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mybrothershands · 3 years

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MBH/Dumpling 2

second installment, same art because otherwise you'll be waiting on it all day tomorrow. Characters by myself and @diddlesanddoodles and editing by @thundering-susurrus

The giant pinched up his face as if he smelled something bad. He then prodded the lump in his chest-pocket. "Get up, you lazy fool."

Several emotions crossed Yale face all at once, from anger to confusion to relief. Now that he knew where to look, Yale could see a distinctive lump in the man’s front pocket and heard the smaller voice emanating from within. Well, if he had a human companion of his own, that was a welcome relief. But he still kept his hand on Nenani. Grinning, he jerked his head to indicate the lump on Ka's shirt. “Ah, well I suppose that answers that. He yer assistant then?”

"Parasite, more like," he said, fishing around in his pocket until he caught the man by the shirt and pulled his shoulders over the lip of the pocket.

"Why you little two-ton son of a hog-bellied cob, I ought to--" The human smacked the hand away.

A nervous laugh escaped the giant, and he clasped his hand over the smaller man's mouth. "Er, this is my brother. He took care of me when I was small," said Ka.

Yale had been watching Ka fish around in his pocket and smirked at the human’s grouchy reply. The human’s snark immediately reminded him of Farris, but upon hearing Ka call him his brother, Yale gave pause. His curiosity was piqued.

“Wha –? Really? Can’t say I’ve ever heard ‘a that. That must be one hell of a story,” he said and jerked his head towards Ka. “Ye must’ve had a time of it keepin’ ‘im fed and clothed proper.”

The giant paused, then seemed to draw back within himself and looked away. Cairo, however, had no such loss for words. "Got that right. Ungrateful, too. You should see the spot in my side where he--" The massive hand clamped over his mouth again.

"I, erm," Ka cleared his throat, worry painted on his face. "I was old enough to work when he took me in. I cleared land for a human farmer in exchange for food. Cairo paid for my clothes and gave me a place to stay."

Polly then decided to use his leg as a scratching post and began rubbing her face up and down the side of his pants, leaning into him. "Woah, hey!" Ka said as he was knocked off balance. Once he found his feet, he pulled her bridle back over her ear and straightened her forelock. "But yes, I'm," he waved his hand in a circle, "I can work with humans just fine. They just need to let me know they're there and keep away from my feet."

“Ah, well no worries there,” Yale said with a light laugh as he pulled his apron aside to reveal Nenani at his hip. “You know better than to be underfoot, ain’t that right Dumplin’?”

Nenani nodded while she observed the new giant and silently marveled at his height. Despite the way in which he towered over them, he had a kind face, and she was not afraid.

“Farris doesn’t like it if I’m on the floor,” she explained. “He doesn’t trust the footmen to keep a look out.”

Ka's expression softened. She was a little thing, even for her kind, with auburn hair that shone in the sunlight. Somehow she met his gaze without fear, and it gave him pause. "H-hello there," he said quietly. "I am Ka. It's nice to meet you, miss."

It took the giant a moment to realize that the young man must have been hiding her, and why he had questioned him so. Come to think of it, he had not seen a single small person, nor chest pocket since he had entered this town. Pieces began to fall into place, and he decided he should not stay here for long. Not with Cairo. Absently, his hand found its way to his pocket.

“Hi. I’m Nenani,” she replied back, trying to look friendly. He looked so nervous, she thought. Yale easily scooped her up and sat her on his leg. After getting comfortable, she gestured up at the cook and said, “And he didn’t say so, but this is Yale.”

Looking confused, Yale looked down at her. “I didn’t introduce myself at all did I?”

“Nope,” she replied. “That was very rude. Lolly would swat you.”

“Ah, well,” he said, giving Ka and Cairo an apologetic shrug. “She wouldn’t be too pleased with me bringin’ the lil’un on this errand either. So there’s that.”

Cairo grumbled as Ka fawned over this little girl. She seemed unafraid and even kind towards his brother, which he respected. Still, he regarded Yale with a critical eye. Hooking his elbow over the frayed lip of the pocket, the human raised his voice. "What kind of kitchen is this anyway, boy? It's a bit late in the day to be fetchin stuff. What are you doing out here now?"

“Best kitchen in Vhasshal,” Yale fired back with a smug grin. He pointed over his shoulder towards the castle behind them. “That being the royal kitchen.”

“But Gjerk didn’t clean the chimney and it ruined the luncheon roasts,” Nenani supplied with a frankness that made light of the true disaster. “Almost caught the whole kitchen on fire.”

Yale frowned and, blushing just a bit, agreed with a muted nod. “Aye. Well, even the best kitchen in Vhasshal can fall victim to inattentive tenderfoots. So we’re needin’ to shuffle things ‘round a bit. Headin’ to a merchant who raises and sells field rocs.”

Ka's face became a smiling mask with a blank stare. Royal kitchen? Was this boy not worried that some stranger picked off the street could poison someone Important? Even the king himself? What if something went wrong and he was blamed for it and put in prison? Even he himself was not sure he deserved such trust, and yet kept his mouth shut in hopes that there was something he did not know.

Cairo, meanwhile, looked the man up and down, and then the girl in turn. They seemed easygoing and honest, if not a bit frank. At last he nodded. "We will accept your offer."

The giant balked. "Cairo, I'm not sure--"

"Shut up," he said, waving a hand. "Your belly's been a'growling all day, and I'll have no more of it. This is an easy job, and you're gonna take it," Cairo barked.

Ka paused, a hint of frustration on his face. Still, this was Cairo. The giant seemed to let go of his worries and nodded. "Just tell me what to do," he said, fixing Yale in his gaze, "and I'll help as much as I can."

He seemed eager enough, Yale thought. And even if his kitchen skills were minimal, so long as he could hold a knife, he could find something for him to do. Ka’s human companion was clearly the more dominant of the two, which Yale found to be quite amusing. And even a bit refreshing. He was so used to humans reacting to him with fear or at the very least nervous suspicion. Not that they did not have a valid reason of course.

He decided he liked Cairo.

“Well, first we gotta go collect them rocs and scurry on back,” Yale said with a grin. “So if we just wanna follow along we’ll go get that done and we can get ye to work.” He paused as he considered Ka. “And get ye somethin’ t’eat. Farris might gripe at me fer it, but believe me. He’s gonna be thankful fer yer help. Even he don’t show it. Or say it. Or yells at ye.”

Yale flicked the reins to usher Polly forward, bringing a hand up to hold onto Nenani when she almost fell off his lap.

“Ah!”

“Oh, sorry there, Dumplin’.”

"Oh," said Ka as he backed away and let the animal slip past until he could walk beside the cab. This Farris fellow seemed a bit crotchety. "Thank you," he said above the creaking wheels. The mention of food set his mouth to watering. They had had so many good things down at the market, maybe now he could get his hands on something. "I can pay you, but I'm afraid my coin may just be trinkets to you."

From his pocket, Cairo squinted one eye, adjusting his position to better watch the small giant. "Why you call her 'dumpling,' anyhow?"

“It was a joke,” Nenani explained with a flat look. “Wasn’t a very funny one.”

“I dunno, I thought it was a pretty good one,” Yale replied with a knowing grin. He poked her belly and the girl squealed and laughed, batting at his fingers. She lost her balance and almost fell back off his lap, but Yale was quick enough to catch her and place her safely down on the bench beside him. He ruffled her hair into a bushy mess. “Anyway, I caught this one here after she’d nicked some fruit. And right in the middle of the King’s weddin’ feast too. Don’t think I’ve ever been that stressed in my life.”

“He threatened to eat me...” Nenani said with the same flat expression.

As lovely as he found the girl's laugh, Ka's smile quickly faded as the girl voiced the joke. He made a sound half way between a choke and a quack. "Hmm?"

Cairo looked more surprised at the noise his brother made than Nenani's admittance. "Oh he did, did he?" He sat up, eyeing Yale. "He looks like a pansy to me."

Yale could not help the smirk of satisfaction at seeing the way Ka reacted. But his focus drew to the man’s pocket and the human within. Leaning towards them and planting his hand on the other side of where Nenani sat, he grinned at the human man.

“Big words fer a fella who travels by pocket,” he challenged. “Why not come on outta there and I’ll show ye how much of a pansy I am.”

Nenani glared up at Yale and grabbed onto his sleeve and gave it a firm tug. “No fighting.”

Cairo merely laughed at the girl's reaction. "I ain't stupid. Think I'll stay in the pocket, eh?" He slapped Ka's chest.

The giant rolled his eyes. He kept pace with the cart fairly easily, even as the Svaldifari trotted. He cleared his throat. "Keep acting like that and I may just let him have you."

"What!" he exclaimed, clutching a hand over his heart. "He might skin me, don't you think? You brute, you should protect your poor old brother."

Ka sighed, plodding along. "You can take care of yourself just fine."

“Smart man, your brother,” Yale said to Ka. “With him taggin’ along, ye might just survive a day in Farris’s kitchen.”

There was something very comforting about watching Cairo and Ka banter. It was all too easy for Yale to be drawn back to the horrible memories of the war and the way it seemed to him at the time that the bloodletting would never cease. Yet before him was a man who openly and easily called a human his brother.

“As fer skinnin’: nah. Too much of a hassle. Much easier to just toss ye into the stew and pop the lid on.”

Beside him, Nenani rolled her eyes. She had become nearly desensitized to all staff’s banter about eating and cooking people. Cairo didn’t seem like the sort to take Yale seriously. But Ka, she observed, seemed to not care for the jokes at all.

Ka lolled his head back, exasperated, then clamped his hand back over Cairo's mouth. "Ne- Nena-nani, er..." he chewed on his tongue for a moment, still trying to decide how many syllables the girl's name had. "Nenani," he said decisively. "He... Yale. He said he found you stealing?" said the giant, desperate to change the subject.

There were a few shoves and knocks on his hand before there at last came a double-tap and Cairo's mouth was freed. However, he kept his mouth shut for once and watched the road ahead. The mare seemed to need a bit of guiding, unused to going this way, but Yale was not quite paying attention. He peered ahead. Was this the way they had come before? Where was the market?

“Oh. Yeah,” she replied as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt in slight embarrassment. “But it’s not like what Farris and they all thought at first. I’m not from the Hill Tribe, I’m from the Southlands. They were loading a bunch of carts near the docks and I tried to sneak in and grab a persimmon before anyone noticed, but the basket was really big and I just...kind of fell in. And got stuck.”

Yale stifled a snicker as he corrected Polly’s path. She whinnied at him in annoyance. “I remember all them peels, lil’un. It was certainly more than one.”

“I was in there for three days,” she said and stuck her tongue out at Yale. “What else was I gonna eat? The basket?” When Yale only shrugged at her, she continued. “I grew up being told stories about Vhasshal and I was really scared. So as soon as the caravan stopped, I tried to run.”

“Caught her tryin’ to make a run fer it,” Yale added lightly pinching her arm. “Didn’t get all that far. Like...a half a dozen yards maybe before I got ‘er.”

Ka frowned. He did not like the way that last bit sounded. He steered away as they passed another cart on the road. He wanted to ask the stories about Vhasshal, and why she had been so frightened, but the girl had not seemed a bit embarrassed about that point in her past. Come to think of it, maybe he did not want to know. "Persimmons... have peels?"

The edge of the village was approaching, and Yale could hear the sound of the rocs long before their pens came into view. Their destination was a handsome little cottage just at the end of the tight clusters of row homes. Though was an older building and had but a thatched roof, it was well maintained and clean. Behind it were the roc pens. There were a dozen or so of the birds loose in the larger space, and Yale felt relieved. He was only going to need ten for the luncheon service, and he’d be able to get a few extra just in case anything else went horribly wrong today.

“Well, I think they’re actually husks,” she was saying. “They’re from overseas somewhere. But you’re not supposed to eat the outsides because it’ll make you sick.”

“Ye did get sick though. Just not from eatin’ fruit,” Yale pointed out. His eyes trailed after the other cart as they passed, having seen the way they had been gawking at Ka. Poor guy must get that a lot.

“Yeah, I had the red reap,” Nenani said. “It was terrible. But Farris took care of me and gave me medicine and watched me all night while I had the fever.”

Ka blinked, trying to make sense of this new information. He had no idea what red reap was, but then again, he was not familiar with most diseases. "It sounds terrible," he said, worry on his brow. The way she had explained it, it sounded deadly. He could not imagine having to care for someone through the night, not knowing if the little thing would make it.

Though he had not yet met the man, Ka found himself reconsidering this Farris guy. If he was the type to yell at someone new, it seemed a bit backwards that he would worry over a thief. He shook the thought away. He had not met him yet. Maybe he would understand later.

It was then he heard some bird-like squabbling, and looked up to find a pen with some frighteningly large feathery beasts. "What... are those?" He felt a bit stupid for asking, but then again, nothing was familiar to him here. Nothing at all.

"What, you never seen a chicken before?" Cairo butted in.

“Oh them ain’t no chickens,” Yale answered, giving Cairo an amused sideways glance. “Those are common field rocs. Those beauties eat chickens fer breakfast. Literally. They’re birds of prey. And they’re what we’re here fer.”

Yale maneuvered the cart towards the pens and when they were close enough, he pulled the reins lightly and Polly came to a gentle halt. She turned to her head back at Yale, expectation in her eyes. With a chuckle, he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a pressed oat cake. Turning to Ka, he held out the treat. “Wanna give Polly her reward while I go spend the king's money?”

