#writing this really really deepened my appreciation for 'low' 'far from here' and 'alive again'

[catty-words]

i know you guys are excited for astoria (2015), but my heart says it’s time for

a non-exhaustive list of things i love about fix me (2006):

- i suppose here’s as good a place as any to mention that the reason i embarked on my decent into marianas trench ferality was this interview maitreyi ramakrishnan did about five spots in toronto that hold personal significance to her (shoutout to any of you who’ve perused my blog after reading one of the lists to find next to no music-related content but a staggering amount of netflix’s never have i ever instead). the way she spoke of being profoundly starstruck by josh ramsay and her shock that the interviewer hadn’t heard of canadian legends marianas trench got me curious, so i downloaded their first album and, well. you can infer where the story goes from there.

- it’s hard to articulate the lightening-in-a-bottle feeling i got as soon as i hit play on this album, but there was an immediate kinship, a sense that this music was made for me to find and fall in love with. i submitted to the mortifying ordeal of listening to new music and am still reaping the rewards of insanity ✌️, pop-punk music my beloved!! etc. etc. this album holds a special place in my heart, as part of the marianas trench discography as well as in the library of all albums i love

- anyway, this’ll be a familiar refrain for you at this point but, motifs!!! this album’s interest in the unglamorous and sickening work of rehabilitation of the self lives in the thread of clinical language woven throughout, and i think that’s neat!

- the way the deconstruction of the patient’s former identity as sick makes this album the perfect complement to masterpiece theatre (2009), where we explore of their newly constructed identity as performer

“say anything”

- maybe if i loved “say anything” less, i’d be able to talk about it more (she says, just before dedicating hundreds of words to unpacking everything she loves about “say anything”)

- if you haven’t noticed by this point, i’m not a musician. in fact, despite being a theater kid for many years in my youth, i can’t even read sheet music. so when i engage in music appreciation, it’s largely with an english major’s eye and sensibilities - which means reading depth and themes (themes!!!) into lyrics rather than being able to articulate what the music itself does to enhance the meaning of the song (despite the fact that it obviously does where josh ramsay et. al. are concerned - their work would hardly render me as crazed as it does if every component weren’t working in glorious tandem). the reason i’m bringing this up is to emphasize just how fucking hard marianas trench rammed into me as a band with i can take it if you need to take this / out on someone.

- like, part of the appeal was definitely because i went into my listening experience with ‘thinking about blorbo’ disease and this lyric offers a lot of mileage there, and part of my lingering fixation has to do with the irony of the patient offering this when he’s clearly hanging on to his own sense of self and well-being by the thinnest of fraying threads. but mostly? it’s the tenderly whispered promise of it - the invitation to pour myself into this music, it has the capacity and the inclination to hold me together - being fulfilled ad infinitum

- all that said, i obviously and absolutely count the intro of this song among the band’s captivating prologues, if more as a prologue for their entire catalogue than as one that’s album-specific

- when the guitar, drums, etc. crash into the song!!!

- the extreme extreme aughts pop-punk energy of the first verse

like, they truly bottled the Moment with this

- on the subject of the first verse, it also bottles the patient’s over-arching conflict for the album, namely how he feels the pressure to rehabilitate for his loved ones even though that isn’t enough on its own, because so much of his identity is tied up in the self-destruction

- that one stings a little for being one of the first lyrics to capture the clinical/hospital motif as applied to reconstruction of self image, evoking a doctor warning you before they stick you with a needle

- how much catharsis sing-shouting along to this is where i scream from affords me. who needs therapy, this song will fix me (😏)

- something about the way lines like i don’t expect but try me and you can take it all away and i’ll miss don’t have explicit objects yet still get their meaning across lights my brain up with good chemicals in a way to which no drug high could compare

- the line there’s a little bit of you in all this for so many reasons!! punchy (‘don’t you get off thinking you have no hand in my tendency toward self-harm’) and tender (we are comprised of bits of every person we’ve ever loved) and blorbo-related alike

- the way determination to rehabilitate the self lives in there’s a better bit of me to see yet / ‘cause you haven’t seen any of my best

- the lyrics everybody wants a piece of you, every- / one takes a piece of me for how they introduce the motif i brought up in the masterpiece theater (2009) list: the patient/performer’s tendency to see his identity as bite-size pieces, loosely connected and finite in number (and i love love love the way each album having a distinct speaker and identity while also clearly drawing on and feeding into a singular mythology also plays into this motif)

- the way this part of the bridge says consonant👏 rights👏

- the way this part of the bridge clues the audience into the fact that this is well-trod ground for the patient, this journey of rehabilitation. the difference this time is the pieces of self are dwindling in number

also, again with the phrases that have no stated object but prompt you to fill in the blanks like the bangingest mad-lib

- the guitar part that always takes us from the pre-chorus into the chorus getting it’s moment in the spotlight!!! the compulsion i have to headbang along every time!!!!

- the lil note variation in the final little bit of you in all this!!!!!!

- outro gives me shivers it’s not enough to listen to this song i need to burrow inside until i hit the lava-filled core

- just. fucking epic from start to finish sorry if you’re normal about this song couldn’t be me

+ bonus: the performance of “say anything” (and “ever after” let’s be real) from the ‘live from inside’ concert solidified the pink and black flying v as my favorite from the guitar vault iykyk

“decided to break it”

- dialogue from recording sessions making the final mix ❤️

- the inherent eroticism of i’m the bad seed, i think i swallowed it whole (why are you booing me, i’m right?)

- matt webb. period.

- the way the momentum of the song inspires shoulder wiggles to the point where i turn into that one gif of shaq every time. you know the one.

- the tambourine embellishments on the chorus!!

- how satisfying it is to sing along to the bridge 🎶dahh-owOWowyehhOWooowOWWWoooOOOOWN🎶

- the scream of the penultimate ignore

- how well this song evokes frustration and being at the end of your tether in general while also being a fuckin bop

- the way they all bite off the it of the outro

and also how this line reads as the patient breaking off connections with the things/people that frustrate his rehabilitation and the way the performance emphasizes that there’s nothing demure or easy about the decision

“september”

- i was born in early september and am a winter-lovin’ girlie and i’ve always felt like the world owes it to me to have moved onto chillier weather by the time my birthday rolls around even though it never does because my birthday takes place when it is undeniably summer so this song would obviously play over the opening credits in the movie about my life and i have to stan

- anyway, the way the title and the chorus evoke a shift in season, specifically from summer to autumn, a time of both bounty and decay, and how that symbolic dissonance emphasizes the nature of the patient’s journey ahead (can’t erase the way it pulls when seasons change, indeed)

- speaking of the journey ahead sucking in direct proportion to how essential it is to have gone on the journey, clap your hands if you feel the significance of another piece of me is gone again and how the patient’s identity being tied to his sickness means that committing himself to get better necessitates giving up an integral part of his personhood (👏👏👏)

- the way the line and you can leave it if it’s easier tastes

- how the pre-chorus

has the power to transform me into someone with 2008 emo bangs on the spot and like, legally, you have to wail this at the top of your lungs you have to be over-the-top embarrassing about it that’s just the law

- the way there’s something mildly unsettling about the break in the line this sun is melting my / skin that makes me itchy to escape from underneath my own skin and is therefore so, so unspeakably perfect

- anyway, just wanna sit with the season metaphor some more

and how the exhaustion of the blaring sun gives way to the promise of new life, what’s old being washed away by the rain

- the bite down hard, bite down being another prime example of the medical motif and how the screams that echo after this line make it especially cheeky and dark. none of the patient’s pain has actually been muffled.

- on that note, the way, sonically, the whole song feels like violent thrashing against the pain that necessarily comes with destroying a part of yourself, even a part you’re better off without

“alibis”

- in terms of the marianas trench albums’ first-act ballad hierarchy, “alibis” tops my chart most days, we respect a classic in this house

- just like “september” sounds exactly like the stage of the journey it’s meant to represent, “alibis” evokes thoughtful reflection as the patient contemplates what identity he wants to construct from here really effectively

- how gEnDeR the line wearing my best little girl pout is

- the way the refrain all my faces are alibis slots quite nicely in with the ‘identity as fractured pieces’ motif

- shoutout to this verse

because it’s my favorite, but also because it marks a shift in perspective for the patient. renouncing the sickness doesn’t mean it stops being a part of him, after all. those impulses live so deep within him as to be phantom sensations

- the way the bridge is like. fuck subtext, we ball

if the patient is not his old self, but also not not his old self...what does that make him?

“shake tramp”

disclaimer: this song didn’t age well. it’s a certified banger!!, and the obnoxiousness is definitely intentional in a way that shields the whole thing with irony, but i still think the language having a different cultural acceptability today than it did in 2006 means this song has a high barrier of entry for new listeners. speaking from experience, of course - once upon a time, this was my most skipped marianas trench song... and then i watched their performance of it for the ‘live from inside’ concert and i was like. oh. oh.

- the earworm of an intro!!! fun fact about me: i get drunk and my brain starts playing the “shake tramp” intro on loop forever and i absolutely make it everyone else’s problem

- BOP BOP BOP BUH-DAH-DOP BOP BOP BUH-DAH-DOP BOP BOP BUH-DAH-DA BAH-DAH-DA BOP

- the way the drums evoke getting relentlessly stomped upon

- the line and break my knees to get release for how succinctly it captures the patient’s relationship to self-destruction

- how you needed some just to take you from tastes. also, hello object-less lyrics, i am snorting you up i am transcending this plane of reality

- how galaxy-brained bleeding the lines between sore and sorry is because it doesn’t really give you the time to sit with the shock of and i hit you more, is your face still sore? before it’s apologizing for the abuse of it

- for as much as i feel like this track is a glaring detour in the context of the album as a whole, i like how this part of the pre-chorus

arguably ties us back to the fourth verse from “alibis”

- what a cheap perfume, i hate this room because i am once again sprouting my emo bangs and shouting this at the top of my lungs, throwing my whole pussy into the bitchy energy

- being called little handshake tramp like, this better not awaken anything in me........

- the backing i’m so sorrys

- anyway, wild how a track from masterpiece theatre (2009) ended up on fix me (2006), am i right?

“low”

- the way this part of the first verse

establishes where we are on the journey to rehabilitation. namely, that the patient’s reached a kind of plateau and is having trouble holding onto the desire to change when they miss the clarity of the self-destruction

- the way the chorus reinforces this

like, it should be easy to stay the course, but it’s depressing to feel like he’s stopped making much progress (dude’s definitely thinking about break[ing his] knees to get release)

- sometimes the bridge just fucking hits. i sure do get so tired, tired. i Sure Do.

- the resonating guitar transitioning us into “push” is something i like a normal amount!

“push”

- the weird cross between whimpering and moaning that happens during the intro 😳

- the way the music explodes outward for the pre-chorus, the way the hey explodes out of the patient (i DO feel it now, i DO)

- up against the wall, you say? 😳 

- the post-chorus push 😳

- the gritted-teeth performance of using like it’s goin outta style

- woof.

- the switch from and you’re getting sick / and you’re feeling it to and you’re getting stuck / and you fucked it up (any time josh ramsay et. al. drop a ‘fuck’ into a song, really 😳)

- matt webb. period.

“far from here”

- hey, now that we’re flirting with relapse, let’s reckon with parental disappointment! i bet that’ll do wonders for the patient’s commitment to rehabilitation!

- god, but all the complicated emotions that exist on the spectrum from ‘it’s partially your fault i am this way’ to the unconditional love felt by the patient in verse two

how are the patient’s parents still able to believe he’ll get better when he’s kept them waiting for so long, when he’s still so far away from true rehabilitation, when the waiting only hurts them more the longer it goes on?

- the way we start the final rendition of the chorus quiet, introspective, until we get to the line i laughed aloud to drown it out when the music gets boisterous again, drowning out the thoughtfulness of before. what could it mean what could it all mean?

“vertigo”

- relapse, that’s what it means!

- always and forever obsessed with the snottiness of you got here just in time to see everything fall apart / i’m not upset at all. sure, champ!

- how the first pre-chorus

tells us once again that the external pressure from loved ones is not enough for - and is perhaps actively detrimental to - lasting change. with everyone’s eyes on him, the patient can’t muster more than the admission that maybe [he] could want [to change] more

- dizzied up in my never try because it makes my head spin!!! we’re getting caught in the destructive cycle!!! vertigo!!!!

- the way the distinct parts of the song (verse, pre-chorus, chorus, etc.) all bleed into each other and how that complements the sense of lost control with which the patient’s grappling

- speaking of, there’s this part

and how it makes the strongest case yet for the external pressure causing active harm to the patient’s rehabilitation. as long as he doesn’t grow too sensitive to the disappointment, he can always try

 - not another piece of him......

- the switch from maybe i could want it more to maybe i could miss it more and how that communicates the way the starting point and the goal of the rehabilitation have become confused in the patient’s mind. lost in the vertigo, it all starts to blur together and look the same and you can’t stay on a path to recovery if you’ve fallen down a hole.

- the do do do do dos bop

- the way the song seems to flatline for a measure (heartbeat...) before coming back to life with one last rendition of the chorus

- the defeat that lives in so what’s a little vertigo? the patient has resigned himself to the downward pull of self-destruction

“alive again”

- the way the second verse

is the patient talking to himself, the fractured pieces of identity that want wildly different things yet can’t seem to find any satisfying way to stop life from hurting so much in conversation

- sometimes it hurts, but that’s no worse / than all those times i guess it works and how the patient is acknowledging that the self-destruction fails him as much as it provides clarity. the way that doesn’t get him anywhere new because the end result is the same: it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

- the way the patient walk[ing] around like [he’s] alive again while the sickness inside of him just won’t die plays with language, because his rehabilitation is actually what’s on its deathbed, his sickness is actually what’s thriving and alive. brb need to fling myself into the sun!

- i’m fading ending the song on a dreadful chill, on a dwindling sense of any self at all

“skin & bones”

- the way turn all the water on / and bury that sound is reminiscent of the “september” chorus, only here, the healing properties of the water have been turned on their head, enabling instead of revitalizing

- how, with all this talk of fractured identity, we don’t look into a mirror until here at the end

so naturally, this part is loaded with meaning. the tell me you can see feels like the patient pleading with his reflection to reinforce the idea that sickness is his truest self even though he knows it’s not (lie to me).

- thin / where the hell have you been? and how it’s the patient greeting an old friend with equal parts relief and anger in a way that catches me in the gut every freaking time, with every rendition

- fucking!! it all looks so big / never mind, i don’t feel anything and how evocative the one-two punch of this is!! numbness as an empty, hollow sanctuary from the horrors of being a person

- the way laughin’ like it works is reminiscent of “far from here” and now we’ve gone and admitted that the patient could never actually drown out the noise of everyone else’s concern, could never actually pretend like going on this way was a viable option

- the patient’s declaration that it’s too fucking easy (to turn to the self-destruction) bringing to mind how rehabilitation should have been easy in “low” and how the injustice in the truth of that hurts, hurts, hurts

- how all these echoed moments reinforce the cyclical nature of the patient’s journey to rehabilitate - commitment to change and relapse and hitting bottom and commitment to change and relapse and here he is now, once again hitting bottom

- the scorched-earth outro (i will burn all this, i will burn all this, i will burn all this) being at once dark and hopeful. maybe actively sacrificing the last piece of his identity instead of watching it get consumed by the cycle means he’s truly done with the old, sick self, but maybe it’s just another commitment to change that can’t and won’t pan out.

in conclusion: this album is conceptually tighter than i usually give it credit for - the irony being that, instead of fixing me, it repeatedly breaks my heart over the course of a listen. four out of five stars, would submit to being driven actively insane again (and again and again and again).

[diaphragmjellyfish]

Careful

So after I wrote that last Paul fic involving vaginismus, I got quite a few messages saying how much it meant to some of you and I just want to say how much it warms my heart to bring others joy or comfort through my writing. Like I’ve been telling a lot of you, fan fictions are amazing. I love them. But they’re not always realistic, and that can be damaging to people who think sex is supposed to go a certain way and then blame themselves when it’s not like that. We’re all different, and everyone deserves to have a partner that cares about your well-being and pleasure. Don’t settle for less. 

