adrien Agreste!

She gapes in bewilderment; did he have some long-lost twin she never knew about!? “But w-wha— Then who—"

The would-be Adrien imposter smirks, “It seems I’ve been found out. It’s true, I am not Adrien. I’m his much better looking cou--”

His words abruptly end as Chat yanks the guy’s collar hard, “Let me return this little fraud home LB, I’ll be right back.”

Without another word, her kitty vaults off the roof, whooshing away with the other boy. She blinks several times in an attempt to understand what had just happened. Huh, that really wasn’t Adrien… but how did Chat know that wasn’t really him? She gasps, horrified at the next thought that comes to mind. What if Chaton knows Adrien too!? She nervously bites her lip as her mind races with all the possible outcomes of this little fiasco.

Her feet begin to walk her around the rooftop, “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she whispers out loud, “What am I gonna doooo!?” Her hands find their way to either side of her head as she concludes that the only thing she could do was to wait for her partner to return.

                                               ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

A few minutes later, after returning Felix to the Agreste Mansion...

Chat leaps from building to building as he makes his way back to Ladybug. Hundreds of thoughts fill his mind as he replays the incident in his head. How hadn’t he noticed Felix swiping his phone earlier? And how dare he try to kiss his Lady—

Urgh! He gives a rough shake of his head to regain focus, there were far more important things to think about right now.

Like, how did Ladybug know him, Adrien? Did they really know each other? The way she’d said it had implied she knew him on a much more personal level than just knowing him from ads around the city… or even the time she asked him to be the wearer of the snake miraculous… In fact, what had given her so much confidence to even ask him to do that? Did they know one another outside the mask? Were they close or just acquaintances? Friends, maybe??

He’s jolted from his ponderings as he spots her red clad form pacing the hotel’s roof.

She turns, seeing him just as he drops down beside her. Her mouth opens, but before she can speak, he blurts out the most burning question on his mind, “Mind telling me how exactly you know Adrien Agreste, M’Lady?” He leans in, closing the distance between them, “And why would you be so overprotective of him like that after he tried to--”

“That wasn’t Adrien.” She hurriedly interjects, eyes darting from his as she tries to avoid the question.

“C’mon LB,” he says a bit impatiently while rolling his eyes, “you know what I mean, at the time you thought he was him.”

A faint splash of pink tinges her cheeks as she appears to mentally debate on how to answer, “Adrien is—” She halts, sucking in a quick breath, “H-He’s someone… important to me,” she mumbles the last part.

His eyes narrow at her vague answer, not missing how she navigated around the first question, “Important how?”

A full-out blush erupts on her face as she looks at her feet, embarrassed, “H-He…” Her sapphire eyes flit around anxiously without meeting his gaze, “I m-mean…”

At her stuttering, his brow draws together in confusion. Why is she acting so weird… you don’t just freak out because someone’s “important” to you… Unless…

Chat’s mouth goes dry as the obvious crashes into him.  “No way,” he whispers in disbelief.

Ladybug continues to stare anywhere but him.

He blinks, thoroughly dazed, “Are you telling me… that this whole time... your crush, the one you keep rejecting me for, is Adrien Agreste?”

She winces, swallowing hard before finally meeting his sea green gaze, “I know it’s stupid, okay!?” Her hands rise to sail around in sporadic gestures, “I have absolutely no chance with him! But I can’t help it! Ever since he gave me his umbrella at the beginning of school I--”

His breath catches at the word. School? She met me at school? We… We go to the same school! He processes the new information amidst her ramblings. Wait… But there’s only one girl I’ve ever given an umbrella to... A gasp rips from his lips as he stares at her for several long seconds, completely speechless.

It’s her.

Still marveling at his new revelation, he fades back into the present and catches her midsentence, “--I can’t even form coherent sentences around him, and he probably thinks I’m an idiot and--”

He immediately stops her, “You’re wrong.” He could never think of her that way, she was absolutely amazing… and in all actuality, he was the real idiot for not realizing all this before now.

At his statement, her tyrant ceases and all movement pauses as she gawks at him with uncertainty, “What?”

He drinks in the sight of her standing before him. Ahh… She’s so adorable. How did he never realize? The same raven locks, her height, the faint constellation of freckles that sprinkled across her cheeks… and those eyes, only one set of those eyes could ever exist in this world. They were a cerulean lake made just for him; he wanted to dive into their depths and never arise from them.

He was beyond elated at his discovery. For once, he’d finally found himself lucky…

“You’re wrong, Bugaboo. He doesn’t think you’re an idiot... and I’d say you have more than just a mere chance with him.” A besotted grin pulls at his mouth, “In fact, there’s no doubt in my mind that he returns your feelings.”

Her brow creases in annoyance as her hands find her hips, “How could you possibly know that!?”

He chuckles at the irony, leaning back on his heals as he murmurs under his breath, “How could I not?”

She blinks, most likely wondering if he’d lost his mind, “What?”

A smirk plays on his lips as he replies, “Because, he’s standing right in front of you... Marinette.”

                                                 ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

Bonus:

LB: “So, that’s how you knew he wasn’t Adrien, because you’re Adrien!”

Chat Noir: “Pretty much, yeah.”

LB: “I can’t believe I just told you my identity!”

Chat Noir: “You might’ve let the cat out of the bag, M’Lady, but I’m rather paw-leased about it.”

LB: “Of course, you are! Wait, this means… I can’t believe that this whole time I was rejecting you for you!”

Chat Noir: “Yeah… I’m sorry I friend-zoned you Buginette… I was just so in love with… well, you.”

LB: “OhmyGod, we’re such idiots.”

Chat Noir: “At least we’re idiots together, Princess.”

LB: “Could I— um, I mean, can I… hug you?”

Chat Noir: “Why is your face so red, Bugaboo?”

LB: “I-I…”

Chat Noir: “Wow, I never thought I’d see a day when—”

LB: *In her frustration, pulls him into a glorious, spine-tingling, toe-curling kiss.*

Chat Noir: …

LB: “Who’s the red one now, Chaton?”

[randomfandomimagine]

Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 17: Revenge

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

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A/N: Since there’s only two more chapters left after this one and some people seem to be losing interest in the series anyway, I want to finish posting it. Next week (probably on Wednesday and Thursday) I will post chapters 18 and 19 and that will be all. Thanks so much to everyone who’s still keeping up with Soul of a Warrior, it means a lot to me 💕

I am fuming mad when my back is roughly pressed against Geralt’s chest yet again. My elbow pushes against the blunt end of his sword, but he does not budge. I grunt, in vain trying to control my fury and the way it makes me breathe heavily. Although I feel mildly confident in my sword wielding skills after many months of training on my own, sparring with someone else is certainly something very different. Especially if that someone else is a witcher. And if that witcher is Geralt of Rivia.

“Control your anger” He says in my ear. “Or it will get you killed”

My hands start hurting from how tightly I'm holding on to my sword. If I keep clenching my jaw, I feel like I will chip a tooth. Taking a deep breath, I relax my shoulders. Geralt approvingly hums behind me. His arms drop the hold on me and I can finally move freely. I turn to be facing him again and nod my head at him to let him know I am ready to continue. Not one second after, and before I can even lift my weapon, he retaliates. I yelp and plant my feet, swinging my sword as fast as I can. Geralt’s blade is faster, however, and it forces me to retreat.

Jaskier loudly sighs, reminding me of his presence. He hasn’t opened his mouth ever since we woke up. At first I thought it was out of pure bliss after what happened last night, yet now I’m not so sure anymore. He didn’t oppose nor comment on our decision to warm up and spar knowing we will pursue them soon as we're done with this. As I glance his way, I catch a glimpse of what seems to be a very bored bard. I frown at the sight, nearly forgetting what I am doing. A stark reminder, the witcher’s sword clashes with mine while I mindlessly hold it up. The blow is just strong enough to throw me tumbling to the ground.

To put an end to Geralt’s aggressive training session, I hold my hand up to ask him for a break. When I lock eyes with the witcher, he nods his head. A strong arm comes in my field of vision, and I hold on to it to be pulled to my feet. When I am up again, Geralt returns by the horses to save his blade. Absently dusting my clothes, I turn to Jaskier. He isn’t even watching us anymore. His blue eyes are pensive as he stares at the horizon.

“Jas?” At the sound of my voice, he blinks back to reality. “What’s the matter”

He sighs, frantically looking from Geralt and back to me. After realizing he has been slouching, Jaskier sits up straight. It takes him a bit to pipe up still.

“I don’t think you should do this” Is his response after all. “Go and kill those men?”

“Heavy conscience?” Geralt shakes his head. The witcher’s mind is made up, as is mine.

“Y-Yeah, what…?” I am baffled by this sudden demeanor of his. “Jaskier, since when do you care what happens to those bastards?”

“Don’t get me wrong, that bastard deserves whatever may be coming to him” He pauses long enough to make me worry about what he might follow with. “Whether he killed Kader or not, he is a poor excuse of a man, but…”

“But..?”

“In any case, I don’t care about them. I care about you…” Jaskier pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Need I remind you what happened during your previous encounters with Jovan?”

I grit my teeth at the reminder. That was a low blow. Of course I haven’t forgotten, all our interactions have been problematic to say the least. My hand absently rests over my stomach, there were a nasty scar will adorn my skin for the rest of my life. He didn’t hesitate to hurt me. The fury I felt then seems more than justified. At the same time, the terror that overwhelmed me at the banquet when our eyes locked is just as strong.

I can honestly say I have no idea how I will react when I see him once again. Aside from our personal interactions, I hold nothing but contempt for him and his friends. They are intent on killing Geralt, and they nearly did once. They also gravely hurt Jaskier, and I had never been so scared as then. I will not forgive them.

“I cannot let fear paralyze me” I conclude, determined on my decision in spite of it all.

“You’re no killer, love…” Jaskier’s eyes are laced with an emotion I can’t quite identify. “Are you really going to do it?”

“Yes!” I exclaim in frustration. Why can’t he understand? I thought he would as he always does. I need to do this, otherwise I will never find peace. “Why is it okay for Geralt to do it but not me?”

“It isn’t!” Jaskier throws his arms up in the air as he stands. “I don’t want you two getting killed!”

“We won’t be. Both Geralt and I know what we are doing”

“He might, but do you?”

“What does that mean?!”

“You are not ready for-“

“And now you doubt me, Jaskier?” I scream in outrage. He doesn’t believe I am strong or capable enough to stand my own in a fight. Although I need his support, he refuses to provide me with it. We are always on the same page, why not now? 

“I-It’s not that, Nissa! You’re not acting like yourself, you’re not like that!”

“Perhaps I’ve changed during our time apart”

“Well, have you turned bitter?”

“Maybe”

“Alright, and since when are you a bad person?”

I click my tongue in hurt and exasperation. Why does he fight me on this?

“You don’t understand…” Even knowing about Kader, being aware of my past and having signs that Jovan is the culprit, and all he has done to us... even then, he argues with me.

“You’re right, I don’t” He vehemently shakes his head at me. “I don’t understand-”

“Then get off my business, Jaskier!” I find myself shouting, even as tears reach my eyes.

He averts his gaze and clenches his fists in a gesture very much unlike him. A wave of hurt crosses his features. I part my lips to ask what the hell he is thinking, though he speaks on his own.

“You are being too obstinate” He still takes several more seconds to even glance in my direction. When he does, however, he is more intense than I have ever seen him. “Can’t you see that hatred is blinding you? You are clearly overreacting!”

“Oh, am I? For wanting to kill the man that has been terrorizing us for months?”

“Yes, for wanting to kill! You want to kill someone, Nissa... can’t you see how insane and absurd that is?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re soft, you’re-“

“Because I’m a defenseless delicate flower” He frowns and opens his mouth, though I interrupt him before he can retort back. “Fuck off!”