A grin spread across Ka’s face, and he chuckled. "Seems she's in good hands," he said, gently taking the biscuit from him.

~~~

Twelve common field rocs were in the back of the cart, their wings tied down to their sides and hemp sacks placed over their heads to keep them docile. Nenani hung off the back of the driver’s bench, looking down at the immobilized birds. They were as large as cows, and it was a little daunting to think that there were birds that big in the world.

The trip back was fairly uneventful, except that news of Ka seemed to have made its way around the village, They seemed to be getting more stares than before, but Yale made a point of staring down whatever gawkers he noticed. But he did not have the same presence as Farris did, and mostly, the people just kept on staring.

Nenani found it to be pretty rude, and to several she stuck out her tongue.

As they approached the back gate that led to the kitchen courtyard, the guards stationed there did double takes as Ka came into view, but Yale was quick to head off any questions. “He’s here to help out for the day. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Farris.”

There was enough of a threat in those words that they were allowed to pass without any form of harassment.

“Don’t let those guards make ye nervous none, lad,” Yale said to Ka. “Most of ‘em are real decent fellas.”

Yale was still looking towards Ka as he directed Polly along the road, around the last bend, and into the courtyard. He pulled the reins and was about to say something else when felt a tug on his sleeve and he looked down at Nenani. “Hm? What’s it?”

Nenani merely pointed further ahead of them and Yale’s gaze followed along. A large fire pit had been lit in the middle of the yard, and the largest of their cooking pans was placed over the top, with a sizable pile of pumpkins next to it. Saen and Avery were in the middle of carving a few up but had made little headway.

But what had caught their eye was none of them, but the solitary figure just a short distance away. Standing with his arms akimbo and looking very displeased was Farris. His green eyes narrowed at Yale.

“Yer fuckin’ late.”

Ever since the border guards, Ka had gotten increasingly fidgety. As soon as Yale quieted down, he slowed up and walked behind the cart. The castle ahead was bigger than any he had seen, especially this close up. He ran his hand up and down his sleeve, trying to create some warmth as his breath crystallized before him. Upon hearing the voice, the giant's first impression was how gravelly and frayed it sounded, possibly from overuse. The second was that it did not sound happy.

"What's it to you?" Cairo muttered under his breath. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction, than anything, but it was enough to remind Ka to keep an eye on him. The human's left arm and legs lolled out of the pocket. He picked at his teeth as the giant walked. "Move over, Ka, I want to get a look at this meathead."

Ka merely shook his head, hand straying up to cover the man. "Be careful here. We don't know for sure if it's safe yet." There came a grumbling and a shove at the fingers, but for the most part he kept his mouth shut.

Before Yale could even begin to explain himself, Farris caught sight of Ka, and the kitchen master’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and up and up until he met the taller giant’s eye. “And just who in the Seven Hells are ye?”

Before Ka could answer, though, Yale jumped in. “Came across him on the way to get the rocs. He was lookin’ fer some work, and I offered to let him help us today.”

All through Yale’s explanations, Farris sized Ka up with a critical eye, pausing at the distinct bulge in the tall man’s pocket. His eyes narrowed suspiciously before turning their vitriol onto his assistant.

“Oh ye did, did ye?” he demanded. “Are ye fuckin’ daft boy?”

Yale hopped down off the cart. “We need the extra help, and as mad as ye are, ye can’t deny the big fella could be of some help. Hell, he’d make short work breakin’ down the pumpkins.” Yale leaned around Farris to yell past him towards his fellow cooks. “A whole lot faster than them two knobheads!”

Saen and Avery looked up from their work to glare back at Yale. Avery waved his knife in the air, calling back, “Go fuck yerself, Yale.”

Yale was still grinning when Farris drew his attention back with a growl. “And ye think I’d let just anyone off the street come in and cook in my kitchen, do ye?”

Yale glanced over his shoulder at Ka and then back to Farris. With a shrug, he said, “Honestly boss, I don’t think he’d fit. Be a bit tight.”

Farris’s ever-present glare faltered as an amused smirk crossed his lips. With a grunt he looked back at Ka. “Ye have any experience in a kitchen there, son?”

The giant clutched his fists against his chest, shoulders hunched and brow scrunched with worry. Though the man was half his height, he scared Ka. He looked like someone who knew how to fight and just might if aggravated.

"Y-yessir, just a bit, sir." Ka stuttered, coming out from behind the wagon. "Look, I promise I mean no harm, sir. I just, well I- I- I was looking for some work is all. He was nice enough to give me a chance. I promise I'll do my best if you'll only let me help."

Farris was silent for several moments, eyeing Ka once more. “Where ye from?”

The giant straightened up a bit, a slight hope welling in his chest. "Benhyke, sir. I'm... trying to find my way back there, actually."

“Never heard of it. So ye mean to tell me yer as tall as a fuckin’ house with no proper sense of direction?” The kitchen master didn’t give Ka a chance to answer before walking over to the cart where Nenani sat. He laid his arm across the drivers bench and looked at the girl. “What say ye Dumplin’? Think he’s some sort of secret assassin tryin’ to worm his way into the castle?”

Nenani blinked and shook her head. “No.”

“Well, if yer so sure,” he said with a small smile and scooped her up. Tucking her into the crook of his arm, he turned back to Ka. The warmth he had spoken to Nenani with was gone and the harsher tone returned. “Ye got a name?”

He scratched his head, still harboring the initial insult in his mind, and had not quite heard him speak to the girl. "What? O-oh I am Ka. And this is--" he paused. At first caution took over, but once he saw the way he cared for Nenani, the fear melted. "--Cairo," he finished.

Upon hearing his name, a single hand came out of the pocket and gave a dramatic wave. "Evening to you, you motherless goat," he called, then the hand disappeared again.

Farris’s expression darkened and, behind him, Yale was making a frantic motion with his hands at Ka that translated roughly to “Bad idea. Stop.”

“I’ll give ye fair warning now, boy,” Farris warned as he walked towards Ka. Pressing further into his space, he stared up at the taller giant and pointed towards his pocket. “Keep that one’s mouth under control or I’ll be doin’ it fer ‘im. I’ve had plenty of humans toss out insults at me and, one way or another, they learn not to. If ye wanna work, I’ve got work fer ye. And you’ll be paid fair wages fer it. But if that one skulking in yer pocket don’t watch it, he’s gonna become intimately acquainted with the inside of a roasting pan.”

Ka's face paled and he backed away, clutching one hand to his pocket. "No! No, please, he's my brother. Y-you can't--I won't..." He seemed to get ahold of himself then, squared his shoulders. "Take that back," he said, regaining his ground. If it were not for the girl in his arms, Ka was not sure what he might have done.

Farris did not back away, and his only movement was to use his free hand to cover Nenani as though to shield her. He met Ka’s eyes with a firm unwavering stare. “I don’t take it back. This is my kitchen and my word is law.” Farris let a small smirk come to his lips. “Just keep in mind though, I didn’t say nothing about actually cookin’ ‘im.”

The giant blinked, relaxing a bit. "What?"

At this point, Cairo heaved a dramatic sigh and pulled himself up. He looked the man up and down and came to a conclusion. "Ugly lump."

Nenani poked her head out from behind Farris’s hand. “No fighting.”

At Nenani's word, Ka took a step back. There was still anger in his blood, and he elected to stay on his toes, but any hostility was snuffed out by the girl's voice.

Farris only adjusted his hand to ruffle her hair. “Well ye ain’t no Blue Thorn Beauty yerself,” Farris shot back at Cairo, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Ain’t ye a bit old fer being carried ‘round like a babe?”

Cairo raised a brow, then patted the chest behind him. "This one here's the baby when it comes down to it, little man. Now--" He cut himself off as if he had heard something. "Alright already," he grumbled at apparently nothing. "What do I have to do to get your sorry bag of bones to do something decent, eh? This boy's half starved."

"Cairo..." Ka hissed through his teeth. "I haven't done the work yet."

Farris huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yale,” he called without taking his eyes from the pair. “Go grab this one one ‘a the leftover meat pies.” He paused, reconsidering the man and his height. “Make that two.”

“Will do, boss,” Yale replied, flashing Ka a wide grin before running off towards the stairway that led into the kitchen proper.

“I don’t run a charity here,” Farris told him sternly. “But if yer gonna be any use to me at all today, it wont be with an empty belly. Ye’ll eat and then ye’ll work. Understand?”

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

#crossover with doobdles

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the-knights-who-say-book · 4 years

Text

Of a Witch, a Gossip, and a Library

The library on the corner of Oak and Vine was an accident. The crown didn’t bother opening libraries this far out west, so far from any of the major cities—so far that the townspeople joked to each other the king might someday forget to send his tax collectors out there, too. So Feldwidth had never had a library before.

When the local witch died a few years back, nobody quite knew what to do with her narrow corner cottage, with its living space upstairs and walls lined with shelves of witchcraft ingrediants on the single ground floor room. The witch hadn’t any children or relatives to continue living there, and nobody else claimed the space in the months after her death. The downstairs room, shelves on all four walls (even on the inside of the door!), just didn’t invite new inhabitants. No one in Feldwidth, except for the general store owner on Main, practiced a trade which required so many shelves, and no one wanted the tedious task of taking them all down.

It was Margorette Clay, who lived just outside the village and came in once a week supposedly to sell produce but mostly just to gossip, who said they ought to get themselves another witch.

“Not like you find them growing in a road ditch,” Jame Clott said irritably, because Margo was leaning against his fence. As far as he was concerned, no one who hadn’t painted that fence themselves were allowed to lean on it.

“Suppose not. Guess that’s only where you find Clotts,” Margo said, and ducked the dirty sheet that Jame had been beating out on the stone path and was about to beat out on her head. Cawing her distinctive laughter, she ran down the street, apron full of apples jostling and jumping with her loping stride.

Jame leaned over his fence to yell after her, “And they find Clays on the streets after it rains, too dumb to get back into the dirt!”

Margo’s laughter drew Catty Loose to the open doorway of her house as sure as if she’d had a ringing bell to announce new gossip. “What’s got Jame worked up?”

“Cause I said you ought to get yourselves a new witch,” Margo said, barely half-truthful as usual. “Buy an apple? They’re almost as blushing pretty as your kitling.”

Catty’s smallest daughter went red and buried herself deeper in her mother’s skirts.

Another kid, barely older, leaned against Margo’s leg and pulled her hand, nearly spilling all the apples from the apron she was holding up. “Why nother witch? What for?”

“Ah, every place ought to have one,” Margo said vaguely. “It’s the way of things. One apple for each of your kitlings, Catty, and I’ll throw two in free.”

————————

“Margo’s right,” Catty Loose said after temple that Saturday, as the townspeople gathered in the yard to mingle and eat, her arms full of children and another two playing at her feet.

With preternatural hearing, Jame Clott turned from speaking with his husband Willem across the yard to say loudly, “Margorette Clay has never been right once in her life.”

Catty ignored him. “We ought to get a new witch. Sooner or later we’ll want one.”

“That’s crap,” Jame said, coming into the circle that surrounded Catty, which seemed to be half made up of her own children. “What’ll we want a witch for? No one’s been cursed in ages.”

“Aida Macintosh,” someone put in.

“Aida Macintosh ate the red berries by the stream. That’s not a curse so much as a punishment for stupidity.”

No one could really disagree.

“Need one for love shpells,” a tiny Loose kitling named Alfed suggested.

Jame crouched down, his face softening, to look into his small, earnest face. “Love spells are a gross affront against consent and should have been outlawed years ago,” he said gently.

Little Alfed Loose sneezed in his face.

“For getting a baby when you can’t make one yourself,” Mendy Hark said, one hand squeezing her daughter’s shoulder protectively.

Jame, wiping his face, didn’t say anything.

————————

“So how’s one get a witch anyway?” Lukey Keening asked, continuing the conversation from several days ago without preamble, as he tended to do. He and his overly long teenage limbs were sprawled in the grass of the meadow where the families of Oak street gathered once a week for a community meal, conspicuously not helping.

The eldest Loose girl, siblings hoisted on either hip, made a thoughtful sound. “You don’t get one, I think, they get you.”

“I don’t wanna get gotten,” one child on her hip sniffled.

“That’s only bad witches that get you,” Lukey said.

Lettie sighed. “No, I mean, you don’t do something to get a witch, they come to you.”

“That’s right, girly,” Margo Clay said from her perch watching over a pot of stew on the open fire. She had not been invited. Like witches, Margo simply appeared without being fetched. “But I tell you what, you can make them know you want one.”

“How’s that?” Daff Keening asked, arms crossed over his comfortably large belly. His sudden and stout presence made his son scramble up and pretend to be busy helping Lettie wrangle several children, all of whom resembled her as nesting dolls resemble the one they fit inside.

“You make a place ready for her.” Margo’s brash tone, as ever, drew more people from their tasks to pay attention to her. “Like baiting a trap. Can’t expect a mouse to walk into your trap unless you make it look inviting.”

“What do you know about mice?” Sal Hark asked skeptically.

“They’re close relatives of hers,” Jame Clott said, unable to resist. “The better question is, what does she know about witches?”

————————

Margo Clay was an incorrigible gossip, but people who liked gossip liked Margo, so she was listened to anyway.

Catty Loose sent Lettie to sweep the empty store and dust the unnecessary amount of shelves. Lukey Keening tagged along to clean the small windows and help keep three small Looses in hand. The gaggle of children in and around the shop drew Jame Clott to poke his head in and see what was going on.

“Well! It looks clean, but it doesn’t look like a witch’s shop,” he declared.

“He’s right, Mama,” Lettie told her mother that evening. “I tossed out all the shriveled up herbs she had in there when I cleaned the shelves. Some of them had crumbled near into dust. But with the shelves empty it doesn’t look much like a witch’s place.”

Catty relayed this to the Macintoshes, who were eager for a replacement witch, in case anybody got cursed like Aida had last year.

“Mmhmm,” Catty said to that.

“I think the Harks have the magic books the old witch left,” Theo Macintosh said. “We can put those in there.”

—————————

Sal Hark brought the books around the shop a few days later, squinting in the sunshine at the man who was already there. “Hey, Jame. Witch showed up yet?”

Jame Clott startled back from the window he was peering through. “Nah, no witch is coming.”

Sal let out a whistle of agreement, but his smile was amused, like he thought Jame was wrong.

“Not with the shop looking that shoddy, anyway,” Jame said with a sniff. “There isn’t even a sign.”

“Blew down in a storm a few years ago, I think,” Sal said. “We know what shop it is, anyhow. Not like we’ve got shops every which way.”

“The witch wouldn’t know, since she’s new,” Jame said testily. If the whole town was going to take up Margo’s logic, they had better be consistent.

“Tell you what, then, you ought to paint a new sign. You’re the only one here who knows which end of a paintbrush goes where.”

Jame shook his head and waved goodbye. He wasn’t making a sign for an empty shop, a shop that would remain empty.

That night he saw Willem look out their kitchen window at that empty shop, something sad and wistful in his eyes, several times during their quiet dinner. Their dinners were always quiet, though they told each other about their days in detail, and debated if Margo’s pumpkins were any good at length. It was the quiet of something missing, the kind of quiet the Loose’s house down the street, full to the brim, had never known.

“Sal Hark said I should paint a sign for the witch’s shop, to make her want to come,” Jame said, surprising himself.

Willem tore his eyes away from the window and looked at him. After a moment, he smiled. “Face it, Jame, they won’t get her to come without your help.”

————————

Jame put up the new sign next week, his back so stiff-straight that nobody dared tease him about coming round to Margo’s thinking, though several people gathered across the street to watch.

The sign was big and square and sturdy, and painted on both sides was an open tome with stylized curls of magic shooting from it. Willem held the ladder steady while he hung it up, and Jame felt almost hopeful. Through the shining little windows passersby could see the neat shop room and the witch’s small collection of spell books sitting on one of the many shelves, and it looked almost inviting.

————————

Margo, who lived outside town, was the first one to realize someone had come to town overnight.

“Your witch is here!” she crowed, all but dancing down Oak Street in the early morning. “What did I tell you? Make it nice and she’ll come!”

“Quiet your racket,” said an irritable Jame, poking his head out his door. “Witch isn’t the word I’d use for you.”

“Wheel tracks!” she yelled at him. “Fresh wheel tracks down the road before I left my farm! Who brings a cart into town except for me and the tax collector? And the tax collector wouldn’t have set up shop in there!” She pointed one victorious finger at the corner shop where Jame’s sign swayed gently in the breeze. A rickety wooden cart was collapsed on the ground below it.

Jame opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Down the street, Catty Loose stuck her head out the window. “Margo, what are you whooping about? Oh my—Lettie! Lettie, find my shawl!” Her head ducked back inside, and before the last copper curl had followed it out the window, she was rushing out the front door, Lettie close on her heels.

Jame snapped his mouth shut and hurried after Margo, Catty, and Lettie, following them to the corner shop. A sleepy bundle of Loose kitlings, a couple of Keenings, a herd of Macintoshes and even a Hark or two were all heading in the same direction.

Someone had moved into the witch’s shop.

There were muddy shoe prints down the stone path, a new blue-checked curtain drawn over the window, and Margo standing triumphantly in front of the house, hands on her hips. “Didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I!”

“So you did,” said Sal Hark, “but quiet, Margo, or you’ll wake her up. She must’ve come in dead of night.”

Margo ignored him. “Well, I hope you all remember this. When I’m right, I’m right!”

Behind her, the witch’s door cracked open.

The girl who opened it was no older than Lettie Loose, and probably younger. Her face was nervous, but as she took in the crowd outside her door, it broke into a shy smile. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t expect... I’m not all set up yet. But I suppose the library can be open now if you want.”

“What?” said Margo.

“Library?” said Catty.

“I knew it,” said Jame. “You didn’t catch yourself a witch. You caught a librarian.”

Margo glared at him, apparently lost for words.

The girl looked back and forth between them. “I’m sorry?”

Margo rounded on her. “A librarian! Is that what you are? Then you have to leave. We’re waiting for a witch.”