Seth Clearwater x vaginismus!reader smut 

(Seth is 18+ in this)

Being with Seth Clearwater was, in a word, magical. He truly was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. He was always there for you when you were upset or having anxiety, always made you smile and laugh, got you cute little presents or sometimes cool rocks that he found on patrol, and was super physically affectionate. Hugs, kisses, cuddles, hickeys, hand-holding. Y’all were the poster children for PDA. It made you nervous when you first started dating, because you thought he would want to get intimate right away. You knew that if you told him you didn’t want to have sex right away, he would be more than understanding. That’s just the kind of person he was. But you feared that holding off on intimacy would damage your relationship. Seth’s love language was physical touch. Yours was too, so stopping things every time it got too heated was a big roadblock in the relationship. Or so you thought. 

The day came where you had to tell Seth about your vaginismus. He had asked tons of questions before letting you know how he felt about it all. What causes it? What does it feel like? How does the physical therapy work? Is there anything I can do to help? Once you explained the logistics of it all, you guys could start to be more open and honest about what you were comfortable with doing. It turns out, he thought you just didn’t want to be intimate with him. He thought you were only sticking around because of the imprint bond. Once you explained that yes, you definitely really really want to have sex with him, you just can’t right now, he was all smiles and wanted to try all kinds of stuff that didn’t involve penetration. You guys would have super open conversations about what he could and couldn’t do to you, and started experimenting with the things you were comfortable with. Let’s just say, Seth became an absolute master in the art of oral sex. For a while, it was all he could do, so he did it. A lot. I mean, you’d have to physically pull him away sometimes when it got too sensitive. He loved knowing that he could make you feel so much pleasure. It made him feel needed. Wanted. And of course you returned the favor. 

You guys definitely have the foreplay routine down pat. Seth was almost always there when it came time for you to dilate every day. He would sit next to you, hold your hand, kiss you, or just talk to you about his day. Whatever you wanted, and whatever would distract you. He was so supportive, that when the day finally came that you wanted to try having penetrative sex with him, he said no. He didn’t think you had been using the biggest dilator long enough. What if he hurt you? What if you just didn’t like it? What if what if what if….. 

But you had been waiting long enough. His support honestly turned you on. Every day when he would sit there while you did your therapy, you wanted to jump his bones for being so. Damn. sweet. No guy had ever cared about you to the point of withholding from sex for you. They always just let you put up with the pain. Not Seth. 

“But baby, what if it hurts you?” he voiced. 

“Then we can stop and try again another time.” 

“But what if-”

“Seth,” you cut him off. “I know my body. Believe me, I’ve had to pay attention to it every day for the past year and a half while I did my exercises. I’m ready. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but don’t say no because of me. I want to try.” You sounded so soft and adorable while you said the last part that he nearly melted through the floor. Here he was, with the most beautiful girl on the planet all but begging him to have sex with her, and he was hesitating. That’s what love made you do. 

“Ok, we can try. But you have to promise, I mean really promise, that the second it starts to feel anything but good, you’ll tell me.” His voice was laced with concern. 

“I promise,” you said with so much confidence that he had to believe you. 

“Alright. So we’re doing this. Did you want to… try it like, now?” The poor boy was a blushing mess right now. You just nodded your head and smiled. “Okay. Cool. Yeah, that’s cool. We can do it now. I’m totally down with that.” You knew based off of the way he was acting that you were going to have to make the first move, so you walked up, grabbed his face between your hands, and kissed him.

 He seemed stiff, so you pulled away and said, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah. Everything is perfect. I just… do you want to go to my room?” Again, you just nodded, and let him take your hand and lead you into his bedroom, closing the door behind you guys. Jeez, he seemed more nervous than you were. You sat down on the middle of his bed, and reached your arms out and did grabby-hands until he laughed and joined you, lying you down and hovering over you. He kissed you sweetly, giving you every opportunity to say stop. You didn’t, but instead threaded your fingers up through his inky hair and pulled him closer to you. He took this as a green light to deepen the kiss, and brush his tongue up against your own. You guys continued kissing for a while since this was comfortable territory for you both. He eventually started moving his hands under your shirt, first massaging your stomach with his thumb and then moving up. He pulled back from you suddenly, eyes wide. “No bra?” 

“Nope. I didn’t want anything to get in the way today,” you smirked and slid your hands over his shoulders. He had a look of awe on his face as he pulled the hem of your shirt up. You sat up and took it off, throwing it to the floor. Okay, yeah, so you were eager. You’d never enjoyed sex before and you thought you actually might for the first time. It was exciting. 

As you laid back down, his eyes never left yours. He came back down for another kiss before trailing his mouth down your jaw, suckling at your neck for a few minutes before it was covered in faint red marks, and moved down to your breasts. Seth had always worshipped your chest. It was one of his favorite parts of your body. The size, the shape, the feel, were all beyond perfect to him. You gasped as he took a nipple into his mouth, your back arching up into him. He brought his hand up to massage your other breast while his tongue continued swirling around the first one. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, just relaxing into the feeling and letting your muscles be at ease. He sat up for a second, which was far too long, to take his shirt off, and you opened your eyes to admire his sculpted body. You would have loved him even if he wasn’t a shapeshifting beast, but damn, the muscles that came with were such a nice bonus. And they weren’t just for show. You never told him this, but whenever he picked you up so easily or carried you around or pushed you up against a wall, you got beyond turned on. You always wondered what it would be like to have him actually get rough with you, but that would be for another time. 

Once Seth thought your boobs had been shown enough attention, he slid his hand back down to your stomach, and then lower. He fiddled with the waistband of your jeans before popping the button at the front and dragging the zipper down torturously slow. You felt so hot at this point that you thought you would climb out of your skin if he didn’t touch you properly soon. You raised your hips in a silent signal for him to take them off, but he was too distracted by the feeling of your soft skin to notice. 

“Seth,” you whispered. He looked up at you, hand already stilling in case you wanted to stop. 

“What’s wrong?” he panicked. 

“Nothing is wrong. Can you help me take these off?” His eyes widened at this, and then he smiled. He sat up on his knees, gripping the waistband of your jeans on either side of you, and you raised your hips as he pulled them down slowly, admiring your legs as each inch of them was revealed. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the lacey g-string you were wearing, which you had bought specially for this moment. You never really cared about wearing cute underwear before since it would always end up on the floor anyways, but this was a big day. At least you hoped it would be. So you wanted to wear something cute, and boy did Seth appreciate it. 

Once your jeans were all the way off, he gave a low whistle and said, “damn. My girlfriend is the most beautiful woman alive. How did I get so lucky?” 

You hit his shoulder and looked away blushing at this. And then… oh, then. 

Your sexy werewolf boyfriend lay down on his stomach in between your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, and gave you a smirk that could only be described as savagely canine. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nipping here and there before soothing with his tongue, inching closer and closer to where you really wanted him to be. He liked to take his time with this part. He flattened his tongue and gave your center a broad lick over your panties, eliciting a small gasp. He did this several more times until your hips were writhing and grinding, desperate for more friction. He reached under you, gripping the fabric of your underwear before all but ripping them off you. 

“Hey, easy. Those were expensive,” you haphazardly pointed, too lost in the moment to really care. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he spoke lowly into your center right before diving in and wrapping his lips around you, sucking and kneading with his tongue. You gave a small moan, fingers once again tangling in his hair. He kept this up, alternating between firm licks and small sucks, his tongue constantly flicking that perfect spot. Seth heard in Paul’s head through the mind link once that porn wasn’t accurate at all to what women actually got off on. You were supposed to pick 2, maybe 3 key moves and do those until she was close, and then just keep doing exactly that until she came. Women are about consistency and rhythm, so if you change it up, they have to start all over. This advice had not failed him yet. Had not failed either of you, and you could have kissed Paul if you found out that that’s where Seth had gotten this tip. Fifteen delicious minutes later and you were teetering on the edge. You used to be insecure about how long you took to finish, but Seth had always reassured you that he just wanted you to feel good, and he would spend all day between your legs if he could. You were right there, legs shaking and eyes screwed shut, but couldn’t quite get that knot in your stomach to unravel. Seth pulled away, sensing your impatience, and knew you needed a little push. He got up and opened your bedside table, pulling out the large bottle of lube that you used for dilating, slathering his middle finger in it, and laid back down between your legs. 

You knew what he was going to do, and trusted him enough to be careful, so you lie back and relax, knowing he would get you there no matter what. He dove back in with his lips, tongue flicking and rubbing for another few seconds before positioning his finger at your entrance, swirling it around to distribute the lube. He looked up at you, knowing you liked to guide his hand at first to make sure you were comfortable. You grabbed his hand, sliding his finger in slowly, inch by inch. You were pretty worked up at this point, so it didn’t take very long before his finger way fully inside you. He stilled his hand, waiting for you to give the all-clear, still sucking at your clit like a starving man. You tugged at his hair, shifting your hips against his hand, which he knew to be the cue to start moving. You didn’t much like the in-out feeling of being fingered. You preferred the pressure of him pressing on certain spots. He twisted his finger slowly so that his palm was facing upward, and began to stroke your top wall, making you shudder. 

This was going to push you over that edge. Several minutes of consistency, pressure, and suction had you cumming hard, grinding on his face and moaning his name loudly. When you came down, Seth was still going, though more gently since he knew how sensitive you got post-orgasm. You had to whine and tug on his hair to get him to take his mouth off you, his finger stilling but remaining inside. 

“Wow,” you breathed, eyes closed in a haze.

“Wow yourself, Gorgeous,” he winked at you. You made a move to reach down and grab him through his sweatpants, but Seth was quick to pull your hand away. “This is about you tonight,” he said with total sincerity. You wanted to argue that it was about both of you, but you knew he had his mind set on taking care of you, so you decided to let him. “You ready to try, baby?” 

“Hell yes,” you laughed, sitting up. “Maybe I could start on top? That’s how I dilate and I could control it better that way.” 

“I was just about to say the same thing,” he teased back. He moved to lie back against the headboard after taking his pants off as you kneeled on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube. While you were turned away from him, he brought his hand to a cheeky slap on your ass, catching you by surprise. 

“Hey!” You squealed and then giggled, turning to give him a playful glare. 

“I couldn’t resist! It was right there,” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

You simply rolled your eyes at this, grabbing a condom from the bedside table as well. You turned to him, still kneeling, and handed him the condom, which he ripped open with his teeth (and it was so hot). He slowly rolled it onto his rock hard dick, keeping a hand around the base as he looked up at you. “You absolutely sure about this?” he questioned. 

“Yes Seth. I really want to.” 

With this, you climbed up to straddle his lap, squirting generous amounts of lube onto him and spreading it around with your hand. You knelt up, positioning him at your entrance after throwing the lube on the floor. He sat straight up, hands going around your waist, one reaching up behind you to cradle your head. He gave you a passionate kiss as you lowered slightly, letting the tip of him find its way in. You stopped here, doing some deep breathing as Seth stared intently at your face, looking for any signs of discomfort. Seth was slightly smaller than your largest dilator, but what had you slightly concerned was the friction. The in-out-in-out factor usually caused you pain when you tried bouncing on your dilators. You would just have to keep the lube on stand-by and remember to breathe with your stomach. 

When you were sure you would be ok, you lowered more, sinking down an inch with every exhale. Seth lovingly rubbed your back, hand petting your hair as he waited patiently for you to adjust. You felt unbelievable around him, but he didn’t want to express too much pleasure, fearful that you would put up with any pain for his benefit. He settled for nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he physically could. You lightly scratched at his shoulders, holding on for dear life. You had to stop for a moment at the half-way point, trying your best to control your pelvic muscles and picturing a flower bud opening in your mind. Slowly, you lowered another inch, and then another, and another, until you could feel his thighs touch you. At this, you sat down fully on his lap, his cock sheathed fully inside of you. 

I need a minute you thought. This was a lot. Silicone dilators were one thing, but to have your boyfriend inside you like this was completely different. He was warm, hot even, and you could feel his pulse, feel the throb in his veins. The twitch of him deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” Seth gasped quietly, as if he didn’t want you to hear. 

“Feels good?” you questioned. 

“Mm-hmm. Are you okay?” He asked right back, face still buried in your neck. 

“I think so. Just give me a second.” 

“Take all the time you need, baby. Do you want me to touch you?” His hand came over from your back and he grazed your lower stomach with his knuckles. 

“No. Too much,” was all the answer he needed before he wrapped his arm around your back once again, massaging your skin soothingly. This was going on too long, you thought. Seth was probably dying right now. You didn’t want him to suffer, so you lifted your hips a couple inches, sinking back down on him. You felt a stinging sensation at your entrance, but ignored it. Before you could lift your hips again, Seth grabbed your waist in a vice-like grip, still holding you against him but stopping all movement. 

“Don’t you dare,” he spoke softly yet firmly. “I can feel how tense your muscles are right now. Relax and then you can try again.” You wanted to cry at this. He was getting frustrated. He was going to break up with you! But you silenced those negative comments and realized he was right. So you took some deep breaths again, focusing on the pressure of his tip deep in your walls, the feel of his fingers grazing your back, his other hand playing with your hair. You closed your eyes and focused only on the sensations. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he said as he felt you relax around him. Instead of going straight up and down this time, you ground your hips against his, making circles on top of him. And it felt… good? Jesus. For the first time in your life, sex wasn’t hurting. It still felt a little tight and stiff, but it didn’t hurt. So you kept at it. Your breathing picked up at the sensation, along with the exertion of kneeling for so long. Seth pulled his face out of your neck and used the hand that was petting your hair to pull you into a passionate kiss. You guys made out as you continued to circle your hips, both of your breathing labored. Seth gripped your ass in one of his hands, helping control your movements as your legs began to shake. 

“You getting tired, baby?” he questioned, even though he could see that you were. You just nodded, slowing down a little. “Do you want to try a different position? Maybe one where I could do some work?” You wanted to, but were nervous. The trust you had for Seth was absolute, but what other position could work? 

“Like what?” you questioned hesitantly.

He thought for a moment, hands stilling your hips, before he cracked a smile. “I have an idea. Here,” he spoke as he shifted you both further down the bed and laid back so he was flat on his back, you still on top of him. He brought you down so you were stomach to stomach, hands going to the small of your back, and planted his feet on the bed. He held you close as he lightly thrusted up into you. 

“Oh,” you breathed a moan. This felt really good. Being on top and controlling the movement had been good to adjust, but having Seth fuck up into you like this was another level of pleasure. He barely thrusted, but still hit the right spots. And you could still easily lift your hips to pull away if it started to hurt. 

“Good?” he whispered.

“Mm-hmm. Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself, reaching up with one hand to grab the headboard. You thought you heard him breath a laugh, but were too lost in the moment to pay much attention to anything but Seth’s movements. He kept a steady pace of small thrusts, going slowly, never questioning the pace or pushing your limits. After a while, you started to push your hips back against his as he went into you. 

“You want to try going a little faster, Sweetheart?” he questioned gently. 

“Yes,” you said with half-lidded eyes as you looked right into Seth’s coffee-colored irises. 

He brought himself out a little further at this, pushing back into you slightly faster than before, and hitting that perfect soft spot inside you that had your toes curl. You released a real moan this time, and Seth swore he could have cum from that sound alone. He kept this pace up, not daring to go any faster since you both were already enjoying it so much and he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment with pain. For the first time in your life, you felt actual pleasure from penetration, and you wanted more. You wanted to cum, and you felt like you actually could. With this realization, you brought one of your hands down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on it that had your moans go up in pitch. 

Seth grabbed your hand, putting it back on his chest as he reached down and began rubbing you with his own fingers and cockily stating, “That’s my job.” You felt your eyes roll back in your head at this, and it was the hottest thing Seth had ever seen. You felt a knot begin to form in your stomach, tightening faster than it ever had before. After just a couple more minutes of this, you moan “Oh, Seth. I think I’m gonna cum.” Of course this only spurred him on to keep going. Consistency, he reminded himself. Don’t change a thing. And he didn’t, not until you were seeing stars, trembling on top of him and screaming his name as your climax crashed into you like a wave. You had to rip his hand off your dripping center when the sensations became too much, and he stilled inside of you. 