“Nissa…” Geralt intervenes, but I only glare at him. He rolls his eyes yet grows silent again.

“You just can’t do it! Can’t you see?!” Jaskier yells. His brow is deeply furrowed. “I won’t let you! You-”

“I don’t need your permission” Establishing the end of the conversation, I take a step forward, leaving him there midsentence. “I am done with you”

“Nissa, that is not-” He holds me back by my arm. I tug at him, even if his hand is firm against my bicep. We glare at each other.

“Jaskier…” Our eyes lock, and he hesitates at the storm in mine. “Let go of me”

“Fine, you obstinate woman” He lets go of me and takes a step back. “Do as you please!”

“I will!” I conclude, continuing to move forward. I look at him over my shoulder to track his movement. Instead of staying there and sulking like I expected him to, or even to retaliate once more, he only turns around and storms off. Geralt sighs by my side, easily catching up to me. We leave that place behind, and Jaskier with it.

_

The more I distance myself from that moment, the more I regret my exchange with Jaskier. The bracelet burns in my wrist. No matter, I will deal with that later. If there is a later... A nasty feeling arrives to the pit of my stomach, though I try to ignore it. I can’t back down now, even if his words still linger. No, forget about it for now. Focus. Remember what Geralt taught you. Remain calm. Don’t get distracted. Avoid being blinded by anger. Do not be reckless. Stay close to him. It will be over soon, once and for all.

My fingers are tingling, and a feeling of anticipation has settled in my gut. My thoughts wander. All the possible scenarios of how it will play out haunt me. I ignore all pessimistic thoughts and stare at Geralt. When he stops walking, I do too. Geralt’s posture hints at a lecture much like Jaskier’s. I sigh in resignation, though when they come, the witcher’s words aren’t what I expected.

“Are you ready?” He asks me instead of ensuring I am alright with this.

“As I’ll ever be” I fidget my fingers and get a better hold out of my sword.

Geralt nods his head and carries on walking. We are already at the outskirts, and their den should be visible soon. The void in my stomach grows with every step.

“You seek revenge” The witcher continues. “What comes after?”

I peer at him, though he doesn’t reciprocate. Geralt only walks with confidence, calmly wielding his sword as though we are not about to start the fight of our lives. Of my life, at least, as perhaps this might just be one of the many encounters the witcher had in all his years.

“Peace” I simply reply, foreseeing the effect their deaths will have on me. Catharsis. Without Jovan and his gang chasing after us, we will stop feeling that dread. That haste of being attacked any second, perhaps even killed. That overwhelming worry for each other.

“Hm” Geralt finally looks at me, and despite the amusement in his hum, his eyes seem to hold no emotion. “Tell me about it when it’s over”

I frown when I understand what he’s implying. The witcher looks me up and down and I realize I have halted when he goes ahead of me. Jaskier’s words keep echoing in my head. I am no killer… No, I have to do this. It isn’t only about fighting off those men once and for all. One of them is guilty for more crimes. One of those bastards killed Kader. And they must pay.

Geralt suddenly takes me by the arm and harshly tugs at me. This gesture makes me aware of where we stand. A rundown shack is ahead. Before it, lazily sitting around a campfire is a group of seven men. Their conjoined voices and disgusting laughter brings me back to a previous lifetime in the tavern of Vizima. They are not the same people, but their similarities could deceive anyone into believing so. Different men, same sins.

“It’s them!” One of the men stands, soon after followed by his companions.

I acquire a ready stance as they come to us. The witcher’s hand doesn’t let off until the very last second. He unhands me when they attack, giving me room to move. I immediately feint and swing my sword at the closest one. I shudder when I feel the blade sinking in flesh. Despite all my training, I don’t think I will ever get used to that unpleasant sensation. Not dwelling on it, I turn and move on to the next one. The sound of steel blades meeting one another is loud next to me, reminding me of Geralt’s own struggle. My heart skips a beat. Despite the instinctive movement of my arms and legs, my mind wanders as I fight. My eyes frantically sweep the area, looking for a scarred face. To find none.

“Focus!” The witcher exclaims, watching me with the corner of his eye.

I twiddle the sword in my hand and oblige, thrusting it towards another one. He stops the blow with his weapon, but I kick him in the knee. When he bends over in pain, I take a step forward. As I do, he swings his sword at me. My reflexes are fast enough to allow me to dodge it. Throwing myself forward immediately after, I rest my blade against his throat.

“Where’s Jovan?” I demand to know, allowing the edge to graze his skin. Neither my aggressive tone nor my sharp weapon seems to threaten him. He smirks.

“Like you, he was considerate enough to pay you a visit” When I frown in confusion, he only sniggers. “It seems he was quicker, though”

To go along with the halting of my heart once more, I just then hear Geralt’s sword cut through flesh. The thud that echoes after mirrors the thumping of my heartbeat as it carries on. Realization hits.

“Jaskier…” I step back, moved by an unknown force within me.

The mercenary is about to attack me during my daze. Fortunately, Geralt is ready to retaliate before I can react to the imminent attack. Firstly kicking him in the chest, he pushes the man off me. Then I gasp when blood splashes me in the face as the blade mercilessly cuts through him.

Not blaming me for my distraction, Geralt stares at me for a brief moment. Not one second after, he is running away. I do not hesitate as I follow despite my shaky knees.

Jaskier… No… Let him be okay, please. Please. I can’t bear the possibility of losing him. Not again. And after our argument… Oh, God, I need to get to him. Quickly .

_

My mind is fuzzy with frantic thoughts. The pulse throbs in my temples. I can barely hear my own panting with the accelerated hammering of my heart. I don’t need to, however, when we stop before the inn. The crackling of flames is loud enough to deafen me, to literally paralyze me as I freeze before it. A strangled whimper escapes my throat. I cling on to Geralt’s arm in panic when we stop before the burning building. Smoke filters through the windows. The sight is painfully familiar and brings emptiness to the pit of my stomach.

“JASKIER!” I put my hands around my mouth and shout at the top of my lungs.

A pause follows as I wait to see if I was heard. There is no movement, only fire. It has returned to destroy my entire world again. I don’t think I’m strong enough to take it. Not again. I need to do something. Geralt seems to realize my train of thought, however, as he holds me in place with a strong hand. We exchange a glance. The sound of the fire crackling fills the silence during our brief pause. The witcher clenches his jaw. If he is going in, so am I. Indeed, I am about to lunge forward again when the door bolts open, revealing a figure stumbling out.

“Jaskier” I breathe out in relief, squeezing Geralt’s arm tighter as it falls before me to hinder my advance. “Oh, Jaskier, thank the Gods…”

“Fuck…” The bard starts to say, but is interrupted by a coughing fit. “Geralt... Ni-Nissa…”

He’s pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he nervously staggers forward. I try to reach out to help him, but Geralt still doesn’t let me walk toward him.

“Get back, Jaskier” The witcher orders, urgently gesturing for him to get behind us. Jaskier nods, covering his mouth with his hand as he continues to cough.

I’m just happy that he managed to get out of that hell on his own. I hear his coughing still as he stands behind us as asked. His hand falls on my shoulder, and I rest mine over it in solace. The blood freezes in my veins, however, when a scream coming from inside the inn reaches us. Instinct takes over me, throwing any rationality out of the window. I push Geralt away and run forward to help them.

“No!” He catches me before I can reach the entrance. “You can’t help!”

“What do you mean I can’t help?” I debate between his strong arms even if I know it’s inane. “There’s still people in there, we have to-“

I yelp when the flames cause the wooden roof to collapse. Just the same way, I feel myself crumbling on the inside as I completely still. The arms around me support me when I falter as I feel the shift in the atmosphere. I start trembling. There is now nothing but emptiness where once was life. It has extinguished, unlike the flames that defiantly grow to devour the remains of the building.

This was all our fault… I could have done something to stop it, yet… it was not in my power, was it? Why am I always so helpless? Why can’t I help anyone? Even with my magic…

“There’s nothing you could have done” Geralt tugs at me, trying to get me to look at him. “It was too late”

“No, with magic…”   

“You are a healer, not a sorceress”

An overwhelming restlessness takes over me and I don’t know what to do. I need to shake away that feeling. I throw myself to Geralt, needing some sort of comfort before I completely break down. His strong chest heaves under my cheek when he sighs and his arms wrap around me.

Geralt spoke these wise words once: we can’t save everyone. The lesson was easier said than learned. Nonetheless, even with the void within me, I repeat those words in my head like a mantra. We can't save everyone, we just can't. We only help how we can. Sometimes it is not possible to help at all. It is a poor solace.

In a surprisingly tender way, Geralt’s hand falls over the back of my head as he allows me to linger for as long as I need to. I hear his heart with such proximity. It’s racing slightly, but other than that he appears rather calm. Perhaps he is used or resigned to such catastrophes.

The warm embrace slowly melts my restlessness away. The grief remains in my heart, but I know what he said was true. It was too late for me to do anything. We can’t save everyone... I reluctantly break away and look up into his eyes. They seem to hold more emotion than ever as he silently yet reassuringly nods at me.

“I-I’m alright now” I take a deep breath to further calm myself and turn around to our friend. “And you, Jas-?”

Instead of standing behind us, he is limply lying down on the ground, unconscious. I repeatedly tap Geralt’s arm seeing that I can’t find any words to voice out my call for help.

“Jaskier!” Geralt exclaims as he runs to his aid. Just when my heart had stopped racing…

I can’t move. The image before me is far too harrowing to allow me to think. I can’t take it.

Geralt looks from him to me. Before the words come out, I can tell what’s he’s going to say from the way he sternly presses his lips together. Jaskier inhaled too much smoke.

“He's not breathing” Geralt’s words sound like a death sentence. Grave. Concerned. Frightened.

My body advances in a daze as my legs move slowly. I feel out of myself as I join them.

No… No, no, no. I fall on my knees next to him. No... please, no. I lean my head close to his mouth, but I can’t hear nor feel him breathing. His chest isn’t moving either. No, Jaskier... I rest my ear against it, noticing there is a heartbeat though its rhythm is strange.

“Jaskier?” I shout, frantically shaking his shoulder. There is no response. “Jaskier!”

“Nissa…” Geralt mumbles next to me. I had never heard him sound so helpless before.

“Stupid bard…” My fingers are shaking so much that I can barely settle them on his chin and forehead to tilt his head up and facilitate his air intake. “S-Stupid idiot bard!”

I pinch his nose and lean forward. My lips to his mouth try to send some air to his lungs. He tastes like smoke.

Jaskier… you can’t leave me, not you too. Don’t scare me in such a way again. I have experienced enough loss, I cannot lose you…not when we finally were on the same page. Not when you reciprocate. You can’t die!

When I break away, I take a big breath even if the air around us is mildly contaminated with more ashes and smoke. Fortunately, Geralt knows what to do. He doesn’t waste a second to interlock his hands and begin chest compressions on Jaskier. The way he limply moves under him is harrowing. I wait for Geralt to stop before I carry on. Each second is an eternal torture. As soon as he leans back, I move forward. My lips return to Jaskier’s as I mentally pray for him to come back to me.

Stupid bard, don’t leave me. Destiny brought us together, and now that I found you I can’t lose you! What will I do without you? I could not bear it if you died. I might as well perish too. W-What about true love? We said it was a nice thought, and it was. It still is… Wake up!

My eyes start burning with unshed tears of rage and helplessness when I lean back. I can’t breathe properly, how am I supposed to give him oxygen when I lack it?

Geralt pushes his hands against Jaskier’s chest once more. He is too still again, limply moving with the witcher’s strong motions. The sound of the fire crackling behind me makes me want to weep like a baby. Geralt stares at me, and I try it a third time.