The girl’s mouth opened and shut, her eyes big, and then she looked down and sniffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jame snapped, a protectiveness in his voice so fierce that Margo took a step back from both him and the girl. He glared around him, making sure no one else was going to follow Margo’s lead, and then turned back to the girl. All anger dropped out of his face immediately, replaced by a gentle warmth. “Have you got family?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I’m... I’ve just been taking my library around. That’s my family. I thought we could stay here, maybe, If that’s alright.”

“That’s just fine. We’ve never had a library before, we’re all real grateful you came. Come have breakfast.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already thinking of having a full kitchen, and Willem no longer staring out the window, and needing to find more eggs for breakfast, and who in town might have extra shoes to replace the worn-thin boots on her feet.

A layer of tension seemed to slough off her. She stepped out of her doorway and a few feet onto the path to follow Jame, then paused. Looking back at them, she said, “When you take a book, write the title and your name in the ledger, and return it in two weeks.”

Skipping to catch up with Jame, she grabbed his hand with an easy sort of trust. She turned her face up to him. “If it’s not for a library, why is it full of shelves? Why were there already books there? Why does it have a book sign?”

“Sometimes,” Jame said, “People think they’re waiting for one thing, but they’re really waiting for another.”

“Were you?” she asked.

He saw the moment Willem noticed them through the window, saw hope dawn in his eyes as he watched them come up the path; his husband, and a girl who looked like she needed a home.

“No,” he said. “We were waiting exactly for you.”

#this got out of hand. it was supposed to be a story about the librarian but then i decided to explain how she got there and. well.#original fiction #short story #fantasy #My writing #Of a Witch a Gossip and a Library

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Note

Maybe some cottage/farm living between mutually nonverbal Nines and Gavin? (Meaning they're both nonverbal). Congrats on 160 followers! You totally deserve it! ^^

//Ooh! I love this! Also thank you <33 //Best read when listening to Marbles by the Amazing Devil

Life was easy like this, they lived quietly in a literal sense as much as the metaphorical; and looking back after all these years it was still a warm feeling for Gavin. It hadn’t always been that way of course. What they had was a combination of patience from Richard, and Gavin being too stubborn for his own good a majority of the time, paired of course with the years that had passed them by. When Gavin had moved to Lovelock he hadn’t been used to quiet, Detroit was always alive and loud. There was always something happening. Gavin resembled that well, he was raucous and persistent. Lovelock was the opposite, there was a McDonalds, Dairy Queen, Library, public school with a high school to match, a public pool, and a single stoplight. It was quiet, and so was his neighbor Richard. If you could consider someone who lived six miles away from you as your neighbor anyway. They didn’t get along at first. Which again, was mostly on Gavin. Richard was friendly and didn’t seem to want anything in return, which in Detroit meant trouble. So reasonably, in his own opinion, Gavin pushed back. He was harsher than was probably needed, and at times when so far as to actively ignore Richard’s advice. Which turned out was not a good idea when you knew fuck all about running a farm.

Richard didn’t talk to him. It was infuriating for a reason that Gavin couldn’t place. All this effort to be neighborly, but never a word, and Gavin talked a lot. There were a lot of things to talk about, Lovelock was wildly different from Detroit. Largely because usually the biggest thing going on at all was football season in the fall and going to church on Sundays. Nothing ever happened here and it was driving Gavin up a wall. Every time he had said this to Richard he would smile and roll his eyes. There were things of course that he liked about Lovelock, like how he could see the stars at night, that people minded their own business, and in the morning he was almost guaranteed a hand written note from Richard explaining how to fix something Gavin had complained about, or talking about something that had reminded him of Gavin. While Richard’s lack of conversation skills annoyed Gavin to no end, his constant presence was nice. Knowing that if he ever needed anything, there was someone down the road that could help him. He never would have thought that the tables would turn. That there would be a time when Richard needed him. The thing about quiet neighbors was there was no indicator of something being wrong, not that Gavin would have been able to tell from six miles away anyhow. It took three days for him to notice something was up, well wasn’t actually; for three days the red flag on his mailbox had been down. Richard hadn’t sent him anything in three days. The letters had been the one near constant thing since Gavin had moved to this town in the middle of who fucking knew where. So on day three he got in his car and made his way to Richard’s house to investigate.

His neighbor wasn’t outside, which was unusual. Richard was always working on something, it was the one thing that ever made noise. So like an absolute creep Gavin checked the windows of the farm house. It was empty for the most part until he got to the bedroom, there was a person shaped lump under the blankets. Under a lot of blankets, which was concerning considering as it was hot as all fuck out. He had his answer, Richard was sick, he could leave. Instead he walked back around to the front of the house. It was cliché, but while he was looking for the spare key he did look under the welcome mat. It wasn’t there, Richard had cleverly hidden it in a realistic looking beehive. Which Gavin only learned was the home of the key as well as fake by accidentally knocking it over. While he was waiting to get viscously mauled by bees he realized that the hive had jingled on its way down, beehives didn’t do that. So like the genius he was known to be, he picked up the hive and shook it just to be safe. It was plastic and there was definitely something in it. He reached inside and came away with a key. He set the beehive back where he had knocked it over from and made his way inside. The house was still and quiet in a way that he had come to associate with Richard. His Australian Shepard Micky left the room to investigate and her tail started wagging at the sight of Gavin. Normally she would have been outside running around, so Gavin let her outside before he continued on his way to Richard.

He made his way back to the room Micky had come out of assuming that if she had been in there than Richard probably was as well. Sure enough, his guess lead him to the person shaped lump on the bed. He peeked in from the doorway trying to gage if Richard was awake or asleep. He didn’t want to intrude if Richard was asleep, that was where he drew the line. Which was probably a few steps too far considering as he had more or less just broken into Richard’s house, well he used the spare key but still, it wasn’t exactly like he had permission to be there. “Richard?” He called into the room because apparently he felt like being all kinds of asshole today, “Are you okay?” He got either a groan or a hum in response and the lump on the bed moved. It took a long moment before blue eyes stared at him from the cocoon of blankets. He was awake at the very least so Gavin stepped into the room. “I haven’t heard from you in a while and I was getting worried.” He explained. Blue eyes narrowed and the cocoon shuffled around a bit more until Richards hands were visible and he started signing, ‘Only Sick. You Not Have Worry.’ “Do you need help around here? While you recover?” He pressed. Richard paused for a moment before he replied, ‘If It Not Trouble.’ “I wouldn’t be here if it was.” He said with a smile.

After that week things between them were different. With the knowledge that Gavin at the very least understood Sign Language Richard became more talkative. They became friends and when he told Tina she and Chris put money down on how long it would last. She didn’t believe Richard would keep him around for long, he was loud and different after all. The thing was he wasn’t as loud anymore, he was signing a lot more now. It allowed for easier conversations with Richard which was nice. Three years went by until Gavin gathered enough courage to be honest with himself, and another six months for him to be honest with Richard. They became an item after that, which wasn’t as much of an issue as he thought it would be in such a small town. It was two years before Gavin sold his property and moved in with Richard. Time rolled by after that, and somewhere in the years Gavin stopped talking all together. There was no need for it when everything that needed to be expressed could be said in a look or a gesture. It was easy, natural by now. Even when enough time had rolled by that the deep brown of Richard’s hair that Gavin had loved had gone white and neither of them could do the hard work they once had, Gavin found he loved Richard just as much still. Even now, when neither of them had much of a mind left and it was like meeting him all over again everyday. With everything still unspoken, by the end of the day they were in love all over again.

@rk-frog

(Prompt from this list)

#Human AU short #reed900 #nonverbal reed900 #nonverbal Gavin #nonverbal nines #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh fic #dbh #160 follower ask event!#ask panda #panda has all the answers!

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dankmemes-of-dantooine · 3 years

Text

Shoulder Your Burden (part two)

Alright everyone this is where the angst and thirst get kicked up a notch. You’ve been warned. Stay tuned for part three.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

“Inappropriate use of the for-“ Obi-Wan’s steady voice hummed from the door way. Anakin didn’t turn to him.

“I know, I know.” Anakin cut him off good naturedly, waving him off.

Anakin remained there for a time, focusing on his breathing. He could hear the older Jedi rummaging around in the kitchen, no doubt already set to work whipping up those Ruby Bliels. Anakin smiled at that, humming a contented sigh.

“Anakin, are these droid parts in the sink? You can’t get mech grease in the drain, you’ll wreck the plumbing in the whole temple.”

Anakin could hear metallic clatter of the parts being moved and he chuckled to himself.

“Don’t touch my stuff!”

He called, eyes still closed. He really wasn’t meditating anymore, as much as stilling his mind and enjoying the banter.

He could hear Obi-Wan sigh dramatically from the kitchen and he stifled a laugh.

He stretched his arms out high above him and rolled his shoulders, attempting to relax out all the knots he’d developed from the weeks of hard combat.

Obi-Wan rounded the corner with drinks just then, taking a seat next to him on the floor, setting their drinks on the low table.

Anakin nodded appreciatively, taking a sip from his drink, and looking out through the large window.

The room was thick with knowing silence.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened today…” Obi-Wan began after a time,

“Good,” Anakin said curtly, taking another sip,

“...but I know that it troubles you.”

Anakin drew his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing it pensively for a moment.

Images from the days events bombarded his mind, his men dying, the blaster fire, the smell, Maker, the smell that had made him sick earlier, Dozer, leaving Dozer, he couldn’t save Dozer-

“I might as well have killed them myself,” he croaked, voice higher and more reedy than he had intended. He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to quiet the drumming of his heart beat in his ears.

He turned his face away, staring out the broad window again.

“How do you think I feel? I did the same thing! I’ve made countless mistakes! My men died too,” Obi-Wan reached, trying desperately to appeal to his former student in any way he could.

“It’s different,” he spat, disheartened to find his lip quivering.

“How is it different?” Obi-Wan sounded incredulous now, he always thought Anakin was so ridiculous.

Anakin's cheeks burned as he turned to face his master.

“The council knows you're a capable Jedi master! The view me as an overgrown youngling,” he snapped bitterly, mortified as a tear tracked its way down his cheek.

“Anakin, they would’ve never given you a command if they didn’t think you capable, be reasonable-“

“I’m so unreasonable, aren’t I, Master?” he stood now, turning away from Obi-Wan,

“So unreasonable, I caused half my men to die.”

He choked back a half sob, swallowing thickly, blinking as tears ran down his face. Why was he like this? Why did things cause him to become unglued and weep in front of his master this way? Shame burned deep in his belly and his cheeks flushed vividly.

“Anakin-“

“Stop.”

Please.

Obi-Wan was reaching, pushing feelings of acceptance, support, through their force bond.

Anakin shook his head, suffering against the urge to sob into his elbow.

He heard Obi-Wan get to his feet but he made no move to turn to him, shame and embarrassment freezing him to his spot in front of the window.

He felt thin and fragile, like winter’s first ice, as though at any moment, any little thing could shatter him.

The lights of transports and speeders flashed vividly outside, and Anakin wondered numbly if anyone was looking in at him coming undone in his living room. He tried to let himself be hypnotized by the vibrant colors out on the street outside but he couldn’t think of anything except screams, the burnt flesh, the smell-

Obi-Wan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him to face him.

Anakin resisted at first, trying to shrug out of the grip, but his master rubbed reassuring circles into his shoulder, like he had earlier, and it made his knees wobble. His heart skipped, and another silent tear tracked itself down his cheek.

He slid to the floor, collapsing on his knees.

Obi-Wan followed, sitting on the floor next to him, pulling Anakin’s head to his chest.

Anakin came completely unseamed, his wails muffled by Obi-Wan robes.

The older man brought a hand to his hair, soothingly picking through the curls as Anakin cried.

He shushed him, rubbing wide circles onto his back.

I’m sorry, Master, sorry sorry sorry

Shh. What are you sorry for? Hush.

Couldn’t save them. Couldn’t help them couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t I couldn’t-

“Dozer,” Anakin choked out, swallowing thickly against the ragged breaths he was sucking in like a man half drowned.

“I know, dear one, shh,” Obi-Wan said miserably, remembering fondly the times Dozer had assisted Anakin in various mischief and pranks. They weren’t meant to have favorites, but Obi-Wan had long suspected that Dozer ranked amongst those Anakin most treasured. But he cared about all of his men. It was his great strength and also his hamartia, his compassion.

Anakin had begun to compose himself, but sat sniffling, collapsed against Obi-Wan like a pile of wet laundry.

He radiated shame and mortification, feeling totally burned out and embarrassed he’d sobbed loudly into his Master’s chest like a youngling throwing a tantrum.

His walls were down, and he know Obi-Wan was picking up on his misery through their bond.

“Quit that,” Obi-Wan said softly, pressing a kiss to Anakin’s temple, “you lost a friend today. You’re permitted to be upset.

Anakin’s brain though, was short circuiting. Had Obi-Wan just kissed him? I mean, he had, but had he ever done that before? Suddenly Anakin couldn’t remember. He’d never felt like this before, so simultaneously burned out and horrified, and yet safe and cared for. And to his mortification, aroused heat thrummed low in his belly, and his stomach fluttered.

He looked up bleary eyed at Obi-Wan, tears still sticking his eyelashes together.

Confusion churned his brain, and he was too emotionally overstimulated to really process what was happening.

“Did you just, kiss me, Obi-Wan?” he asked, dazed, voice raw and raspy from the tears and overexertion.

Obi-Wan smiled, this time a flush darkening his own cheeks, still gently massaging his padawans scalp. He shrugged.

Anakin cleared his throat, looking away, heart thrumming in his ears, a deep blush curling up his neck to his cheeks and the tops of his ears before he could even utter the words,

“Would you do it again?”

His Master obliged him, pressing another chaste kiss to his forehead and Anakin made a sound of protest, nuzzling into Obi-Wan's neck.

“What, then?” Obi-Wan had meant to ask it humorously, if not a bit patronizingly, but his voice came out as a thin whisper.

Anakin swallowed thickly and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s jaw, causing the older man to tense up.

Obi-Wan cleared this throat.

“Come on then, dear one, I think you need sleep. It’s been quite the day, hasn’t it.”

Obi-Wan moved to stand, pulling Anakin up with him, but Anakin felt as though the entire world had just come crashing down upon his head.

He suddenly felt cold and naked, like he’d just stepped out of the ‘fresher but his towel was across the room.

He didn’t want to go to bed. He didn’t want Obi-Wan to leave.

The last thing he wanted was to be left here alone with his thoughts.

“I won’t be able to sleep, Master,” he said, only thinly disguising his misery. He had intended to follow up the sentence with ‘stay and play a round of Dejarik with me,’

But Obi-Wan had opened his mouth before he got the chance.

“I can stay with you, if you’d like.”

“What?”

“I can stay...if you’d sleep better.”

Obi-Wan was referring to his nightmares, which did tend to plague him after days like today. He hadn’t offered to stay with him while he slept since he was a young padawan, though.

“Obi-Wan, I could never ask you to-“

“Nonsense. It’ll save you the midnight trip across the temple to come knocking on my door at an ungodly hour requesting a game of Sabacc, anyhow.”

“You’re only just down the hall, Master.”

“At any rate, I’ll be right here, if you should need a midnight game of Sabacc.”

Anakin's heart thumped and he pulled Obi-Wan in for another long embrace.

“Thank you, Master.”

————————-

Obi-Wan did stay with him in his apartment that night, though to Anakin’s secret chagrin, he insisted on staying on the couch. Anakin slept through the first night, mind quieted just knowing his master was in the other room. He was morose and self hating that next day, and after filling their day with sparring and saber practice in an attempt to take his mind off things, Obi-Wan offered to stay a second night.

The fitful sleep, however, started that second night.

Obi-Wan was awakened in the night in a cold sweat by Anakin issuing a full on scream in his sleep. Obi-Wan rushed back to his room, half expecting to find him being eaten alive or flayed by an intruder, but instead, found the younger Jedi upright in bed with his knees pulled to his chest.

He’d sat with him and consoled him, playing an obligatory game of Sabacc, (Anakin let him win,) making sure Anakin was drifting off to sleep before making his way back to the couch. He hesitated in the doorway before returning the the bedside and pressing a tentative kiss to Anakin’s forehead.

Anakin had been feigning sleep, peaking through one eye like a mischievous child. Curiosity had gotten the best of him in that moment, and his heart thumped so loudly he was worried he’d give himself away.

The third night was much the same, although rather than screams, Anakin seemed to be crying in his sleep. It was a low, whimpering, pitiful sound, one that was broken and hollow.

It wrenched at Obi-Wan's heart. He sat next to him on the bed and waited for the younger man to awaken on his own, for fear of startling him and making things worse.

Anakin came to with a start, still whimpering, sleepy shame permeating their force bond as he realized, with embarrassment, Obi-Wan had been watching him cry.

“None of that, dear one,” he’d said softly, sitting with him until his breathing evened out. Wrung out, Anakin sighed loudly from his spot, his breath tickling Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan suppressed a smile, watching as his former student slithered back into bed, sleep making his usually graceful movements clumsy and heavy.

Obi-Wan had stood to take his place on the couch after a time, when he was reasonably certain that Anakin was asleep.

“Wait,” Anakin murmured softly. Obi-Wan froze, heart hammering in his chest.

“Yes, dear one?”

Anakin hesitated.