“Did you finish?” you questioned him once you came down, confused. If he had, it had sure been subtle. 

“No, but I didn’t know if you were okay to keep going. You seem pretty sensitive right now.” 

“Seth, I want you to cum too. Just… do you think you could like, not take a while? Like, could you finish in the next couple minutes? I’m okay now but I don’t want to push it.” 

“Baby, I can finish in the next 30 seconds after looking at your face while you came like that.” You blushed deeply at this, breath picking back up again as he continued to gently thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut after a couple thrusts, losing rhythm in his hips as he spilled into the condom with a growl and relaxed underneath you. “Fuck,” was all he said. 

You laughed. “Yeah, fuck.” 

He let you sit up and pull off of him at your own pace before dismounting and moving to walk to the bathroom. 

“Wait! Wait,” he almost yelled, startling you half to death as he sat up, removed and tied off the condom, and hopped off the bed to throw it away. “This is the part where you let me clean you up and take care of you.” 

“You just did take care of me, Seth,” which made him giggle. 

“Not like that silly goose! Just stay there.” He joked as he made his way into the bathroom, coming out with a damp towel. “Spread ‘em,” he motioned towards your legs. You laughed deeply, obliging. He was ultra gentle as he wiped the lube off the insides of your thighs, kissing your knees as he finished. Then, he threw the towel into the hamper and retrieved his softest sweatshirt and placed it over your head as you moved your arms into the sleeves. “And now, we cuddle.” He looked so damn pleased with himself. 

You laid your head on Seth’s warm chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. You two stayed like this for a while, just soaking in the details of what just happened. You did it. You had sex with your boyfriend. Actual penetrative sex, and it didn’t hurt. 

As if reading your mind, Seth spoke. “I’m so proud of you.” 

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin: Wedding Headcanons (Levi x Reader)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. This time I wrote wedding HCs for this fine guys, this was an anonymous request I must say. Somehow I ended up writing them in three parts (proposal, preparations, wedding day). Also, I picked a song for each one and I'm going to upload this part by part, just so you guys stay tunned (and bc I have a serious creative block but at the same time I want you to read what I have so far). Anyways, much love, my friends.

IMPORTANT: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin. Only this headcanons are mine. Do not repost. // English is not my first language so I appreaciate your undestanding. // This is going to be SO soft and SO VERY LONG. // This is an unfinished work, I'm going to upload soon.

LEVI ACKERMAN

The proposal

You have been a couple for some years, and being sincere, you didn’t think of Levi as the type that gets married. Levi is an honest and caring man. Empathetic and a great protector for his friends but mostly, for you. Oh, you really have him in ways he didn’t thought were possible.

So, as seeds do, the thought of marriage grew and nourished due the loving bond you both shared. Being with you, he often found himself deepening into his emotions and sharing the rewards of your growing, healthy bond. Sometimes, at night, if he’d thought about that for long enough, his heart would start beating so fast. Many emotions at the same time. Now he understands why people gets married.

With this new determination and love light in his eyes, he started tracing a few words in a random notebook. This proposal was going to be unique, “the one and only” he repeated to himself in a low hum.

He waited until the weekend so you guys could spend some time away from the city to your favorite location in the woods. You picked the playlist for the road and he oversaw the essentials for your travel and added some blankets. Levi even rented a pickup truck so you could stargaze.

The road was different from others you’d have. Levi could tell you noticed him acting weird, somewhat nervous, anxious, or was it… excitement? Your birthday is not near or anything, so you’re not sure if you are celebrating something special. His bride-to-be has no idea.

After you both got installed at the cabin, Levi decided to place the blankets in the trunk. As you waited for the stars to shine, he started sharing rather vague ideas of what he intended to be his proposal. “You know, we are the perfect team.”, “We’ve been for each other for a while, and took care of us really good.”, “I don’t say it very often, but you know I cherish you, right?” You started to suspect he was feeling guilty about something you were yet to learn. Did he believed you don’t feel appreciated enough? Did he organized this whole trip because he was trying to compensate you due that guilt? Or was it the other way around? At this point your façade became worried, Is Levi not feeling as loved as before?

He read your expression like an open book. “I’m not being very clear, am I?” you only smiled “Try again, love. What are you trying to say?” Stars already up in the celestial vault. “Marry me, is all I’m saying.”

The preparations

The ceremony was discrete, small, and programed in some date between your birthdays. Levi would have preferred that only both of you attended the event, after all this was YOUR married life. But you convinced him it could attend your nuclear families and closest friends. He didn’t like the thought of Kenny near your parents, but he couldn’t say no to you. Not now that you just make him the happiest man alive (alive in ways he could never imagine he deserved).

The theme was somewhat among cottage core and traditional elements. Hange took care of the location, it was a small chateau near the woods where Levi proposed and rented it for the evening until the next morning. Erwin, Mike and the rest of the crew decided to help with decorations so none of you stressed over preparations. That was the least your friends could do after you’ve taken care of them for many years, they concluded. Not that you were complaining. While the dress was up to you, best resolution was visiting Kuchel’s. She has always been kind and accepted you since the very beginning. “What did you say, dear? you want me to…?”, she asked as tears forced its way off her eyes. “I want you to be my maid of honor. I know it’s not common, but I mean it when I say it would be an honor.” You really were going to be her friend, more than a daughter-in-law.

The wedding day

From the day of the wedding, you remember the light that candles emitted and was reflected in the glasses you’d raised, reflected in the pond close to the flower arch where you said your vows earlier. The light in the stars, as constants witnesses of your union, a light that matched the white and silver ornaments that decorated the garden. But most of all, you remember the candlelight reflected in Levi’s eyes when toasted for his wife. He looked so proud and full in devotion. That night Mr. Ackerman, your husband, shared all the words he knew about love and gratitude. Everyone was surprised, didn’t take him as a man good with words (or emotions). But you knew him better. This was his greatest gift, along with his hand, forever.

A song to remember: At late hours, when most of you guests were sleeping inside the chateau, Levi and you decided to do some cleaning -couldn’t expect otherwise from the Ackermans-. Both in silence but with smiley expressions, your husband realized you didn’t dance together. When he asked you before if that was fine you told him “I know you have trouble showing publicly physical affection and making you uncomfortable in such a date is not my purpose.” He felt relieved, his lovely wife really gets him, but now that you’re alone he can’t stop thinking about this French love song. So, he searched in his cellphone as fast as he could, when you perceived the sweet melody Levi was already close to you. “You deserve this, we deser-”. The hug you gave him only reassured his intentions as this words filled the air “Si tu n'étais pas là, Comment pourrais-je vivre?” Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman started to slow dance to the melodic piece “Quand je suis dans tes bras, Mon cœur joyeux se livre”, Levi started to actually sing to your ear “C'est à toi que je dois, Cette joie profonde”. He repeated, now looking deep into your equally bright eyes “It’s you who I owe, This deep joy.”

---

Reiner's Wedding HCs | Masterlist | Zeke's part on progress

[toraodwaterlaw]

Heart to Heart

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4

This is the final part of a four part AU fic set just after Marineford. Law is the latest Corazon, but Rosinante is still alive.

1681 words (6638 total for all four parts), angst with a happy(ish) ending

-

Whenever he returned from a mission, Law would appear like clockwork as soon as night fell. Normally. This homecoming was anything but normal. Rosinante didn’t think much of it that first night. Law had looked worn to the bone. Rosinante had hoped he was getting rest. When Law didn’t turn up the next night, Rosinante started to worry. He checked carefully with Viola and found out Law hadn’t left his quarters once, even to eat.

That settled it. As soon as he was sure there was no one around to interrupt, he slipped into Law’s room and closed off the outside world with a snap.

Law was at his desk, medical charts and texts spread before him. Rosinante assumed Law was reading until he got close enough to see those golden eyes were fixed on the window. He was staring beyond the edges of Dressrosa toward the distant horizon. A single black feather was clutched loosely in his hand.

“Hey, kid.”

Law’s fingers twitched. For him, it was about as good as jumping in surprise. “He still hasn’t put the strings in your lips back.” This didn’t seem to be addressed to Rosinante. It certainly wasn’t directed toward him, as Law continued looking out the window. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed.”

Every word continued to be a struggle for Rosinante but he would talk until he could no more if it got some reaction out of Law. As it was, there was an emptiness in Law’s eyes that was far too close to the look he’d had those first meetings on Spider Miles.

“Would you look at me?”

“You shouldn’t talk so much. You still need time to heal.” Law reached across his desk to place the feather on the windowsill. He replaced it with a quill and scrawled something out on a scrap of paper. “Here’s a list of teas and other natural remedies to help your throat.” 

Rosinante took the note as it was passed back to him. “I appreciate it but—”

“I’m working on a salve for your lips.” Law rooted through bottles on his desk and on shelves to the side. He pulled open drawers on a cabinet and picked out different packets of fragrant herbs. They were all arranged carefully across the desk. “Some of the ingredients need time to cure before they’re ready, so you’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’ll write out instructions so that you know just what to do.”

Rosinante hugged his arms to himself to keep himself from grabbing Law to put a stop to all the anxious movement. The boy already had his movements controlled enough as it was. And it wasn’t what Rosinante really wanted.

“Law. Look at me. Please.”

Law sighed and turned slowly in his seat. His eyes immediately flicked to Rosinante’s chest. Rosinante had pulled on a light sweater for the meeting. The telltale hole in his chest couldn’t be visible but he knew it was all Law saw anyway. Law reached a hand toward it before quickly pulling it back to himself.

They were facing each other, which was a start, but Law didn’t seem any more inclined to talk to him. Rosinante frowned and then immediately winced at the pain it brought. At least now, with Law looking at him, he was free to us his hands to sign.

Are you okay?

Law scowled. “Me? I’m— you’re the one with a—” His frown deepened further and looked away again. He clutched at his own chest. For a while it seemed like he wasn’t going to say another word. In the end, voice low, he added, “I took your heart.”

His voice sounded as raw and pained as Rosinante’s.

Rosinante placed a gentle hand on Law’s face. He turned it so that he could get a better look at the bruising. He wished he knew what else Law was hiding because he was certain that there were other injuries. Law was no more one for covering up than Doffy was, so his crisp, black shirt doubtless covered injuries to his torso. Rosinante wished he knew what else was being hidden from him. He knew by now, though, that Law would simply brush off any such inquiries, so he’d try another approach. 

What happened?

Law waved him off. “I was stupid. Straw Hat had a nightmare about his brother and I was too close when he woke up. Seems he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of me trying to hold him in his bed so he wouldn’t reopen his injuries. I’m fine.”

Rosinante must have looked dubious because Law’s frown deepened.

“I am,” Law insisted. “I did a scan to check for serious injuries to be sure. I’ve had much worse. I’d be healed up by now if I had a chance to actually get some rest.”

Then why don’t you rest?

Law crossed his arms. He’d grown so much. He was a man now but there were often times Rosinante couldn’t help but see him as a child. Shrink him down a number of feet and he could have been ten again with as stubbornly sullen as he looked. Not that Law hadn’t had plenty of cause to be sullen, but Rosinante did sometimes wish he’d make more of an effort to smile from time to time. The boy’s face was really going to stick like that someday.

“I had two patients with life threatening injuries and then I had to work overtime to get here as soon as possible. I haven’t exactly had time, you know,” Law said with a tone he usually reserved for Trebol. It was a voice that said he thought he was speaking to someone who was being exceptionally dull.

Rosinante frowned at him in turn, disregarding the pain it caused to do so. You’re back now. He resisted the urge to add a request for Law not to take that tone with him. One of them would be an adult here.

Law’s eyes flicked over to his bed a few times. His hands absently fingered at his bangs in a sure sign that he was unconsciously hoping for his hat. It was a habit he’d never managed to grow out of, even though he usually didn’t wear it these days. Not having his hat to hide beneath, he turned around once more.

“I tried to sleep, alright? It didn’t stick,” he said.

Rosinante waited for an explanation that didn’t come. Law had to be absolutely exhausted if he hadn’t gotten a single good night’s sleep in weeks. It was amazing he didn’t just keel over on the spot. Law did excel at existing on spite alone but this was pushing it, even for him.

Rosinante placed a hand on Law’s back and found it was trembling. He rubbed soothing circles and waited. He wanted to demand Law tell him what was wrong. The urge would always be there, to search out all of Law’s ills and try to cure them through stubbornness alone if he had to. However, there were times to talk, to push, and then there were times to wait. Getting Law to open up about anything was so often a game of patience. If it was up to him, he’d bottle up his emotions until that bottle burst and destroyed him. Rosinante wasn’t especially inclined to let that happen.

Law became so still that Rosinante might have suspected he’d nodded off if not for the irregularity of his breathing. Rosinante stilled, also, and waited.

“Every time I try to sleep,” Law said, “I see you. I see Doflamingo with your heart and all the things he might do to you because of me.”

“Not because of you.”

Law looked up at him. “Your voice—”

“My voice be damned,” Rosinante all but growled. “And Doffy be damned. This is on him.”

Law’s face fell. “I didn’t have to give in. I could have resisted more. I should have. And I didn’t have to act on some stupid fucking impulse at Marineford. I’ve been so careful. I threw out over a decade of work and for what? Some kid who thought he could take on the entire World Government and a rival Warlord. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking you could help,” Rosinante said. “You saved their lives.”

“Their lives aren’t as important as yours.”

Rosinante didn’t try to dispute that. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. And besides, he knew the feeling. He’d burn the world down if it meant keeping Law safe.

Instead of arguing, he knelt down and pulled Law into a tight embrace. Law’s breath hitched. All the emotion he’d stubbornly shoved down finally broke through and he started to cry in earnest. Even someone as bullheaded as Law had his limits. Rosinante was only glad to be there to hold Law together so he didn’t break apart.

“I’m proud of you,” Rosinante murmured.

There had rarely been truer words. He’d been scared for Law’s sake, of course, but he’d been so proud when Law first called him to say what he’d done. There were times, despite all his faith in Law, where he worried this life would be too much. It would be easy for Law to let this all change him. Perhaps it would even be better for him if he did. Less painful, certainly. But when he had a chance to show who he really was on the inside, he’d done something amazing. Something neither he nor Doflamingo nor even Rosinante himself had expected.

Not that Law would hear any of that. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered.

Rosinante rested his cheek on top of unruly black hair. “Well, I am.”

“Well, you’re an idiot.”

Rosinante laughed and pulled Law closer. “Maybe. But I can be an idiot and rightfully proud of you, kid. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Law let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so drowned in tears. Then, in a voice so quiet Rosinante had to strain to hear, he said, “Then I’ll try not to let you down. Idiot.”

[havenoffandoms]

Could I request prompt 29. with Triss x Eskel, please? Thanks so much!!

Hey anon! Thanks for the prompt and I had a lot of fun writing this. Can I also say that I love people requesting all these pairings I very rarely write, because it actually forces me out of my comfort zone. Yay! Hope you like it, anon. 

You can request a prompt here. 

Eskel x Triss: “You’re the one of the most beautiful people I know and you don’t even know it.” “No, I know it” (prompt 29).

Triss wipes her tears with the back of her sleeve before pulling her cloak tighter around her shivering body. It’s freezing in the tower of Kaer Morhen castle. The tower is uninhabited and the wolf witchers rarely ever use it, which means two things. On the one hand, it’s not kept warm during the winter and is always very low on Vesemir’s maintenance list, so the holes in the walls and broken windows let in the cold drafts right, left and centre. On the other hand, Triss knows that no one will be looking for her up there. She has been hiding up in the tower for… well, she’s lost count. It was already dark when she first got there and it’s still dark now, but Triss has no real point of reference from which she can deduce the precise time. 

She also doesn’t have the energy to do so, anyway. 

Geralt has made it very clear that his heart belongs to Yennefer. Perfect, gorgeous, powerful Yennefer of Vengerberg. Triss knows she should’ve seen this coming. She knows that she was naive to think that Geralt would choose her when Yennefer was still in the picture. No matter how often she lets him down, plays him like a fiddle or breaks his heart, he will always go back to her. Idiot. Triss stopped being sad a while ago already. These are tears of frustration, tears of anger and resignation. There’s no sadness left. 