Breathe, Jaskier, breathe… Open your eyes, damn it! Call me Nis again. I need to hear you say my name so beautifully, enjoy the way you call me love so tenderly. I miss your voice already. Say anything to me. Tease me as much as you’d like, call me my lady or delicate flower or whatever exasperating thing you want, but wake up! Please… please.

I cradle his face with my hands as I breathe into him, mentally begging for him to respond. My vision turns blurry and I am very light-headed. It might be because of the heavy breathing, yet I feel at the brink of collapsing.

Thanks the heavens, my prayers are answered when I feel him moving under me. I immediately pull away and give him some space, just in time for him to violently sit up and cough. Geralt and I exchange a glance of relief and the smallest of smiles. My shoulders drop. A sob climbs up my throat and lingers there, creating a lump as it does. He's alive.

When Jaskier recovers from the coughing, he lies down in exhaustion. He’s breathing heavily, but he’s breathing. He groans, he winces, but he’s alive. His eyes fall over me, and something stirs inside me.

“Oh, Jaskier…” I throw my arms around his neck, clinging to him. I never want to let go.

Putting an arm around me, he carefully sits up again. I hold him tighter, not wanting him to push me away. He doesn’t. Maybe he can feel me shaking, hear me sobbing, even if I’m too overwhelmed to actually cry. My eyes are dry, though my chest feels heavy.

“I’m sorry, Jas…” I can’t seem to be able to speak coherently. “I’m so sorry, I-I… Oh, p-please forgive… forgive me, I…”

“Me too” He manages, coughing still. “Nissa, I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t you ever… You…” I choke out, too terrified still to form any coherent words.

“I’m okay…” He says even through more coughing and a hoarse voice. “I’m okay, Nissa…”

“Sh, don’t speak…” My voice is broken with sobs. “Rest your… your voice… rest…”

“I’m still here” Jaskier whispers, ignoring my petition. “You won’t lose me, love, I’m here”

His words trigger a sudden torrent of tears, accompanied by a sob so loud that it hurts my throat. Relief overwhelms me with his confirmation. I fear I am hurting him in his weak state from how tightly I am holding him. Yet I can’t stop myself, I need to feel him as close as I possibly can. Warm, breathing and alive. Closer, I need him closer.

Jaskier moves with an outer force, and I can tell that’s Geralt energetically patting his shoulder. I don’t care about the witcher at the moment. I truly can’t care about anything else, only the fact that Jaskier is still alive. That he’s holding me in his arms and whispering in my ear. He’s alright, as he says, he’s still here. He’s okay. Thanks the gods, he’s alive.

Tag list: @x-joie-x​ / @x-jodi-x​ / @dancingwith-thesunflowers​ / @golden-guide​ / @alwayshave-faith​ / @this-is-whump-dammit​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @lilyevans1​ / @kingniazx​ / @molethemollie / @a-somehow-functioning-dumbass // Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when I post next chapter!!

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Forgive me for being absolute trash for Sylvain, but could you do something with "I trusted you" or "The worst part is, I loved you anyway" or both from the 45 OTP Angst Prompts ^^" up to you! I'm just in the mood to be crushed by Sylvain tonight LMAO

45 OTP Angst Prompt found HEREOH OKAY.So you wanna do this to me huh?  Leave me crying here like a lil baby ??I changed up the second line just a little, but enjoy being heartbroken, thanks.

Sylvain Jose Gautier: a name you unintentionally familiarized yourself with upon acceptance to the Officer’s Academy. All of your female friends warned you about him; they claimed he was the resident skirt chaser. And you? You were gorgeous, and he was bound to set his eyes on you. Their opinions left a bitter taste in your mouth. But, of course, they were correct.

Two days after classes began, a certain redheaded boy approached you, but you were prepared. You brushed off his compliments with ease. After all, they lacked any real substance to them. But somehow, over time, Sylvain began to break down your walls. Little did you know, you were also breaking down his.

One day, he came to you a mumbling mess. Between the mumbles, you were able to decipher he wanted to study together.

“Oh?” You mused. “Yeah, we can study together. Did you want to come to my dorm after class?”

In an instant, Sylvain’s skin flushed, and his face was brighter than his hair. Your suggestion was innocent, though. There was a clear no-talking rule in the library, but none of the students followed this rule, and it was loosely enforced. You needed a quiet space to study, and you were comfortable in your own area. Sylvain eagerly nodded his head to the suggestion, and much to your surprise, he actually studied that night.

Between chapters, the two of you divulged information to each other that no one else knew, and you began to see Sylvain in a different light. Maybe he wasn’t just the resident skirt-chaser; perhaps he was genuine. The two of you started to spend more time together, and you weren’t sure when it happened, but you fell for Sylvain.

It wasn’t a hard fall, and there wasn’t a specific moment you could recall that made you say, “yeah, I love that guy.” Things just happened naturally. You found yourself intoxicated by his mere presence, and you two spent every moment you could together.

Sylvain had invited you to sit with him underneath a tree on an unusually warm morning before class. He inquired about your week, your schedules having kept you apart for most of it. You began to tell him about something that piqued your interest in the class. Excitement poured into your words, and your face lit up as you spoke. Sylvain, unable to contain himself, kissed you midsentence.

It was the first kiss you shared together.

Caught off guard, you did not know how to respond. His lips were hesitant at first, but when you finally relaxed and melted into his arms, he kissed you with such urgency that stole the oxygen right out of your lungs.

Goddess, you loved this man, but your friends always warned you not to get attached. If you did, you would surely get hurt. So, you tried to detach yourself from those feelings you had for Sylvain. When girls would approach him, you would look the other way, lying to yourself that you didn’t care.

Little did you know, he gradually put an end to his flirting. You, however, were too busy trying to ignore Sylvain around these girls that you failed to see he was always the one being approached.

Still, your schedules kept the two of you busy, and you weren’t able to see Sylvain as much as you wanted. When you two were able to meet, he always greeted you with a kiss that halted the world around you. You had to protect yourself, though. After every kiss you two shared, you reminded yourself that you weren’t special and that he was doing this with every girl. You tried so hard, in the beginning, to be different, and yet you became what you fought so hard to avoid.

You proceeded to plague your mind with thoughts about Sylvain not genuinely caring about you, so when Claude kissed you in the middle of the Entrance Hall, you kissed him back. You loved Sylvain, but you kissed Claude back. You kissed him back because Sylvain was kissing other girls, too. The kiss you shared with Claude was ordinary. It didn’t leave you breathless or wanting more, and it only made you realize that you yearned for Sylvain to love you as much as you loved him.

“Wow,” The single word echoed through the hall.

“Sylvain?” You whisked around just in time to see him exiting the room. Without thinking, you followed him outside.

“Sylvain, wait,” After speeding up, you were finally able to catch up to him. You had a strange urge to explain yourself to him. You reached out your hand and grasped his wrist, begging him to stop. “Claude, he kissed me.”

Sylvain swept your hand away, suddenly turning so he could face you directly.

“Yeah? That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing.”

He looked away from you, an ironic smile plastered on his face. Not knowing how to respond to this feeling of jealousy, he let out a low and haunting chuckle.

“The funny thing is,” He paused, running his fingers through his red hair, “I trusted you.”

Those three words stole your breath, and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. Sylvain always knew how to leave you breathless.

“The worst part is, I still love you, anyway.”

A part of you always wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth, but not like this.

You stood there, stunned into silence until something began to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“How can you get mad at me? I had to watch you flirt with other girls all the time,” You stood your ground, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Yeah? Is that what you think of me? Some idiot who can’t stop flirting with girls?”

He pressed his lips together, his head shaking.

“You were enough for me, but apparently I wasn’t enough for you.”

His words sunk deep into your bones, and you could feel grief settling into your skeleton.

“Just,” Sylvain sighed, unable to find the right words. “Just forget it, okay? Just forget I said anything and leave me alone.”

And with that, he left you standing alone. The next few days you tried reaching out to Sylvain, but he refused to listen. Weeks later, as you rounded a corner, you spotted him with another girl, and your heart quickly settled into the pit of your stomach.

You still loved him.

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!

Sorry, had to take a wee bit of hiatus for life stuff. I’ve got the next three chapters (very roughly) drafted, so hopefully I’ll be able to get back to a more regular posting schedule!

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Chapter One

Chapter Six

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the field of flowers spread before Vivi welcomingly. Blossoms of every shape and color swayed in the gentle breeze as she walked along the winding path that cut through the meadow. It was pleasant, perfect even, but Vivi couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Normally, she was the one to look on the bright side of things, but now she was peering at the flowers surrounding her suspiciously, wondering how such an idyllic landscape had her so disturbed. She continued to walk through the flowers, passing purple rose bushes and blue orchids, her curiosity at where the path lead warring with her unease. She was just about to take a sharp turn along the trail when a lone sunflower caught her eye. Vivi stepped off the path, drawn towards the tall flower. Something about it was almost familiar. She traipsed through the florae, ignoring the stems and leaves that seemed to wrap around her ankles and hold her back. Finally making her way to the sunflower, she noticed it had begun to wither. As warm as it was, frost crept along its leaves, and a small crowd of orange daisies shivered at its roots. Even as she watched, the icy tendrils continued to spread, wrapping around the flower’s stem. She didn’t understand why, but it made her feel terribly sad. She reached out a hand, brushing delicately at the yellow petals. At her touch, the echo of a well-known laugh, awkward yet endearing, filled her head.

“Arthur…?”

As soon as the name left her mouth, the gentle breeze turned into an cold gust of wind. The flowers all around her disappeared in a flurry of multicolored petals, sunny yellow slipping through her fingers, sucked away by the vortex that was blasting across the once peaceful meadow. Nothing remained. Even the path she was on had vanished along with the sun. Vivi was alone in the darkness. Lost, she wandered the void blindly, knowing she was missing something, someone. Their name was on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn’t remember. Her sense of unease grew worse by the second as she stumbled through the inky blackness. The wind carried the sound of a familiar laugh, barely able to be heard over the howling gale, and she frantically chased after it. She recognized that sound, had known moments ago who made it, yet she still couldn’t place it. What she did know was that something was wrong and she had to find him. Even as she attempted to follow the sound back to it’s source, it morphed into a cold and bitter cackle she didn’t recognize. Another icy blast of air caused her to shiver and—

Vivi blinked awake in the dark interior of the van.

It took her a moment to remember where she was, groggier than usual for having woken up in the middle of the night. She breathed a sigh of relief as things finally clicked back into place: the road trip, the snow day, drifting off to sleep next to Arthur while the movie played. As she fondly recalled events from the past couple of days, the last unsettling remnants of her dream began to fade from memory. The bizarre nightmare was something she’d be glad to forget. While she could now scarcely remember what the dream was about, the feelings of dread it inspired lingered, and the chill from that dark place seemed to have invaded the waking world. She must have tossed the blankets off in her sleep, but the van had been a comfortable temperature before without them. Vivi shivered against the cold, curling in on herself tightly.

“Arthur, I think the heater’s out,” she groaned tiredly. She was loathe to wake the mechanic when he was catching up on some badly needed rest, but at this rate, they’d both be frozen solid by the time the sun came up. She waited for a response, but none came. Vivi reached out to where she’d last remembered her friend to be, but her searching hands fell on nothing but empty air and scrunched up blankets. She didn’t hear Arthur tinkering around or the familiar click of his laptop’s keyboard either, both tell-tale signs of another bout of insomnia. All she could hear was the wind moaning outside and a mechanical hum from nearby. Puzzled by the discordant noises she heard, she forced her drooping eyelids open to glance around her. She could just make out the shape of the space heater, working hard to keep up with the dropping temperatures, but failing nonetheless as a frigid draft seeped into the van.