“Will you stay? I think I might sleep better if- if-“

Anakin flushed, stammering through the sleepy plea. He couldn’t even believe he was asking. He was halfway to perishing the thought with a hurried ‘nevermind’ when Obi-Wan interrupted his thoughts.

“Alright, alright,” Obi-Wan murmured, taking his place on the far side of the bed, leaving a good deal of space between them.

“Goodnight.”

————————-

Obi-Wan awoke hazily as the mid morning sun curled through the blinds and fell in long rays across his face. He’d slept much later than he typically did.

Blinking wearily, he realized that some time in the night, Anakin had curled against his side, and now slept soundly there, snoring quietly.

He smiled.

He’d always slept just like that, ever since he was young, curled into a little ball on his side, like a Loth-Cat.

Now though, Anakin’s head was nuzzled up under Obi-Wan’s chin, making it exceedingly difficult to extricate himself without waking the young knight.

He gently peeled Anakin off of him, wiggling out from under the man as best he could. Anakin had gotten heavy since the last time they’d so closely occupied the same space, and a pang of nostalgia whistled through him as he looked at the young man sprawled sleepily out on the bed before him. So grown, and grown up so fast, and yet-

He did look so vulnerable just now, Obi-Wan thought, without the lines of worry and frustration creasing his brow. The morning light streamed in through the blinds and made Anakin’s hair seem to glow, haloing his tanned, scarred face. Obi-Wan smiled and resisted the urge to reach out and brush his fingers along the young man’s cheek.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from his cherubic sleeping padawan, carefully and adeptly stepping around the droid parts that littered Anakin’s room. Obi-Wan chuckled, rolling his eyes. Always tinkering.

Obi-Wan made a silent retreat, planning on making the most of the day he had left.

———————————————————

Anakin awoke some time later, feeling more relaxed and well rested than he had in a good while. The sun was high, and he guessed it was nearly midday.

He stood and stretched before going to rinse off in the shower.

He started the water, and began to undress.

He inhaled deeply. His sleeping clothes smelled of Obi-Wan. He flushed, hazy memories of cozy warmth flooding his senses. He ached for that touch back.

A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined himself curled up in Obi-Wan’s lap, that deep, clean linen smell permeating all of the air around him.

He shook his head.

No.

Jedi aren’t permitted to form attachments.

And then too, the training bond they shared was supposed to have been eradicated when he was knighted, and neither of them had said anything about it staying. And yet there it was, as plain as the nose on his face, a golden thread connecting core of his mind and emotions to Obi-Wan. It buzzed and hummed all day, a comfortable familiar aura that he clung to as a child would a security blanket they were not yet ready to relinquish. And anytime he felt uncertain, he would almost instinctively tug at Obi-Wan’s mind, asking for a little reassurance.

Lately however, finding themselves deployed to the far flung corners of the galaxy, they spent a good deal of time very, very far apart. In recent months, Anakin had felt their connection begin to dull, and he wasn’t sure if it was a result of them being so separated, or an intentional decision on Obi-Wan’s part to begin the technically overdue process of severing their bond.

Obi-Wan was never the best at verbal affirmation. It left Anakin feeling like his Master secretly resented having him as a student, having been thrust upon him in the moment of tragedy immediately following Jinn’s death.

He hardly gave any hint of what he was feeling, Obi-Wan’s signature was always so sturdy and constant. Even in the moments when Obi-Wan was really exasperated with him, he kept those parts hidden from Anakin, and Anakin knew Obi-Wan thought him to be a dangerous liability. He had overheard him tell Qui-Gon that when he was only a child. There was always that dark little voice in Anakin’s head telling him that Obi-Wan never really wanted him, and it devastated him.

It was so hard to tell. Obi-Wan’s force signature always felt so warm and steady, like afternoon lake waters on Naboo. It glowed and hummed with a positive shine, only seldom soured by minor inconveniences and irritations. In those times, it made Anakin laugh. Sometimes he would say or do some obtuse, ridiculous thing, just feel his masters mind flex and spin around it as he tried to tamp down on his irritation. He secretly relished the moments his trick flying would give Obi-Wan vertigo, just so he could feel the dizzy spirals radiate from his mind with an irritated cut it out.

And Obi-Wan, well meaning as he was, tortured him with their bond, daily when they were together. He’d brush against the corners of Anakin’s mind like a cat, leaving feather light touches of reassurances and affection. He knew Anakin needed them. And yet everywhere Obi-Wan’s force signature grazed his own, a dull wanton need poured like magma into his belly.

But he needed him to say them. He needed to be able to see his eyes and know he wasn’t just projecting pretty lies in his mind to keep him placated. And at the very least he couldn’t lose the bond they did have. He couldn’t.

He chewed his lip.

Maybe that was why everything felt so overwhelming. They had spent a good deal of time apart, only to be thrown together into a disastrous situation that had left them dependent on each other for survival. (Nothing new there.) He thanked stars Obi-Wan had pulled him into that transport.

Not that he hadn’t saved Obi-Wan a time or two (or nine) since the war began, but-

He shook his head, the steam curling around his ears.

Mmm, hot water. He liked his showers nearly unbearably hot. It helped take his mind off things.

And yet-

It took everything he had not to drape himself over Obi-Wan like a velvet curtain. He craved touch, affection, want. He wanted to to he wanted. Maybe that’s why the idea of losing their bond terrified him.

The water poured over Anakin’s face and down his back as he tried to push the feeling away.

He wasn’t permitted to form attachments and he damn sure wasn’t permitted to form them to his master.

He’s only trying to placate me, keep me calm. He thinks I’m reckless, foolish, dangerous, he thought to himself.

He missed spending day in and day out with his master.

He remembered being knighted in a rush, due to the Republic needing Jedi Generals to command battalions of clone troopers, and overnight suddenly the man he was used to spending all day with being systems away. The mixed pride and terror his first day as a knight had curled in his stomach like a vine snake, but he had pushed it down and beamed, and felt Obi-Wan’s pride sear through their bond.

Anakin imagined the feel of Obi-Wans lips against his temple and he nearly whimpered. Proud of me, he thought. He imagined those lips moving their way down his jaw to his throat, and he whined, letting the hot water pour over his body.

I can’t.

A shiver rippled down his spine all the way to his toes, despite the hot water.

He imagined Obi-Wan’s lips at his throat, his hands at his waist, his-

He whined, arousal pounding low in his belly and between his legs.

He trailed his hands down the tanned planes of his torso, chewing his lip at the sensation.

Imagining they were Obi-Wan’s hands.

His cock twitched at the thought, and he gasped, biting down on his lip to keep quiet.

He lazily wrapped a hand around his length, remembering the feeling of Obi-Wan’s lips against his temple, so chaste, and yet-

He imagined Obi-Wan pulling him into his lap and running his warm calloused hands over his thighs, his beard tickling Anakin's cheek as he whispered into his ear

“Dear one, my good boy-“

Anakin gasped, quickening his pace.

No. I...can’t. Not to...Obi-Wan...

But he couldn’t stop. His whole body sung with electricity at the thought. It was so wrong, and for some reason that made it feel so forbidden and-and

He loved Obi-Wan. Maker, he loved him. Stars, he wasn’t allowed to love him, but all he could think of was Obi holding him and rolling his hips into him and-

He came with a wrung out moan, gasping as he braced his arm against the wall of the shower. His knees wobbled and his head swam with the thick realization that he had just brought himself off to the thought of his master- the thought of Obi-Wan…

He shook his head, heat flooding his cheeks as he rinsed himself off. No no no.

He had to get this out of his head.

He donned his robes and decided he would go and meditate in a quiet place in the temple. Somewhere that didn’t smell like Obi-Wan.

—————————————

Thanks for tuning in to part two 🤪 I have more written and there’s more to come. Probably gonna end up being a four parter on here. I overestimated the length of text posts tumblr will let me create. If you want an easier, more streamlined way to read, it’ll also be here on AO3. Thanks all!

Tagging: @haydens-moles @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @fistmebuckyskywalker

*if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list just lmk ✨*

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan #obi wan and anakin #star wars fanfiction #obikin #if I tagged you and you don’t want to be tagged just lmk.#or if you would like to be added to the list #just shoot me a DM #thanks all

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you-have-made-a-fatal-error · 3 years

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Cast Swap - cur and hau

idk y’all, I got bored. consider:

Nancy Drew goes to (Northern?) Ireland to check on the recently married daughter of a neighbour, who has apparentely taken ill on a trip to visit family holdings on the emerald isle. She arrives to find that Hugh Penvellyn has been called away on business, leaving Linda alone with his Aunt and 11-year-old daughter (lmao how old is Jane i can’t actually remember).

Nancy finds that Linda has shut herself up in the tower room and refuses to get out of bed or see anyone (in this version the stairs are intact bc reasons). Can Nancy discover what is wrong with Linda? And could it be connected to the mysterious explosion that destroyed half the castle the last time there were Penvellyns in residence here? Or does it have something to do with the local legend of the Beast (/curse?) that has long been thought to stalk the region.

Meet Mrs Drake puttering around the castle library, looking into her grandfather’s books (John was definitely killed in the explosion, maybe Allan too? There’s a disconnect between the living Penvellyns and their family history in this version when the line of initiates was severed so suddenly). She wants to find out what really caused the explosion that killed her brother and grandfather. though many Penvellyns had accomplished great things, their ‘luck’ seems like it’s dried up since they left castle not-malloy.

Find Linda’s stepdaughter Jane in the great hall- she complains about having to stay in this big, drafty, half-destroyed place, and according to Linda and Mrs Drake she’s been acting strangely since they arrived. (still has her board games & etc that she makes nancy play, but also has at least some of the dolls - she tells nancy about the dollhouse in the nursery but says she doesn’t like to go in there bc it’s too creepy. also she probably mentions liking the games at the inn).

(Local? or English transplant?) Nigel Mookerjee is a writer who likes to do his work at the Screaming Banshee Inn (ehhh probably renamed to reflect the werewolf/not-blackmoor beast story) - he seems to know an awful lot about the Penvellyn’s history. Maybe Mrs Petrov tells Nancy that she’s found him skulking around on the property and had to chase him off. (or maybe this info comes from ethel - ehh either works). typing game from hell still exists. he’s still trying to put together a salacious tell-all about the Penvellyns.

And Ethel is the strange caretaker, a position that she apparentely inherited and that has been in her family for generations. She claims she’s simply the steward of the castle and its grounds- but could she have something to do with all of the strange goings on? of course she still pops up in her semi-terrifying manner, and she doesn’t seem to want nancy around.

um. when nancy first arrives she sees something big with glowing red eyes run across the road in front of her car. maybe Ethel tries to turn her away at the door and she has to toss rocks at the library window to get Mrs Drake’s attention? idk

anyhow. eventually Nancy discovers that when the Penvellyn’s arrived Ethel had begun the procees of teaching Jane, the new initiate, as the Bossineys had done for centuries before the explosion (so they were more than stewards/caretakers after all). Ethel’s grandmother had survived the explosion and passed the knowledge down to her daughter, who passed in on to Ethel in turn. there’s no forge to be found, but there is evidence of many of the past penvellyn’s endeavors, including John&Allan’s work on rocketry during WWII. Ethel confronts Nancy in the hut and pushes her down the trap door. Nancy reaches the lab at the same time Jane (acting on her own be she’s sick of waiting for Ethel to determine ‘when the time is right’ or w/e) does, but one of them triggers the lockdown procedure and Jane gets stuck where Matt is, she confesses to making Linda sick because she wants her parents back together.

Nancy figures out how to launch the rocket, opening the hatch and ending the lockdown in the lab - and also opening the secret compartment holding the meteorite/’penvellyn treasure’ that so many generations had thought of as the source of their good fortune.

#nancy drew #clue crew #haunting of castle malloy #Curse of Blackmoor Manor #cast swap #look mates i don't even know what to call this really #hau #cur #but yeah the source of the P's good fortune was totally a rock and not the fact that they're wealthy landed gentry i mean c'mon #what would YOU have done #look y'all i just saw my clock i'm finishing this at 4am i did NOT realize how much time had passed...#so if this is a big damn mess i apologise

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ayuuria · 4 years

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Inuyasha & Yashahime Translation: Shounen Sunday Super December Edition

Takahashi Rumiko-Sensei’s Question Corner Rumic Question

From the many questions we received from readers via the web, we chose 20 questions for Takahashi Rumiko-sensei to answer!!

Q: The names of the characters in “Inuyasha” are not only original but fit them so well that you can’t think of any other name; peerlessly cool good taste! How did you come up with their names?

Once you name a character, you cannot change it so that’s what I worry about the most. Even if I give them a temporary name for when they make their debut, if it doesn’t stick I will think all the way up to the last minute. While all I can say is “That was the name that fit that character” … a name that is easy to call, draw, and remember. A name that fits the story. For example, in flower language, Kikyou means “Unchanging love” or how Kagome is like a children’s song and cute. I feel like Sesshomaru originally had a different name, but I forgot. On the other hand, I remember the outfit design solidified when I decided on the name.

Q: There are a lot of demons that appear in “Inuyasha” but who was the hardest and easiest to draw?

Magatsuhi was the hardest to draw. He didn’t have a solid form afterall. Also I drew them as I pleased so I don’t remember really struggling.

Q: Is Buyo a male or a female?

When serialization first started, I thought they were a male at first but as I continued to draw, I started to think “This cat might be an old lady”. They might be a female. Well Buyo is Buyo so I think it’s fine if everyone decides for themselves whether Buyo is a male or a female.

Q: I want to know how Sesshomaru and Jaken first met. Was Jaken an old man from the time they first met?

I remember their meeting being drawn in an original episode in the “Inuyasha” anime. I can’t remember which episode number though. According to that, Jaken was a demon leader who lost to Sesshomaru in battle and thus decided to follow him, I think that was the scenario. And I think he was an old man as well.

Q: If Kikyo had lived on, would she and Kagome have been good friends

As long as Inuyasha is around, I think it would be really hard for them to be friends like nothing happened… I imagine they would have this strange tension between them as they accepted the other while feeling uneasy. I don’t think Inuyasha could mentally handle that either.

Q: I like small creatures that appear in the Rumic World like Kilala and Shippou so could you tell us what you focus on when drawing these small creatures?

I make sure that they’re fundamentally cute in appearance. Also because of how small they are, they ride on a main character’s shoulder. Anyhow, I make sure they can share the spotlight.

Q: I think Tessaiga is a good sword that is considerate of the main character such as when it gives Inuyasha a warning so as not to hurt him but Inuyasha treats it so recklessly in comparison. (Though he acts like that fully trusting Tessaiga) If Tessaiga could talk, what do you think it would say to Inuyasha? I have loved “Inuyasha” since I was in elementary school and I’ve viewed the manga and anime but looking back, I feel Tessaiga was gallant in responding to Inuyasha’s recklessness… I was curious about this so I decided to ask.

Tessaiga is a sword forged from his (Inuyasha) father’s fang so while being Inuyasha’s “friend”, I would guess that it might be an existence of higher status. If it could talk, it would probably say “Hurry up and catch up to me”

Q: Thank for the Anime Support Project. “What a time to be alive to be able to send a question to Takahashi Rumiko-sensei” Is what I think (laughs). I’ve loved “Inuyasha” since I was a child and it’s my life’s “bible”. I admired Kagome and lived thinking that I want to be a kind, strong woman like her. Now here is my question: There was a scene where Sesshomaru said “I don’t eat human food” but for a demon that doesn’t attack humans, what does he eat to sustain his life? I mean Inuyasha and Shippou ate with Kagome and the others so do demons and humans eat the same thing? Was Sesshomaru by chance bluffing with that line? Lastly, I look forward to the serialization of “Hanyou no Yashahime” and “MAO”! Thank you for all the wonderful works.

Thank you for your support. Sesshomaru’s meals, I can’t imagine it after all. There’s a possibility he absorbs mists of “essence” or “energy” of the demons he’s defeated. Also fruits are another possibility.

Q: Within “Inuyasha”, is there a story that was most fun for you to draw? Also I would love for sensei to tell us your best (favorite) episode!

I have a lot of favorite episodes so it’s hard to decide. Black haired Inuyasha on the Night of the New Moon was refreshing and fun, and the stories of Inuyasha going to the Modern Era and loosening up as he took a break from fighting had me in many laughing fits. Also drawing the story for the Band of Seven made me excited. And, while fun may not be the right word, I put a lot of effort into Kagura’s death and Kikyou’s last moments with the idea that I wanted to give them a proper send off. The process of Kagome and Inuyasha and Miroku and Sango’s relationship gradually changing was also fun. Ultimately if I had to pick one, it’s probably the final episode. I finished drawing it feeling “I finally made it” and it was satisfying.

Q: I love the Band of Seven in “Inuyasha”! Did Bankotsu, who is the strongest member of the Band of Seven, scout the others? Bankotsu and Jakotsu seem close so are they the first members? I’ve always wondered this. I look forward to appealing enemies appearing in Yashahime.

I think all the other members of the Band of Seven most likely had enough strength to make it on their own. For all those people to come together would require a very strong leader at its core which is basically what Bankotsu was. Also, being together made jobs easier or they felt there may have been a merit. I feel like Bankotsu and Jakotsu being the founding members does indeed fit really nicely.

Q: I really like Monk Miroku and Sango in “Inuyasha” and I continue to support them even now. My question is in the end, how many children did these two, who said “Would you be willing to bear 10, 20 children?” when they purposed, have? If you have back stories and such for the children, I would love to hear them.

I only remember the twins and the newborn baby boy that appeared in the last chapter of “Inuyasha” making an appearance in Yashahime. In my mind, I didn’t think of anything beyond that but they are still a young married couple so I think there’s unlimited possibilities. I am happy that you like these two even now. Thank you very much.