She needs to get a grip on her emotions. Now is no time to wallow in self-pity. Now is the time to mentally prepare to fight the Wild Hunt. 

“There you are,” a familiar baritone voice grates, pulling a startled yelp from Triss who was so caught up in her own wallowing that she did not hear Eskel enter the tower, “everyone’s looking for you. We’re meeting downstairs to discuss Geralt’s plan against the hunt.”

“Yes,” Triss quickly wipes the wayward tears that trail down her cheeks, “yes, thank you Eskel. I’ll be there shortly.”

Eskel doesn’t leave. Instead he stands in the doorway, his brows set in a pensive frown as amber eyes appraise her with some concern. He must have noticed her tears, Triss thinks. When her eyes meet his, he’s unable to hold her gaze for very long before he looks away. His hands come up to rub at his scars - a nervous tick she has observed before and which she finds strangely endearing. The sight of this mountain of a man looking so small and vulnerable stirred strange feelings in Triss. A kind of motherly instinct to protect him, to tell him everything will be alright, but… much more intense than that. 

“I, uh… I don’t mean to pry, but - if you wish to talk, I…”

“Thank you, Eskel,” says Triss, because she knows what he’s offering but like every other witcher alive, it seems, Eskel finds it hard to put his feelings into words. Even though his intentions are well-meaning and coming from a good intention, Eskel still feels like he’s not allowed to express emotions. “You’re very sweet to offer yourself up as a shoulder to cry on, but I think I’ve done enough of that as it is without wounding my pride any more.”

“Indeed. I much prefer seeing you with a smile on your face, anyway.”

Eskel’s words warm her heart. Triss can’t hide the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Why, thank you Eskel.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Eskel adds, almost as an afterthought, “you deserve to be treated better than this. I mean, what Geralt did - it was not right playing with your feelings like that. And I - you deserve an apology.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be the one apologising,” Triss tells him, her tone growing bitter once again. She thinks she can see Eskel recoil into himself. The sorceress instantly regrets her tone. “Which is not to say that I don’t appreciate you coming up here and showing me a bit of human decency. Forgive me. I shouldn’t be taking my sorrows out on you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Eskel steps closer, offering Triss a small smile but she notices that he keeps his face angled in a way that hides his scars. Old habits die hard, she figures. “Triss, I - I just want to say that whatever happens tonight, whatever happens to any of us… it was a pleasure to know you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she chastises him. She meets him halfway, her hands taking a hold of his and squeezing them. She can’t help but notice the strength and warmth these hands emanate, as well as the pleasant tingle that washes over her. Like the first time they met, she recalls. Triss holds back a shiver. “Eskel, please. Don’t talk like that. We’ll all be fine.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Eskel assures her, “but it is probable that we’ll lose people today, and I would hate to leave this world knowing I never told you that I’m happy you and I got to meet.”

Triss pauses, biting her lip nervously as she gives herself permission to drown in Eskel’s amber gaze. What’s the harm? Eskel doesn’t seem in any rush to leave. Triss manages a soft smile, which is returned if a little on the lopsided side. 

“I’m very happy to have met you too, Eskel,” she tells him, and she means it. “So if you could only tell me one thing before we walk to our deaths, what would it be?”

Eskel takes a minute to reflect, like he always does, like he has always done since Triss met him for the first time. Kind, gentle Eskel. Calm and rational Eskel. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him instead?

“It would be that you are one of the most beautiful people I know, and you don’t even know it.”

Triss is left momentarily speechless. Of all the things she expected Eskel to say, this came really far down her list. She sees nothing but genuine honesty reflected in his eyes. She half expects him to take everything back when he notices her prolonged silence but he doesn’t. Triss feels her heart swell to three time its normal size in her chest. 

“No, I know it,” she blurts out before her brain can stop her mouth. She brings a hand up to cover her lips, her eyes widening at her own cheekiness. Eskel seems momentarily startled by her words, but before she can correct herself he barks a breathy chuckle, his smile now showing a row of white even teeth. Gods, isn’t he gorgeous when he smiles? Really smiles?

“I never meant for it to come out this way.”

“Don’t apologise. I appreciate a woman who’s unapologetically herself. I know that it’s not always easy to be confident in one’s own skin.”

“And yet, you have nothing to be ashamed of Eskel.” Triss swallows thickly when she notices the witcher’s pupils dilate. If she placed her hand over his chest she’s convinced she’ll be able to pick up a slight increase in Eskel’s otherwise slow heartbeat. 

“If I may, I would like to ask you the same question you asked me.” Eskel breathes between them, leaning in closer until their lips almost touch, “if you could tell me one thing, what it would be?”

Triss doesn’t hesitate.

“I’d tell you that I sincerely regret being so infatuated with Geralt all those years ago that I didn’t see that happiness was right there, under my nose, all this time. I’d tell you that if I could do it all over again, I’d definitely get to know you better the second you and I met.”

Triss can’t quite explain what comes over her, but she suddenly finds herself pressing her lips against Eskel’s and kissing him with the desperation of a drowning woman. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close as she slides her tongue into his mouth. Eskel, at first too startled to react, lets her take the lead until his giant hands come to rest on her narrow waist and deepen the kiss of his own accord. They stay there a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing like there’s no tomorrow but at the same time hoping that there will be a tomorrow. 

And if there is a tomorrow, then Triss is definitely looking forward to kissing Eskel everyday for the rest of her life.

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter 5: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 3

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard​ – special thanks to @cssns​ for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART) // Chapter Four (ART)

Chapter Five on AO3

ART

// 

The ride from Nephilysis to Prince David’s cabin outside the Northern Mountains takes a day and a half, stopping only when necessary — and most of those hours are completely silent, Mary Margaret, Regina, and Belle with their noses in books and notebooks when they’re not driving, but Emma finds herself unable to concentrate on anything outside of her own mind. 

Emma spends the whole ride — the time it's not her turn to drive — still trying to wrap her mind around everything. By the end of the first day, the only thing she can do to keep herself grounded is text Ruby, filling her in on everything she’s learned at the Athenaeum. 

Or, almost everything; she doesn't know why, but she leaves out the part about Killian. Everything else almost seems believable compared to that, and she thought she would be fine just ignoring it. 

Ruby, of course, is unsurprised by the news of her being a Vis. Everyone around her is unsurprised by the news, apparently. 

You really never knew? she asks. I always just assumed you stayed quiet about it. 

She thought she could handle herself, stay composed when they get to the cabin, when she sees Killian, but she finds herself incorrect. 

Seeing him with this new knowledge, seeing the warm way he smiles at her when she walks into the cabin, is too much for her, and her stomach flips as she turns on her heel to walk back out. 

Mary Margaret says something to cover for her, but her voice is nothing more than buzzing in her ears, and she shuts the door behind her perhaps a little too loudly.

She doesn’t care. She has to get away.  

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she calls Ruby. When she doesn’t pick up the first time, she tries again — not usual for her, but she’s in dire waters here. 

Ruby answers the phone on the fourth ring with a grumble, which Emma ignores. 

"He's my true love," she blurts out. 

"What?" 

"I thought I could — along with everything else, I thought I would just be able to ignore this and just try to save him, but this is different." The words come pouring out of her, trying to keep up with the million miles a minute that has become normal in her brain. 

"Emma, what the hell are you even talking about?" 

Finally, she takes a deep breath, though she can feel her heart pounding in her throat. She tries to make the words come out slower, but by the time she reaches the end of her thought, she’s sped up once more. "Belle told me I'm a Vis, left her duties as Magistra to help train me because we're in a time crunch, but that's not the only thing she told me. There's apparently some sort of prophecy about a Vis and a Fae who don't know how powerful they are until they come together and need to use their powers to save each other. Their powers, and the power of their true love." 

Ruby scoffs. "And they think it's about you? And Killian?" 

"Belle seems to think so. It's apparently from some collection of writing from this Neverland place, one of the only things they've ever been able to decipher completely. Apparently Neverland is one of those places where, once you get there, you don't leave. Or can't. And that's why no one knows anything about it." Her mind is so muddled by it all that she can’t remember what she’s already told Ruby, or what they learned together before she left the hospital, but Ruby seems to understand.  

"But Killian's been there before? And he left?"

"Well, he hasn't shared the whole story with us yet, but I don't think it was a very positive experience for him. David knows more about it than I do, but I think — I’m almost certain at least one person didn’t make it out alive."

"And you guys… have to go back? To cure him from the effects of this poison?" 

"Yeah." 

Ruby lets out a low whistle. "Damn." 

The line is silent, Emma giving Ruby a chance to wrap her head around everything, but it doesn’t take long for her to come up with one of the very questions that has been rattling around Emma’s mind: "So then, because of this true love nonsense, you really are his only hope?" 

Even though Ruby can’t see the way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, she somehow knows that Ruby knows she is doing it nonetheless. "Yes. What that's supposed to mean I have zero fucking clue, but… yes." 

Another low whistle. “You really have yourself in a predicament there, Swan. Though there could certainly be worse prospects for your True Love.”  

At this moment — of course — Killian steps out onto the porch, and she feels the embarrassment that crept up her cheeks deepen, though the stump she has taken a seat on is still a fair way away from him. 

She laughs, trying not to let the Ruby's right thought take up too much room in her mind as she tries to change the subject. "How is everything going at the hospital? Did you get the replacements?"

"He's there now, isn't he? Either that, or you agree with me."

Ruby always was able to read her like a book, even over the phone, and sees right through Emma's ploy. She smiles. "Yeah. Just answer the question." 

"Emma, come on! Which one!" 

"Both," she says quickly, surprising even herself, trying to hide her smile as she glances quickly at Killian on the back porch; and then, "Now, did you get the replacements?" 

Ruby laughs, and Emma can see the way she tosses back her head, letting it move through her whole body. "I'm almost upset you left me here." 

"I wouldn't trust the place in anyone else's hands, Rubes." She tries to stuff as much sincerity and appreciation in her voice as she can, only hoping Ruby picks up on it from hundreds of miles away. 

If she does, she says nothing, though finally answers the question Emma's been asking, a seriousness to her voice that wasn't there moments before. "Johanna's been here for a few days and Blue just got here this morning. Ashley finally delivered, no issues. We probably would have been okay with just Johanna, but I think Blue is glad to be away from the war for a while."

Emma feels a soft smile curve across her lips. "I understand that completely." 

"Any idea how long you'll be?" 

Out of instinct, Emma turns to the porch again, where Killian is sitting under one of the lit lamps, a few moths flying around over his head. He smiles at her, raising his hand with a wave, which Emma returns. "I don't even know where I'm going." The anxiety of it all washes over her: she really doesn't know where she is going, doesn't know what will be asked of her, between this prophecy and her new knowledge of being a Vis, not to mention this whole true love/saving Killian piece that has to fit in this adventure somehow. "There's a lot about this I'm not sure about, really," she mumbles, talking more to herself than her friend. 

But Ruby answers anyway. "If anyone is capable of succeeding at something like this, it's you, Emma Swan. I've never seen you take on more than you can handle." 

"I appreciate that you have faith in me, but what if this is finally it? What if I've finally gotten myself in too deep?" 

"Then you'll find a way to pull yourself out. You always have, and you always will." 

Emma smiles, trying to instill a little of Ruby's confidence in herself. 

Before she comes up with a response, though, Ruby says, "Now, I gotta go, and I'll let you get back to lover boy—"

"Ruby!" 

"Don't forget to update me from your far-off lands. And be careful."

"I always am."

Emma ends the call, though her eyes stay on her cell phone until after the screen goes dark, searching for the very confidence that Ruby just instilled in her, which seems to have already disappeared. Sliding her phone back into the pocket of her jeans, she wraps her arms around her torso, hugging herself. She forgot about the temperature change this close to the Northern Mountains after spending the last few years in all the same climate, and especially after the warmth of the city, and the chilliness of the dusk air quickly seeps into her as soon as she focuses on it, her skin already cold to the touch. She hopes she remembered to pack a jacket, at least for the next few days in the Northern Mountains — though who knows what the weather in Neverland could be like. 

Neverland. How the hell did she end up in this situation, traveling with a pack of soldiers, the Prince and his betrothed, a sprite council member, and the Magistra to a land they have never heard of? This is just the type of thing that she thought she left behind when she traded in her medic's bars to start her own maternity hospital, needing to live a life far from the death and destruction of the War. What brought her into this mess?

Killian, she reminds herself. Killian Jones, who fought and forced his way out of a prison camp and back to freedom, who lost his hand in the process — only to find his way to her hospital? A man who, against all odds, has a connection to her oldest friend, the Prince of the Gale, and found his way through the rain and the mud and the entire damn war just to end up in her hospital.

Killian. 

A violent shiver forces it's way through her body, shaking her shoulders and her knees. She's cold, much colder than she's been in a while, and knows she should go inside and find warmth, a blanket or a jacket and a nice cup of hot chocolate. 

But she knows what's waiting inside for her: questions and expectations and too many people needing too many things from her. 

When she looks up from her stump, she sees Killian slowly making his way across the yard to her, his leather jacket removed to reveal a dark blue sweater that clings to him in all the right places — no, stop, she tells herself. Don't go there. 

"My apologies if you're trying to have some alone time now, love, but I couldn't help but notice that you're without a jacket, which isn't opportune in this weather."

"Thank you," she says, taking the jacket from his hand and slipping it over her shoulders. The inside is still warm from his body heat, she realizes, remembering that he was wearing it when he stepped out onto the porch. "It's been a while since I've been in weather this cold, not since I used to travel around with David, and I've sort of forgotten that cold even exists." 

He sits beside her on the stump, far enough away that his arm only grazes hers every once in a while, not pressed up against her. "No need to worry, I have some sweaters and jackets here from when I was here last that you can surely borrow for the journey." 

She turns to him, trying her best to offer him a soft smile, though she does find it difficult. "Thanks," she mumbles, then lets out a small self-depreciating laugh. "You can just add that to the list of things I wasn't prepared for when I left home." 

"Yeah, Mary Margaret was saying that you discovered you're a Vis, I can't even imagine that." 

She nods, though her mind is instead on the prophecy. A Vis and a Fae. Though, as far as she's aware, Killian's not a Fae. 

"You don't have any abilities, do you?" she asks, trying to broach the subject gently, though she realizes immediately that she fails. 

He shakes his head. "Liam — my brother — was a dryad, hence the airships. We were never sure about our parents, though. Mum died when I was very little and our father disappeared one day not long after, but neither used any powers that Liam could ever remember." 

If he wants to know why she asked, he keeps it to himself, even as she offers him no response. The silence that settles between them is soft, not thickened by awkwardness or tension, and Emma is thankful for it. It's the first time in hours — days, at least — that her mind is not travelling at top speed, and she seizes the opportunity to take a deep breath, close her eyes for a moment, and focus on the soft sounds of the forest around them. 

"What about you?" he asks after a while, and when she turns to him, she finds him staring at her intently, almost as if he is trying to take in every detail of her. Normally, she would find advances like this overwhelming, almost creepy, but there is something in Killian's eyes — a softness, almost, more of an appreciation than anything else — that seems to calm her, even as he asks questions that bring up her past, something she tries to hide from and avoid as often as possible.

She doesn't feel that here. 

"I never knew my parents," she says calmly, as if it's not the biggest regret of her life. "They gave me away when I was just a few days old. I don't even know their names." 

"I'm sorry, Emma," he whispers, reaching his hand out to take hers. It's the simplest of gestures, his fingers wrapping tenderly around her hand, but it seems to light a spark within her, a warmth that has nothing to do with the jacket and a shiver unconnected to the crisp air. An air of confidence washes over her, bigger and more powerful than the one she felt while on the phone with Ruby, and she lets it wash over her and clean the dust and doubt that hide in her darkest corners. Suddenly, everything about this mission feels attainable: flying in a ship to an unknown land to retrieve the antidote needed to save Killian. It's as simple as that, really, and she feels like nothing can stop them. 

Them. 

Her and Killian. 

Together. 

Everything around him is dark. Dark rocks, dark fields, dark, dark jungle as far as the eye can see. But they’re not in the jungle; in fact, they’re up on a cliff, looking down over it all. It looks so small from up here, the path that’s taken them three days to get through. Up here, he feels like he can see the whole island, though he knows it’s much bigger, since he has actually seen it from above. 