“Artie?” She called. The only reply was a shrill whistle of wind through a crack in the doors. She was certain they’d been shut tight before the Mystery Skulls had settled in for the night, but as she shuffled closer, she found the doors unlatched. Peering out the back windows, Vivi hoped to catch a glimpse of the mechanic. There was nothing but a field of white snow stretching on for as far as the eye could see. She scrambled towards the front of the van, disappointed to see that the seats were empty as well. Craning her head to look out the windows on all sides, she checked for any sign of her missing friend, but all she could make out in the darkness was more snow. Her frantic search had awakened the other sleeping occupant of the van however. Mystery emerged from underneath the mound of blankets Vivi had woken up next to, shaking himself free of his cozy entrapment.

“Vivi? What’s going on?” The dog yawned.

“I can’t find Arthur!” Vivi exclaimed. Mystery was immediately alert at her admission, his ears standing up straight and his nose in the air.

“Have you tried his cell phone?” The dog asked, intently sniffing his surroundings. Cursing herself that she hadn’t already thought of that, Vivi quickly pulled out her phone and dialed her friend’s number. A responding buzz sounded from the corner of the van. Glancing over, she could see Arthur’s phone rattling along the floor as it vibrated, the screen brightly lit with a picture they’d taken together last summer.

“H-hey, you’ve reached the voicemail of Arthur Kingsmen. I can’t come to the phone right now—” Disheartened, Vivi hung up before the beep. There was no doubt left in her mind that something was very wrong, the feeling of dread she’d woken up with intensifying every minute she couldn’t find her friend.

“He must have forgotten it, but he wouldn’t just go wander off in the snow! Do you think something happened to him?” She asked worriedly.

“I have a barrier in place around the van as a safeguard, nothing could get by it, I…” Mystery’s tail drooped midsentence, a very human-looking worry crossing his features.

“…I can’t sense him,” the kitsune said after a moment. Vivi hadn’t seen him look that unsettled since Shiromori, and it made her panic increase tenfold.

“Lewis, we need you!” She called frantically. A coffin swiftly appeared in the middle of the van, displacing the two occupants in the already cramped space. The casket’s lid swung outwards violently as Lewis made a harried entrance.

“Vivi! I heard you summon me, what’s wrong?”

“We can’t find Arthur,” she said hurriedly, “Mystery even tried to use his ‘puppy powers’ to locate him, but he can’t sense Arthur at all!”

“Normally, I’d be able to track any of one of you from miles away,” Mystery elaborated, trying to regain his composure, “Right now, aside from us here in the van, everything else is just…blank.” The kitsune paused for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought, before he let loose a string of obscenities in Japanese.

“It’s the snow,” Mystery growled, “It has to be, it’s covering up his soul scent. This isn’t a normal snowstorm, there must be something supernatural causing it…I can’t believe I missed it!”

“Soul scent?” Lewis asked.

“Every soul vibrates at a different frequency,” the kitsune explained, “Like the waves of light that make up the color spectrum. I can smell them, the frequency your soul vibrates at, and any other spirit or monster that may be lurking in the shadows.”

“That makes sense,” Vivi said, nodding her head slowly.

“Does it?” Lewis asked, looking at her in surprise.

“No, but we don’t have time for it to, we have to find Arthur!” Vivi exclaimed, “If you can detect other spirits and monsters, why weren’t you able to sniff anything out?”

“That’s just it, I tried. Whatever is out there that’s causing this, its soul doesn’t have a color. It just blends in with the snow.”

“So it’s like white noise for your nose, blocking out whatever other colors you might…’sniff out’,” Lewis said.

“Exactly,” Mystery replied, “I thought my lack of ability to detect anything out there asides from us meant we were safe, but the nothing I detected was something.”

“Ugh, that’s too many mixed up senses,” Vivi said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Any ideas on what we’re dealing with here? Is it some kind of cryptid, like the abominable snowman or something?”

“I have a theory,” Mystery said, shifting from paw to paw, “Yuki-onna.”

“Snow woman?” Vivi repeated back in English.

“Another kind of yōkai. It’s been many, many years since I’ve encountered one myself, but I remember those spirits had the same white non-scent. In all my hundreds of years, I’ve never heard of one existing outside of Japan though!” Mystery growled in frustration.

“Are they some kind of ghost then?” Lewis asked.

“In some stories, yes. There are legends that the yuki-onna was the spirit of a woman seeking vengeance after she was lured out into the snow and murdered…I suppose it’s possible a ghost that originated from similar circumstances could be likened to the yōkai of my homeland,” Mystery frowned, “Those aren’t the only stories though. The legends are as varied as her names, and the stories change from region to region. In some tales, she’s merely an ephemeral visitor in winter, completely harmless. In others, she lures her victims out into the cold and drains their life force as she freezes them to death. They’re fickle creatures, in my experience.”

“So there might be some sort of snow-ghost-vampire-thing out there with Arthur? Why are we still standing here!” Vivi said, already heading for the door. She was shoving her feet into her boots when a swatch of orange caught her eye.

“He doesn’t even have his hoodie with him…” she fretted, picking up the garment from where it lay on the van’s floor. She felt a hand rest lightly on her shoulder.

“We’ll find him,” Lewis said sympathetically, but he couldn’t hide the worry that painted his skull.

“I know, Lew,” she said, willing herself to believe it. The events from the past year had undeniably shaken her confidence. She was supposed to be the brave one, the one to rush into danger without thinking because she was so sure everything would turn out alright in the end. The one to lead them all through it unscathed on grit and determination alone. She knew there were risks and danger in what they were doing, but she’d still believed they’d all come out on top in the end. But no matter how charismatic, or optimistic, or foolhardy she was, things didn’t always turn out alright. She couldn’t help but feel that she was letting her friends down again. She hadn’t been there when her friends had needed her before, couldn’t remember enough of Lewis to even try and find him or help Arthur with his search. She was determined that this time would be different. Vivi quickly threw on her coat, picking up Arthur’s hoodie to take with her as well. Grabbing a flashlight, Vivi threw open the doors to the outside, recoiling at the sudden blast of wind and snow that assaulted her. Not to be deterred, she hopped out of the van, the snow swallowing her legs up to her knees. The wind whipped violently around her face, her blue tresses flying. The thick flurry of snow all around her made it difficult to see, but she could make out enough of her surroundings to tell that Arthur’s footprints were nowhere to be found. She could feel despair creeping in like the winter’s chill as Mystery bounded out next to her.

“How are we going to find him?” She asked the dog sadly, “Without you being able to track his soul scent, without his phone, his footprints…how are we going to find him?”

“We’ll just have to search on foot and hope for the best,” the kitsune replied solemnly.

“He could have gone in any direction,” Lewis reasoned as he came to float next to them, hovering inches above the snow, “How will we even know where to start?”

“We won’t,” Mystery said grimly, “All we can do is pick a direction and hope we get lucky.” Vivi swallowed thickly, already hating the words before they came out of her mouth.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” she said. They’d split up on investigations plenty of times before, but that was before they’d lost Lewis. Before she remembered losing Lewis. Afterwards, she had vowed to herself they would never split up again, that they would always be there to look out for each other. She didn’t want to let her friends and her dog out of her sight ever again, worried they wouldn’t make it back this time. But with Arthur missing, she didn’t feel like they had a choice.

“Absolutely not!” Lewis said, whirling to face her, “We’ve already lost Arthur, I’m not going to—!”

“We can cover three times as much ground if we each pick a different direction, that’s three times more likely to find Arthur!” Vivi argued.

“I agree with Vivi,” Mystery cut in, intervening before the argument could escalate any further, “But Lewis has a point. It’s dangerous out here, and we’re not going to be able to keep in contact once we separate. Therefore, I’ll stay with Vivi.”

“I can handle myself!” Vivi argued.

“Your magic is still developing,” Mystery said bluntly, “You don’t have very good control over it yet, when you have any control at all. Plus, we have no idea what’s really out there. You’d be safer to have somebody with you…and I know I would feel better if you weren’t alone.”

“Fine,” Vivi conceded unhappily. She’d come a long way with the magic lessons Mystery had been giving her in their spare time, but she knew he was right. She’d been relying on spell tags to have some control over her developing magic, and so far the results without them ranged from pitiful to disastrous.

“Me and Mystery can stick together. Lewis, will you be okay by yourself?”

“Lewis is more than capable of taking care of himself,” Mystery huffed, cocking an eyebrow at the ghost in question, “We’ve all seen him in action.” The specter had the decency to look a little sheepish at that.

“I’ll be fine,” Lewis agreed, “And I should be able to travel fairly quickly on my own.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mystery said, his canine features beginning to lengthen into something more vulpine, more threatening looking, “Vivi, I suggest we take the tree line. I took a cursory glance in that direction earlier, it’ll be easier for me to track anybody who has passed through there.”

“I’ll take the open snow field then. Everything’s so flat and empty, Arthur should be easy enough to spot out there,” Lewis said. He gave a curt nod before he was racing off across the snow with supernatural speed, gliding over the surface without disturbing it, eager to begin the search. Vivi was already marching through the snow in the opposite direction, Mystery keeping pace with her as his nose keenly scented the wind hoping to catch a whiff of their missing friend. Even with the flashlight she’d grabbed helping to illuminate their surroundings, it felt as if the darkness was closing in on them. Vivi was struck with a feeling of déjà vu as she and Mystery struggled through the thick snowdrifts, reminded of the dream she had woken from only minutes ago. Once again, she was lost in the darkness.

She called out for Arthur as they trudged through the snow, pushing down her disappointment every time she received no response. Soon enough, they came to the edge of the forest. The trees loomed over them, reaching out with gnarled and twisted limbs, their branches hanging low, heavy with snow. She could hear them creaking under the weight. Under any other circumstances, she would have loved the spooky atmosphere, but tonight she only felt unsettled by it. Undaunted, she kept walking deeper into the woods, Mystery close behind her. The groaning of the trees mingled with the sound of the wind moaning as it wove between their trunks. Underneath it all, Vivi thought she heard someone cackling, the sound brittle as ice. She wondered if it was just her imagination, a remnant of her bad dream. But as she turned to ask Mystery if he’d heard it too, she saw his hackles raised and his ears twitching. Whatever was out there with them was more than just a nightmare.

[idiotchosen]

Yeeeeeeah, no, it’s not Lloyd’s turn yet. There’s a bit of fluff at the very end of this one, but it’s a lot heavier on angst than the first two. Have fun! I certainly did.

AO3 Link

Prompt: Near-Death Experience

Rating: T

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia

Pairing: Zelos/Lloyd

Warnings: Blood

Words: 2644

When the blade first sliced through his chest, all Zelos could do was wonder why it didn't hurt as much as it should have. Not that it didn't hurt at all, of course, but he had always assumed that when he inevitably took a lethal blow in battle, it would far surpass anything he had ever felt before. In a sense, he was almost disappointed.

At once, the world around him became fuzzy around the edges, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. He was aware that he had fallen to the ground, but he had no memory of doing so. It had all happened so fast, and Zelos was having trouble catching up. They had been attacked, that much he knew. Their group had let their guard down, and a group of what he assumed to be common bandits had taken full advantage of it. Lloyd hadn't even had time to draw his swords before one of the four men charged at him, dagger in hand. Zelos had yelled at him to move, to get out of the way before it was too late, but Lloyd either hadn't heard him or was simply unable to react in time. And before he knew it, Zelos had been running, hoping and praying to a goddess he had no faith in that he would make it in time.

And then.

The blade had felt so cold, but all at once his chest was on fire, and everything was red. So, so red. Zelos wasn't sure if it was the blood streaming from his wound, or the blood of the man who had cut him, or the boy that he thought he heard screaming his name, over and over again, as he ran his sword straight through the last of the attackers. It was all the same, really. 

He must have been bleeding a whole lot more than he initially thought, because his vision was fading fast, and everything around him sounded like it was taking place a million miles away. Bits and pieces of the commotion reached his ears, but he wasn't really processing any of it. 