Q: I have a question regarding the different use for “Scent” and “Odor”. The expressions for when Sesshomaru smelled something, for Rin it was constantly “scent” and for everything else it was “odor”. When they first met too, the expression was “A human’s scent”. Just as Inuyasha called Kagome’s smell a “scent”, is it because it is a “smell” that they like?

I had an image of Inuyasha and Sesshomaru differentiating between friend or foe with “smell”. Of course “scent” is friend while “odor” is enemy. In addition, keeping in mind of the image that comes to readers minds when they see these words, I fundamentally had “scent” used for female characters. I wanted readers to get a sense of purity and cuteness from it.

Q: If there’s an episode or scene in “Inuyasha” that ended up turning out differently than what was originally thought up prior to serialization, could you please tell us?

First, I only started the story with the idea of half-demon Inuyasha, getting back stabbed by Kikyou and getting sealed away, and having a sword that was his father’s memento. Everything else, I created while thinking on the week of. Thus, Naraku came after, as well as I thought of Shippou, Miroku, and Sango when they debuted. I had thought of Sesshomaru possibly dying after protecting a human but it seemed like such a waste and I became unable to kill him. The direction of the story was decided when the antagonist, Naraku, was born. I’m an adlib (improv) type person so I won’t be surprised by what I draw if I decide things too far ahead. It’s fun to imagine every week “What will they do, what will happen”.

Q: “Inuyasha” is my bible on life! When talk of Yashahime happened, what was your first thought?

In my mind “Inuyasha” was complete so when they spoke to me about this, I thought “You’re going to do this?”. However Sumizawa-san, who handled the scenario for the “Inuyasha” anime, is a person who, in addition to being adept and talented, does not make mistakes so I felt that I could leave it to him.

Q: In the final chapter of the original work, Sesshomaru was gifting Rin a kimono but how did he go about obtaining it? I’m really curious as to if Sesshomaru delivered something Jaken prepared or if he went and bought it himself?

I thought about this over and over after I received this question. I think after all, he would order Jaken to go buy it and to continue buying until he bought a kimono that fit his image. On top of that, he probably doesn’t tell him (Jaken) a precise image to begin with.

Q: In “Hanyou no Yashahime” we saw Grandma Kaede. Seeing her surprised me… she hasn’t changed from the time of “Inuyasha”! Is Grandma Kaede by chance a demon?

She’s a human. However she still has the role of advising the young folks and having them listen to stories from the past so maybe she doesn’t age because it’s something worth doing.

Q: In “Hanyou no Yashahime”, Inuyasha and Kagome’s child, Moroha, appears. Inuyasha is a half demon, Kagome is a human, and Moroha is cross between a human and a half-demon. Do the three of them age differently in the Feudal Era?

In the span of the story, they seem to age the same. I’m sure the results will gradually begin to show after a few decades.

Q: In “Hanyou no Yashahime” Moroha wears a red ribbon; is this ribbon something with Inuyasha’s ears in mind? Also why is it that Inuyasha, who is a half-demon, has dog ears but Towa and Setsuna, who are also half-demons, do not? I can under Moroha since she’s a quarter (demon)… is there a basis for the dog ears? Please tell us!

Just as you guessed, Moroha’s ribbon was a projection of Inuyasha’s image. In regards to the dogs ears for Towa and Setsuna, Sesshomaru takes a human form and reversely, Inuyasha was something like half beast. The half demons that appear in Inuyasha have all sorts of appearances so understand that it depends on the individual.

Q: Ever since I watched the anime, “Inuyasha”, when I was 5 years old, it has been my absolute favorite work. When I was young, whenever I looked at the sacred tree at the shrine, I always imagined “Was Inuyasha sealed to this tree?...” It’s been 12 years since the original work was concluded. 10 years since the anime “Final Act”. I’m so excited for “Hanyou no Yashahime” beginning this fall! What was the most important thing when you designed the half-demon princess, Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha?

Scenario writer Sumizawa-san asked of me the following images: Towa as a “White Sesshomaru” and Setsuna as a “Black Sesshomaru”. While they’re twins, they grew up in two completely different eras so I designed them as two separate individuals. In addition, while Towa wears a boy’s uniform, I thought it would be good if she had a feminine streak to her. Moroha strongly resembles Inuyasha and Kagome. She’s a cheerful character so I didn’t have any second thoughts when I drew her into what she is now.

Q: Is there anything in “Hanyou no Yashahime” that you would like readers to pay attention to?

Sunrise’s beautiful pictures and animations as well as the story is also entertaining. The previous generation will periodically make an appearance and I think Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha are each charming. I think it’s a work that both first time people and people who watched “Inuyasha” can enjoy. Also Wada Kaoru-san continues from “Inuyasha” as being in charge of music. I’m excited for this as well.

We received a comment, autograph, and illustration for all the readers from Takahashi Rumiko-sensei!

#Hanyou no Yashahime #Yashahime #yashahime: princess half-demon #translation #Inuyasha

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lokidiabolus · 3 years

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Last Resort - Chapter 2

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Pairing: Thomas x Newt

Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU

Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.

Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c

Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.

Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)

Unbetad!

EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.

***

Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.

The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).

In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.

The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.

And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?

Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.

Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.

Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.

Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.

***

“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.

It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.

Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.

(Lots of them.)

“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.

He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.

Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…

“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”

Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.

A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?

Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).

“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.

And some fucking horny prick just took it?

Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?

Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.

“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”

“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).

“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”

“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”

“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.

“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”

“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”

“Fuck off!”

Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.

Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.

Still angry and miserable.

Still… there.

***

The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.

Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.

But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).

Not Thomas’. Not anymore.

The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.

He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?

The guy who left the mark?

Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.

Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.

Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.

Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.

“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.

“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.

“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”

Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.

Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.

“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.

Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.

***

“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.

“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.

“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”

“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”

“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.

“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”

“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.

“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”

“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.

“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.

Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.

“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”

Why the fuck is she so perceptive?

“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”

“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”

There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.

I really need some sleep.

***

Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.

He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.

The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.

“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.

“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.

“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”

“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.

And Thomas wanted too much.

***

He never stopped wanting.

He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.

He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.

He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.

He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.

Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.

Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.

Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.

Maybe… it was simply impossible.

***

Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.

The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.

“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.

“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.

“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”

“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”

“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”

Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.

Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.

And bed.

“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”

“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”

“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.

“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.

“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”

He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.

***

“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”

The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.

“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”

“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”

“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”

That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.

“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”

“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”

“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”

“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”

Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.

He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.

“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”

Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.

“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”

“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.

“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”

“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”

And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.

“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”

Overnight…?

“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.

“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”

“But-,”

“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”

The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.

“I did this?!”

“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”

“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.

“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.

“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”

“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.

“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”

“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.

Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.

“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”

“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”

“Sorry you had to.”

It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.

He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.

“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”

“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”

“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.

“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”

“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”

“What.”

“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”

“Uh.”

“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.

Fuck.

“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”

Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”

Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.

“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.

“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.

“About?”

“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”

“Pfff.”

He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.

“Newt.”

“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.

“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.

“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”

A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.

“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.

“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”

“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.

Seriously testing me. That’s-

“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.

He always did. Nothing had changed.

“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.

“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.

“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”

A colleague. And nothing else?

“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”

“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”

He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.

But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.

But…

“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”

The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.

“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”

“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.

We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.

He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.

#newtmas #tmr #the last resort series #the maze runner #izzymultifan #edit 17. 5. 2021

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years

Text

Matching Heartbeats: Sokkla Saturdays 2020

Day 4: Lost in a Forest and Feelings

On FF.net//On AO3

Trudging through the thick trees, staring at that broad, strong back, Azula couldn't quite keep at bay her suspicions that, regardless of her stubborn companion's claims of the opposite, they were lost in the woods, with no salvation in sight.

He wasn't a woodlands savage, she'd told him, he was a snow savage: she'd believe him if he said they weren't lost while they traversed a large, frozen continent, but she wouldn't quite be so lenient if he said the same while in a forest, of all places. And of course, there was no chance they'd find his missing sword in a large, frozen continent unless someone had already retrieved it from these woods and taken it there, for whatever reason.

Not for the first time, she asked herself why she had bothered coming along for what everyone, even her brother, had deemed a pointless, doomed enterprise. Guilty as she appeared to feel about the matter, Toph had been far too busy with her budding police department in Republic City to join Sokka's quest. Aang was ever ferried from one end of the world to the next by his Avatar duties, and Katara had to cover for him in the city while he was gone: Zuko, of course, was the Fire Lord, and there was no chance he'd take any sorts of flights of fancy and disregard his duty to his nation just on a personal trip that might yield no results… well, that is, if the trip was for a friend's sake rather than his own, Azula had interjected, and her reminder of how he had been perfectly willing to leave their nation in their uncle's most undependable hands while they searched for their mother had been as unwelcome as she could have expected.

All in all, she had meant to offer some moral support to the tall Water Tribe man by cutting down Zuko's excuses and dismissive attitude towards Sokka's plight… but nothing she said seemed to work. Sokka kept looking at her with those dead-like eyes that only convinced her that she wanted to be dead, too. She wondered, truly, if he was different while she wasn't around. If he was happier, cheerful, relaxed… rather than miserable, awkward and tense. If so… why had she even bothered coming along for this trip? Was it merely pity over how he'd sworn he'd go alone if no one wanted to give him a hand? If so, it was no true wonder he had been so aloof and irritated so far, for no man as proud as him would ever accept pity and charity without consequence.

Yet she had decided to come along indeed. And now, it seemed, she reaped what she had sowed, in more ways than she had expected to: it wasn't merely that she was uncomfortable about hiking through nature this far from civilization – she found herself missing the train-tank, with which she had traversed large territories of the Earth Kingdom in the past without the slightest inconvenience –, but Sokka wouldn't travel on the vehicle, not when their mission was explicitly about rummaging throughout Wulong Forest until they finally came across his beloved Space Sword.

Her strained muscles had seen plenty of exercise over the ten years that had passed since the end of the war, but not quite in this manner: she forced herself to walk behind him, keeping up with his pace as best she could, until at last that strong back, that at this point was nearly a beacon in the darkening forest, slowed to a halt as Sokka assessed his surroundings in a clearing within the woods. Azula damn near bumped into him, but she managed to stop right behind him anyway.

"Seems like a good place to camp for the night," he announced. "It's getting too dark to keep going anyhow."

"Just how much further are we supposed to go, anyway?" Azula asked, as Sokka approached the larger tree in the clearing, setting down his bags at its foot. "Have you narrowed down the searching area at all, or are we merely going blind all across Wulong Forest…?"

"I've narrowed some of it down, yeah," Sokka huffed, opening his pack to show her a map he had brought with him. "We'll search thoroughly throughout the area once we get there. But we're still too far north to be near Space Sword's location."

"Of course," Azula sighed, setting down her own bags next to his. "You do realize this might be a longer venture than you hoped?"

"Why would it be? Your brains and mine, together? Who's ever going to stop us, huh?" Sokka said, though there was no humor in his tone upon uttering those questions.