A whole island that no one had ever heard of, that’s been missing from maps and history books simply because… why? Nothing about Neverland is simple, he’s learned. It’s — what word did Pan use? — alive. It’s alive, hidden from maps and books and knowledge because it wants to be. 

Killian turns around to where Liam and Pan are standing beside a large bush, their arguing voices covered by the rushing of the waterfall behind them, but Killian can still tell they are fighting by Liam’s use of his hands. The three of them were the only men to leave the Jewel of the Realm once it took anchor off the shore of the foreign land, so they are alone at the top of the cliff. 

Pan turns away from Liam to face Killian as he approaches them. "I can assure you, Captain, Dreamshade is a very valuable asset to King Gold because of its immense healing power. I don't know where you found these books your brother speaks of, but I grew up on the island, so I would certainly know." 

"See, Killian, I told you." 

"Yes, Killian, trust your brother,” the boy spits, accentuating his name much more than necessary, almost mocking. “Come help us gather some of these branches, but be careful of the thorns. We want to make sure as much of it gets back to the King as possible." 

There is still something about the boy — Pan — that Killian can't stand, and he watches as he carefully snips off the end of a branch and drops it in the nearby pouch. 

Killian narrows his eyes towards the boy. "If the plant really does have healing powers, then what would be the need of avoiding the thorns? What is it going to do, heal me too much?" 

Pan opens his mouth to respond, but Liam beats him to it, stepping back towards the bush, moving slowly away from Killian. “Come, now, brother, don’t be like that. The king would not have sent us on such a diplomatic mission if it weren’t for the good of everyone, and he certainly would have informed us if we were to collect a deadly poison instead of a plant with healing abilities.” 

Pan smiles, and the sense of fear that Killian has felt since the King gave them their mission suddenly becomes paralyzing because of it. 

Something is wrong. 

“Here, I’ll even prove it to you,” Liam continues, grabbing one of the branches from the bag, and before either of them can react, he slices the skin of his arm with one of the thorns. 

At first, nothing happens, but the way Pan stares at him wide-eyed makes Killian’s stomach turn.

After a few more seconds pass, all with no reaction from Liam’s arm save a scratch in his skin from the thorns, he shrugs.

“See, Killian, I told—” His words stop in an instant, his eyes going wide as he turns down to his arm.

Where moments before there was only a scratch, the cut has now turned black, the darkness webbing out along his arm and up under his rolled-up sleeve. He tries to say something, but his throat is quicky closing, and Killian is by his side just in time to catch him as he collapses.

“Brother—” he chokes, and the blackness appears from under the collar of his uniform, spreading up his neck.

Killian can’t believe it, and he whips around towards Pan, who is leaning casually against a tree, a sly smile across his adolescent cheeks.

“Why didn’t you stop him?!” Killian screams, clutching tight to Liam's body. “You knew this was going to happen! You could have stopped it!”

“Well, where’s the fun in that, Captain?”

“I have to get him back to the ship, back to the crew, show them exactly what the king sent us here for!”

As soon as Killian lets go of Liam, though, Pan flicks his wrist and whisks his body into the air. “I’m afraid not. Your brother is never going to leave Dead Man’s Peak, ironically enough.” Another flick, and Liam is propped against one of the rocks along the edge of the water — and with another, Killian’s hands are bound behind his back.

Rightfully, he’s furious, but no matter how hard he fights against his restraints, he somehow knows he’ll never get out. “What do you think you're doing?!”

“I’m just doing as Baelfire ordered.”

“The Prince ordered you to kill my brother? To take me hostage?”

“Oh, no, nothing quite so intricate. He simply ordered me to make sure the Dreamshade arrived back in Nephilysis by any means necessary. You and your dryad brother were simply pawns in a much bigger scheme.”

Suddenly instead of anger, Killian is overcome with a paralyzing sense of fear. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks, his voice much softer than even moments ago. Trembling.

“Well, see, now I’m going to make your crew believe you killed your brother for power so the prince can gain control of your whole fleet of ships.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Pan smiles, another flick of the wrist, and Killian finds himself unable to speak, all of his words coming out as mumbles. “Because no matter what you say, Baelfire is going to have you killed." 

 Killian is tied to the mast, his crew standing in a circle around him, every eye on him. He knows that many of these men — men that he has known for years, one that he’s known for most of his life — don’t believe the lies that Pan is spewing, but they’re all smart enough not to argue with him, backed always by Prince Baelfire. Not to mention the woman, the woman he loves, though he hasn’t had the nerve to tell her yet. The woman that’s not even supposed to be on the ship with them, that he begged Liam to let come. The woman whose eyes are brimming with tears, he just knows it, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. 

Milah. 

"The power the Admiral gained must have been too much for him," Pan says, his eyes filled with a fake sadness, but Killian knows (hopes) no one else sees it that way. "He saw how important the healing abilities of Dreamshade were going to be to the King and decided to kill the Admiral and take all the glory." 

That’s not true! his mind screams, but there is nothing he can do about it. Pan and Baelfire have worked their charm over the crew, and even if anyone did take his side, they would just be tossed overboard to their deaths with him. He knows at least some of his crew must be loyal to him, knows that they must know he would never usurp power from Liam. 

Right? 

Instead of focusing on Pan or the Prince, or even his love, he looks around the circle of men, searching for Merlin. Merlin, his oldest friend beside his brother — his oldest living friend, now — is the smartest man either of them ever met, and he must know this is all a rouse for the prince to gain more power. He must know that none of it is real. Finally, he finds him, and though he is weak from whatever charm Pan cast over him when they left Dead Man's Peak, he can focus on his friend enough to recognize his slight nod, the understanding in his eyes. If nothing else, he has Merlin on his side, and hopefully he is able to carry out the plan they discussed not long before about what they should do should the Jewel of the Realm ever fall into the wrong hands — as it is about to do. 

"Killian Jones," Prince Baelfire says, his voice loud, booming, demanding, and every eye on the ship is drawn to him — though Milah, he notices, is still looking only at him. "I find you guilty of treason and sentence you to death. Usually aboard a ship, the penalty would be walking the plank, and I do believe that would be equally efficient in these circumstances." 

Milah screams, but no one acknowledges her, which just makes Killian’s heart break more.

Killian gulps. Pan smiles, though no one seems to notice. 

"B-b-but your majest-t-ty," First Mate William Smee tries, his voice shuddering with fear. "We're th-thousands of feet in the — in the air!" 

The Prince whips around to face him, anger obvious on his features, and Smee practically cowers away. "That is precisely why it will be efficient, Smee," he growls between gritted teeth, then turns back to Killian, who has just a few more steps to reach the plank. 

He turns quickly, hoping to find Milah’s face one more time before falling to his death, but she is no longer looking at him. Instead, she has fallen to her knees on the deck, the winds whipping her wild, dark hair around her face, which she holds in her hands. 

“I love you,” he whispers, which uses all the strength he has left. 

"To your death, traitor," he says, and a whoosh of magic from Pan’s hand pushes him over the side of the ship, falling towards his death and towards the waters below.

 His eyes snap open moments before he hits the surface of the water, though every inch of his body remembers how it felt. But instead of the freezing cold that he expects, he feels… warm? Off-balance. Delirious. 

It takes him a moment to get his bearings, because everything around him is dark. There’s a light weight on his chest, a warmth emanating from it and through his whole body. 

“Hey, hey, no, you’re alright,” a voice whispers in his ear. 

Emma’s voice. 

She's comforting him, the soft light of her magic illuminating where her hands are pressed against his chest, relaxing him. A few more moments, deep breaths, and he has come to completely, so he relaxes, leaning back into her arms. There is something about her, something about the way she takes care of him and the care she has shown him since she first laid eyes on him in her office that he appreciates immensely, and he can't help the thoughts that come in his sleepy haze about how she has come to mean more to him than that. He hasn't opened his heart up to the idea of love his whole , but he can't help but think maybe, if they somehow succeed at their mission and save his life, he may be able to no longer hide from the feelings that he has been pushing deeper and deeper down. 

"You can't be comfortable like this, Swan," he whispers, realizing for the first time the position they are in on the back seat of the truck, but he is apparently wrong, since she's fallen asleep with her hands on his chest and her head resting back against the pillow pressed against the window.

He quickly drifts off. 

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[veliseraptor]

good neighbors, 1.9k, that fic I threatened to write about Loki suffering in hot weather

Once - and only once - as a youth, Loki had joined Thor and his gaggle of friends for a journey to Muspelheim. He remembered the first part of it clearly - the unceasing misery that the others took for his dragging his heels - and the part where he’d woken in the healing rooms missing two days of his life, but very little in between.

The only fortunate thing about nearly dying was that the Warriors Four were too shame-faced to mock him about his weakness. And he had Thor’s undivided, extremely solicitous attention for a whole month.

New York, Loki was aware, was not Muspelheim. There were significantly fewer fire demons, for one, and more air conditioning.

But it was still very, very unpleasant.

By and large he tried to avoid going outside, but there was only so long he could put off grocery shopping. He could arrange delivery, but that would involve giving out his address; on the whole it seemed better to suffer a little and maintain his secrecy. Taking a deep breath, Loki rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and exited his apartment.

The heat hit him like a slap in the face and he felt himself immediately break out in a sweat. The air felt thick as soup, wet and oppressive, and for a moment he almost turned around and went back inside, groceries by damned. Squinting up at the sky, he scowled at it, edging out carefully into the shade and sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

It was a relatively short walk - only a few long blocks away - to the nearest grocery, but Loki’d barely made it a half block before beginning to feel short of breath. Even in the shade he could practically feel the sun hammering every inch of exposed skin; he could feel sweat trickling unpleasantly down his spine and his fingers felt oddly swollen. He focused on breathing deeply, but the air felt like it was a good quarter water, hardly satisfying.

Loki snarled a curse to himself and kept walking, picking up his pace. The sooner he could get out of this hellscape and into some properly air-conditioned shelter, the better.

Halfway down the second block, a wave of dizziness hit him. He was panting, woozy, thoughts sticky and confused. Tottering over to the nearest building, Loki leaned back against it and bent forward, closing his eyes. His head was spinning, a little bit.

Go home. Shouldn’t be out in this, you idiot. You’re going to melt. Literally.

Loki straightened and almost immediately regretted it. The street tilted alarmingly. Some people had paused and were staring at them. He stared back and they hurriedly looked away and moved on.

A block and a half back. That wasn’t far at all. He’d turn the air-conditioning on high and stick his head in the freezer and it would be fine. He’d wait out this heat wave and…

He bent over again, feeling like he was going to be sick. Still sweating out every drop of water in his body. Norns, maybe this was Muspelheim, or else there were fire demons somewhere about. But then why was the air full of water?

Oh, this was definitely bad.

**

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?”

Loki opened his eyes sluggishly and made eye contact with someone bending over him. There were a number of people crowded around him, but most of them weren’t terribly clear. When had he ended up lying down? On this filthy sidewalk, no less.

More concerning was the person speaking to him, who Loki definitely recognized. “You,” he said. “Wonderful.”

Steve Rogers’ frown deepened. “Sir, you fainted. Someone’s called an ambulance and they’re on their way-”

“That’s a very bad idea,” Loki said. He tried to push himself up, and blinked at his arm when he caught a glimpse of it.

Better and Norns-fucking better, he thought wearily. Well. That explained why Rogers hadn’t recognized him. If not why he hadn’t run screaming. Rogers looked a touch uncertain. Loki turned his face away; someone had taken his sunglasses off. Or maybe they’d fallen off. What a spectacle he must have made.

His arms were shaking from trying to hold himself up. “Lie down,” Rogers said firmly. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure…”

“It isn’t exactly mortal prejudice I’m worried about, Captain,” Loki said.

Rogers blinked and did a double-take. His eyes widened. Loki half smiled, even if the only thing he could probably manage right now would be vomiting in the man’s lap.

“Stand back,” Rogers said, turning toward the crowd. “Give him some room! The ambulance is on its way and I’ve got this under control...”

Avoiding panic, Loki thought. Smart. He took advantage of the moment to find the wall behind him and brace himself against it, working his way toward standing. It didn’t feel very good, but he managed it. Rogers turned back and seemed startled, then shifted as though bracing himself.

“Well,” Loki said. “I was just leaving.” And he really did not want Rogers to watch him stagger home, his legs shaky and head now both spinning and aching. He wanted to lie down in an ice bath.

“Going where?” Rogers demanded.

“To stick my head in a freezer,” Loki said honestly. When Rogers just stared at him, he added, “my whole body won’t fit.”

Rogers seemed to be warring with himself. “You...passed out because of the heat.”

“And I’m likely to do it again if I keep standing here,” Loki said. “Do you mind?” Though he wasn’t sure he could stand up and walk without something drastic happening. His magic felt about as far away as his apartment.

“Is that what caused the, uh…”

“Oh, this?” Loki said, as though he didn’t care. “Yes, probably.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. He wanted to lie down and sleep. Somewhere cold.

“Let me help,” Rogers said abruptly. Loki stared at him, wondering if he’d started to hallucinate. “I don’t want to start a fight right now,” he said, keeping his voice low, “and if you keel over again - and no offense, you look like you’re going to right here - that could put someone else in danger. If you’re worried about keeping your location a secret you can always move afterwards.”

Loki weighed his choices. The longer he stood here the more he felt as though he was being slowly cooked alive.

“Fine,” he said. “If I have your word that you will not - take advantage of the moment. You might be able to win but it wouldn’t be easy.”

In point of fact, Loki thought miserably, it might be. But at least Rogers was a moderately honorable man.

**

He managed to reach the apartment without fainting again, though a few times it was only Rogers’ grip on his arm that kept him upright. By the end he’d given up completely on pretending to allow Loki to walk under his own power.

Once in the apartment, Loki warred momentarily between lying down on the tiled floor and doing as he’d said and sticking his head in the freezer. “Sit down,” Rogers said, while Loki was still trying to decide. “Where do you keep glasses?”

Loki made a vague gesture toward the cabinets and peeled off his shirt to lie down on the tile of the kitchen floor. He could feel Rogers staring at him but could not quite muster up the energy to care.

“Are you...all right?”

“The answer is patently no,” Loki said irritably. A moment of silence later and he heard Rogers start going through the cabinets until he apparently found the glasses and turned on the faucet. Loki peeled himself off the floor and inched over to put his back against the fridge, taking the glass Rogers handed to him wordlessly.

He drank the whole thing in three swallows and held it back out, trying not to look too closely at his hand. When Rogers took it, he let his head fall back with a thunk, breathing slowly and deliberately to fight off the urge to vomit.

“Does this happen often?” Rogers again. Was he really going to continue lurking around, waiting...for what?

“Not often,” Loki said. “I try to avoid going outside between sunrise and sunset from June to September.”

“So...what were you doing?”

Loki opened one eye. “Getting groceries.”

“Oh.”

“Are you just going to stand there all afternoon?” Loki asked. “You escorted me home. I did not agree to your staying.”

Rogers’ mouth set in a stubborn line. “Are you going to lie on the floor looking pathetic all day?”

“Probably,” Loki said. He still felt dizzy and sluggish. His head ached and his heart was still racing.

Rogers moved away again. Loki heard water running and when he came back it was with a wet dishtowel. “Put this on the back of your neck,” he said. “You’re still pretty flushed. And clearly out of it, or you wouldn’t be talking to me like you are.”

Loki eyed the towel for a moment, frowning at it. “No, thanks.”

Rogers’ frown deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous,” Loki burst out. “What are you doing? Acting like a nursemaid-”

“Just take the damn towel,” Steve growled. Loki blinked, surprised.

But he took it. And it did feel very good.He couldn’t quite hold back a blissful sigh. “You are a very strange man,” he mumbled after a moment.

“Some people have said so,” Rogers said. He sounded more amused than annoyed. He was quiet for a moment. “The, uh...blue.”

“Don’t ask,” Loki said. His voice came out harsher, more brittle, than he wanted it to.

“All right,” Rogers said, to Loki’s surprise. “Fine.”

Loki began shoving himself up off the tile, which did not actually feel as cool as he wanted it to when he was...like this. “I am going to sleep,” he announced. “I’d ask that you not stay and watch.”