"--fessor, you've got to--"

"--aside, Lloyd, before he--"

"--mn it, Zelos, stay with m--"

"You idiot--"

Zelos only briefly felt the warmth of a healing spell start to surround his body before everything went dark.

___________

At first, when Zelos opened his eyes, he wasn't sure whether he was dreaming or awake. He didn't even know if he was alive or dead. All he knew was that by the looks of it, he was at an inn somewhere. The bed he was in was far from comfortable, and even without looking up he could see paint peeling from the walls. They must have still been in Sylvarant.

Well. If he was dead, this was a pretty shitty afterlife.

Zelos heard the creaking of a door opening from the other side of the room. He tried to look up and see who it was, but couldn't help letting out a gasp of pain as he did so. His chest hurt. He ran his fingers over it, only to find thick white bandages where bare skin or a shirt should have been. At that point, he knew he was very much awake and alive, but he still had a lot of questions lingering in the back of his mind. He didn't have a chance to voice them, however, before Raine Sage reached his bedside, a strange combination of shock and relief on her face. "You're awake," was all she could say. 

"As you can see." Zelos tried to shrug, but winced. Moving, he was starting to realize, was not a good idea at the moment. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

Raine opened her mouth to respond, but quickly shut it again. After hesitating for a moment, she asked, "How much do you remember?"

"Let's see…" Zelos closed his eyes, deep in thought. "Lloyd was about to get hit, and then--" his eyes shot open, and his words ground to a halt. In all the pain and confusion, he had almost forgotten about the boy he'd jumped in front of in the first place. Zelos had taken the first hit that was meant for him, but he couldn't remember anything after that. He managed to keep his voice steady, but his eyes betrayed just the slightest bit of panic. "Lloyd's okay, right? He wasn't hurt?" Raine shook her head, and Zelos let out a long sigh of relief.

"Lloyd is fine." Raine sighed, and rubbed at her temples. "Although you scared him half to death. I had to force him out of the room so I could finish patching you up." Zelos could imagine it. He knew how stubborn Lloyd could be: Raine had probably needed to physically push him out of the room. It hurt to think about, so Zelos switched the topic back to himself.

"Was I really hurt that bad?" Sure, his chest hurt like hell, but he only remembered being hit once. Raine's expression darkened.

"You lost a lot of blood," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I… almost wasn't able to fix you."

Zelos felt his heart skip a beat. "...Huh," was all he managed to say. It was strange. He was surprised, for sure, but he was having a hard time figuring out how to react. All he could really feel was relief, not just that he had survived, but that Lloyd had survived. A tense silence briefly filled the room, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. 

"Professor?" Zelos froze. The door was opened just a crack, enough for Lloyd to poke his head in. "Colette said she heard you talking, is Zelos--" He stopped midsentence as his eyes met Zelos's. His eyes widened, and he took a step forward.

"Zelos…?"

Raine sighed yet again. "I thought I told you to stay in your room." Lloyd clenched his fists. 

"How am I supposed to sit and wait around when Zelos is--"

"If you want him to recover, you need to let him rest." Raine's expression softened, but her words remained firm. "I know you're worried, but please, Lloyd. Just do as I say." Lloyd hesitated for a moment, but shook his head. 

"I just need a few minutes. Professor Sage, please." 

Zelos couldn't watch any longer. Seeing Lloyd so desperate? On his behalf? It almost hurt his chest more than his wound. "Let him in," he said, smiling just a bit. "I promise we won't do anything weird." He winked, and Raine buried her forehead in her hand.

"I suppose I shouldn't be too worried if you can talk like that," she muttered. "I need to go get some more supplies, anyways, so if you want to stay, you can. Just for a few minutes, though, okay?" Lloyd nodded."If anything happens, come find me right away." And with those words, Raine left the room, the door closing behind her with a click.

For a moment, neither of the two said a word. Slowly, Lloyd made his way over to Zelos's bedside, and sat down in the spot where Raine had been sitting moments earlier. Right away, Zelos noticed how tired he looked. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but he doubted Lloyd had spent even a second of it resting. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he had been crying. That alone was enough to make Zelos feel sick to his stomach. Lloyd was supposed to be their strong, fearless leader, but the reality was that he was still only seventeen. Sure, he had been through a lot since setting off to travel with Colette, nearly enough to age him beyond his years, but that didn't mean he had gotten any better at controlling his emotions. He was still human.

Lloyd took a deep breath, seemingly unsure of what to say. Finally, he spoke, looking away from Zelos.

"Why did you do it."

Zelos blinked. "Do what?"

"You know what I mean, Zelos." Lloyd gripped the blanket next to him so hard his knuckles turned white. He turned his gaze back to Zelos, who shrank back into his pillows as he noticed how piercing his eyes were. "Why did you take that hit for me?" 

"...Did you come in here just to ask me that?" Zelos closed his eyes. "I'm doing fine, thanks for asking." 

"That's not-- don't act like I wasn't worried sick about you! Zelos, you could have died!" Lloyd's eyes were wide, and when Zelos looked back up at him, he thought he could see tears starting to form in the corners. "That's why I don't get it. I don't get you, Zelos. You act like you don't care about anything, and then you go and do something like this. Of course I'm going to ask what your reasons were!"

"My reasons… huh." Zelos looked down at the bandages on his chest. "I don't know what to tell you, Bud. I saw that guy about to attack you, and before I knew it, I was running over. I didn't really have time to come up with a reason."

"That's…"

"All I knew was that one of us was going to take that hit. And…" Zelos paused, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. He knew Lloyd wouldn't like what he said next, but it was the truth. And if nothing else, Lloyd deserved not to be lied to. "And I decided that it would be better if it was me."

All the color drained from Lloyd's face. "...How can you say something like that so easily? How can you even think that?" Zelos could feel Lloyd starting to tremble next to him. He knew he was probably pushing the boy too far, especially with how shaken he had already been. But it was too late to turn back. Now he needed Lloyd to understand. Even if it hurt him.

"Are you saying you would have preferred to get yourself killed, then? Because that was the only other option."

"I--" Lloyd seemed to be at a loss for words. "I don't--"

"It's okay to prioritize your own life, Lloyd. It doesn't make you selfish." Zelos smiled. "And besides, I don't know if you realize it, but you have a lot of people counting on you right now. Way more than I do. So--"

"Don't you dare talk to me about 'prioritizing my own life,'" Lloyd said, his voice low. "Not when you almost threw yours away for no reason. Do you have any idea how sad I would have been if I had lost you? When are you going to accept that people actually care about you?"

Zelos couldn't help but laugh. "Lloyd, I guarantee that if you asked any one of the people in the next room which of us they would save given the choice, it would be you. No questions asked."

"But why does there even have to be a choice?" Lloyd's voice was growing steadily louder and shakier. "Who says there isn't a way to save everyone? You can't just give up without looking for another option first."

"You think I had time to look for another option?" Zelos was starting to raise his voice as well. His chest was protesting with every breath he took, but he barely even noticed in his current emotional state. "They were going to kill you. All I knew was that I couldn't let that happen. I didn't get the chance to consider how else to stop it."

"I--"

"You're not going to change my mind, Lloyd. I don't regret saving you. Even if I had ended up dying, it wouldn't have mattered. I'm--" Zelos stopped talking as soon as he felt the impact of Lloyd's hand against his cheek. It stung, and it surprised him enough that he momentarily forgot about his other, much larger injury.

"'It wouldn't have mattered?" Lloyd wasn't even trying to hold back the tears anymore. "Damn it, Zelos, are you really that much of an idiot? Do you really not get it? I don't want to lose you. You're… you're…" He sniffed and rubbed his arm against his eyes. "You're so important to me. If the only way I could live was by losing one of my best friends, then…" he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. Now it was Zelos's turn to be speechless. "I want you to live. I want us to finish this journey together. I-I want-- I want--" Lloyd couldn't say any more as he collapsed into sobs.  He buried his face in his hands and cried, and Zelos could only watch, knowing that it was his fault. Why would Lloyd want him around, when this was what he was capable of? Making people unhappy was all he knew how to do. He had ruined his parents' lives, been an inconvenience to the church, eliminated Seles's chances at a normal life… and now, when he thought he was doing something right for once in his life, he had only made things worse. 

What he needed to do, Zelos knew, was apologize. Even if he hadn't been convinced by Lloyd's words, he had to pretend. That, he supposed, was another talent of his. All he had to do was be the man Lloyd wanted him to be. 

But was that really what Lloyd would want?

"You're important to me, too, you know," he finally murmured, placing a comforting hand on Lloyd's arm. That, at least, wasn't a lie. Of all the people in his life, there were really only two that Zelos would have put his life on the line for. One being his half-sister, and the other being the boy sobbing in front of him. That, more than anything, was what he wanted Lloyd to understand. "That's why I did it. That's the real reason."

Lloyd moved his hand from his face, his eyes still brimming with tears. "Zelos…"

"You have to remember, I'm still pretty new to this whole 'friendship' thing." He laughed, but there was a note of sadness to it. "Besides, I'm the Chosen. I was born to die for the people I love." Lloyd tried to respond, but Zelos only smiled and put a finger to his lips. "So I guess… dying for the person I love the most just seemed like the natural thing to do."

If Lloyd's face hadn't already been red from crying, it would have flushed at Zelos's words. It looked like he was torn between responding to the first part of his sentence and the end. Zelos felt his heart start to pound as he waited for Lloyd to make up his mind, making his chest hurt in a way completely unrelated to his injury. On the list of ways he had planned to tell Lloyd how he really felt, "almost dying and making him cry" was pretty damn close to the bottom. But there he was, hoping, praying that Lloyd would pick up on the meaning behind his words. He didn't think he had it in him to say it any more clearly.

After a long, long moment, Lloyd smiled, his eyes still watering. "Live for me instead, then. That's all I ask." And just like that, Zelos felt Lloyd's lips against his forehead. "Even after we're done with this journey, and the world is at peace, stay with me." His smile grew, turning into more of a grin. "That's your punishment for scaring me earlier."

Before long, Zelos felt himself grin as well. "Not much of a punishment, is it?" he said, before pulling Lloyd's head back down and kissing him again, this time on the lips. 

When the world was at peace. 

Zelos wasn't going to wait that long to start paying his debt.

[friendshipcampaign]

Sweet Foods, Sweeter Words

A downtime featuring Erwyn and Palava that takes place the evening of the first full day the party spent in Wayspell after getting back from the trials.

A note: A handful of phrases have been omitted as they originally contained backstory details that haven’t yet come up in-campaign, but Scribe and I wanted to share this story anyways.

Mentally checking the address for the third or fourth time since he’d arrived following a bit of a nerve-wracking trip -- at least, for him -- through the Wayspell of the early morning, Erwyn prepared to raise a hand to knock on the door of the location Palava had told him the two planar researchers would be staying at during their time in Wayspell. Not for the first time, he half-wondered if he should have asked one of the others to come with him to find an unfamiliar place in the city, but this had been a visit he felt he needed to make alone, and he supposed so long as he had the right location now it would probably be alright. 

Swallowing his anxiety and hoping this was the place, he gave three swift raps on the door.

His knocks were greeted with a skittering noise like a startled cat. This was followed by a moment of silence, several shuffling sounds, and one loud thunk. Palava opened the door, rubbing his forehead. His demeanor changed as soon as he recognized the young elf on his doorstep.

"Erwyn!" he cried. "How lovely--" He paused midsentence, apparently remembering that his normal boisterous speaking volume was somewhat less than appropriate for that hour of the morning.

"How lovely to see you!" he finished in a stage whisper.

“It’s very nice to see you as well,” Erwyn said, struggling quite a lot less with volume considerations. “I hope I’m not being a bother, coming here without exactly announcing my intention to.”

"Not at all! I said you were welcome to stop by and I meant it!"