Azula tensed up beside him as he rose fully to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. What was he thinking? Why had he spoken as he had just now? Yes, it was a certainty that they were smarter than most people, and joining forces might just be enough for them to find his sword… but it didn't seem he was all that pleased for it anyway. She let herself wonder, briefly, if he wished they wouldn't find the sword all that fast so they could spend more time together… did he begrudge their intelligence for such a fickle reason?

Oh, what nonsense. Of course that wasn't it. She was a fool to so much as indulge in such a possibility.

"I think I see some water beyond these trees," Sokka said, gesturing at the cluster of vegetation behind the tree they had stopped at. "Could be we can wash up there. It's one of the reasons I thought we should slow down here for the night…"

"Ah. So, we truly aren't lost in this forest, are we?" Azula asked. Sokka tensed up. "You knew there was a river up there?"

"Uh… well, I didn't know, I just decided we'd stop at the first place with water we came across once it was sunset," he said. Azula huffed.

"So we are lost."

"I didn't say that!" he squeaked.

Despite herself, Azula smiled. Eliciting such silly reactions from him was strange, but very welcome. It almost felt as though she hadn't pushed him away when she had… as though things could go back to the way they once had been.

"Ugh, anyway, you can go clean up if you want, I know all that dirt and sweat must make you uncomfortable," Sokka said, waving a hand towards her. "I'll set up my tent in the meantime. If you need help with yours, I can give you a hand after I clean up too…"

"Why would I need help?" Azula said, raising her eyebrows dismissively. "I'm perfectly capable of assembling a tent by myself."

"I didn't say you weren't," Sokka raised his hands defensively before starting to rummage through his bag for the implements he'd need for his tent.

His tone was disappointingly non-confrontational. Just after giving her hope, he took it away: she had expected a whole throwdown about how there was nothing wrong with asking people for help, or how he was sure she was a pampered princess who had never had to do anything mundane for herself… but nothing. He had shut down yet another possible conversation, and she was left high and dry, waiting for nothing.

"If that's how it is, then… yes, I'll go clean up," Azula declared, attempting to hide how disappointing his response had been. "Make sure not to peek, alright?"

"Nothing new under the sun there, is there?" Sokka said. Azula froze. "You have nothing to worry about, I won't do that, I'll only go after you're finished. Ten minutes will probably be enough."

"You know just how long I spend bathing, then?" Azula nearly hissed by now. Sokka shrugged.

"I remember, is all," he said. "Ten minutes might even be too much in these circumstances, I'd say…"

"I'll take as long as I please, thank you very much," Azula scowled, searching her own bags for a change of clothes. Suddenly, the last thing she wanted was to hold a conversation despite having spent the whole day fishing for one.

"I'll go after I'm finished setting up my tent, then," Sokka said. "And if you're not out yet, don't worry. I'm not going to look anyway."

She snapped her tongue before storming off without another word. Well, that was his loss, if so.

The words rang hollow in her mind as she walked thoughtlessly towards the water source… a lake, not a river, as she discovered upon reaching it. She wasted little time disrobing, despite she was far from accustomed to loosening her clothing in the middle of nature as she just had. But with a mind as troubled as hers, sometimes even the notions of dignity and pride went forgotten once she had something else to worry about.

No, truthfully, it wasn't his loss. It never had been his loss. He was as good as the perfect guy, without embodying some impossible, unreasonable ideal: Sokka had been kind, thoughtful, intelligent, unyielding… he was the perfect rival for her many instincts and impulses. Just so, each of those factors drew her to him in ways they shouldn't have… but the one thing that drew her most was his honesty. So many people were capable of lying to her face, they'd done it for years, without her awareness… others lied far less effectively, pretending to care about her, but she could tell, by their actions, by their behavior, that they were merely telling themselves as much, to chase away their own guilt about having abandoned her when she had needed them most. She couldn't trust anyone, that was what she'd told herself…

And yet, against all common sense, she had grown to trust him. Upon scheming a mischievous prank to torment her brother – her special kind of birthday present, as she'd thought of it at the time –, she found her plan had overlapped with his: in the end, they joined forces and Zuko had quite an unforgettable day chasing off turtle ducks in the Palace, and tripping over the droppings they had left all over the place while panicking while attempting to find their way out of the building. From that day forward, they had been allies, messing with their friends and family whenever the chance arose, not realizing they were drifting together in more ways than they'd originally planned…

She never did expect to wake up in his bed one day, and she suspected he never expected that, either. She kept her distance for a few days afterwards, and he didn't complain… which bothered her, of course. Upon cornering him for answers, he admitted he wouldn't push her for more than they'd had, considering she ran away from his bedroom even before he woke up. He had assumed it was a one-night-stand for her… and he had teasingly remarked that he wouldn't mind if she decided to make it a two-night-stand instead.

That number, of course, only continued to increase upon each of their encounters. Every time he paid a visit to the Fire Nation, on any official business, she'd find a chance to sneak into his room, or to drag him into hers, and they would both be in the highest spirits on the next day, trading silent smirks whenever they crossed paths again. For a time, Azula had thought this was the greatest of all pranks they had pulled so far, for her whole family, and his, would be so appalled to discover what they'd been up to in secret…

… Until one night, as he laid in bed behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, he had uttered words that shattered her whole world in a single instant:

"I love you."

She thought to pretend she was asleep, though her eyes were still open, and she knew he could see it. He sensed her breath hitching too, her heartbeats picking up speed… there was no way she could pretend she hadn't heard him. And yet, as he nestled behind her, fingers caressing her hair, she couldn't bring herself to answer. She couldn't say the words that were crossing her mind… because there was only one word, truthfully. And that word was simply: why?

Why would he love her? Why would he admit that he loved her? Why would he even think it was a good idea to say such words to her? Why on earth had he decided to say it right then and there? Why, why, why…?

And yet she knew she couldn't say any of what she was thinking. She didn't dare. She didn't truly want to hear his answers to those questions.

For he was honest, yes, that was the first thing she had known she liked about him. He wasn't the type to lie, whether to spare her feelings or his own. He hadn't said those words on a whim: he had likely carried them inside him for ages, blurting them out as he had, unthinking, because he couldn't contain the emotions anymore. And yet… she couldn't accept it. She simply couldn't accept it.

Instead of lying quietly there, of staying put in his bed, silently enduring the panic attack his words had triggered in her, she sat up and left. She avoided him for the rest of his visit, pointedly… and she didn't even say goodbye, when he finally left.

She needed time. That was it, she guessed: time to process his affections, time to understand how on earth he had ever reached such levels of devotion towards her. And she should have simply told him that, right? And yet how on earth does someone answer an "I love you" with "Give me time to think about it"? She didn't dare do that. And yet perhaps, if she had dared, he wouldn't have been hurt. It was almost a whole year before he returned to the Fire Nation again, and when he did, he scarcely spared her a few glances. She had sent him no letters while he was away, and he had sent her none either. Was he confused? Was he angry? Was he depressed? She couldn't tell anymore. All she could tell, however, was that he seemed to have decided he wouldn't dwell on the past anymore, and he wouldn't indulge in any hopes that something genuine could come from their casual relationship.

She had tried to interpret that as a sign to move on and forget about him. Perhaps he truly hadn't loved her at all – not that she had truly believed he could have loved her, she believed he THOUGHT he did, but she was quite certain that was, all in all, implausible on every possible level. So she had decided to shake it all off, to continue with her life… and yet it wasn't easy to do so. They had met a few more times since then, and every cold shoulder, every dismissive word, every plain interaction between them, with no hint of the old affection he used to line his words with, had felt like a frozen dagger digging deeper through her heart.

And that was, ultimately, why she had offered to travel with him to retrieve his sword. It was a strange way to attempt to mend fences, she knew… but she hadn't known what else to do to stop the pain she felt when she saw him. She hadn't known how else to tear down the walls that he had built between them… walls she had as good as asked him to build, in the first place.

Suffice to say, it wasn't going as she had planned, not in the least. She had hoped to entice him, perhaps… but he seemed to be completely invulnerable to her charms by now. He knew all her tricks, and was utterly unwilling to fall for any of them. Had she really pushed him away that hard, that violently…? Or was it, perhaps, that he had already found someone else? Maybe that was it, and she was wasting her time here…

"If so, why isn't he here with his new girlfriend instead of me?" Azula reasoned out loud, just before dipping one toe in what turned out to be a near-freezing lake. She snarled before raising her hands, quickly warming the water with her bending.

She managed to warm the water she would use, spreading the heat through the small lake until she found a comfortable enough spot, with her torso still above water. He wasn't wrong, she didn't quite enjoy all the dirt that clung to her after their whole day of hiking in this forest from the city of Garsai… but that he dared even comment on how long she usually bathed had surprised her. It was the first time he had acknowledged their relationship in any way, if just by admitting he knew Azula a little more intimately than anyone else was aware. Fool that she was, she had wistfully wondered if perhaps it meant he wasn't that unwilling to return to what they'd had… then he had shut everything down all the same, no thanks to her foolish responses.

She had no patience for these matters. She was far from the most sociable person there was, to begin with, and she was more than a bit tired of chasing after him, when every passing day further convinced her that he wanted nothing from her anymore. It was outrageous, though, wasn't it? If he truly had loved her at all, which no, she didn't think he had, why would he begrudge her for not saying the daft words right back at him? She was far from a connoisseur on the matter, but conditioned love didn't appear to be true love at all. Her relationship with her father was supposed to be the clearest example of that, or so every damn expert at that wretched asylum had insisted on drilling into her head until she had begrudgingly accepted it as a reality.

So, as far as she could tell, he was a selfish hypocrite, and he was trying to guilt her into loving him. Ha! That was utterly stupid, and he was playing a losing game, if so. He prized honesty as much as he did, didn't he? Why would she bother lying to his face to make him feel better? He would know it was a lie immediately, so he'd only grow more frustrated with her if she played the mild-mannered, sweet girl who could become a housewife and live happily that way, if only to spare his thrice-accursed feelings…

Caught in her thoughts, she often forgot to warm the water again, and in the process of overthinking and warming the water, she had damn near forgotten, too, what she was supposed to be doing in this damn lake in the first place. She returned to shore, gathered some soap, and traversed the lake to the spot she had liked once again… only to hear rustling of tree leaves that indicated someone was approaching.

She almost wished it were a wild animal, then she could have merely set it ablaze and been done with it… but upon quickly turning her head around, she found, of course, that it was him. Sokka glanced at her but raised his hands defensively before turning around. Azula gritted her teeth and tore her eyes away from him too, knowing he was disrobing… knowing she wanted to see it happen, too. Curse him for being such a sensitive idiot…

Or was she the sensitive idiot, instead? She hadn't known for sure who was at fault back then, and she didn't have any clarity on the matter now, either.

She heard him slipping inside the water, and she only endeavored to continue rubbing the soap over her arms and torso, pointedly ignoring the urge to glance at the body she had grown used to caressing and gazing upon for as long as their dalliance had lasted… just how long had it been, really? She barely knew anymore. A little more than a year, maybe? Who the hell said "I love you" within less than a year of secretly dating someone, if what they were doing could amount to dating?

Ugh, well, how was she supposed to know that, truly? Mai had outright spat to her face that she loved Zuko more than she feared Azula, and those two had only been together for months at the time… had she told Zuko she loved him, directly, by then? Maybe she had. Such nonsense…

"You sure take your time bathing out in nature, huh?" he said suddenly, startling her. "Didn't take you for the type to be that bold when the whole world could see you…"

"Bold? Hardly," Azula rebuffed, and she chided her own heart for beating that fast upon being addressed by him again. What nonsense was that, too? "I'm taking my time because we were quite filthy after a whole day of hiking, don't you think?"

"Fair enough… though the water's colder than I'd think you'd be comfortable with," he said. "Though… heh. You're warming it up, aren't you?"

"Sharp as ever, I see," Azula said, rinsing off the soap already. Sokka chuckled.

"And you're either being sarcastic, which is just like you, or you're being flattering, which… is new. Just as taking baths that last longer than ten minutes would be new for you."

"You're awfully hung on that matter, aren't you?" Azula asked, rolling her eyes. "I'm pretty sure I've taken longer baths than that…"

"Sure you did. When you took them with me."

His words froze her anew. Again, that stupid, weaseling hope, needling through her body like a snake, seeking to dig its fangs into her damn heart… poisoned fangs, as far as she could tell. He had to stop it. He really did. At this rate they'd end up having the argument of the century, and she wasn't sure she cared to endure that, not when she was miles away from civilization with only him for company…

She'd tell him not to do that anymore, then. She would. She wasn't sure their conversation wouldn't escalate into an argument even if she said so, but if she spoke earnestly, surely he'd back off…?

She turned her head towards him, finding he stood about fifteen feet away from her. Again, that strong, muscular back was the sight that greeted her, and oh, what a sight it was…

But before she could utter a single word, a most unwanted, unfamiliar and distressing sensation on her arm stopped her from speaking.

She had no idea what it was at first, but it was uncomfortable from the first instant: something had latched onto her skin, tugging at it, as though sucking it… and her immediate instinct was to trash the affected arm into the water, instinctively panicking and seeking to get rid of whatever this strange offender was.

Only upon shaking her arm did she identify whatever clung to her arm as a purple, round being… a living being: there was an animal stuck to her arm.

"What's…?! Oh, no, no, get off me!"

She pushed it, smacked it, attempted to force it to loosen its grip on her skin, and yet it seemed her every violent reaction only compelled it to cling tighter. Curses, was it some sort of leech? Was it clinging to her now, only to stick some poisonous, murderous sting into her body…? Her eyes widened at the possibility, and she slammed it harder into the water, to no results.

"Go away, go away, you stupid, damned…!"

"Woah, Azula, what's going on?" Sokka called to her. Her first shouts had been alarming enough, but he had briefly taken her silence to mean she had dealt with the problem… apparently not, though.

"It's nothing, it's…! Shit, what is this?! Get off me, damn it, go away already!"

"Ugh, okay, you know what? I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on, and I think I need to," Sokka sighed, turning towards her. "I promise I'm not doing this to peek, just to help…!"

"W-well then, help! Find your damn sword and slice this wretched thing off me!" Azula almost shrieked, turning towards him and gesturing at him with her afflicted arm.

Yet to her surprise, there was no sign of urgency in Sokka's face when he identified the creature on Azula's arm. She damn near snapped at him for being so nonchalant when, for all she knew, her very life could be in danger… yet he surprised her by wading towards her and reaching for the creature.

"What are you…?" she asked, nervously, until her nervousness was replaced by sheer outrage… when Sokka scratched the strange, purple being's head. "Are you kidding me?! What are you doing?! Do you hate me so much you're congratulating the damn thing for…?!"

Sokka's deadpan stare didn't change in the least when the creature's five, flat tentacles released Azula suddenly. Her eyes widened as she stared at it, and Sokka snatched the creature off her body, showing it to her deliberately.

"This, Princess, is a pentapus," he stated. "And that's how you get rid of them. It's as simple as that."

Oh, to hell with it. Her outburst had been more than unwarranted, if the solution was truly that easy… and now she felt utterly idiotic for it, which she had no doubt her blush was transmitting to Sokka. She didn't even dare meet his eyes… hence, she was surprised upon hearing him laugh softly.

"Don't feel that bad, Azula. I reacted the same way when they stuck to me the first time, too," he said. "And it was way worse than this, if I may…"

"Worse?" Azula repeated. Sokka nodded solemnly.

"You know, a story worthy of a savage like me, of the sorts you love to make fun of me for," Sokka grinned. She had dared gaze up at him, and that he'd smile genuinely at her was… well, not unpleasant. For once. "It happened… in a sewer, of all places."

"In a… a sewer?" Azula asked, grimacing as Sokka chuckled, shaking his head.

"My dear sister and her beloved Avatar… those two jerks took to diverting the waste off themselves with their bending. And who's the guy who couldn't possibly get away with doing the same thing? That's right, the stellar non-bender who took all that… literal shit, straight to the face, in many cases."

"That's… ugh, that's so gross, Sokka!" Azula exclaimed, horrified as he laughed carelessly.

"It's okay, I've cleaned up many times since then, you don't have to worry that the gross waste still clings to me somehow…" he smiled. "Took me about ten rounds of proper soap as soon as I had a chance to clean up to get rid of the stench, but it worked in the end. No need to be too grossed out anymore."

"I only hope now that your creepy story is no sign of… well, of this lake being less pure than we expected it to be," Azula said, eyeing the waters warily. Sokka chuckled and shook his head.

"It's a bit too dark already to tell, but hey, this place is in the middle of a forest and it doesn't reek of waste… so it might not be that bad, huh?"

Azula gazed at him wistfully, at that smile… it was charming, she knew that from the start. She liked him well enough serious and brooding, there was more than enough charm in that too… but that smile. The chance to make him happy, even if just by being foolish, careless and clumsy, was a surprising blessing… one that now soothed her heart despite she had been troubled and anguished mere moments before he entered the water too. To think such a small, simple creature could have served as a harbinger of harmony between them… though, again, she shouldn't get her hopes up. That wouldn't be a good idea, no matter what…