“You sure you can make it that far?” Rogers said, his eyebrows raised. Loki glared at him.

“I can still walk,” he said, and if he’d meant to prove it by going to the bedroom and closing the door, the moment he was upright he decided the couch was a better idea. He dropped heavily onto it and closed his eyes.

“You’re still wearing your shoes,” Rogers pointed out.

“Keenly observed,” Loki sniped. He closed his eyes. “Your assistance was appreciated. You can leave now.”

“I can, can I,” Rogers said under his breath. Loki didn’t completely relax until he heard the front door open, then close.

After that, he was asleep within moments.

**

When he woke up, the sun was down, his skin was back to normal, and Loki felt a great deal closer to something approaching normalcy. His stomach was growling, though, and Loki looked at his depleted pantry and sighed.

And now he was going to have to move, as well. Just as he’d gotten settled.

Damn that meddling Captain. Couldn’t he have just left an unconscious man lying on the sidewalk like any self-respecting New Yorker?

Loki opened the door and blinked at the three grocery bags on his welcome mat. He looked up and down the hall, then reached down to pick up the note.

You left your list posted on the fridge. Hope you think about this next time you’re thinking about starting something. -Steve

Loki narrowed his eyes. Well, he thought. Well, well.

This could be very interesting.

[liketolaugh-writes]

The Dream of Man

Author: liketolaugh Summary:  You can take on the world by yourself, but it isn't easy. And Kanda and Link, Allen thought, made the best partners. (A series of drabbles through the series.) Birthday present for @nea-writes.

1. Introduction

“And your name is… Kanda, right?”

The newest exorcist smiled guilelessly and held out his hand, and for a split second, Kanda’s mind superimposed another person over top of him – Alma, shy and hopeful, telling Kanda his name for the first time. Then it was gone, and the white-haired boy was back, still smiling like an idiot.

The moment left Kanda shellshocked and irrationally angry. What right did this beansprout have to remind him of Alma? Kanda had known him for all of a minute, and he could already tell he was the same sort of naïve idiot that wouldn’t be able to take the pressure.

“Nice to meet you,” the boy continued, oblivious to Kanda’s thoughts.

Kanda scowled at him for a long moment. He was no expert on people – never had been, and never wanted to be, either – but he was sure he didn’t want to be around when reality finally hit the kid over the head. It wouldn’t be pretty.

Not if he broke like Alma, upset and enraged by the world, and not if he broke quietly, either.

“I don’t shake hands with cursed people,” he said curtly, and passed the startled beansprout by.

Never again.

2. Complicated

Allen was no stranger to attraction. Cross, with his obsession with beautiful people, had made sure of that. Over the course of their travels, Allen had met more people than he once ever would have dreamed. Sometimes, these people were awful, but just as often, they took Allen’s breath away.

Early on, it had been embarrassing and confusing, but later on, in out-of-the-way corners and empty rooms, he’d learned how to act on it, too, clumsy and fervent.

And Kanda, he was stupidly attractive. Allen would be hard-pressed not to admire the color of his eyes or the grace of his movements, and he dearly wanted to run his fingers through the man’s hair. His personality was sharp, but it was an edge that caught Allen’s interest and wouldn’t let go.

Allen was a bit of a stranger to relationships; he and Cross had moved around too often for anything to flourish. Most of his experience with relationships belonged to other people, far out of reach, and of those, most had been ensnared in grief, caught by the Earl.

And Kanda – for a moment, talking about ‘that person’, he’d sounded almost like the part of a relationship that had been left behind.

3. Making History

“But you barely know her,” Kanda objected, casting Marie a sideways frown.

Marie smiled faintly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“That’s true,” he agreed amiably. He played with a ring on his hand, thinking. “But, I know she’s kind and helpful, and very cute. I know that I want to know her better.”

Kanda scowled. He hadn’t met Miranda yet, but he already knew she would frustrate him until he wanted to kill something. Lenalee had even warned him against it.

If Marie liked her, though, he supposed he’d have to put up with her.

Still-

“It’s been, what, a week?” he argued. “You haven’t spent any time together. You haven’t done anything together. It’s not enough.”

Marie’s eyebrows rose, an expression of thoughtful surprise coming over his face, and then he reached over to pace a grounding hand on Kanda’s arm. Kanda didn’t move away, still frowning at Marie.

“Different people love differently,” Marie told him. “For me, this is enough to know that I want to love her.” He smiled slightly. “It might be different for you.”

Kanda twisted away, but kept looking at Marie, frown deepening.

“Don’t forget, though,” Marie added, “History has to be made.”

4. Rivalry

“And your storytelling is shit,” Kanda continued on doggedly, blue eyes sharp and intent on Allen’s. “I bet that fucking golem of yours even tells stories better, and it doesn’t have a voice.”

Allen gave him a terse smile, wondering whether to roll his eyes or do something drastic. “At least I tell stories,” he said loftily. “Instead of letting people wonder where the hell I’ve been. Like an asshole.”

“It’s none of your damn business what I’ve been up to!” Kanda huffed, scowling harder. “It’s not my fault you told the goddamn sky what you were doing!”

It was with effort that Allen kept himself from flirting, from moving in and touching and teasing in a different way. He liked arguing with Kanda – it made him feel alive, present and focused on now, on Kanda.

That was why Allen didn’t flirt; if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from trying for more. Kanda had caught his attention, and now Allen was interested.

But Allen thought – was almost sure, in fact – that Kanda didn’t want a relationship like that. Not now.

“I didn’t tell the sky, I told my friends. Have you heard of them?”

5. Unbreakable

Kanda was wrong.

He acknowledged this, if only to himself.

Allen wasn’t going to break, he knew that now. Something in him let him adapt without compromising his morals or his goals, let him grow. This hadn’t been at all apparent before, but after the Ark – Kanda was sure. Allen would die long before the world became too much for him.

The realization made Kanda hesitate.

“Something on your mind, Yuu?”

He glanced over at Tiedoll, who was smiling gently, pencil paused over his sketchbook. Kanda scowled, but Tiedoll just waited.

Dammit, Kanda hated asking for advice.

“…How do you know when to let go?” he muttered.

He would never stop looking for ‘that person’. But if he found her – shit, he didn’t even know how old she’d be. Or if she still-

Tiedoll was looking at him shrewdly.

“Is this about Allen?”

Kanda started, almost physically recoiling. “No!” he snapped reflexively, lying through his damn teeth.

Tiedoll considered him for a moment, and then smiled again, frustratingly kind.

“Only when you’re ready, Yuu,” Tiedoll told him with unwavering certainty. “If he wants you, he’ll wait.”

Kanda turned away without replying, scowling.

Was he ready? He had no fucking clue.

6. Obsession

“Lenalee?” Allen said suddenly. The infirmary was quiet; everyone but the two of them was asleep. “Do you mind if I ask you something about Kanda?”

Lenalee looked over at him curiously. “Go ahead,” she answered, setting her book down on the blankets.

Allen mulled over the words for a few more moments, and then asked, “Do you know anything about… the person Kanda is looking for?”

Surprise flashed across Lenalee’s eyes, and then they darkened pensively.

“Not really,” she admitted, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling. “I know he’s wanted to find them since before he came here, though. I think they used to be important to him.”

“How important?”

Allen’s tone made Lenalee glance back to him, biting her cheek.

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice low and soft. “More than anything, maybe.”

Allen was silent for a while, and Lenalee let him think. She wanted this for both of them, but she wasn’t going to let it hurt them, either.

“Alright,” Allen said at last, soft and thoughtful.

“You like him, don’t you?” Lenalee asked.

Allen visibly started, and then he smiled, sheepish but honest.

“Yes,” he confirmed without hesitation.

Lenalee smiled, too. “Good.”

7. Eternity

Kanda was dreaming of her again.

He almost wanted to cover his ears and close his eyes; he knew already that he would never find her through the swaying grasses, no matter how long he chased her.

“Yuu!”

That wasn’t her voice. He turned sharply, and lost his breath as he caught a glimpse of Alma, waving at him. Then Alma turned away and was gone.

“I’ll wait for you.”

That was her; he faltered, glancing over, and the ghost of her smile lingered behind her even as she vanished.

He felt flustered and frustrated, frozen and unsure of who to chase. Even though it didn’t matter – neither of them were really here. He’d killed Alma, ‘she’ was nowhere, and he was dreaming.

“Kanda.”

Kanda turned again, and Allen was right beside him, smirking, silver eyes dancing with amusement.

“You dumbass, you can’t wait here forever.”

Allen’s laugh wasn’t dreamlike in the least, and his hand was solid as he shoved Kanda playfully, making him stumble.

“Fucking watch m-”

Kanda’s eyes opened, and then he was sitting up, the covers spilling off him. After a moment, he snarled, tugging irritably at his hair.

He didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know.

8. Gateway

Allen couldn’t sleep.

Things had changed, abruptly enough that he’d been caught completely off-guard. He’d fallen under suspicion, Kanda had started to avoid him, and his room was no longer just his own.

Keeping quiet, he shifted so that he could see Link without waking him. He needn’t have worried – Link was still awake, not trusting him enough to fall asleep before Allen did, and Allen only just kept from jumping when his eyes met Link’s.

“Why are you still awake, Walker?” Link asked, voice low and irate.

Allen smiled apologetically.

“Can’t sleep,” he offered halfheartedly.

Link didn’t answer, still frowning at him, and Allen watched him, thinking.

Link was a person too, of course. Allen wondered, vaguely, what had brought him here in the first place – why he was loyal to someone like Leverrier. And just as much, he wanted to take his mind off Kanda’s sudden change in behavior, and the swaying loyalties of the Order.

“Do you always bake pies for suspects?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

Wariness and suspicion flashed through Link’s eyes. But he answered anyway.

“Often. Most people enjoy baked goods. I understand you appreciate food in general.”

Allen smiled. “I do, yes.”

9. Death

Once a week, for about twenty minutes, Link left Allen to his breakfast and delivered his report to Leverrier. It made him wary, but he was confident that Allen would not abandon his food.

On the third week, he was cornered by Kanda Yuu.

“I don’t trust you,” the exorcist told him, face set in a fearsome scowl and hand on his Innocence.

Link, with his back to the wall, held Kanda’s gaze with only a touch of irritation.

“I would expect no less, Kanda Yuu,” he said evenly. He knew Kanda had no love for the CROW.

Kanda’s glare intensified. “I don’t want you near him,” he hissed, eyes boring into Link’s as he stepped closer, using his larger size to loom. “You’d sooner see a knife in his back than let him walk.”

Link’s eyebrows rose; Kanda sounded- protective, maybe, or possessive. Certainly angry.

“If Walker has no ill will for the Order,” Link said at last, “then he has nothing to fear.”

Kanda snorted derisively. Link’s lips thinned.

“Of course,” Link tacked on, “he’s still under investigation for now.”

Link broke away, but he felt Kanda’s gaze boring into his back as he walked down the hall.

10. Opportunities

Kanda was furious.

He’d missed his chance. If he’d just tried, he could have- done something, with Allen. Been something. And he hadn’t.

But now that fucking CROW was with Allen all the time, so he wouldn’t have been able to get Allen alone even if he wanted. And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to be around the CROW more often than he had to – which, because of the Noah, was much more than he liked.

It had him on edge, made worse by the extended time on missions with the two others.

“You talk too damn much,” he snapped, cutting Allen off.

Allen started, and then his gaze hardened unpleasantly. “You can leave if you want,” he sniped back, arms crossing. “Since you do the rest of the time anyway.”

Kanda was hard-pressed not to flinch, but was back to scowling as Link gave him a sharp sideways look, expression disapproving.

“He does not want to,” Link said, brown eyes unwavering, subtly challenging.

Kanda scowled harder, unwilling to admit he was right, and a little surprised. That was the second time Link had stood up to him like that.

“See if I don’t,” Kanda muttered, and looked away.

11. 33%

“Link, why do you trust the church?”

Link’s expression was more resigned than suspicious now, though a tinge of displeasure remained. Allen still felt a little better knowing that Link no longer guarded his every word.

“You realize that is a very suspicious question?” Link murmured without looking up from his notebook.

Allen gave him a wry smile. “I’m hardly the only exorcist to dislike the church,” he pointed out. Kanda had a special hatred for it, and so did Lenalee, for that matter.

Link sighed, and Allen took it as a victory.

“Their judgement is above my own,” Link said after a moment.  “To believe that one man can determine the right of the world themselves is folly. The Church knows God’s enemies better than I do.”

Allen gave a half-smile. Well, Link had one thing right – morality was a tricky, fickle thing.

Allen wouldn’t give away the choice for anything, though. Churches, after all, were populated by humans.

“Then who protects the humans who deserve to live?” Allen asked quietly.

Link frowned. “Those are not my concern,” he said, but his voice was low.

Allen really did smile this time.

“You sound like Kanda,” he said, without explaining.

12. Dead Wrong

“He’s unconscious, and you still can’t leave him well enough alone.”

Link, caught unawares for once, started sharply and then shot Kanda a deep frown.

Kanda was in the doorway, scowling at him. After a moment, he stormed in and sat down in a chair opposite Link’s, legs crossed at the ankle. His eyes landed on Allen, and his entire body seemed to deflate, eyes turning pensive.

Despite himself, Link glanced down too. Allen looked awful, bruised and bandaged and limp.

Link thumbed his [useless] blade and held back a grimace.

“I’ve been asked to monitor his condition,” Link offered, without looking away.

Kanda glanced up and huffed.

“Probably for the best,” he admitted grudgingly. “He’d die if no one was looking, the idiot.”

For a while, both of them were silent, and Link turned his attention onto Kanda, studying him.

He’d so far only seen Kanda on missions, save once – and he’d certainly never seen Kanda like this. Link hesitated to say it, but the exorcist looked unsettled. Anxious.

“Head Nurse said he’d recover,” he said quietly. Not fully, perhaps, but-

Kanda’s head whipped up, and he snarled at Link. “I’m not worried!”

Link’s fingers curled. “Neither am I.”

13. Running Away

“You’ve been watching Link an awful lot lately,” Lenalee observed.

Kanda’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you’d be avoiding him,” he muttered. She had enough reason to.

Lenalee frowned. “I don’t like him around Allen.”

Kanda didn’t say anything. Before, he would have agreed, but in that infirmary room- Link’s face had been the most human Kanda had ever seen it. That wasn’t a CROW’s face.

Lenalee, who knew him better than anyone, caught on quickly, and turned to face him, looking surprised. She watched him a moment, and then asked, “Are you jealous?”

Kanda scowled. “Jealous of what?”

A smile played on Lenalee’s lips. “I guess not.” Her smile faded, thoughtful. “Do you think he’s cute?”

“He has a bowl cut,” Kanda pointed out, disgusted, and Lenalee laughed.

“Alright, it’s not that. What is it, then?”

Kanda shrugged. “He’s weird,” he said, unable to explain.

Lenalee shook her head. “Alright, don’t tell me.” Her eyes turned serious again. “Are you going to talk to Allen, at least? He’s worried.”

Kanda stood up abruptly. “No,” he snapped, and at Lenalee’s startled look, shook his head sharply and left.

This was too fucking confusing, and he didn’t even know what he wanted.

14. Judgement

Allen couldn’t think. His head felt filled with cotton, and his body shifted restlessly. He read the words in front of him, but they didn’t mean anything. His mind kept picturing Cross’ bloody room, or Mana holding his hand, saying, I love you, I love you, or Kanda, still avoiding him.

With a soft moan, he leaned back in his chair and gave Link a sideways glance. Link was rather unforgiving when it came to paperwork, but Allen always considered it worth a try.

“Link,” he began, shaping his voice into a playful whine, “Please can we do something else? I promise I’ll finish up later today, please?”

There wasn’t any spirit in it. He hoped Link wouldn’t notice.

Link’s expression was already turning towards exasperated as he looked up, but then his eyes landed on Allen and lingered. After a moment, his eyes dimmed. Allen held his hopeful smile.

“Alright,” Link said at last, quietly. “Just this once.”

Allen sat up, startled, and found Link standing, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“You have half an hour,” Link told him, avoiding his gaze.