“I hope you weren’t in the middle of anything, I’d hate… I’d hate to interrupt.”

Palava shook his head. "Nothing at all. I'd been planning to read, but I just couldn't get settled. You have to be so quiet around people who sleep, and I get so antsy. A visit from a friend is just what I needed tonight!"

Erwyn felt his cheeks flush a little at the description of himself as a friend by the far older, far more accomplished researcher. He hadn’t even known him all that long. It threw him, and he could only hope that the increased twitching of his ears wasn’t too obvious.

“That’s very… that’s… that’s good to hear,” he said, catching himself babbling. “I… You, um… I know that at one point you mentioned there were some places in Wayspell that… that might be nice to visit. I was thinking that.... I thought that might be an option tonight, just so we don’t wake anyone?”

The whole last sentence of his came out as a sort of nervous squeak.

Palava beamed at him. "I have just the place! Hold on a moment, just let me..."

He trailed off into incomprehensible mumbling as he turned back to the building, folding up his gangly frame to fit through a door which, while certainly not halfling-sized like many of the older buildings in Wayspell, had also not been built to accommodate someone of Palava's height. After a few moments he emerged again, a satchel flung across his shoulder.

"Alright, then! Follow me!" He set off through the darkened streets.

At first, Erwyn, who while well-accustomed to travel was not only not the heartiest (and never had been), but also a foot shorter in height and stride than the older elf, had some trouble keeping pace with him, but it was only a block or so before Palava drew up short.

"Oh, pardon me! Always rushing off; you'd think I would have learned by now!" He waited for Erwyn to catch up and when he began to walk again it was at a much gentler pace.

"So," said Palava as they rounded the corner, "How have you been enjoying Wayspell? Has Hue tried to convince y'all to break into the old Post Office yet? Don't listen to her; it never ends well."

“Does… does she do that frequently?” Erwyn asked. 

Palava nodded. "Sure does! Don't know if there's really something she wants to find in there or if she just gets real riled up by all the "Keep Out!" signs, but she brings it up most times we're in the area."

Erwyn tried to imagine the Gatekeepers, who he still saw as such accomplished people given their line of work, even if Hubris seemed to be a bit of a baffling case, to him, at least, doing something like breaking into a post office. Even if it was a somewhat mysterious one, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Then again, the comment about it possibly being due to the “Keep Out!” signs reminded him a bit of Amaranth -- not to say he was certain he and his friends were quite operating on the same level professionally, but perhaps one couldn’t always predict their company even for important matters.

“I hope it hasn’t ever lead to too much trouble,” he finally said, a little at a loss for what else to say.

Palava laughed out loud. "Everything Hubris does leads to trouble. She'd be awful bored otherwise!"

They turned onto a wider street, and Palava gestured at the buildings around them. "Have you had a chance to explore the city at all? I know we've probably been keeping you busy."

Feeling some of his anxiety bubble back up again, Erwyn shook his head, hoping to quash it as best he could without having to confess too much to someone he’d really rather not have to risk thinking poorly of him were he completely truthful. Again, though, he could feel his ears starting to twitch more than he’d like.

“Ah, um, no,” he said carefully. “I haven’t really wanted to, it’s been sort of... intimidating.”

"Too loud? Cities are hard like that--makes me miss the Underdark."

“Among… among other things, yes,” Erwyn said.

Palava shot him a curious look, but didn't press the matter. "Well, I promise that where we're going everyone's real good about keeping calm. They put up a Silence spell around it during the day, but unless it's a festival night it's not something they gotta worry about at this hour."

“Oh, that actually sounds really lovely,” Erwyn said. “That’s very considerate of them.”

"Yeah, they're real nice! Not too many people in cities who know how to make elves feel at ease, but Anna and Marigold are real good about it. Helps that Anna's got some elvish blood herself, but even that doesn't always mean a place'll be comfortable. We're nearly there; just a few more streets!"

Palava led the way past more rows of empty buildings. For a city it was quite dark outside, illuminated only by globes of magical light mounted on the street corners, but compared to the wilderness it still seemed uncomfortably bright. Erwyn felt like, even after years of time spent in and out of some of the larger populated areas of Ashona, his eyes would never adjust to the glow of streetlamps -- like stars, where stars shouldn’t be.

Striding around a final corner, Palava flung his arms out wide and pointed at a building halfway up the next block. It was one of the only shopfronts that was still lit that late at night--or early in the morning. The building itself wasn't remarkable; it was built of the same wood and brick that made up most of Wayspell. But the sign above the door glowed with a soft silver luminance. Written on it, in both Elvish and Common characters, Erwyn could read the word "Lissecoa."

"Here we are!" Palava declared.

Suddenly, Erwyn found himself freezing a little. Of course, from the way Palava had talked, it didn’t exactly seem like they were visiting an establishment that even had any right to be giving him this kind of anxiety, but being confronted again, after some time since it had last occurred, by a place that seemed so distinctly Elvish was not exactly the easiest of things he could be doing with his evening. Especially not in Wayspell, which made him nervous for its own reasons.

While he’d certainly felt shy for a bit now, he suddenly also felt very small.

Palava paused at the door. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned.

“I… I’m fine,” Erwyn said.

And really, he should be. It was silly of him to be made so anxious by something so mundane as an outing to a bakery. It wasn’t like, even if it was more of a traditional place, they would ask him about his magical abilities at the door -- or ever. But years of skirting around circumstances where someone might so much as offhandedly inquire about that sort of thing died hard. 

"We don't have to stay long if you'd rather walk," Palava said. "But they make some of the best pecconelle I've ever tasted! Come on."

He opened the door and gently ushered Erwyn inside. 

The interior of the bakery swept over him in several stages. First, of course, came the smell, as it would with any place serving food, but this time especially so due to the assorted layers of ingredients and flavors mixed up in the air that Erwyn didn’t think he’d caught in those particular combinations since maybe even thirty years or so prior. But the rest of the inside, too, conjured other memories -- the foliage growing directly up from the floor in much the same way as the walls of the Isilmë family home, the minimal, lower-to-the ground furniture than you would find in a human or halfling tavern so very like the kinds he’d grown up around.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Mae govannen, Palava!"

The speaker, a plump, red-haired woman with slight points on her ears, waved at them from behind the counter. Still in Elvish, she continued, "It's been a while since you stopped by. Lovely to see you again. You'll be having the usual, I take it?"

Palava returned her wave. "You know, I just can't decide yet. Everything smells spectacular, as always!"

"Well, take a seat and consider as long as you want. And your friend, too!"

Palava contrived to fold himself up onto one of the low benches. Erwyn just followed him, numbly, feeling like if he thought too hard even about trying to take a seat, it would be too much.

"I don't know about you," said Palava, "But I always feel like having a little nibble of something after I finish trancing! They do a lovely little sampler if you'd care to split it. And the teas really are to die for!"

“That… that sounds nice,” Erwyn said. Doubly so, because while he was sure it would be delicious, he also didn’t think he’d really be capable of browsing their offerings all that clearly himself.

Palava unfolded and strode back to the counter, where he had a characteristically excited conversation with the baker. When he returned, he was carrying a tray laden with a low, round teapot, two small cups, and several pastries neatly arranged on a leaf-shaped ceramic plate. He placed it down on the table in front of them with a flourish.

"You know," said Palava, pouring himself a cup of fragrant tea, "It was interesting for me, growing up in the Underdark. All surface food seemed so exotic, even the elvish stuff. My amil would get packages sent from her family and it was the most exciting thing when they arrived. Now I miss the mushrooms and the móriyávë, but I still feel so decadent getting to eat nuts and aboveground fruits all the time! Have you ever been to the Underdark?"

Shaking his head, Erwyn cautiously reached for some tea himself -- he hoped it was the kind that would be calming, and not the other way around. It seemed that his hands were also shaking, and some of the drink sloshed unceremoniously as he tried to pour it into a cup of his own. As if he wasn’t feeling out-of-place enough all of a sudden, the less-than-perfect attempt made him feel as though invisible eyes were boring into him from all sides, critical of the fact that he couldn’t even do such a small thing properly, much less recall all the intricacies of all the ceremony he was used to being tied up with Elvish tea.

“No I… I’ve only ever been to, um, some of the places where there are entrances,” he said, voice wavering. “But not that far into any of them, beyond… beyond the markets that sometimes spring up there.”

"Well, if you ever do go," Palava continued, giving no sign he'd noticed Erwyn's mishap with the tea, "Let me know and I can give you some pointers! Not that I think you'd be on the tourist track, but it's nice to have some local knowledge regardless, and some of the folks down there do like to mess about with upworlders. The Svirfneblin are always pranking people with ghost stories!"

He reached out to snap one of the pastries in half, taking a dainty bite out of one end. 

"Fabulous as ever, Anna!" he called out to the woman at the counter. She chuckled under her breath in response.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Erwyn took another deep breath.

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t seem to have as much of an appetite as I was expecting,” he told Palava.

It was true -- he’d really hoped this could be nice. He’d wanted it to be nice. But if that had even been possible in the first place, he seemed to have messed up the part where he made it happen, because instead he was just feeling shaky and awful and a little sick, and it wasn’t Palava’s fault, or the fault of the people who ran this place who seemed very nice, and he didn’t want to feel like it was his fault, but he wasn’t sure how else he could end up feeling so sad.

Tears were pricking a little at the corner of his eyes. Erwyn wished he’d just stayed and done some reading back at the inn.

"Hey," said Palava softly. "It's all right. We can get these wrapped up to go if you think you might get peckish later. Should we just head out, then? I know some paths around the edge of the city that are real nice for walking around at night if you'd rather be outside."

“I don’t know,” Erwyn said, quietly.

One of Palava's hands hovered in the air by Erwyn's shoulder for a moment, as if the older elf wasn't sure whether contact would be comforting or not.

"Well, that's all right too. We can sit here until you know how you feel; there's no rush. Would you like to hear some more about the Underdark?"

Erwyn nodded. He clutched his tea a little tighter, trying to focus on the warmth of the cup instead of everything else. Warmth was nice.

Palava launched into a story about how the Deep Gnomes near where he grew up had stymied a ring of mushroom smugglers that the local halflings had been trying to get rid of for months. He was an engaged if not a particularly linear speaker, waving his hands animatedly as he talked.

As the story went on, Erwyn realized he was only feeling worse -- usually, hearing someone talk about their home or their family couldn’t have this effect on him alone. He often even liked it, hearing Kriv offhandedly mention one of his siblings, or Ditto babble excitedly about a Gnomish holiday he wasn’t himself familiar with. 

But right now he felt a little too surrounded by things that reminded him of his own home, and was still, even if he’d been trying to quash it down, reeling a little from the whole mess in the trials with the simulation of Carceri, and everything just felt like too much. He clutched his cup so tightly he could feel an uncomfortable warmness in his fingertips, and the little tears that had pricked at his eyes earlier got bigger, and escaped. He bit his lip, wishing he could keep himself from being quite so visibly upset, but it wasn’t to much avail.

Palava stopped talking. He pulled a large purple handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it over to Erwyn.

"I'm sorry, Erwyn. I shouldn't... give me a minute to have Anna wrap these up and we can go for a walk. All right?"

Erwyn nodded, unthinkingly wiping his eyes with his sleeve before it really registered what he’d been handed. He blinked, then wiped them again with the handkerchief.

He could hear Palava saying, "Anna? My friend and I will have to head out a little earlier than I thought... if you could, that would be just dandy... yes, actually, I do, hang on..."

After a moment Palava re-appeared, this time slipping the wrapped-up pastries into his satchel. He offered Erwyn a hand.

"Shall we?"

Still feeling like being quiet -- or really, like quiet was the only thing he could be -- Erwyn accepted the offer and rose shakily to his feet.

Palava shepherded him out the door and back onto the street.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It was too much, wasn't it?"