"You're all done washing now, though?" Sokka asked. Azula snapped back to her senses upon those words. "If so…"

"I'll go fix my tent, yeah," Azula said, though Sokka bit his lip.

"I was actually going to ask if… if you could do me a favor," he blurted out. Azula frowned.

"A favor?" she asked.

"Well… the water's kind of chilly," he smiled awkwardly. "Can you, maybe, warm it up a little further? I mean, I would've asked all along if I'd thought we could just bathe at the same time without consequence, but I figured you wouldn't want that, so…"

"I wouldn't want that…?" she asked again. Sokka shrugged.

"You did tell me not to peek," he said. "I said there was likely nothing new for me to see, but if you didn't want me looking at you, I wasn't going to bother you…"

"That's… that's what you meant?" Azula asked, surprised. Sokka nodded.

"Why? What else did you think I meant?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azula opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. She was such an idiot when it came to this sort of thing, oh, she really was, and yet… how to speak at all? How to tell him that she kept saying things she didn't mean only to elicit reactions from people? But where she had once been able to read him like a book, now he was undecipherable to her…

The silence between them continued… until suddenly Sokka flinched, turning his head, hopelessly glancing at his back.

"Uh… crap. Oh crap. Azula? Is there a pentapus on my back too?" he asked, spinning in circles as he struggled to glimpse the creature. Azula blinked blankly before shaking her head rapidly.

"S-stop moving around, I can't get it if there is one!" she said, grabbing his flanks to stop him… and trying not to think of the implications of touching him. No, that was best stashed on her mind for later.

The pentapus was on his lower back: she nudged it with her finger at first, sighing before settling for caressing it properly instead… and then she felt another set of such tentacles around her ankle. Startled, she fell into the water when she lost balance, and that could only be bad news for her…

Sokka clasped her wrist and pulled her to him: their bodies slapped together, not with the erotic intent with which they had been in contact in the past, especially while naked. And while the thought crossed Azula's mind, it was but a fleeting thought nonetheless: Sokka's hands relocated to her shoulders, though he kept her close all the same.

"Did another one get you?" he asked. Azula grimaced and nodded.

"It's on my ankle," she said. Sokka huffed.

"Maybe we should just get out of the water, get rid of them on land," he suggested, before flinching. "Ack, another on the back of my knee and… woah, that's dirty! It's on my asscheek!"

Despite her own discomfort, that final claim of Sokka's caused Azula to burst into laughter as they stumbled towards the lake's shore together, squirming at the discomfort of the tentacles that stuck to their bodies, and wincing every time a new one caught either of their legs.

"Okay, okay! We're going to get rid of them all, one by one!" Sokka squeaked, once they reached the shore indeed: Azula had two more in one calf, and she grimaced while raising her leg, but Sokka pulled it towards him without even asking: he rubbed the two small pentapi until they detached, and then he cast them powerfully towards the lake, prompting Azula to chuckle at his powerful heave. "That's what you get! You can't touch a lady without permission, damn pentapus!"

"You didn't exactly ask for permission either, did you?" she smiled. Sokka blinked blankly and smiled guiltily at her.

"I figured, since it's an emergency…?"

That Azula was amused by the situation seemed to have defused some of their lingering tension: she reached for the pentapus that clung to his rear, and Sokka grimaced as Azula succeeded at pulling it off his body. He continued working with hers too, ridding her of the pentapus on her ankle, and Azula did away with the one behind the knee he couldn't flex anymore because of it. It was a gradual process, and one that forced them to reacquaint with each other's body in a less intimate manner than intended… and yet it felt intimate in its own way too.

"Is that all of them?" Sokka asked her, after removing the final one that had latched to her upper thigh. "None got your ass, did they?"

"You'd rather they had?" Azula asked, amused.

"I didn't say that, but… I wouldn't have minded too much, is all," Sokka smirked a little, more shameless than he had allowed himself to be for a long time.

"How about you?" Azula asked, biting her lip as she gazed upon his body, trying to focus on the task at hand, on the many strings of concentric red dots over his skin now, especially in his lower body's area. "Anything I missed?"

"I think not?" Sokka said, glancing about himself with uncertainty. "Though now we look like we've got pentapox, heh. Did I ever tell you about that? How we got all the people out of Omashu…?"

"You… didn't tell me, no," Azula said, staring at him keenly through narrow eyes. Sokka chuckled and shrugged.

"I got the idea of using a fake disease to pretend there was an outbreak in the city," he said. "It happened after the pentapi got me in the sewers, the Fire Nation soldiers thought who caught us in the city thought I was sick, Katara told them I had pentapox, and they panicked… and then, when we met up with Bumi's resistance, they had no idea how to get out of the city and I suggested they used pentapox as an excuse: the soldiers panicked about the outbreak and let everyone go, and they were free from Fire Nation tyranny for it."

"You… are either an idiot or a genius," Azula said, smiling and shaking her head. Sokka huffed, raising his head haughtily.

"Wrong, Princess, for if other people's perception of me is to be accounted for, I'm actually both things at the same time," he declared, prompting her to laugh, despite herself.

"I gave Ukano such a hard time for that foolishness," Azula acknowledged. "Now I can see I was right to do so: pentapox, seriously?"

"Hey, fooled your people, even if it didn't fool you," Sokka smiled. "For an idiot, I'm not really that stupid, am I?"

"No, I guess you're not," Azula admitted.

Her smile was far more affectionate than she intended for it to be, and yet she didn't contain it. She didn't restrain herself. The very chance to swap stories with him, to talk at leisure, to smile and laugh… how she had missed that.

Oh, she had missed him, terribly so. It wasn't something she could deny to herself any longer.

"Don't feel bad, though, Princess," Sokka smiled. "The suction dots fade away after a while. Kind of like a hickey does."

"Heh. Those didn't fade away all that quickly, as far as I recall," Azula said, raising her eyebrows. Sokka chuckled and shrugged.

"Guess not all of them would, no," he admitted. "But you know, these are way smaller, and most are on our lower bodies, so it's not like there's going to be much to worry about. Unless, I don't know, you had a gig modeling naked for some sculptor within the next, what, ten-to-twelve hours…?"

"If I did have one, and you'd pulled this on me, I'd make you pay for this humiliation for as long as we lived," Azula assured him. Sokka grinned too honestly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Fine, then. No trips to weird lakes with Azula right before she has an appointment with the royal sculptor," he decided.

It was so natural, so easy… she almost felt like sitting at the edge of the lake with him, and merely talking for as many hours as they'd had failed to talk throughout their journey so far. Though she also felt like doing something else, as she allowed her eyes to gaze at his still-glistening skin… at the body she had grown so accustomed to once, and that she had deprived herself from, by her own foolish mistakes. Suddenly, all the bad blood seemed to be irrelevant, and she wanted nothing but to touch him, and not merely just to rid him of another pentapus anymore…

"Here I thought I wasn't allowed to peek… yet you're checking me out, Princess?"

She froze, shooting a glare at him as he smirked in her direction. Azula rolled her eyes at his reaction, though she smiled before long.

"Fine. What's fair is fair. You're free to ogle me if you so wish."

"Ah, thanks for allowing it. I mean, I already had looked at everything I wanted to look at, but knowing you allow it does lighten my heart's load…"

"You're the worst," Azula smiled, glancing at him again as Sokka chuckled. "Here I thought you weren't stealing any glances at me, that all this pentapus business was very professional…"

"It was, Princess, of course it was. If I'd broken protocol, you'd be moaning your lungs out by now," he said, nonchalantly. Azula gasped, and he smirked proudly.

"And what makes you think I would've allowed you to get away with that?" she asked.

"That you were checking me out just now, of course," he determined.

"Heh. And what convinces you that it'd be me moaning instead of you?" Azula huffed. Sokka raised his eyebrows and smiled at her, biting his lip playfully.

"Then… you want to make me moan as badly as I want to make you moan?" he asked. Her cheeks flushed violently. "Are we going to play it fair that way, too? A glance for a glance, a touch for a touch, a kiss for a kiss…?"

"Who said anything about kisses?" Azula whispered, though her eyes didn't leave Sokka's: she offered him a challenge, and the Sokka she had always known had been unable to resist one… she only hoped he'd be just as unwilling to hold back this time as he ever had been in the past.

"I just did, didn't you hear me?" He smiled as he leaned closer to her: Azula's heart raced gaster still. "Because something tells me you wouldn't mind it if I kissed your pentapox marks better…"

"There's no such thing as pentapox," Azula retorted. Sokka smirked.

"Funny thing to focus on, when I just said I wanted to kiss your legs all over," he said. Azula shivered visibly, breaking their eye contact by drawing her eyes down, almost bashfully.

It was not too surprising that she'd be that flustered, though it disappointed Sokka to a fault, all the same. Back in the day, she would have merely responded with her own crude remarks until they wound up in bed, thrusting wildly at each other. Now, though… she hesitated. Just as she had run away that night. It was no surprise, not really…

"Just the legs?"

Her question threw him off, just as he had been about to make up his mind to stand up and return to their campsite, once he told her not to make much of their flirty teasing. He blinked blankly, as Azula raised her face again, with fierce determination.

"You just said… what, now?" he blurted out.

"Didn't you hear me?" Azula said, despite her voice trembled. "Is it just the legs you'd kiss… snow savage?"

A title that had started as a mere jest at his expenses had eventually gained another meaning, after their third opportunity to sleep together: she had determined the true reason Water Tribe people were thought to be savages wasn't that their civilization was underdeveloped… but rather, that their erotic inclinations were so wild and unrestrained they stood out from the rest. She couldn't speak for a whole culture, of course not… but she could certainly speak for Sokka's skills. And after making such surprisingly flattering claims, Sokka had pinned her to the bed and proven himself a savage more proudly than ever before – and Azula had some trouble walking the next day because of it.

She had called him a snow savage before in their journey: had it been to evoke that night, or had it been, again, just a jest? All possibilities were on the table when it came to Azula. Yet right now he couldn't possibly doubt what she was suggesting… he couldn't second-guess it. He knew he wasn't getting a better deal than this one, and he had been too selfless as it was: he couldn't resist her, let alone her striking, gorgeous body, for another moment.

Sokka's hand shot to the back of her head, and when he pulled her closer to press his lips to hers, he found her own hands had clasped his neck: so violently they joined that their teeth crashed, and yet they didn't stop because of it. They had wasted too much time, worried about too much nonsense… it was enough by now. There was but one solution for their predicament, and the best prelude for it was heated, savage sex of the sort they had enjoyed before their relationship had fallen to shambles.

His arms surrounded her waist, compelling her to wrap her legs around his body: he rose to his feet, fearing he'd lose balance, but he remained determined to kiss her deeper and longer. Azula's heart raced ferociously, her fingers tight around his smooth hair locks as every familiar, blissful sensation he elicited in her body tore through her very soul. He wasn't kissing her halfheartedly, as he might have if he no longer cared… as he might have, if he no longer loved her. Then… he had distanced himself from her because he had believed, again, that that was what she had wanted? He hadn't chased after her… because he had taken her behavior as rejection, rather than an invitation to try harder? He had given her space, assuming she needed it, taking for granted that she didn't love him back…

He was kissing her wildly, walking naked through a forest with her, despite he probably thought she didn't love him back.

And now her heart ached, even if she didn't know why. She couldn't understand it, try as though she might. He interrupted their kiss briefly, only to ensure he was on the right track towards the tent he had pitched, and he stole a few more kisses from her lips before reaching their destination: tugging the flap aside, he knelt before the entrance, setting Azula down atop the sleeping bag. He kicked the tent's flap closed clumsily, and quickly returned to worshipping her body, his full weight crushing her delightfully.

He certainly hadn't expected her to return his passion as she did: even now her legs seemed unwilling to let go of him, and her long nails dug into his skin, proving she had wanted this desperately. He had found it odd that she would tag along for a trip with him, eventually he took for granted that she only wanted to torment him, and relish in a rare chance to leave the Fire Nation Palace, seeing as Zuko scarcely ever let her set foot outside it, let alone outside her nation… but if she had merely wanted to escape, using him as a stepping stone for it, she wouldn't have stayed with him once they reached the Earth Kingdom. He had half-expected to wake up and discover his traveling companion was gone, on the previous night, which they'd spent in a modest inn at Garsai… but she was still there. Then, he had expected her to take off through the forest, leaving him to his own devices… and again, she didn't do that. She seemed to genuinely want to come with him… though why, he didn't know for sure, not until now. He had pondered that she might have wanted to make amends for breaking his heart, but he hadn't thought she'd wish to rekindle their affair at all…

Now, as she thrusted upwards at him, one of her hands dashing between their bodies to pump his manhood, he realized the most wishful of all possibilities was, despite his rational mind had constantly claimed otherwise, the true explanation for Azula's actions.

He didn't hold back, not in the least: he drilled into her fiercely once they joined their bodies, thrusting with as much strength as he could muster while still kissing her as often as he could. She was breathless, her body strained, her heart still racing… and yet she wanted more, as she proved by rolling them over on the sleeping bag once he was finished, straddling him as she strived to make him hers for the thousandth time. More savage thrusting, and this time her head nearly crashed with the tent's ceiling as she sat up, riding his shaft recklessly: the tent truly could have fallen down upon her, she wouldn't have cared one bit. Then it was him who took over yet again, and they spent hours taking turns to lead their savage coupling, decorating each other's bodies with as many hickeys and bite marks as they could lavish each other with… and it would make quite the spectacle come morning, once they saw in full daylight the full score of reddened marks their bodies would sport, paired with the many dots the pentapi had left upon them.

The final round found them lying together on their sides, face to face, thrusting slowly into each other while they shared countless kisses after their last climaxes. Sokka closed his eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure: they hadn't eaten dinner yet, and his body appeared to resent him for it, seeing as they'd exercised rather extensively just now. They had also left their clothes behind by the lake, and he certainly hoped they'd still be there by morning… but he didn't dare let go of Azula to deal with any such matters, not just yet. Not while her body was wound so tightly around his own, not when it might be one of the last times it ever was… for he had no foolish hopes that this rekindling would last longer than this trip to find Space Sword. Not when Azula had already ran away from him before… when she might just do it again if he ever overwhelmed her ever again…

"You're… not going to say anything?" her voice broke through the darkness and silence, and Sokka damn near wished she hadn't spoken at all. Silence, uncertainty, were better than the mistakes he was likely to make while attempting to read her once again.

"Didn't think you'd want me to," he whispered, simply. He had thought that would be enough for Azula to understand how scared he was, how unwilling to let go of her… but naturally, the proud princess couldn't make anything easy for him.

"Since when do you do whatever I want you to?" she said. He huffed: he should know better than to fall for her verbal traps and tricks… and yet he plunged headfirst into this one, hating himself for it as he uttered his response.

"Since always," he said, bluntly. Azula frowned, but fell silent again. "Since the first night we spent together. For every minute and every moment of my life since then."

"That's… not true," Azula said, though her voice trembled lightly. "How… how could you even know what I wanted without asking me, anyway? If you didn't know…"

"I fucked you when you wanted me to. I walked away when you wanted me to," Sokka said, simply. "And I shut up now, because I know that if I dare say what I'm really thinking, you'll take off again and I don't think my stupid heart will be able to take that anymore."

Azula tensed up next to him. He didn't attempt to soften his words, which he had spoken far more bitterly than he had intended to… but it was true enough that he had seen more than his share of heartbreak throughout his life. There was only so much he could take before he came crashing down for good, unwilling to love ever again… frankly, he had thought he was there already, after she had ran off on him that night. He had been so anguished for the next months, doing his best to stay out of her way, to never inconvenience her… and in the process, he had nearly self-destructed. He was dead sure the reason no one wanted to take a road trip with him wasn't because everyone was too busy… but rather, because none of his friends thought it was a good idea to spend long stretches of time with the moodiest, least fun Sokka they had ever known. To this day, none of them understood why he had changed so much, so suddenly… and to this day, he refused to explain, too. How to explain he had finally found the right person to spend his life with, only to discover he didn't embody the same thing for her…?

"S-Sokka…" she called for him suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts. Sokka breathed deeply and rubbed his face with a hand, as though trying to shake off the emotional words that had tumbled out of him. What a fool… he wasn't supposed to tell her any of that. He wasn't supposed to guilt her into a damn thing, what was wrong with him?

"Don't mind me, Azula, don't… don't worry. I'm okay," he said, simply.

She seemed rather determined to prove him wrong, however: her hand reached for his chest, touching his heart, feeling its powerful, yet fragile beats. He gritted his teeth, trying to find something to say, anything to defuse the charged situation, far more tense now than in the rest of their awkward days on the road, combined…

"You said you loved me," she whispered. His breath caught. "You said so… and I left. But it wasn't because I… b-because I didn't want to see you anymore."

"What?" Sokka said, and the confusion did nothing to help his current discomfort.

"Sokka, I… I'm sorry. I know you believe you loved me, and because you did, I ruined everything, but the truth is…"

"Woah, what's that supposed to mean, 'I believe I loved you'?" Sokka snapped, eyeing her dark silhouette with a scowl. "There's no 'believe' about it, Azula. I loved you: I still do."