Allen smiled, honest this time. “Thank you.”

Link’s gaze flicked back to him, and he just nodded.

15. Seeking Solace

Allen was asleep, for once, but Link hadn’t been able to to follow yet. He was too occupied by his own thoughts.

It had been some time since he’d started to believe in Walker’s innocence, and therefore start observing Walker himself more closely. Meanwhile, Kanda couldn’t seem to decide whether or not he hated him, by turns caustic and passive.

And Link felt his damnation creeping up on him.

Silently, he slipped off the bed to kneel beside it, facing carefully away from Allen, and took a deep breath. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

Allen was… kind. Kinder than Link would have believed possible. This had become even more prevalent recently; Link’s own ease seemed to have granted Allen confidence, and casual gestures of thoughtfulness and gratitude came often, and so did his smiles.

Kanda, meanwhile, was aggravating. Aggravating, but… He had an honesty to him that Link couldn’t help but fixate on. It was in his roughness, his words- He even turned away rather than tell a lie. When he believed no one was looking, even his expression betrayed his thoughts.

He wanted both of them, and his sins crawled on his back.

Link prayed.

16. Excuses

“Stop smiling like an idiot,” Kanda snapped.

He didn’t even have to look at Allen to know he was smiling – he had been more often lately, around Link – but he did anyway, just in time to see it flicker away, replaced by a scowl. Then Allen smiled at him, sickly sweet.

“Maybe if you smiled more often you’d get that stick out of your ass,” Allen replied, eyes flashing.

Link exhaled, tinted with exasperation, and gave Kanda a look that made Kanda scowl. “Do try not to be childish,” he said, tone reprimanding. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Kanda’s brow furrowed instantly, and almost as quickly, Link looked surprised with himself, while Allen gave him a thoughtful glance. Not looking at Allen, Link forged on anyway.

“You needn’t act like a pigtail-pulling toddler,” he said, and then, “Despite your attempts to prove otherwise, Walker knows full well-”

“I damn well know he does,” Kanda cut him off, arms crossing defensively. “And his name is Allen.”

The words came out without thought, Link’s distant ‘Walker’ sitting wrong, but as soon as it dropped Kanda wanted to take it back.

Then Allen smiled, and damn it, it may as well not have mattered.

17. Vengeance

“Do you know how much of a pain in my ass you are?”

The mild-toned voice made Kanda stiffen even before he turned around. Allen was standing a few feet behind him, just the two of them in an abandoned hallway, with no Link in sight.

“Where’s your watchpuppy?” Kanda bit out, stance shifting.

Allen was unimpressed. And unapologetic. “In my room. He thinks I’m in the bathroom.”

“You’re such a lying asshole,” Kanda snorted, shaking his head roughly.

Allen stepped close, and Kanda had to force himself to keep breathing, their gazes fixed together.

“You don’t care,” Allen dismissed with certainty. “You see through all of them anyway.” He refocused. “Why are you avoiding me, Kanda?” He smiled. It was strange. “Aren’t you interested anymore?”

Kanda’s eyes darkened. “None of your business,” he snapped.

Fire blazed in Allen’s eyes, and Kanda had no time to react before Allen had reached for his shoulder, and then he was leaning up and they were kissing.

It was wet and rough and quick, and it took Kanda’s breath away.

“Figure it out,” Allen said, not unkindly, and walked away, seemingly satisfied.

Fucking weirdo.

Kanda swallowed, and tried not to think too hard.

18. Love

With each day, Link felt worse, more aware of the erasure of everything sentimental in his life.

It had started with his friends – two of them dead, three of them gone with the Earl, under the influence of something they could not control.

And then Kanda, first reunited with Alma Karma – ‘that person’, as everyone else knew him, and now dead.

And finally, Allen, locked up on Leverrier’s orders, refusing to eat.

Link’s stomach churned, and he pressed a gloved hand over tired eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He could still save three of his friends, maybe. If they tried, if Leverrier-

Link jerked his thoughts away, and they landed somewhere just as unpleasant. This time, he let them ruminate, hand drifting back from his face to tug at his hair.

He wouldn’t have thought he’d mourn Kanda. But it was… hard, to imagine Kanda lying somewhere, lifeless and limp. It was unbelievable that something could put him down. And it hurt that Link had not helped him.

And Allen- Link was just as useless to Allen. He didn’t want to think about that image, either.

He admitted then, silently, that they’d meant more to him than he’d thought.

19. Tears

Kanda was quiet after he finally left Mater behind. Numb, maybe, or thinking, but quiet.

Within a few days, he’d resolved to go after Allen, somehow. The stupid beansprout had probably gotten in trouble, and Kanda- Kanda owed him. With luck, he’d have two-spot on his side, too – Link cared about Allen.

About a week after that, it sank in.

Alma was dead. The person he’d spent so long searching for, his old friend, was dead.

He clenched his jaw, pressing his forehead against the glass of the window, but it didn’t stop the tears. He closed his eyes against his reflection. For a while, he just sat there, and he mourned. He let himself miss his friend, and miss what could have been.

And then he took a breath, he sat back, and he realized that his head was clearer than it had been in a long time.

He knew what he wanted.

Allen was Kanda’s mirror image, matching him spirit for spirit, yin to yang.

Link, though it was harder to find, was in many ways as soft as Allen, with a mentality much like Kanda’s.

And Kanda wanted both of them, and he would go after them.

20. My Inspiration

Allen smiled faintly at Tim, who was fluttering around, exploring the room.

Allen was too tired to look around, really – he was just glad to have settled down for the night. He couldn’t sleep, though, an unsettled, restless feeling preventing it.

Eventually, he started to talk, and Tim, the loyal friend, turned his attention toward him, fluttering inquisitively.

“I used to be sure, you know?” he said abruptly, knowing Tim wouldn’t mind his starting in the middle of his thought process. “Mana used to be my only reason for moving forward. I wonder… I wonder what he’d think, now. I mean, I know I’ve changed… I’ve changed a lot, Tim.”

He tipped his head back, smiling vaguely at the ceiling, wistful.

“I’m not sure he is anymore, though. My only reason, I mean.” He glanced at Tim, warm. “I have so many friends now.” He turned his gaze away again, distracted. “I hope Link and Kanda are okay.”

He wasn’t sure if Kanda was still alive, but either way, he probably wouldn’t see him again. He hoped Kanda found happiness, wherever he went.

And Link-

Worry twinged at him, but he took a deep breath.

He had to stay strong.

21. Never Again

Link followed Allen for weeks, trying not to worry overmuch and barely refraining from reaching out, before Kanda and Johnny came.

He knew Kanda would come – if Kanda was alive, he would come, so long as he still owed Allen. Kanda’s honor was one of the things Link admired most about him. Link was less sure about the ‘alive’ part, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

Link had been thinking, and-

He didn’t want to lose everything. Not again.

Leverrier would do anything it took to win the war.

Allen, on the other hand, would save everyone he could, and Kanda would follow him.

As much as he hated himself for the thought, he knew which he preferred, and… he knew which one stood the best change of bringing his friends back.

He cornered Kanda as soon as Johnny went after Allen.

“What took so long?” Link asked first.

Kanda snorted. “What took you so long?” he countered.

“Some choices to make.”

Kanda looked at him for a long moment, and Link looked back, steady.

Then Kanda nodded, and to Link’s surprise, went and kissed him, slow but hard, like a test.

When he pulled away, he said, “Good.”

22. Online

It was satisfying, for all of them to be here together, without the hostility that had colored so many of their previous interactions. The tentative peace was… nice. Kanda liked it.

Allen had hugged both of them as soon as he’d come enough to himself to do so, and then yelled at both of them, and then broken down crying. Now that that hell had stopped (Kanda thanked God for Johnny) it was probably up to Kanda to make his move.

Shit.

He’d spent months thinking about this, but he rolled the words around one last time before he finally, at Johnny’s gentle nudge and encouraging smile, pushed them out.

“You know,” he said, quiet and almost hoarse with repressed anxiety, “three people can have a relationship.” All of them already knew where the feelings ran, so- He looked up, gaze flicking between them.

Allen’s eyes were wide, and he leaned forward slightly. He seemed to pick it up faster than Link, which was no surprise. He seemed to be holding his breath.

Link looked over, and there was no hostility, only curiosity and expectation.

“What are you proposing?” he asked, and Kanda knew already that the deal was done.

23. Failure

Allen had wanted to do this alone.

Well, ‘wanted’ was maybe the wrong word. Allen never wanted to be alone, but it had seemed… seemed like the best option, when he was such a danger to those around him.

But Kanda’s idea… Allen found himself hard-pressed to resist.

And with Link agreeable, with Kanda looking hopeful, he had completely failed to defeat temptation.

Both of them could take care of themselves, he rationalized. Themselves and Johnny, too – he gave the man, currently hanging back, a grateful smile, and Johnny beamed back warmly.

Then he winced as Link pressed his hand against the Innocence stab wound, still wriggling with painful feathers, and Link gave him an apologetic look.

“Clumsy jerk,” Kanda snorted, sitting by Allen, with one hand on Link’s shoulder in a half-possessive gesture.

“As if your powers of destruction would be at all useful here,” Link sniped back, nudging Kanda’s knee impatiently without taking his eyes off the wound.

No… No, Allen couldn’t bring himself to regret… anything.

Link looked up, and his brow furrowed. Allen smiled, and then reached out and pulled Link awkwardly up, and he kissed Link, clumsy and impulsive.

Link didn’t mind, he was sure.

24. Rebirth

After Allen kissed Link – Link’s second, though he wouldn’t tell Allen that just yet – he turned aside and kissed Kanda, and that was visibly rougher, though Allen smiled against the kiss and Kanda growled softly, and when they pulled apart, Allen was still smiling, tired and dazed but pleased.

Link was glad that Allen was so happy, at least for the moment. It made him a little more sure that he could do this – that this was a good idea.

He glanced at Kanda, who was looking somehow satisfied, and somewhat relieved. Kanda looked up and met his gaze, and then nodded.

Johnny, meanwhile, let out a sheepish chuckle.

“I’m not so sure I’m needed here,” he commented, though it sounded almost like a question, his head tilted slightly and hand reaching up to scratch at his neck.

Allen’s eyes widened, and he straightened up, turning straight to Johnny.

“No, no,” he insisted, and crossed the room without a second thought. His hug to Johnny was swift, but sincere, and he pulled back to smile at Johnny. “I’m glad you’re here, Johnny. I mean, I’m worried, but-”

Johnny’s smile softened. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, and it was earnest.

25. Breaking Away

“You look calmer.”

Johnny’s words startled Kanda, and he looked over at the scientist, who watched him expectantly.

Then Kanda sighed.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked quietly, glancing over at the room’s other occupants – Link and Allen, asleep side by side on the bed, Link turned away as Allen clung to him like an octopus.

“Shouldn’t you?” Johnny countered with a smile. “I never sleep, anyway.”

Kanda snorted. He could believe that.

“I want to keep watch,” he said. He’d been… surprised, at how easy this had been, once he’d decided. He didn’t want to risk it being snatched away somehow.

Johnny studied him for a moment, and he smiled again.

“Thanks,” Kanda added after a moment. It was hard to say, but he had to. He avoided Johnny’s gaze and continued, “It’s… good for him to know there’s more people here for him than just us.”

He stiffened slightly as Johnny hugged him, but then he relaxed.

“You’re welcome,” Johnny said, “and so is he.”

Kanda nodded, numb.

Then he got up, nodded at Johnny, and crawled into bed beside the other two, shoving Link aside lightly. Within moments, the other two shifted around him, and he settled.

[extraneousaccessories]

October 5th, 1919. Paris, France.

If anyone is still reading this ridiculousness, thank you for your patience, and my heartfelt apologies for taking six months to write ten pages. We all have Regina Spektor to thank for prodding me in the feelings.

The noise in the bar crashed onto Poe’s ears in cacophonous waves, pressing into his mind and driving out the ghosts, at least for a little while. They seemed to occupy his thoughts more than they ever had and he wondered, briefly, if the long days of autumn had brought them back. He had dreamed in his trench, of course, they all had. Even Bertie had woken screaming in the night, only calming when Poe placed a bayonet in his hand and sat beside his bed, the lantern light deepening the shadows under their eyes. He had expected the terrors to fade when the war was over and they had, for a time. He gave the scarred and pitted wood of the bar a rueful grin. The endless worry about the treaty-about Herr Skywalker-had taken up all the space his thoughts had to give in those few awful months, but now the nightmares were back, and not even his endless hours at the steel mill could keep them at bay. He tumbled into his bed exhausted and slept poorly,  chased in his dreams by pale, insubstantial figures that spoke with the voice of machine gun fire and took the shapes of faces long dead. He had heard somewhere that it was impossible to dream a face you had never seen, and he shivered, wondering where his mind had pulled the hollow-eyed figures that stalked him through the French mud every night.

The whiskey burned in his throat, easing the chill that had crept into his shoulders. He had shunned the Jolie Rose, opting instead for a soldier’s bar on the outskirts of the red light district. The whiskey was cheaper, the music racier, and the company more sparse. Best of all, what company there was was inclined to violent outbursts over the barest whiff of an insult. Fights were common, injuries even more so, and every regular in the place was just as keen as he was to break bones and skin to escape the demons on their heels. A conversation with rich potential was brewing to his left, where a grizzled old man sat nursing a pint of awful beer. Everything about him screamed navy, and he was bearing the endless chatter of the three young pilots beside him with the patience of ages. The boys looked like Poe felt, lost in the aftermath of the war and knowing that raining death from the skies was the only thing that made them feel really alive. They were new at the bar, and Poe guessed by their manner they he travelled around a fair bit. The blonde fellow doing the most of the talking didn’t have the kind of personality that lets a person be a regular anywhere for very long. The old navy dog just sat there and took it while the pilots waxed on and on about the war, pushing, and pushing. It couldn’t last, Poe knew, and as he reached this conclusion, the blonde kid said the unforgivable.

“Well, I heard the crew on the Gallia were spotting for the Jerries anyway. Probably manned the signal light, didn’t you?”

Silence fell instantly. The old man took a sip of his beer and set it gently on the bar.Such care, Poe thought distantly, for a man about to start something. “You want to say that again, monsieur?” His cracked voice was low, and far too polite to be safe, “So everyone can hear you?”

“You heard what I said,” the pilot sneered, “You’re probably one of those dirty swabs who could ride a torpedo from here to Calcutta.”

“At least I have a torpedo,” the old man said flatly, and caught the kid a square hit on the jaw. The darkened room was mostly chaos after that. The pilot contingency put up a fairly decent showing for their fallen comrade, but soon the table of navy regulars in the corner had emptied, coming to the aid of the old man and, within moments, the whole bar was involved in something or other.

Poe caught a wicked upper cut on his jaw that sent him reeling away from the bar, stumbling into the unsympathetic arms of an burly man with a beard that looked like it was ready to grow a life of its own somewhere away from his face. He growled wordlessly, shoving Poe away and following up with a wide, sweeping roundhouse, which he dodged easily. Now that his head had stopped ringing a bit, he could feel his blood singing with the joy of the fight, the heady rush of adrenaline that drove away the dark and sharpened the world into a narrow space of blood, flesh, and bone. As he sank a fist into the burly man’s ribs, a part of him protested that this wasn’t what might be called a respectable way to spend his evening, but he was long past caring, throwing himself into the fight with reckless abandon.

*

Something cold tickled his face. Blackness began to let him go slowly, with regret. He groaned as feeling came back to various pieces of his body and they began to scream at him, reminding him that whatever he had been drinking last night had probably been an awful idea. “E-excusez-moi, monsieur,” said a small voice somewhere above him, “Are you alright?” Poe blinked muzzily, raising a protesting arm to shade his eyes from the bright point of light above him.

“Whatssit?”he mumbled, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“Papa!” He registered a lace petticoat and small leather shoes which scurried away as he attempted to sit up. He was nearly successful, but his head began to spin sickeningly, so he decided it was probably best to just leave it resting on the rough wood below him and let the waves of nausea wash over him.