“It’s not your fault,” Erwyn said, sadness creeping into his voice once more. “I hoped it would be okay.”

Palava started walking down the street, this time keeping a gentle pace from the outset. Erwyn moved with him, feeling almost as though if he didn’t he would get lost in the night.

They walked in silence for a while. Palava seemed to be leading them away from the center of the city towards where the outer walls loomed against the sky.

"Let me know if you want to go back," he said gently. "I find walking helps but I don't know what helps you. And I don't intend to pry, but if you do want to talk I'm good at listening. Fenmarel thinks that's pretty important, at least as I was taught."

It took a moment for Erwyn to decide to say anything, and once he made up his mind that he was going to, he found himself perched somewhere between wanting to say very little and say everything. After all, he didn’t tend to talk about these things at all, if only because he didn’t see much point in opening up old wounds he couldn’t heal. He’d been with his current traveling companions for some time now, and said much less about much more important things. 

But he also wasn’t really tight-lipped out of a desire for secrecy -- mostly, he just didn’t say things because he thought they would hurt, and he preferred to keep them inside, the same way people very much preferred their blood and things to be inside their bodies and didn’t go seeking ways to get them out. Every once and a while, he did come across someone he actually talked about his past to. At least, about certain things. He’d already shared more with the party in just the last couple of weeks than he’d said to most people about himself in the same number of decades. Maybe it was time for him to rip himself open a little in the presence of the kind of person that he felt, or at least hoped, would be able to patch him up. He’d done it before, in bits and pieces -- to Lissë, to Sermë, to Rayne, and to a handful of others. It made as much sense as anything to spill some of the hurt loneliness inside him to someone listening on the behalf of the god of the lonely.

“I miss my home,” he said finally, and as soon as the words tumbled from his lips, they wouldn’t stop. “I miss the way that the trees smelled there, and the birds sounded, and I miss the way it always felt familiar even when the seasons were changing. I miss the songs you could hear being sung from the temple to Sehanín, and I miss when Hrívecala would come around and I would share my birthday with the celebrations, and I miss the taste of lissemasta and the smell of freshly-picked olospië that we would gather around our house. I miss watching Atya make notes in his spellbook, and Amya playing her harp, and... and...”

He was crying again, a lot this time, and even though it still felt like there were a million words on the tip of his tongue, he bit them back, because it also felt like he’d said too much already.

Palava had stopped walking when Erwyn began to speak, and now he stepped closer, resting a hand on Erwyn's shoulder. "Hey," he said, carefully watching Erwyn's face for a reaction. "How do you feel about hugs?"

“They’re… they’re rather nice,” Erwyn said, sniffling.

"Oh, good," said Palava. "I think so too!"

And then Erwyn found himself enveloped in Palava's wiry arms. The other elf was so much taller that his chin rested on the top of Erwyn's head. He didn't say anything, just stood there holding him while he cried.

Erwyn, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to muster much ability to return the embrace. He brought his hands up as if he intended to, but it was like all the strength had tumbled out of him along with his words, so instead he just sort of buried himself into Palava and limply fell into the hug, dimly aware that he was probably getting both their clothes wet with his tears, but not particularly in any state of mind to even try to do something about it. Eventually, they slowed, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of any actual catharsis or if his eyes had just decided they didn’t have anything left to cry.

Palava made little soothing noises and petted his hair, like someone trying to soothe an upset child or an injured animal.

"How long has it been?" he asked quietly.

Erwyn sniffled, gathering himself together. “I… I don’t know the exact number of years. They all sort of blurred and I didn’t think to keep careful count until it was too late. It’s been several… several decades at this point, though.”

He felt Palava stiffen, just for a second.

"You've... been on your own all that time?"

“Most of… most of it,” he said. “Sometimes not. Sometimes people help. Having a group like my friends now is fairly new, though.”

"Your friends seem like real good people," said Palava. "I'm glad you have them. I know it doesn't help, though, with the missing."

Erwyn shrugged. “It helps a little. At least… well... it means I’m not alone.”

Palava nodded. Since he hadn't yet stepped back from the hug, it meant that his chin bobbed gently against the crown of Erwyn's head.

"Being alone isn't good for folks like us. Of course, I don't think it's really good for anyone, but the loneliness does tend to hit us awful hard. I'm sorry you've had to face it for as long as you did."

While Erwyn’s tears had stilled at least a little, or at least enough for him to hold the conversation they were having, Palava’s words suddenly felt like they’d hit something critical in him -- like the psoglav, tearing him open, or another onslaught he had no way of weathering without help -- and suddenly they were back, ugly and wracking and all trying to rush out at once. 

It was still a little bit due to memories he felt like he’d been fighting. But this time, he mostly felt like he couldn’t contain all his emotions inside himself because it was like getting hit by the chill of Rose’s breath all over again, the shock of hearing someone tell him they were sorry about it. He was used to feeling like it was his mistake, or instances like recently, when Maudlin seemed to imply it was his own fault for ending up so far away from his home and family. Rarely -- if ever -- did anyone say that they were sorry he’d had to weather it at all.

Palava held him tighter, rocking the two of them softly back and forth. "Hey," he whispered, over and over. "Hey, it's okay. You're allowed to be sad; you're allowed to be sorry. You shouldn't have had to live like that." 

The reassurances blurred as Palava kept talking, words tumbling into each other until they were nothing but soothing background noise. Erwyn leaned into him, letting the older elf’s kindness wash over him until his tears started to fade away again, leaving him feeling the weird sort of hollowed-out that being very sad often did, even when you started to feel a little less so.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled eventually. “I… I can’t imagine this was how you intended for tonight to go.”

"Well, no," Palava admitted. "Not intended, certainly. But Erwyn, it's all right. I wouldn't have taken up the service of a god who watches over the lost and the outcast unless I was prepared to watch over them myself as best as I can. Gettin' a few tears on my robe is hardly the worst thing I've gone through. It's happened before, and I'm sure it'll happen again before too long. And I'm the one who asked you to talk in the first place."

Had he not already, effectively, dried himself out, Erwyn was sure the additional kind words would have caused him to cry too, but at this point he just felt his lip quaver a little. He nodded, then pulled himself away to wipe some of the remaining tears off his face. He went to use his sleeve again and only remembered about halfway through the handkerchief that he’d been given earlier, which he’d crumpled in his pocket. 

“I think… I mean… I think that I mostly just cried at you.”

"Hey now, there were a few words there at the beginning!" said Palava. "And as long as you're in Wayspell, if there are more you want to get out, you know where to find me."

“I feel a bit like both everything’s already been said and like there’s still so much else that I couldn’t say it all in a hundred years,” Erwyn said, sadly. He didn’t know how else to put it -- it was like being emptied out and hungry for someone to listen all at once. 

It was one reason he didn’t usually share too much about himself -- it always left him feeling very strange whenever he did.

"Well," said Palava, "Being an elf I ought to be around in a hundred years if it really does take you that long." He smiled tentatively. "Should we finish the loop I was taking us on or just head back? Or are your legs too wobbly to start moving just yet? I know I turn into a jelly-jar after I've been crying."

“I’m… I’m usually a little wobbly,” Erwyn admitted. “But I do feel sort of extra so right now.”

"All right." Palava plopped down onto the pavement. "Let's rest here for a bit, then. We've still got those nibbles if you feel up to a bite, and I brought some water if that would help with the wobblyness."

The sudden shift from being a foot shorter than Palava than wildly high above him was slightly disconcerting, and Erwyn looked around a bit to see if anyone else was awake in the early morning and had noticed them as he felt a bit self-conscious, but the streets of Wayspell were fairly inactive at this point in the morning, so eventually he gently lowered himself to sit as well.

“Water would be… I mean if you’ve got it on you… I’d… I’d like some water, yes,” he said.

Palava rummaged around in his satchel, which, judging by how far he stuck his arm inside, appeared to have some extradimensional qualities, and eventually emerged, triumphantly holding a waterskin. He handed it over to Erwyn.

"There you are!"

Erwyn accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink and then just sort of cradling it once he finished. It was nice to sit there, in the dark, and hold it while he slowly started to feel like a person again. But eventually he decided he was up for asking another question.

“What… what food did you bring from the bakery?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I was a little distracted -- I didn’t actually catch much of a look at what you brought over.”

"Well!" said Palava, "We've got some pecconelle, mírinci, a nísimacornë, and half a lirincalë."

“Could I maybe have one of the mírinci?” Erwyn asked. “I still haven’t got much of an appetite, but that does sound nice.”

Palava excavated the pastries from his satchel and unwrapped the outer layer of paper carefully. He held the box out towards Erwyn. The mírinci glistened in the light of the streetlamps.

Erwyn selected one gently, holding up the little candy in his hand and watching the light dance around over its surface. He hadn’t meant to end up taking such a long look at it, but of course, like everything, it felt more complicated than it ought to.

“There was someone back home who knew how to make really beautiful mírinci,” he said, slowly, moving the one he held in his fingertips so it would catch the light at a particularly nice angle. “I think he must use magic, somehow, but he always liked being secretive about it.”

Palava took a candy of his own and turned it back and forth in the light for a moment before popping it into his mouth.

"I know my amya's family used magic when they made them," he said. "No way to get them to glitter properly in the dark without it. I don't know how they did it, though; amya was useless in the kitchen so she never taught me."

Putting his own candy in his mouth, Erwyn rolled it around with his tongue for a bit, somewhat contemplative before he said anything else. The little explosion of sweetness was nice, especially after having ended up getting some of his salty tears in his mouth earlier.

“I think that… I think I might like to go back to the bakery, sometime before we leave Wayspell. It was too much tonight, but the tea seemed very nice and I really have missed Elvish food,” he said, though his cheeks flushed a little as soon as he said it. “Assuming I didn’t make too much of a fool of myself, getting so upset tonight.”

"You're fine," said Palava. "I'd love to go back with you. Just let me know when. And hey, if you ever feel like checking out some of the other Elvish places in the city, I'd be happy to show you those too! There's a couple other bakeries, and one or two real nice restaurants that do proper meals, and it wouldn't be your brand of Elvish but I really do think everyone should try this great little Drow fusion place at the edge of Oldtown! If you and your friends are helping us out, you ought to be back in Wayspell a fair bit. Can't guarantee where Alembic and I will be, but we try to get back when we can. I do hope we'll get to see each other often enough that I can show you around to all my favorite places in Wayspell."

“That would be really lovely,” Erwyn said, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’d be happy to see more of you, too. And thank you for listening tonight, I know I’m often not the best at talking.”

Palava flapped a hand in his general direction. "This kind of talking isn't something you have to be good at. I'm happy to listen to whatever words you get out. And I know it ain't the same as having someone here with you, but Fenmarel's good at listening, too. I don't know if you're the sort to do much praying or if it's any kind of comfort, but I promise you he does care for wanderers like you and me."

Erwyn was quiet for a moment.

“I used to be a little more the type,” he said. “Sometimes, when I was younger, I would try speaking to Sehanín -- she was the primary goddess of the community I grew up in, and has her whole sphere about journeys, which I figured I was on. But while I certainly consider them frequently, I don’t talk to any of the gods all that much anymore. I… I feel like I’ve turned out to be a bit disappointing. They’ve probably got more important people to listen to than me.”

"But that doesn't mean they won't listen to you," said Palava. "The gods may have to pick and choose how they apportion their powers, but they don't pick and choose who they listen to. Especially not the ones I serve. I'm not saying you have to speak to them, of course! Everyone's free to make that choice on their own. But you shouldn't be ashamed to reach out to them if you do want to. And it may not be the path you thought you were headed for, but . . . given what I saw you do with the breach today I have a hard time seeing you as any kind of disappointment."

“Well, ah, you have to admit that last part’s at least rather new,” Erwyn said. “I think even if I did have rather better self-image it would take some adjusting to.”