"You… no, Sokka, no," Azula said, shaking her head promptly. Yet her tone, the nervousness with which she spoke… it gave him pause, where he'd had none before. While he certainly didn't appreciate being told by anyone that his feelings couldn't be what he knew they were, he also knew Azula well enough by now to understand there was more going on underneath the surface than she wanted to admit right now.

"No what?" he said, softening his voice. "What are you trying to tell me, Azula?"

"You can't love me. And if you truly did, t-then… you shouldn't," she said, shivering against him. "I can't be… I can't be loved, not like other people can. I can't love, either, so maybe just…"

"What the hell? What's that supposed to mean?" Sokka asked, and Azula shook her head.

"That's what they said. In that damn asylum," she swallowed hard. "They diagnosed me, and tested me, and decided I was… incapable of I don't know how many emotions. They said I couldn't feel them, that I only pretended to, that I… that I copied what I saw in others, but was incapable of truly feeling those emotions myself."

"What sort of…? That's bullshit!" Sokka exclaimed, frowning. Azula shrank in her spot beside him, pressing her head to his chest. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?! You're capable of emotions alright, of so many of them, for crying out loud… who the hell paid those pieces of shit to say that about you? I'll go gut them as soon as we find Space Sword…"

"My mother thought I was a monster," Azula spoke against his chest. Sokka's wild rant stopped cold suddenly. "Why would she love Zuko but not me? Why would she say something was wrong with me if nothing had been wrong at all? Even now, she looks at me funny, no matter if Zuko's taken me back. Like she thinks any moment I'm just going to snap, and set the whole damn Palace on fire. Somedays… somedays I actually do want to do that, Sokka. Whenever I'm too frustrated, I just…"

"Then you can be frustrated? Isn't that an emotion?" Sokka huffed. "Azula… I can't say I know anything for sure, but it sounds like those damn assholes at that institution weren't trying to help you at all. If anything… they tried to convince you that you weren't human. They made you think emotions were worthless, and well, your damn family doesn't help one bit either…"

"But emotions are… they're not good, Sokka," Azula said, shaking her head.

"Says who? Ozai's far from a reliable source of information, you know…"

"It's not just him. It's… I've let myself be swayed by stupid impulses so many times now," Azula said, gritting her teeth. "I mean… if that's what emotions are, they just… they make you do things you shouldn't. They make you lose sight of your rational mind, and then…"

"The more you fight them, the worse it gets," Sokka finished for her. Azula flinched beside him. "Which… sounds like you understand and know emotions pretty well, for someone who allegedly can't feel them."

Azula breathed with difficulty against him, and to her surprise, his arms wrapped warmly around her, pulling her as close as she could be to him. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"What did you feel… when you heard I was visiting again, the first time I visited the Fire Nation after all those months without seeing you?" he asked. Azula tensed around him. "Nothing wrong will come from telling me, Azula. I'm not going to hurt you. I just… need to know. And I think you need to say it even more than I need to hear it."

She swallowed hard before making up her mind. There was no trace of joking in his voice… no hint of mockery, of forcefulness, of bullheaded stubbornness. He wasn't trying to make her accept his feelings… he was trying to help her understand her own. Tears surged in her eyes, and with her face pressed to his bare chest as it was, she knew he would feel them directly on his skin.

"I… wanted to see you," she whispered. "I hoped you'd want to see me too. But when we crossed paths, you simply… walked past me. You barely even glanced at me. I… I thought I disgusted you. And it… it hurt. It did."

"I thought I was the one who disgusted you," Sokka said with a trembling voice, tightening his embrace further. "When you ran off, and avoided seeing me, I… I was sure it meant you'd never wanted things to go as far as they did. So I… decided to leave you be. Because I figured you didn't love me back. I thought… you'd be better off without me."

"I wasn't. I'm not," Azula admitted with far more honesty than she ever thought she'd muster, shaking her head against his chest.

"I'm sorry," Sokka whispered, and she gasped. "I should've… guessed I couldn't understand what was going through your head. Doesn't matter how smart I think I am, you're always much more complicated than I can figure out…"

"You… you're not the one who should apologize," Azula said, shaking her head again, and by now the tears did stream down her face. "I'm the one who… who left, and I hurt you, because I didn't know how to tell you that… t-that you shouldn't have loved someone like me…"

"I'm afraid that's never going to stop me," Sokka smiled sadly, raising a hand to her cheek, wiping the tears away as best he could with his thumb. "Love isn't that easily given and taken away."

"But I…" she gasped, shaking her head. "You can't… y-you shouldn't love me, Sokka. No one has ever…"

"I don't know if no one has ever loved you, Azula," Sokka whispered, raising her chin delicately: despite how dark it was, she could see his shape looming closer, so close he found her lips with his own, but far more softly than earlier. Her breath hitched as he pulled away, and she remained desperate, eager for more. "But if no one did before, I'm proud to be the first person who ever did. Whatever mistakes you made… we'll fix them, if they can be fixed. We'll move past them, if they can't be. And you know what's the best part? You don't have to love me back. I didn't tell you how I felt because… because I thought you'd respond with the same thing. I said it because… because I couldn't hold back anymore. Because you made me so happy, you still do, and… I needed you to know that. If you never feel the same way towards me, I'll accept it… but that won't change my feelings for you. It won't erase my truth. And that's still my truth, to this day: I love you, Azula. And as far as I can tell, I always will."

She couldn't hold back anymore: a torrent of tears streamed down her cheeks as she embraced him tightly, just as tight, if not even more so, as she had earlier that day. He held her the same way, pressing gentle kisses around her face, on the top of her head, on her temples… and she only cried further, overwhelmed, overcome by the onslaught of emotions she was supposedly unable to experience.

Had she truly been incapable of those emotions at all… or had she merely locked them away, in all the trauma of her childhood and teenage years, until they finally had broken free upon hearing Sokka's words tonight? Had his sincere, selfless feelings given wing to hers…? Or was she truly just emulating feelings she had seen someplace else…?

Ha. She was sure she had never seen anyone crying this pathetically over a love confession, so copying such an emotional outburst was ruled out.

Which meant… they were wrong. The diagnosis had been wrong. Maybe she was capable of much more than those damn mental experts had decided she was…

Those thoughts calmed her, despite they were anything but tranquilizing, as they would mean she had been living her life halfway for years now, abiding by that damn assessment as though it owned her, attempting to trick herself into believing her inability to feel emotions was a good thing somehow… but there was a lot she needed to do right now instead of crying, in the wake of such a revelation.

"H-how… how do you know you love me?" Azula asked, her voice fragile and unsteady. Her question took Sokka by surprise. "How does anyone know… that they're feeling love for someone else? I… I'm not trying to copy it, I just want to know if…"

"I didn't think you'd be copying anything in the first place," Sokka whispered, rubbing her back gently. "But if you're worried… how about you tell me how you feel, and I'll tell you if that sounds like love or not?"

"Then…" she said, breathing deeply. "I was… happy to see you, but then you didn't seem to want anything to do with me. M-my chest felt hollow, somehow… and when I talked to defend you when Zuko was being an ass about your quest for your sword, I thought you might be grateful, but you looked unaffected, as though it didn't matter… it hurt, too. I felt like an idiot, because I… I thought maybe you were happier whenever I wasn't around. That I'd messed up so badly that now you were better off without me, but I was so hung up on you, I couldn't stop thinking about you, and I wanted to fix things between us… because I wanted you to smile the way you always did before. It hurt that you wouldn't, but I hoped… and then the damn pentapus thing stuck to me and you were back to your old self for a moment, and we were laughing, and helping each other, and my damn stupid hollow chest felt full again…"

Sokka's hands didn't stop rubbing against her back gently. Azula gritted her teeth, clinging to him, to her every word, as she spoke with far more honesty than she remembered doing in her whole life. It seemed she had learned that from him, somehow…

"I never wanted to lose you," she said. "I never wanted to push you so far away you'd never want to come back. I thought… I thought you'd come back and fight to stay by my side because… isn't that how love works? I never thought… I never thought you were walking away because you loved me. B-because you thought that was what I wanted… I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't… I didn't want to push you away, Sokka…"

"I get it," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I understand now. I… I'm relieved, you know? I thought I'd spend the rest of my life alone…"

"You…?" Azula said, puzzled. Sokka chuckled.

"No one knew I was with you… so my damn sister kept trying to set me up with people. I always said no, she'd always find a way to throw them at me, I'd always make myself scarce as soon as I knew there was yet another girl waiting to meet the great hero Sokka…"

"Pfft… great hero?" Azula smiled, amused.

"See? I don't want or need a girl who worships me" Sokka chuckled, kissing her brow. "I'd rather have one who thinks all that stuff is nonsense… because she sees right through me, and knows deep down I'm just a dork who wants to spend time with his friends, talk nonsense, joke around, pull pranks on people…"

"We need to do it again… pulling pranks on everyone," Azula smiled, pressing her own lips to his chest. "I miss that."

"Well… I don't know what this really means for us, going forward," Sokka whispered. "Maybe you're not ready for anything too demanding anyway… but what you said you felt for me did sound quite a lot like love, you know?"

"It… did?" Azula said, the hopeful inflection of her voice brought a gentle grin to Sokka's face.

"That's right," he said, pressing his brow to hers. "So… going back to civilization, and telling everyone we're together now? Sounds like the culmination of the greatest prank of all time to me."

"Though it's not just a prank," Azula smiled, closing her eyes. "We are together. Or at least, we should be."

"If we both agree on that… then I guess it means we are," Sokka sighed.

She hadn't known what to make of his tone with the last words he spoke… until a soft laugh shook him, and then he was squeezing her so tight she lost her breath: tears fell upon her skin, just as her own had fallen on his. Azula gritted her teeth but hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder as he sobbed quietly against her.

Just one silly development, one chaotic afternoon spent battling against strange but harmless invertebrates, had turned into a wild evening of relentless trysts until they had released their everything together… and then it had become an emotional night, where they had finally talked thoroughly, finally understanding each other's fears, weakness, insecurities and thought processes. It hadn't needed to come this far, they both knew it… and yet they were so grateful to recover what they'd lost that they didn't stop to reason with how much time they had wasted: instead, their lips met in a tearful kiss, and their bodies joined anew for one more time that night, but in a warmer, loving manner, slow and gradual, until they both reached their final culmination and fell asleep soundly in each other's arms. Just as there had been no violent solution to fend off the pentapi, there had been no such solution for their relationship either: a gentler approach, far more sincere, where they had opened their hearts, regardless of the painful risk it represented, was the only true way to resolve their conflict.

The long-standing tension between them was gone, completely, by the next morning: they couldn't seem to stop smiling together, not when they made love again by dawn, not when they ate a hefty breakfast to make up for the dinner they had missed, not when they rushed back to the lake to find the clothes that they had left lying about by the shore. Once they packed the tent and took off, following Sokka's map, they did as much with hands linked, casting countless teasing comments at each other with every new step they took together.

After a week and a half of long, heartfelt nights and blissful, bright days, their journey appeared to be one that should have lasted a lifetime instead… and yet Azula's luck dictated otherwise.

She spotted it amidst bushes while she foraged for food, as their reserves were near depleted by then: it didn't glow as brightly as it had long ago, but that golden pommel still caught her eye. She pushed the plants out of the way, slowing by the weapon to find it sunken to the hilt in the soil. She breathed deeply and wrapped her hand around the handle's leather, and without much struggle, the weapon came loose… and that black blade nearly glistened under the sunlight once she had withdrawn it completely.

It was over, then. Their long trip, their chance to reconnect and make amends… Azula gritted her teeth as she gazed at the weapon, almost begrudging it for not having taken a little longer to show up, despite she had practically found it by sheer chance as it was. She briefly pondered stashing it away someplace safe, to make sure she and Sokka would continue to travel together for a little longer… but his words, his many decisions and sacrifices for her sake, convinced her otherwise. He had taught her what love looked like: selfishness wasn't part of it. He had come here to find his sword, and she had no right to deprive him from it for a moment longer.

"Sokka?" she called for him, and he raised his head from the small venison he'd been able to catch earlier, thanks to his boomerang.

"What is it?" he asked. "Found anything that looks too bright and funny? It's probably poisonous, if that's it…"

"Well, that sure explains why it was that dangerous all along, huh?" Azula smiled, returning to the clearing they were resting at that morning. She raised her right hand, showing the weapon she held to Sokka, who froze in place immediately. "Didn't think you'd play so underhandedly back in those days, coating your weapon in poison, but…"

"AZULA! YOU FOUND IT?!"

Azula laughed as she offered the sword at her lover, who clumsily jumped to his feet and rushed towards her. He took Space Sword in his hands, smiling brightly enough to cry yet again… and then he dropped the weapon, to her utter astonishment, and embraced her so tightly he raised her from the ground.

"S-Sokka!" she gasped, embracing him right back in fear of falling… especially in fear of falling on his insanely sharp sword.

"You're the greatest, smartest, cleverest, most amazing woman in the entire planet!" he squealed. Despite her previous apprehension, Azula couldn't hold back a trickle of laughter as she pressed her face to his neck. "Oh, hell…! I was starting to think we'd never find it! Which, to be fair, I didn't mind too much? I was having so much fun being on the road with you as it was, that I…!"

"You forgot you were looking for a sword?" Azula smiled, as he set her down at last. "I think I could tell. Seeing as you kept making plans about what we'd eat for our next meal, or what position we'd try for the next night…"

Sokka snorted and laughed, pressing his brow to hers. Azula grinned, breathing out slowly: that was the face she had relished in. That expression of pure, undoubtable bliss… the genuine smiles she had never been deemed worthy of until Sokka had decided otherwise. Her heart ached pleasantly at the sight of it, at the gentle bliss that permeated them both right now.

"Thank you, Azula… thank you so much," he said, pressing many quick, enthusiastic kisses to her lips. Azula's smile only widened further. "Goodness, I owe you so much more than you can imagine…"

"No, you don't…" Azula whispered, caressing his chest. "Whatever debts we owed each other… I think they're settled after this trip. I'd hurt you… now I've made up for it, somehow, I hope…"

"You've more than made up for every bit of pain, Azula… you didn't even have to, but you have," Sokka smiled, caressing her face kindly.

"I did have to…" she said, as another of those impulses she couldn't repress bubbled to the surface: "Because I love you, too."

He had never expected her to return his feelings… let alone for her to say it aloud, if she did. He was sure he'd spend his life with her, regardless of whether she ever said those three words to him at all… and yet now that she had, it was as though his entire world had expanded, exploded, becoming greater, larger and better in a single moment. Tears surged in his eyes, as did in hers… and the next thing she knew, they were back in the tent, reprising every blissful night and morning they had spent making love relentlessly together. After so long of fearing she'd always be alone, fearing she had alienated the only person who genuinely had cared for her, now she knew she'd live every day ahead with the bright awareness that she would have him by her side…

No one had truly expected Sokka to return with his sword. Zuko, personally, hadn't expected him to return with Azula, to begin with, having even set up a whole squad to track down his sister once she inevitably escaped…

Yet what no one could have ever anticipated was for Sokka and Azula to not only have found Space Sword, but to have found their way to each other just as well: Zuko spent months convinced their engagement announcement was but another of their joint pranks… even up until the very wedding ceremony. Teasing him further, after first kissing her new husband, Azula had promised Zuko that their first child would be called 'Prank', in his honor… and only then did the reality of the situation hit him, despite he was still quite far from being able to process it fully. Katara, of course, wasn't in much better shape… and yet, to everyone's surprise, she eased up on them faster if only because of Sokka's genuine happiness. Seeing him back in good spirits, even if they mostly were related to the woman he couldn't seem to stop holding in his arms ever since they returned from their long journey, was enough of a relief that she managed to overlook, at least most times, that her new sister-in-law was none other than who she was…

And as fun as their reactions were, nothing pleased either the princess or her new consort as much as their relationship itself did. Opening their hearts to each other fully, thoroughly understanding what their feelings were, had changed their worlds for the better. It had started as a quest for a sword… and instead it had shaped into the reforging of a love and the beginning a blissful journey that would span for a lifetime.

#sokkla #sokklasaturday #sokkla saturdays #sokka #azula #if you people ever thought #I'd already exercised all my ability to give them angst in a forest #... well you were wrong #this story has actually been on the back burner since like... my earliest fandom days #I always got to writing other things instead and eventually this dropped off the list of priorities #welp #it got right back to it once I saw that prompt #and now here we are #something like 7 years later but #it is done #my first rendition of finding a certain Space Sword #(sorta smutty though I'm still tryin' to save up the best for Yakuza AU)

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youllallriseintheink · 3 years

Text

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

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Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #joey drew #(sort of)#susie campbell #norman polk #abby lambert #my fanfiction #Story: prison cell

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