Where was he? What the hell had happened last night? He could remember fragments; they exploded behind his eyes in horrible bursts of colour. The bottle smashing on his head. Several pints of...something with the navy lads. Rain? Possibly? He couldn’t tell. It might have been sweat that had made his hair stick to his scalp like that. Waving away the offer of a hand home. Stupid. He obviously hadn’t made it.

He started as he heard a new voice approaching him from what seemed like a long way off.

“Oui, Madeleine, I heard you.”

“But Papa, he fell out of the cabbages!” Oh. Cabbage. That was the cool tickly thing resting against his hand.

"Oui, Madeleine."

A shadow blocked out the searing light above him. Poe was grateful for the respite and inclined to say so, but his face was very heavy. In fact, now that it had come to his attention, his lips felt cracked and almost certainly swollen. More and more of the night before was coming back to him. Oh yes, it had been chalked full of terrible choices. It had probably been the fist connecting with his jaw that made his neck and face feel like they were made of wood instead of flesh.

"'M sorry about your cabbages, monsieur," he murmured, trying to lift at least half of his face off of what he now realized was a floor.

"They've seen worse, I'm quite sure," Someone knelt down beside him. Strong hands helped pull him up onto his hands and knees, "Though I'm less sure about you. Frankly, it looks as though you may have seen better days."

"And worse," Poe assured him, though he was less and less sure of that as feeling came back to more of his body. Knees were alright. He didn't think he was ready for feet yet, but the hands switched to grab him under the arms and pull him to his feet with surprising ease.

"You'll have to tell me of it sometime," There was a soft grunt from beside him as his arm was looped over a pair of bony shoulders, "but for now, monsieur, I expect you need some care and a place to sleep that is softer than my cabbage bin."

Poe was about to protest that if this person could just get him back to the apartment, he had a perfectly serviceable bed, but his rescuer led him out into bright early morning sun and it was all he could manage to stay mostly upright as his head pounded under the onslaught. Mercifully, the walk in the sun was not a long one and he soon found himself under the comforting shade of a roof. The smell of frying bacon wafted through the air and Poe could hear the chatter of several female voices as he was led to a back stairway.

"Long night, was it, monsieur?" asked his host.

Poe nodded. "Longest I've had in a long time," he admitted as they reached the top of the stairs. New tender places were opening up on his body the more he moved it and he was beginning to fear that he had seriously injured himself in that fight last night. It had gone on longer than usual, but he couldn't remember anything more serious than a couple of hits to the ribs. Nothing that would warrant him feeling like he had been trampled by the entire French cavalry. Twice. He wasn't sure he would have made it home. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn't even sure he knew where home was from here.

"Then some rest will do you good," the man said firmly as he opened the door to a sparsely furnished bedroom. The sheets were a clean crisp white and possibly the best thing Poe had seen in the last week. The bed was soft and he sighed in appreciation as the old man helped him into it. "Sleep," the man said, though the order was completely unnecessary. He was asleep before his head hit the lace edged pillowcase.

Poe woke thick tongued and sore some hours later, after sunset by the low light that greeted him when he chanced opening his eyes. The bed creaked beneath him as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His head had stopped spinning and the pain in his face had faded to a dull ache.

"Pardon me for saying so, monsieur," said a voice from his right, "but you look thoroughly dreadful.

Poe sat up, looking toward the dim outline of a figure seated on a three-legged stool by the door. There was a suggestion of a beard and his fogged memory provided a picture of sharp blue eyes. "There is water on the table beside you, if you want it."

"I do, thank you," Poe croaked. His lip was still tender and the water stung the cracked flesh, but it was cool on his throat. He gulped at it, unaccountably thirsty, and coughed as his abused body rejected his overzealous attempt to make amends.

"Slowly does it," chuckled the voice in the corner. It was a smooth voice and cultured, with the barest hint of an accent Poe didn't recognize. "You've had a difficult day."

"Yeah," Poe agreed, eyes watering. He set the water down, studying the man on the stool. Now that he was no longer thinking through a fog of drink and pain, he had questions. "I don't wish to seem ungrateful, monsieur,” he began, “but why am I here? And where is here, exactly?”

“I am told that in the great and infinite space of our universe, there is a reason for our mortal existence,” the man said, sounding amused, “but in regards to your immediate situation, I am Monsieur Kenobi and you are sitting in my guest bed, in large part due to your good fortune in my granddaughter finding you out in my cabbage bin. You look as though you’ve been in a fight. A losing one, I might add.”

“Yes,” Poe’s mind raced to keep up with the man’s reasoning. It was difficult, considering the many gaps in his memory of the past forty-eight hours. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Monsieur Kenobi laughed, a rich, genuine sound, “My dear boy, why would that bother me?”

Poe flushed, “I don’t think I gave you an entirely respectable first impression.” He thought back to his blurred trip up the stairs, the chatter of female voices. “And this seems a respectable house. I…” he hesitated, “well, in your shoes, sir, I would have called the gendarmes and left it at that.”  

“Tell me, Monsieur...”

“Dameron,” Poe supplied, “Poe Dameron.”

“Are you familiar with the teachings of Christ, Monsieur Dameron? With his life as it has been told to us?”

“Vaguely,” Poe allowed, thinking of his mother’s secret piety and his father’s steadfast atheism. Sunday school had not been a part of his childhood.

“Well, suffice to say that he did not spend much of his time with respectable citizens.” There was a rustling sound as Monsieur Kenobi shifted on his stool. “You were in need. I have been called to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. It was not a matter of respectability.”

“I...see.”

“You think me mad, no doubt.” Poe could hear the smile in the man’s voice and wondered how obvious his disbelief had been. “Let me put it a different way, monsieur. If you wanted to do me or my granddaughters harm, run off with our possessions, say, how well do you think you would manage?”

“Poorly.”

“At best,” the man said bluntly. “I appreciate your concern on my behalf, monsieur, but you look about able to tackle a bowl of cereal. Regardless of my reasons, you are in no place to do me harm. If it gives you any comfort,” he added kindly, “your second impression has been more than respectable.”

“I…” Poe felt overwhelmed by this stranger’s kindness and found himself unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He wanted to protest that he was the last person to be deserving of such charity, that in fact what he deserved for his recent conduct was a firm dressing down and probably a slap to round things out. It hadn’t been a rough night so much as a rough several months and he felt a prickling of shame at how far he had slipped. “Thank you, monsieur,” he said at last. “I’m not sure what you see that is worthy of respect and I don’t know how I can repay you, but thank you in any case.”

“I have no need of repayment,” Monsieur Kenobi said, raising himself slowly to his feet, “though if you are feeling well in the morning, I am quite sure that an extra pair of hands would not go amiss.” He paused at the door, as though he had forgotten something in the room. “Do you have anyone waiting for you at home, Monsieur Dameron?” he asked.

Poe felt a cold wash of guilt as he thought of Bertie worrying, wondering where he was. “Yes. Mr. Brown. May I give you his address.”

“Certainly.” The main listened patiently and repeated the numbers back to him. “I will see that he knows you are safe and relatively well.”

“Again, thank you, monsieur.”

“It is no trouble at all,” Monsieur Kenobi assured him. “Now rest. I will wake you for breakfast.”

Poe stared up at the dark ceiling for a long time, listening to the quiet sounds of life in the house around him. When he finally drifted into sleep, he did not dream.

Outside Berlin, Germany.

"You did what?" Luke looked up from the evening paper at the sound of his sister's raised voice floating down the hall. He heard a corresponding sniff from across the room and looked over the edge of the paper. A small girl sat as close to the edge of the sofa as she could without falling right off of it, arms wrapped tight about her body. He might have described her as pitiful, hunched in the rich room with her ragged clothing, hair drawn back into matted buns, shrinking from the sound of Leia's ire, if it hadn't been for the look of pure venom she shot him the moment she noticed his eyes upon her.

They had been sitting in the hall for nearly twenty minutes in stubborn silence since Han had returned from his orphanage tour. He had ushered the little one into the house like an errant schoolchild, giving Luke an embarrassed shrug. “I couldn’t leave her there, Luke.” Luke had rustled his newspaper and said nothing. The girl had hidden behind Han’s back, glaring suspiciously at everyone and everything. “I just couldn’t.” “I understand,” Luke had said. And he did. The poor girl looked like a skeleton, the bones of her face standing out stark and terrible under the ground in grime that covered her face. Her long hair hung in lanky strings from the structurally compromised buns and her eyes had the wide, blank look of the perpetually hopeless and very hungry. The question in Luke’s mind wasn’t why Han had brought an orphan home; it was why he had only brought one. Leia, of course, had had a very different reaction. He was fairly certain it was mostly the regular shock that resulted from her unstoppable force once again meeting Han’s moveable conscience. It bit him at odd times, and Luke suspected there was a part of Leia that rebelled at the  change in plans more than anything else.

"Don't let it bother you," he said quietly, gesturing toward the stairs.

"It doesn't." The little chin lifted defiantly and Luke struggled to keep the smile from his face.

"Of course." He rose from his chair, taking good note of the way the girl's arms dropped immediately to her side, every muscle tensed as she watched him walk to the sidecart. "Would you care for a drink of water?"

She eyed him suspiciously as he poured a glass for himself. He waited expectantly, holding the pitcher over a cup until she nodded once, the buns bouncing on her head. The trickle of the water into the crystal glass echoed in the silence. "May I join you on the sofa?" Luke asked as he returned, careful to hold the glass out where she could see his hand. She glared stubbornly up at him for a long moment before sliding over the barest inch. "Thank you." He passed her the glass of water and she took it with exaggerated care, sipping at the water as though she was afraid it wasn't quite real. He collected his own cup and perched carefully beside her.

"What's your name, child?"

"Rey." Her voice was so quiet he could hardly hear her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Rey. My name is Luke." Rey said nothing, but she tucked her knees up to her chest, scooting the barest inch further into the comfort of the sofa as she clutched the glass of water tight in her bony fingers, as though she didn’t trust the luxurious fabric. They sat quiet, listening to the growing unrest from the floor above as Han's voice rose to contend with Leia's.

"Do you live here?" Rey's eyes were wide as she looked around the sitting room.

"Yes."

"In this whole room?" Something tightened in Luke's throat.

"Well...yes, sort of."

“And you don’t share it with anyone at all?” She demanded, her tight look of suspicion melting into one of frank disbelief.

“I...not really…”

He was spared the need to elaborate as Han came down the stairs wearing the rueful smile he reserved for arguments with his wife.

"Welcome home," Luke said, raising the crystal glass in salute, "Did you enjoy the festivities?" Han pulled a face.

"It was mostly awful."

"Shocking."

Han knelt in front of the sofa "So, liebchen," he put a hand on Rey's shoulder, "Do you still want to stay?" Rey was quiet, studying the room carefully.

"Will I have to sleep in here?"

"I'm sure we can find you your own space," Luke said as Han’s mouth fell open at the question.

The wide eyes held him under long, serious scrutiny. “Will there be things to fix?”

“If you want them, then yes, I think we can manage that as well.” Her study surprised him, in large part because he found himself hoping that he wasn’t found somehow wanting.

“Do you have a switch?” Luke forced his face to remain calm, gripping the water glass tightly.

“There hasn’t been a switching in this house for thirty years,” he said quietly, “nor will there ever be.”

“Alright then.” Rey sank back further into the sofa, as though she could make herself disappear. Then she stuck out one filthy hand toward Han. Han’s eyes flicked back and forth between the girl and Luke’s set face, searching for something, possibly direction.

“Alright,” he said finally, taking her hand and shaking it gently.

“But I want a blanket,” she added in a rush as she snatched her hand back.

“Um…” Han floundered, at a loss.

“You’d better find her a place to sleep and some decent clothes!” Leia’s shout echoed down the long staircase.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Han returned, spinning to make a face at the stairs.

“And a bath!”

Han growled in frustration and, seeing the direction the conversation was headed, Luke set his glass on the side table and held out a hand to Rey. “Why don’t you and I go find you a blanket?”

She gave him one more long look, from the tips of his polished shoes to the top of his head. Then she nodded, getting up to follow him across the hall. She didn’t take his hand.

*

The next morning, Luke’s breakfast was interrupted by a bloodcurdling shriek that shook the house. It was followed moments later by Herr Ripiau, cheeks flushed and tie askew. “Oh, Master Luke,” the butler cried, “You must come at once, the young fraulein is tearing the bathroom to pieces!”

Leaving his boiled eggs to cool, Luke followed the butler up the stairs to the guest bathroom. A flung towel greeted him as he opened the door, followed closely by a soapdish that smashed on the wall beside his head. Frau Gaarten, the housekeeper, cowered behind the linen closet and, in the middle of the soaking wet floor stood Rey, a scrubbing brush held in her upraised hand, her eye wild. Upon seeing him, the scrubbing brush wavered uncertainly, then began to lower. “You promised,” she spat, “You promised they wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I did,” Luke replied calmly, noticing the bent comb protruding from the child’s hair. “That rule applies to everyone in this house. We do not throw things here,” he added, pulling the towel from his shoulder as he entered the room.  

Rey shot a contemptuous look at Frau Gaarten. “I didn’t hurt her,” she said, voice dripping with scorn.

“Did you throw something at her?” Luke asked, righting a stool and perching on it. The scrubbing brush wobbled.

“Yes.”

“We do not throw things here,” Luke repeated, “And when we make mistakes, we apologize.”

Rey’s shoulders tightened and she glared at the housekeeper. “You can say ‘I’m sorry I threw something at you, Frau Gaarten’,” Luke supplied.

“I’m...sorry I threw the stool at you.” The words came out in a jerky rush and were certainly not heartfelt, but Luke decided to count it as progress. He raised his eyebrows pointedly at the housekeeper.

“Apology...accepted,” she said, still wary.

“I expect Herr Ripiau could do with some assistance at the breakfast table, Frau Gaarten,” Luke told her gently.

“Of course, Master Luke.” She curtsied and fairly ran from the room, no doubt grateful for the escape.

With the immediate threat removed, the scrubbing brush fell to the floor and Rey began to tremble, tears gathering in her eyes. “Are you going to send me away?” she whispered.

“No.” Luke struggled to keep the hitch from his voice as she began to cry, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding in her tears. “No, I’m not going to send you anywhere.” Tantrums he knew how to handle - he had grown up with Leia, after all- but he felt completely helpless in the face of Rey’s obvious distress.

“Would it...would you like a hug?” he asked over her sobs. Arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, she stepped forward, crumpling into his chest. He held her gingerly while she cried, wondering how on earth he was going to talk himself out of this. Gradually, the sobs became hiccoughs, which became sniffs.

“It hurts,” she said at last, voice muffled by his damp shirt. The tail of the comb prodded him in the shoulder as she looked up at him.

“The comb?” She nodded.

“May I try?” he asked, “ If I promise to be very careful?” She studied him for a long while before nodding again.

“Sit here.” He pulled up a second stool and patted the worn seat. “If it hurts,” he added, studying the hopeless mess of tangles on her head, “you just touch my knee, right here,” he tapped his leg, “and I’ll stop. Alright?” The whole matted mass shook as she nodded.

It was painfully slow. The poor child’s hair looked as though it hadn’t been combed since she came into the world, and he only had one hand, but he also had soapy water and a good deal of patience. He should probably have cut it off and saved them both the struggle, but after what seemed like several hours of delicate work and constant breaks, Rey’s hair hung wet and straight down her back. His neck and shoulder screamed at him, unused to such effort, but he smiled as she turned to face him. “Thank you for sitting so patiently,” he told her, “that took a long time and I know it was hard for you.”

“Was it hard for you?” she asked, frowning up at him.

“A little,” he admitted, feeling the sweat trickle down his back. She nodded to herself, looking down at her dirty feet.

“Now,” he said, wincing as he stood from the stool, “do you think that if I ask Frau Gaarten to come back that you can get through a bath?”

“Will it hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” Luke said, “but if it does, you can tap her on the hand and I promise that she will stop and let you take breaks. Will that be alright?” Her face was solemn as she considered his question.

“Where will you be?”

“I,” Luke replied, rolling some of the stiffness out of his shoulder, “will be sitting in that chair right there,” he pointed to the armchair that stood by the bannister in the hall, “reading my paper.”

At last, she gave a sharp nod. “I think I can try.”