Palava laughed and patted Erwyn on the shoulder. "True, very true!" he said. "And I sure don't mean to sound like that's the only thing that matters. We were real impressed by it, is all."

Feeling his cheeks flush again, Erwyn looked down into his lap. “Thank you,” he said. “That… that means a lot to me, even if I still have a bit of a hard time believing I was able to do anything all that special.”

"You're welcome!" said Palava cheerfully, smiling and squeezing Erwyn's arm. He glanced around at the empty street that they were still sitting in the middle of. "Those legs feeling any less wobbly?"

Erwyn took a deep breath, then nodded.

Palava paused for a moment to re-wrap the package from the bakery and put it away. Then he stood, his gangly form silhouetted against the starry sky. He held out a hand. Still a little bit shakily, in the way that crying usually left you for a bit afterwards, Erwyn accepted it and pulled himself up tentatively, too.

Palava gave him a few breaths to find his balance again. "Any thoughts on where we're headed?" he asked once Erwyn seemed a bit more steady.

“I… I don’t know, actually,” he said. “Though I don’t particularly want to impose, of course.”

"Well," said Palava, "Depending on just how un-wobbly you're feeling, I do enjoy walking at night. And I especially enjoy it with company."

“That would be nice, I think,” Erwyn said.

"All right!" 

Palava started down the street, brushing some of the dust from his robes as he walked. He moved slowly--deliberately so, Erwyn was sure--and they meandered through the streets towards the outer walls of Wayspell. As they neared the outskirts of the city, they could begin to make out the flickering of fireflies around the tall outer Hedge, and occasionally in the streets around them. Every time one got close, Palava paused to coo at it excitedly. 

Gently, Erwyn held out his own gloved hand, trying to project to the creatures that it was safe for them. It wasn’t too long before one of them took him up on the offer, landing gingerly on his outstretched finger. He watched as the light it carried with it blinked several times before a pause, and then repeating the same cycle.

Palava leaned in close, being careful not to move too quickly and startle the creature.

"Those eggs we found," he said quietly, his face illuminated by the firefly's soft glow. "The Caftner. Did you get them somewhere safe? I keep meaning to ask but of course we've all been... busy."

“Oh!” Erwyn said. “Yes, we… we took them to a friend. The one who taught us about the Caftner in the first place. I was a bit out of it at the time so I didn’t hear everything about her preparations, but it sounds like she’s put together a good, safe place for them once they hatch.”

Palava smiled. "Oh good! I was hoping. In this line of work I don't always get to see how things turn out once we leave. It's nice to hear when they go well."

“There was… a spot of difficulty after you left,” Erwyn said, a hand unconsciously trailing to his neck. “I’m worried that…. I don’t believe we’ve seen the last of Hayel, and that’s a concerning prospect. But the Caftner babies shouldn’t have to worry about any of that, and hopefully neither will the people of Folly’s End. It’s rather satisfying to think -- or at least to hope -- that we did a bit of good, ultimately.”

"I dare say you did," said Palava. "And I'm looking forward to seeing what else you do. All of you, really, but..." he paused for a moment and winked at Erwyn. "I may have a particular soft spot. Hey! A couple blocks over there's a tree with some really great moths; d'you wanna go see?"

Blinking, and still somewhat processing what Palava had said first, Erwyn slowly nodded.

“That… that sounds nice,” he said.

[setepenre-set]

Operation: Angler Fish (part 4)

Megamind/Roxanne, K+ rating, pre-movie AU

Minion encourages Megamind to give their damsel in distress an unusual present for her birthday.

(look for links to AO3 and FFN in the notes)

“You were fantastic.”

Roxanne, who has finally—mostly—stopped laughing at the memory of Metro Man’s face when she announced that the gravity beam dial had been a placebo, laughs again—less in mirth than in something between embarrassment and discomfort.

Megamind, still on the floor, smiles widely up at her.

She wishes he wouldn’t, wishes he would stand up; something about the way he’s—

(on his knees gazing up at her with shining eyes)

—the way he’s looking at her, something about it is making her feel—making her feel—

He stands up, a fluid, graceful movement, and Roxanne swallows hard.

“Really,” he says, “fantastic.”

“Oh,” Roxanne says, rather more weakly than she intended.

Megamind’s smile—changes, sliding from a bright grin of joy to something more akin to a smirk. He leans back against the console and folds his arms, then looks her up and down—slowly, audaciously, before meeting her eyes again. Roxanne feels her face flush, sees Megamind seeing it, reads it in the way his eyes flash and go half-lidded, the way he catches his lower lip in his teeth before smiling at her again, slow and sharp.

“What?” she says, voice too loud, and crosses her own arms over her chest.

“Oh,” he says, uncrossing his arms and sauntering towards her, still smiling that infuriating, nerve-wracking smile. “I was just thinking how impressive you’re going to look in your Evil Queen cape.”

Roxanne takes a quick breath, almost a gasp, lips parting in an instinctive impulse to protest. Megamind arches an eyebrow at her, though, and all of her arguments flee her mind. She feels herself flush even more deeply.

And Megamind—Megamind just continues to walk slowly towards her, smirking at her, watching her blush, and when Roxanne glares at him, he laughs, soft and wicked, not looking away from her.

“Oh, Miss Ritchi,” he says, “didn’t I tell you that you’d enjoy yourself?”

He reaches at her, but he doesn’t stop; instead he continues, moving around her, circling her. Roxanne turns, following the movement, keeping him in sight and he smiles wider at her, predatory and pleased and—

“Whether I—enjoyed myself or not is—entirely beside the point—” Roxanne says.

Megamind raises his eyebrows at her.

“You enjoying yourself was the entire point,” he says, voice rich with amusement. “Don’t you remember, Miss Ritchi?” He continues to circle her, moving closer. “I told you right up front what my intentions were. You have only yourself to blame for—giving into temptation. I told you a taste would never be enough.”

He has his lower lip caught between his teeth again, and Roxanne takes a step back from him. His smile widens, darkens and Roxanne takes another step back.

“And why—why would I need to keep going now?” she says, trying for a tone of confident disdain. She stumbles back against the console and catches herself. “I already won, remember?” she says, “I only needed to try once to defeat Metro Man.”

She’s hoping the implied critique of his own career in villainy will distract him, make him step back or argue with her, anything to make him stop smiling like that, looking at her like that, being so—so—

Megamind laughs.

“Yes,” he says, “you were vicious; it was glorious. I am so pleased we have that on tape because I am going to treasure that memory forever.”

He smiles at her like she didn’t just try to insult him, and saunters over to her as if she didn’t just basically flee from him and this is entirely unfair and—

“But,” he says, “you and I know perfectly well that dealing with Metro Man was only a tiny portion of what I do in this city as Overlord.”

Roxanne’s lips part, but—but she can’t think of anything to say.

“I never did get to show you those books, did I?” he murmurs.

Roxanne barely stops herself from gulping.

(this, she can do this; remember how it was in the kitchen, Roxanne, remember—)

She uncrosses her arms, puts her hands on her hips instead, shifts her weight deliberately, leaning into one hip. Megamind’s eyes flick down when she does, following the movement—not a deliberate once-over this time, a quick, involuntary glance, and when his eyes meet hers again, she’s ready for him.

“Which books?” she asks, voice sweet and arch. “The ledgers? Or the ones in your bedroom?”

His eyes widen just slightly, a touch of pink appearing at the tips of his ears, along the lines of his cheekbones.

(ha, gotcha)

Roxanne licks her lips and his eyes follow that movement as well, and when she sees him swallow visibly, she feels like she can breathe for the first time since Minion and Metro Man and the brainbots left the two of them alone in this room together and—

Megamind meets her eyes and—

—and blinks.

And then he tips his head, a slight frown appearing between his eyebrows, his eyes on her face, watching her, watching her expression and—

(oh.)

(oh no.)

Roxanne sees, actually sees the moment that Megamind realizes what she’s doing, reads it in the sudden gleeful flash of his eyes, lips curving upwards slightly as he takes a breath which is almost a laugh.

He licks his own lips and Roxanne—

(damn it damn it damn it)

—Roxanne’s brain isn’t quite swift enough to stop her eyes from dropping to his mouth, and when she looks up into his eyes again she can tell by his expression that he absolutely noticed, and she can’t decide if it’s her knees or her heart that want to give out and—

“Both.”

“I—wh—what?” Roxanne stammers.

“Both,” Megamind says, his gaze holding hers. “Both sets of books. If you want.”

There is a pause, an indrawn breath kind of a pause, except that Roxanne isn’t really breathing right now. Megamind watches her face, holding very still for several long moments, and then, slowly, deliberately, he steps forward, still looking into her eyes, giving her more than enough time to move away again.

She doesn’t.

The hem of his cape sways as he stops just in front of her, silky fabric brushing against the tips of her shoes. He doesn’t touch her, but he does lean forward, placing the fingertips of one hand down on the console next to hers.

(Roxanne has forgotten what they were talking about, has forgotten how to breathe, how to look away from him.)

“You,” he says, voice low, eyes on hers, “are going to be magnificent as my Evil Queen.”

“—who—who says I’m going to be your—your Evil Queen?” Roxanne manages to say, breathless, still unable to look away from him.

He smiles at her.

“You did.”

Roxanne’s fingers tighten on the edge of the console—balance, grounding, reality, the ability to hold herself upright—

“This—this was always going to be a—a one-time thing, Megamind. I’m—”

“Metrocity is ours.”

Roxanne stops midsentence.

“That’s what you said, Miss Ritchi,” Megamind says, looking into her eyes, hand still on the console next to hers. “Metrocity is ours.”

Roxanne’s lips part; she tries to speak and finds she cannot. Megamind smiles at her again, reaches up with his other hand as if to stroke her hair or cup her cheek, bends his head forward as if—as if—as if he’s going to kiss her and—

He doesn’t, though; he doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t touch her, stops with his fingertips just shy of her skin and his lips just shy of hers, so close she can feel it, the ghost of a touch.

“You’re not going to make me rule our city by myself now, are you?” he murmurs, his lips so close to hers that the words brush against them like a phantom kiss, and Roxanne takes a sharp breath, head tilting without conscious thought, as if to catch the shadow of the kiss he hasn’t given her.

“—oh—” she gasps, reaching out and to grab at his cape, fingers twisting in cool silk, and Megamind makes a sound low in his throat, an inhuman kind of growl.

“Tell me,” he commands, voice rough, “tell me I was right, Roxanne.”

“—yes,” she says, “yes, yes; god; you were right, Megamind, please—”

His lips capture hers, stealing the rest of her plea.

MESSAGE

BRAINBOT 001 to DESIGNATION : MEGAMIND [ STATUS : DADDY ]

_/upgrade : gravity beam

A_upgrade to brainbot swarm

/complete

B_upgrade to MINION SUITS [ ALL ]

/complete

MESSAGE

BRAINBOT 001 to DESIGNATION : ROXANNE RITCHI [ STATUS : MOMMY ]

_/surveillance report : metro man

A_invisibility upgrade to brainbot swarm

/complete

B_surveillance

/ongoing

C_routine : regular dose of gravity beam

/ongoing

report: successful

[ designation : metro man continues to be under impression that effects of

gravity are lasting ]

[ designation: metro man displays no sign of intending to resume hero

activities ]

[ designation : metro man currently preoccupied with learning guitar ]

{ audio file attached } [ listen to at own risk ]

ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

BRAINBOT 001 to DESIGNATION : MINION [ STATUS : UNCLE ]

_operation : angler fish

/complete

/success

the end.

notes: This is the last of my birthday celebration fic updates! (I hope you all enjoyed the celebration this year, illness and delays and all)

And I very much hope that you all enjoyed the end of the story!

Thank you again to displacerghost, for the beginning of this fic, for betaing it…and for being mine <3